Page 43 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

Instead, I let Nico tape me up while the others started to clean and settle in.

We were all wrecked, bloodied, bruised, and scraped to the bone.

But they were alive, and that was all that mattered.

Laura went into the second bedroom to shower herself.

Kieran offered to make rounds, just to be sure the hotel floor was secure.

Nico left to get rid of the bullet and clean up the med kit.

And I… I stood, my limbs aching, and wandered back into the room where she was. I sat at the edge of the bed. Shirtless. Bandaged. Buzzed. The sound of the shower still ran steady behind the bathroom door. My fingers dug into my thighs, grounding myself in the moment. She was behind that door.

I had her again.

The shower had stopped running, but the door hadn’t opened.

I waited, the pain in my shoulder now a dull throb beneath the weight of everything else.

But she was crashing. I could feel it through the walls.

That freefall after surviving something no one should’ve had to.

Her body had moved on instinct for weeks, stuck in survival mode. And now… now it was over.

Now, she was falling apart.

The door creaked open at last, and there she was, wrapped in a towel. Her hair was wet, clinging to her face, and her skin was pink from the heat. I stood slowly, afraid any sudden movement would shatter the delicate quiet between us.

She walked toward me, still somewhere between here and the hell she’d just escaped from.

“Clothes are here,” I said softly, handing her the clothes Laura had left.

She didn’t speak, but she nodded, and I turned my back, letting her change. When I turned around again, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.

I approached her carefully, hating how small she looked. She was one of the strongest women I knew. The woman sitting before me now... I hardly recognized. And it broke my fucking heart.

Then she looked up at me.

Her eyes landed on mine with startling focus, and I swore I forgot how to breathe.

“Rafe,” she whispered. Just my name. Just that. But it cracked something open in my chest.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, hands trembling. “I love you so much,” I said, my voice barely holding steady.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I held on for you. But I wanted to die.”

My eyes burned. I reached up, cradling her face in both hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears as they fell. “I did, too,” I said.

She leaned into my touch. No flinch. No hesitation. Just… trust.

I kissed her forehead. Her temple. The tip of her nose.

Then I stood and gave her space. She pulled her legs up onto the bed, curling into the sheets like she finally remembered what it was like to be human again.

I knew what Waylon had done to her. I knew how many nights she’d had to survive in silence, in pain, in fear.

I wouldn’t push her.

Even though every part of me ached to hold her and feel her close. I wouldn’t let my need to be close become her burden. I went into the bathroom, peeling off my bloodied pants, stepping under the shower’s sting until it washed the night from my skin. But it couldn’t wash the ache from my heart.

When I stepped back out, drying off quickly and throwing on sweats, I looked up and saw her fast asleep. Soft and still and breathing deeply, curled on her side in the middle of the bed.

I stood there for a long moment, hand on the bathroom doorframe.

Then I walked over and carefully slid in beside her.

She didn’t stir.

I faced her, watching her in the dark, memorizing every line of her face.

She was here. I finally let the exhaustion take me, slipping one arm gently around her waist and resting my forehead against her shoulder. And for the first time in months, the tears came without resistance. I didn’t sob. I didn’t choke. I just… cried.

***

ADELA

I woke in the middle of the night to warmth. A heavy arm draped over my waist. A chest pressed against my back. His breath was slow and even, fanning over the back of my neck.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I didn’t know where I was. My body tensed. But then I felt something achingly familiar. Scarred knuckles brushed lightly against my stomach with each breath. That scent...faint cologne and gunpowder and something that had always, always made me feel safe.

Rafe.

My throat tightened. It all came rushing back like a flood–bloody hands, guttural screams, the importance of survival, and the relief so sharp it had dropped me to my knees.

He came for me.

He found me.

We killed our way out together.

I blinked up at the ceiling, my eyes adjusting to the soft shadows. The bed was warm, the sheets tangled around our legs. His body was pressed to mine just like any other night we’d spent together, like any of our “normal” nights back home.

I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat, my fingers brushing over the hand he had resting on me.

God. I loved him.

The weight of it slammed into me, cracking open something that had been locked away in all those nights I spent in a concrete room. All I’d wanted was this. Him.

And now he was here, holding me, breathing me in, resting beside me. I let out a slow breath, grounding myself in the sound of his heartbeat, where my back pressed against his chest.

I must’ve gone into shock earlier. Or maybe something like it.

I barely remembered crawling into this bed.

I barely remembered sleeping. I must have showered?

I was wearing clean clothes. I glanced down and saw the loose-fitting, soft blue shirt that I’d stolen from Laura on more than one occasion. How kind of her to give it to me now…

I turned my face toward the window, finding the moon just beyond the glass. Pale and full, pouring silver light over the bed. It painted him in muted hues. It touched his brow, his jaw, and the edges of his lashes.

Mine. My monster, my nightmare, looking so soft in sleep.

I nestled closer to him, just an inch. I wanted to be so much closer to him, even if it was physically fucking impossible. There were times under Waylon’s control when I honestly felt that I was going to die before I ever saw my husband again.

