Page 8 of Monsters Carve Thrones (Crowned Monsters Duet #2)

The ocean had become a sound I craved. Well, that and Rafe’s groans. Salt, sun, and him. That’s what the island had been made of. We barely wore clothes, only when expecting staff to bring meals or drinks. He hadn’t let me walk straight since day two.

Rafe had been insatiable, waking me with his mouth, bending me over balcony railings, and taking me in the ocean with the waves crashing against our backs. He’d tasted every inch of my skin, again and again, until I forgot how to breathe without him.

But now... our honeymoon was over.

The jet cut through clouds like it had a vendetta against the sky. I sat curled in the buttery leather seat, legs tucked beneath me, wearing one of Rafe’s T-shirts and spandex shorts. My thighs were still sore. He’d smiled smugly when I winced getting up the steps onto the plane.

He was stretched across from me, wearing a black button-down with sleeves rolled to his elbows. One hand curled around a glass of whiskey, and the other traced slow, lazy patterns along my ankle. His fingers were warm and possessive, as if he were still reminding me that I was his.

“I think I’ll sleep for a week,” I murmured, shifting to lean my head against the window. “You broke me.”

He grinned around the rim of his glass, eyes flashing over the top of it. “You look just fine to me. Maybe a little fucked stupid, but I like that on you.”

I rolled my eyes, but warmth bloomed low in my belly. Damn, I wanted him again already.

He reached forward and tugged me closer, pulling my legs into his lap. “When we land,” he said, softer now, “we’ll take a day or two to recover. Then we’ll tour the townhouse.”

The townhouse.

My stomach fluttered, and it definitely wasn’t from the plane. The idea of having our own place together made everything seem… so official. Sure, we were married , but a house?

His thumb rubbed circles into the inside of my calf. “Well, our townhouse, if you like it.”

Ours .

I blinked, letting it settle–not just the space, but the promise of something we could grow into.

A life. A home. A future that bore our names and our essence.

As husband and wife. As partners in crime–literal and otherwise.

We’d weathered more than most, and there were days I questioned my own sanity for staying after what he’d done.

But pulling a wild creature from a cruel world doesn’t tame it overnight.

It takes patience. Compassion. Time. And I’ve seen that slow unraveling in Rafe.

He was all sharp edges and snarled instinct once…

and now, though the wild still lingers, it no longer rules him. Not entirely. Not with me.

“Are you nervous?” I asked quietly, voice barely above the hum of the jet.

Rafe tilted his head. “About what?”

I shrugged, mouth twisting into a half-smile. “Living together. In a normal setting. No bullets. No sand. Just… a fridge and furniture and your socks on the floor.”

He laughed, and it cracked something open in my chest. “I’ve already lived without you,” he said, brushing his hand over my knee. “And that was the worst thing.”

Goddamn him.

I leaned over and kissed him. When I pulled back, his eyes were softer. They were still dark and wild, but something inside them glowed like a match struck in the dark. “I want it to be good,” I whispered. “Whatever comes next.”

“It will be,” he said with no hesitation. “Because I’ll do anything to make everything right.”

I smiled, resting my cheek on his chest. Outside, clouds drifted past like an ocean in the sky.

***

The town car pulled up to the gates of the Manhattan mansion just after sunset, the sky blushing with gold and lavender. I exhaled as the driver rolled to a stop.

“Home,” I said softly.

Rafe didn’t answer, just looked up at the building with an expression I couldn’t quite place. His jaw twitched, unreadable. Maybe he was already calculating who needed reminding that the king had returned. Maybe he was just tired. Who knew what swirled inside that terrifying mind of his.

We stepped out, and the evening wind tugged at my coat, carrying the scent of the woods around us. It wasn’t hibiscus and saltwater, but my chest swelled anyway. We were barely through the doors when both of our phones lit up like Christmas trees.

I groaned.

Rafe swore.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

There was a flurry of missed calls, emails, and red-flagged notifications. My lock screen read like a boardroom murder mystery–three clients panicking about cybersecurity breaches, one exec being investigated by the feds, and a reminder from Laura that a proposal meeting had been bumped to Monday.

“Well,” I muttered, thumbing through the chaos, “guess we’re really back.”

Rafe was scrolling, too, his mouth a thin, displeased line. I caught the name of someone I didn’t recognize. Cruz, maybe? As well as a string of messages that probably meant someone had tried something stupid while he was gone. His eyes darkened as he read, tension rippling up his shoulders.

