Page 64 of Monsters Wear Crowns (Crowned Monsters Duet #1)

Days had passed since the basement. Since him .

Since the blood. The screams. The way he forced me to watch. My heart ached, my mind a battleground of warring logic and unbearable truth . I had betrayed Rafe that night with Moreau and seen the flicker of rage and devastation in his eyes before he snapped.

I didn’t know what the hell came over me. Maybe it was the hunger that cursed me, the insatiable need for something –power, control, destruction. Things had been good , and I fucked it all up.

I curled my fingers against my chest, nails digging into my skin. I don’t blame him.

Not entirely.

But I should.

He had no right to do what he did. No right to force himself upon me, to leave behind bruises I still felt even now. But he cared about me so much he nearly destroyed himself for it.

Was I being manipulated? Twisted into believing this was love ? Was I turning into my mother–clinging to a man who burned me alive, confusing pain with devotion?

The thought made me sick.

Numbness slithered through me as I stared at the untouched coffee on my kitchen island.

My reflection wavered in the dark surface, a stranger’s eyes staring back.

I didn’t know who I was anymore. Didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do.

All I knew was that I needed to get out.

But the place I wanted to go? It wasn’t wise.

Not for my heart.

***

The lounge was a mistake. I knew it the second I stepped through the glass doors. The hum of low conversation, the scent of top-shelf whiskey and expensive perfume, the clink of crystal against marble. It was too familiar, too steeped in memory.

But I stayed.

I sat at the exact same stool where it all began and ordered a dirty martini, the cold bite of vodka settling in my throat. The room around me shimmered with soft golden light, the kind of ambiance designed to make you relax. But I was already restless.

My eyes flicked toward the door every time it opened. My heart jumped at every brush of movement in my periphery. And when the bartender asked if I wanted another, I realized my glass was already empty. So I nodded.

I needed air.

The rooftop terrace was nearly deserted, strung with delicate lights swaying in the warm summer breeze.

The city sprawled out beneath me, glittering.

It was endless and alive, reminding me of the power and wealth beneath its beauty.

I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me. Trying to quiet the storm inside me.

But then, sudden goosebumps broke out over my skin.

I froze, listening to identify the sound of low and intentional footsteps. My fingers tightened around my glass. My pulse stumbled. And when I turned, the breath left my lungs in a rush.

Rafe.

But not the Rafe I’d last seen–the unhinged, sadistic man covered in blood. This was the Rafe from before. The hunter in the shadows.

The stranger .

The black hoodie was pulled low over his face, his hands buried deep in his pockets. But even in the dim light, I saw the tension in his body. The quiet, dangerous stillness of a man waiting to pounce.

He stopped a few feet away, his eyes locked on mine. “You shouldn’t be here alone.”

My grip on the glass tightened again. “I’m not your responsibility anymore.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.

The wind tugged at my hair, brushing it against my face, and his eyes followed the movement. It felt like being touched. “You followed me,” I accused softly.

His lips curled, the ghost of a smile with no warmth behind it. “You knew I would.”

I gnashed my back teeth together. He was right. We stood there in the half-darkness, the city roaring beneath us. I wanted to tell him to leave. I wanted him to stay.

“Why did you come here , Adela?” he asked finally. “Of all places?”

I swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He stepped closer. Not much–just enough to crowd the air, to fill my senses. “Liar.”

I swallowed my response as my pulse kicked up.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?” His voice was low and rough. “This…pull between us?”

“That didn’t stop you from hurting me.”

The words were a slap. I saw how pain flickered and cracked behind his eyes. But he didn’t back away.

I shook my head, stepping back. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know why I did.”

“Adela–”

“No,” I cut him off, my voice shaking. “I can’t…I can’t do this right now.” But when I turned, his hand caught my wrist, hard enough that I felt his pulse against my skin. I was a little surprised to find it fast and unsteady.

“I don’t know how to stop wanting you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

My heart cracked wide open.

“Let me go,” I said, and I hated how weak it sounded. How much of me didn’t mean it.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. But then his fingers slipped away, and the loss of his touch left me cold. My legs moved, propelling me away from him.

