Page 6 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

My fingers tightened around the glass, my heart slamming against my ribs as I turned my head–slowly, disbelievingly–to the balcony directly next to mine.

He was there.

That same dark hoodie, its shadow obscuring most of his face, black, ripped jeans, and that unmistakable air of danger around him. He sat back in his chair like he belonged there. Like the world bent around his presence.

My throat dried as the realization hit.

He’d followed me.

He got on a plane and followed me.

The space between our balconies was so small it felt suffocating. He was only a few feet away. Close enough that I could see the way his head tilted slightly like he was watching me without even turning his face.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. And when he finally shifted, when I saw the slow curl of his mouth under the hood… I knew he’d been waiting for me to notice.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

My grip on the glass was so tight that I thought it might shatter. The night air suddenly felt too hot, and every nerve in my body screamed at me to go inside, lock the door, and call security.

But I didn’t.

Because despite the fear licking up my spine, I couldn’t fucking walk away. He didn’t move, either. He just sat there, sprawled back in his chair, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like we were just two people enjoying the same view, sharing the same night.

“Did you…follow me?” My voice came out lower than I expected, the words a little hoarse. The first words I ever actually spoke to him.

He didn’t answer. But his head turned just slightly, and the hood shifted enough that I almost caught sight of his eyes. A slow, measured movement, like he wanted me to feel it.

The wind tugged at my white silk robe, brushing it against my skin, and his attention flicked lower. It was barely noticeable, just a quick dip of his head, dragging his gaze down my body.

An undeniable heat coiled in my stomach.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes ,” I said, lifting my wine glass to my lips in a pathetic attempt to look unbothered. The glass trembled slightly.

He stayed quiet, but I saw the faintest curve of his mouth under the shadow of his hood. He was smiling.

The audacity of it snapped something in me .

“What the hell do you want from me?” I demanded, turning fully toward him. The moonlight painted his shape in silver and shadow, and my heart pounded.

“To watch,” he said softly. His voice was a rough scrape of sound, low and quiet but also dark and... hungry . “You like it when I watch, don’t you, Adela?”

My stomach dropped.

The sound of my name on his tongue… I shouldn’t have liked it. But I did. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. “How do you know my name?”

He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. Instead, he rose from his chair.

I held my breath.

He moved slowly, closing the already too-small space between our balconies until he stood right at the edge. “I shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But I couldn’t stay away.”

I felt the words all the way to my bones. My mind screamed at me to go inside. Lock the door. Get away from him. But my body didn’t listen. He reached up, his hand brushing against the iron railing between us.

It was suddenly hard to breathe. He was so close to me, yet I didn’t move away.

He inclined his head slightly, and even with the hood shadowing his face, I felt the weight of his stare.

“You should go inside,” he said softly. The roughness of his voice sent a shiver through me.

“Before I forget why I’m only watching.”

My stomach tightened.

“Why are you?” I whispered. I hated how breathless I sounded, how my fingers trembled around my glass. “Why not…more?”

For a long beat, he didn’t answer. The waves crashed against the shore below us, and the wind tugged at my robe, cool against the heat rising under my skin. Then his fingers brushed the railing again, and his voice dropped lower .

“Because when I take you,” he murmured. “It will be when I want to.”

My heart stuttered. The glass slipped from my fingers. It hit the balcony floor with a sharp shatter, spilling red across the stone. I barely noticed. My breath caught somewhere between panic and... arousal .

His head tilted again, and the softest sound of amusement slipped from him. “You’re trembling, Adela.”

I was.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, and there was genuine curiosity in his voice as if my fear fascinated him.

Yes , I wanted to say. Of course, I was.

I would have been an idiot not to be. But when I finally found my voice, the word that slipped out wasn’t yes.

“No,” I whispered. And it was the truth.

I saw the sudden shift in him. The way his body went still like a predator catching the scent of something very, very tempting.

“That,” he murmured, “is a mistake. If you knew who I was, you would.”

I swallowed hard. “Then why don’t you show me how afraid I should be?”

The air between us snapped.

And for one terrifying, exhilarating second, I thought he was going to do it. He leaned in–his hand flexing on the railing–and my pulse thundered in my throat. But then, he smiled. Just a ghost of it. And stepped back.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “There’s a time for everything, little doe .” Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness of his room.

I stood there, shaking and breathless, staring after him long after his door slid shut. Little doe.

When I finally went inside, locking the balcony behind me, I knew one thing for certain. I was so fucked in the head for how my body reacted to him.

** *

RAFE

I shut the door behind me, my breath ragged, my pulse hammering in my skull.

My body felt like a live wire, every nerve raw and frayed from being so close to her.

I could have had her. I should have had her.

I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling through my nose.

The fucking restraint it had taken not to jump that measly few feet between our balconies and press her against the glass.

To pin her beneath me and take what was already mine.

Adela .

I whispered her name under my breath, tasting it, feeling the shape of it on my tongue.

She had no idea what she did to me. Vincent had yelled at me earlier for booking this last-minute flight, bitching about how reckless I was being.

That Moreau was already on my ass, that I was stretching myself too thin. But I didn’t give a fuck.

I had to see her.

I had to watch her away from the pressure of work, away from the fortress of her penthouse. Here, she was softer. More relaxed. Dressed in silk and lounging on a balcony with a glass of wine, letting her guard slip just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the woman underneath.

And that body.

Christ .

The things I wanted to do to her. She was toned but soft, her thighs thick enough that I wanted to leave imprints on them with my teeth.

Her ass had the perfect curve, the kind that begged to be grabbed.

Her breasts–at least a D-cup–strained against her robe when she moved.

A fucking goddess. I was obsessed with her.

At first, this started when I realized I’d needed more protection because of this stupid war I started with Moreau.

But then…I was mesmerized. She captivated me .

I forced myself to move, to tear my gaze from the balcony door and head for the bottle of whiskey on the dresser. My hands shook as I poured a glass, my jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might shatter.

This was torture.

Knowing she was just a few feet away. Knowing I could be inside of her right now if I wanted.

I took a slow sip, the burn spreading through my chest, grounding me.

I’d think about her tonight. I’d imagine how she’d sound when I finally took her.

How she’d whimper when I buried myself inside her.

How she’d gasp when she realized just how much I wanted her.

The glass hit the dresser with a quiet thud as I palmed my hardening cock, closing my eyes. Just a little longer after we were back in New York. And then, Adela Sinclair would be mine.