His work was never quiet or gentle or sane.

My phone buzzed again. This time, a message from Laura.

Hope you two had a lovely honeymoon and an ungodly amount of sex. Don’t worry, the company didn’t burn down (yet). But please stop glowing so much when you walk in on Monday. It’s offensive.

I snorted and fired back:

Glowing is the side effect of a thorough dicking, and you know it. See you Monday, babes.

I tucked the phone into my coat pocket and looked at Rafe.

His gaze was still pinned to the screen, but something in his jaw had relaxed.

There was a different kind of readiness to him now.

His lethal button had been pressed. He always looked so eerily calm then, and it honestly freaked me out sometimes.

“You’re going to have to kill someone, aren’t you?” I asked, tilting my head.

He looked at me and smirked faintly. “Two someones. Maybe three.”

“Well,” I sighed, “at least ease back into it.”

“I wish I could,” he chuckled, finally breaking through the seriousness. He stepped closer and ran a hand down my arm. “What about you?”

I glanced toward the stairs, imagining the penthouse office where I hadn’t sat in nearly two weeks. “I feel good,” I said honestly. “Refreshed. Like I could take on the whole goddamn world.”

Rafe’s smile turned wolfish. “That’s my girl.”

***

The elevator doors parted with a soft ding , and I stepped onto the top floor of Sinclair Solutions.

Sleek lines, matte black steel, and floor-to-ceiling windows framed the skyline like art.

Ah, this was my empire . My armor was a tailored charcoal blazer over a black bodysuit and heels sharp enough to gut someone.

That was definitely not by mistake, either.

“Look who decided to show up,” Laura drawled the moment I stepped into my office. She was perched on the edge of my desk as always, legs crossed, devil-red lips curled in a smirk. Her platinum hair was twisted into a loose bun, a tablet in one hand and a cold brew in the other.

“I had a honeymoon,” I said, hanging my coat. “You know, where people fuck and tan and pretend emails don’t exist.”

Laura tilted her head. “Did you pretend hard enough, or just get fucked into pretending?”

I snorted, dropping into my chair. “Both. I’m sore in places I didn’t know had muscles.”

She let out a low whistle. “Well, your skin’s radiant, and your eyes look like you might commit murder if someone tries scheduling a 7 AM call. So, back to normal.”

“Almost,” I said, pulling up my terminal. “Give me the rundown.”

She handed me the tablet. “Two possible breach attempts, one client crying wolf, and a request for a full audit from Archer Financial. I already told them you’d be reviewing that personally.”

I nodded, fingers already flying across the keys. “And you?”

Laura grinned. “Managed to keep everything running despite all the chaos. You’re welcome.”

I glanced at her over the screen. “You want a raise?”

She shrugged. “Or another week off so I can find a Rafe of my own.”

“Good luck surviving one. He’s brutal.”

“Precisely. I need that.”

We both laughed, but mine faded a little slower. Because while I was settling back into my world of code and control…

He was walking into blood. I just hoped his meetings would be just about as eventful as mine. But that was a long fucking shot.

***

RAFE

The warehouse reeked of rot. That metallic tang of blood mixed with oil clung to the walls and soaked into the concrete. It was both familiar and comforting in its own fucked-up way. When those scents reached my nostrils, it meant that The Dark Monster of NYC had arrived.

I walked in slowly, my boots echoing across the floor. No rush. No reason to hurry when the man tied to the chair was already shaking like a leaf, soaked in sweat and piss. Pathetic .

He lifted his head when he heard me. One eye was swollen shut. The other was wide and bloodshot, the pupil blown wide with terror. Good. Fear had a smell, and right now, he was drowning in it.

I rolled up my sleeves and cracked my neck. “You had a choice,” I said quietly, letting my voice carry through the empty space. “A simple one. Keep your head down while I was gone. Handle your job. Don’t fuck up.”

He whimpered behind the gag. I could barely understand him–something like, please. I didn’t care.

“But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?

” I circled the chair, slow and easy, dragging the tip of my knife along the back of his neck.

“Thought I was too busy fucking my wife to notice a few hundred thousand missing from the account? What’s that in a pool of millions, huh?

Billions?” I crouched beside him and looked him in the eye.

“Let me be clear, you didn’t steal from me. You stole from her .”

I snapped his head back by the hair and yanked the gag out of his mouth.

“I swear, Rafe, I didn’t–”