“I love you, Dela.”

I inhaled a sharp breath at the confession.

His voice was raw, stripped bare in a way I’d never heard, and it shattered me.

I hated how much it did. Because I wanted to believe him.

Because no matter what he’d done, I still loved him.

I still ached for him. But beneath that love, beneath the sharp, burning need, there was fear.

Fear that I’d become my mother.

Another Sinclair woman destroyed by a Vaughan man.

He took a step toward me, and I instinctively backed up.

The corner of his mouth curled. Then his eyes flicked behind me.

I turned my head just slightly, and that’s when I saw it.

The exact spot where he first...touched me.

Where he’d stood between my thighs with his fingers delved deep inside me.

Where his voice had curled so deliciously around my name.

When I turned back, he was already moving. One second, my feet were on the ground. The next, I was in the air, his hands gripping my thighs as he lifted me onto the cold stone railing. The glass slipped from my fingers, shattering somewhere far below. I didn’t even flinch. I couldn’t.

Not when he was touching me, his body pressed into mine like he had every right. Not when his mouth–

He kissed me like it might be the last thing he ever did. It was bruising and raw, full of teeth and pain and need. But buried beneath all of that was...regret.

His hands were shaking. I shoved at him, a weak protest against his chest, like that would undo everything between us. But his body was solid and strong. Something inside me cracked when his tongue brushed against mine, and his fingers tangled in my hair like he needed the contact to breathe.

I melted.

“I need you to say it,” he rasped against my lips, voice wrecked. “Say you don’t want me, Adela. Just say it, and I’ll stop. I’ll always stop. I swear to every fucking god I’ve ever cursed.”

But I couldn’t say it because I wanted him more than I wanted air. His hands slid to the hem of my red mini-dress, rough fingers brushing my bare skin, and I gasped into his mouth. The city lights blurred behind him, and the wind tugged at my hair.

But all I could feel was him.

“I hate you,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat like they hurt to say. It sounded more like please. Please don’t stop. Please don’t make me love you more.

His eyes flickered, and his voice broke when he said, “I know. I fucking hate me, too.” His mouth moved to my throat, hot breath trailing down my skin. My mind screamed to run, but my heart…

My heart had already forgiven him. It had never stopped loving him. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I bit them back. “This doesn’t fix anything,” I whispered. “It doesn’t undo what you did.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice frayed at the edges. “Don’t think about tomorrow. Don’t think about what comes next. Just…don’t walk away from me right now. Just give me this. One more night to feel you beneath me. To taste you. Hold you. Fuck you.”

And then he kissed me again, softer this time.

It seemed like he was begging. My fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, dragging him closer.

Desperate. Needy. Already lost. His hands slipped behind my ass, pulling me against him as his kiss grew more desperate.

His kiss turned frantic, his pain flowing into me like it might drown us both.

I felt everything . Sharp cedar filled my senses, and I suddenly felt like home .

“Your body doesn’t lie to me,” he whispered, mouth brushing mine, breath ragged. “No matter what you say… it still knows. You’re mine .”

“You’re a nightmare,” I whispered back, but my words were lost when his teeth tugged at my bottom lip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a kiss that stole my breath.

“Yeah, baby,” he chuckled. “I’m your fucking nightmare.” His hands roamed over me, familiar and rough and perfect, and every brush of his skin set me on fire. My mind and heart were at war, but my body had already surrendered despite the war still waging between my mind and my heart.

“Adela,” he rasped, my name catching in his throat like it hurt to say. His voice was low, curling around my spine like smoke. He pulled back just enough to look at me, strands of dark hair falling into those beautiful, godforsaken eyes.

“What could I do that’s different from the other men?” he asked, breathless.

The words hit me like a lightning strike. Our first night. The wine. The fire in my chest. The memory bloomed with a terrible kind of sweetness, tangled up in fear and longing and something far too close to forever. I swallowed hard, blinking fast.

My heart pounded. “Make me feel alive,” I whispered.

And he smiled. That same crooked, rare smile that felt like a reward. “As you wish.”