Rafe shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening gently as though his body sensed me reaching for him and answered without thought. I closed my eyes again, and for the first time in a long time, sleep found me gently.

***

The next time I woke up, I was alone. The sheets were rumpled beside me, faintly warm, but the weight of his arm was gone. My body ached, and deep bruises bloomed along my bones and muscles. But I felt… rested.

My head was heavy with the memory of tears. I knew there would be more, that the grief and rage hadn’t passed. But right now, I felt closer to calm.

God, trauma was weird.

I sat up slowly, stretching with a hiss as soreness lanced through my ribs. Bruises, no doubt. Cuts too. My wrists still throbbed where the cuffs had cut into my skin. But I was clean, dressed, and warm.

I was free.

Padding barefoot into the suite’s living room, I froze at the sight in front of me.

Rafe, Laura, Nico, and Kieran hovered around, talking quietly.

It felt so... normal. Nico stood at the kitchenette stove flipping pancakes, his dark curls a mess, shirt half-buttoned.

The smell of coffee and syrup made my stomach growl so loudly that Kieran turned.

“There she is,” he said with a soft smile, voice gentle like he was afraid he’d shatter me if it was too loud.

Rafe turned, too. He was shirtless in gray sweats, his shoulder wrapped in white gauze. Even bandaged and bruised, he looked like a god–feral and furious and beautiful. His eyes found mine, and he smiled like nothing else in the world existed.

Laura came closer. “How are you feeling?” she asked carefully.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to answer honestly. “Better. Sore. But… better.”

Her shoulders dropped a little, relief softening her features. “You look more like you.”

I glanced down at the oversized flowy shirt and black leggings she’d given me the night before.

The leggings still made my stomach feel a little queasy, but I was wearing them.

I had been Waylon’s, just like the woman before me whose clothes I was forced to wear.

I swore that I could still smell her perfume.

Nico handed me a plate with two fat pancakes and sliced strawberries.

My hands shook as I took it. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“You need to eat,” he said. “Your body’s gonna need time.”

Rafe stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. “Tomorrow,” he said softly, “we go home.”

Home.

My chest crumpled like paper. My throat burned. I almost started crying again right there in the middle of the breakfast table.

Home.

I looked up at him, trying to breathe, trying to hold it together. “Where… are we?”

They all paused. Shared glances.

“Moscow,” Rafe said finally. “We’re in Moscow.”

I blinked. Russia . A part of me figured that, with Olesya’s accent and all–

Olesya. I sucked in a quick breath.

Rafe must’ve seen something flicker across my face because he stepped closer, brushing a hand along my spine. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Where is Olesya? Is she safe?” My heart sped up.

He smiled. “Yes, she is. She’s in the next room, actually. I gave her enough money to start a new life.”

I nodded, even though it didn’t feel like it yet. “I want to see her.”

“I was actually just about to go get her for breakfast,” Laura interjected with a smile. “I’ll be back.”

I watched her leave the room, then returned to look up at Rafe. God, those eyes. That violent, arctic blue. I’d forgotten how beautiful they were and how safe they made me feel.

The others were quiet. There was an awkward tension in the air, like everyone wanted to ask me questions but didn’t know how. I didn’t blame them.

I wasn’t really myself yet.

A knock came at the door just as I was cutting into the pancakes, and Rafe went to open it. The moment I saw her, my chest cracked wide open.

“Olesya,” I breathed. She dropped the bag in her arms and rushed across the room. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tightly. Her frame was small, but her hug was fierce. Her hands fisted the back of my shirt, and mine did the same.

“You’re okay,” she whispered in Russian-accented English. “You’re okay. Thank God.”

Tears burned my eyes again. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” I whispered. “You made it out.”

“ You got us out, girl,” she said, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “ You did this.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat closed too tightly. I just nodded, eyes shimmering, and she smiled.

Rafe stepped behind me and gently rubbed my back. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s eat.”

We all sat around the small table–me, Rafe, Laura, Kieran, Nico, and Olesya. A strange family stitched together by blood and some kind of fate. There was a peace to it I hadn’t expected.

Nico passed out plates and poured coffee. Kieran added more pancakes to the center of the table. Olesya gave a little laugh when she saw how many there were.

“I haven’t had pancakes in years ,” she said. A part of my heart cracked at that. This poor woman had likely been under Waylon’s control for years. I hadn’t ever really asked…

“Then you’re in for a treat,” Nico grinned.

Rafe sat beside me, and I nearly cried when he smiled. Still, I whispered, “I’m sorry if I… scared you last night.”

Laura piped in immediately, her voice firm. “You don’t apologize for surviving.”

I nodded. The moment felt like something fragile I didn’t want to shatter.

So I sat down at the table with my plate, surrounded by the people who had come for me.

Who had killed for me. Who had helped me claw my way out of hell.

And I knew that no matter how long it took, I’d find my way back to myself. Because I wasn’t alone.