Page 11 of To Love a Monster (Oaths & Obsessions #1)

Nikolai

T he bar smells like cheap whiskey and desperation.

Not the kind that screams. It seeps. Slow and sticky.

The air is thick with fryer grease and old sweat, humid with the remnants of spilled beer and breath that’s been passed between too many mouths.

It clings to my skin and seeps into my clothes like something I’ll never scrub out.

Laughter spills from a table near the jukebox, shrill and synthetic, a sound born from watered-down cocktails and people trying too hard to forget they exist.

Some twangy country heartbreak wails low in the background, crooning about loss and pain like it knows a goddamn thing.

I sit in the corner booth with my back to the wall and my eyes on the exits.

One hand is wrapped around a sweating pint I have no intention of drinking, the other is scrolling through a cracked burner phone.

I came here to clear my mind a bit, to put some distance between myself and Lila before I lost control.

I saw the whole interaction from the darkness of the trees.

From when she noticed him and when she smiled, to the head tilt and the way she tucked her hair behind her ear like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

I’ve memorized every tell. Every involuntary twitch that gives her away.

That particular one? She does it when she’s nervous.

When she’s interested. And Carl saw it too.

He leaned closer to her like he’d earned it.

Like proximity made him worthy. Like he was anything more than disposable.

My jaw tightens at the memory and I clench the beer glass just to feel something other than anger.

He looked at her with slow hunger, let his gaze trail down her neck, linger at her legs. And she, fuck , she laughed.

Not the laugh she gives strangers. This one was quieter, almost sincere, like she let him in for a second. He doesn’t deserve that. Not her voice, not her time, not the curl of her lips around a grin that should’ve been mine.

After that, I made sure that Carl disappeared back into his cabin before I left and checked in on Lila only to be sure that she was safely tucked inside, painting and getting on with her day. Then I decided to just give myself a screen break. But now I’m finding myself itching to watch her again.

Eventually I give in and decide to watch the video feed.

There are no lights on and no movement. My stomach drops, sharp and sudden.

Like the floor’s been ripped out from under me.

I freeze, eyes locked on the grainy screen, willing it to shift.

To flicker. To show me her silhouette moving through the living room or the studio or the kitchen.

But there’s nothing. I slam the phone down, feel my pulse against the cracked screen.

My vision blurs and everything is white noise and fire.

A consuming need. I came to the bar to let these feelings settle.

I left the woods because if I watched her any longer I’d have ended him for simply standing too close.

But now there’s no movement. No silhouette, no Lila. Just the excruciating quiet.

I shift forward in the booth, one knee bouncing under the table like it’s trying to outrun what I already know. My jaw ticks and my vision pulses. The chair skids hard across the floor and I leave the pint behind, untouched.

The cold night air doesn’t cool the heat under my skin.

If anything, it just sharpens it. Makes it jagged.

My boots hit the asphalt hard as I stalk toward my bike.

Where the fuck is she? I scroll through the cameras again as I walk, but each frame is the same.

Her porch light is out, the curtains are all drawn, the inside is too still.

I check all the timestamps to make sure it’s streaming in real time.

Refresh the screen, but nothing changes.

The ride back is a blur of wind, tension, and the low growl of the engine.

When I reach her house, it’s as I expected, completely cloaked in darkness.

Locked and empty. I do a full sweep, window by window, door by door, like a soldier returning to a battlefield he’s already claimed once before.

But there’s no broken glass, no scuff marks and no sign of a struggle.

Which means she left on her own. And there’s only one place she could’ve gone. The name is bitter on my tongue.

Carl.

I cut through the trees between empty houses like a blade carving through soft flesh.

My body moves without asking permission as I reach the tree line near his cabin and tuck myself into shadow.

She’s in leggings and one of those oversized sweaters that hangs too wide at the neck.

It slides down her shoulder like an invitation.

She’s glowing in the lamplight. Warm, golden, and soft. Like she’s truly happy and content in his presence. But it’s a fucking lie. I pull my phone out and type before I can think better of it.

What are you doing, little lamb?

I watch her check it and smile before her fingers fly across the screen as she types back.

What you told me to.

The air in my lungs turns to flame, hot, slow, and suffocating.

At first, I just stare. Reading the message once.

Twice. A third time. Like the words might change if I blink hard enough.

And then it hits me. She’s going to do it.

She’s actually going through with it, going to let him touch her. She’s fucking challenging me.

My fingers tighten around the phone so hard the case creaks.

My jaw locks and my muscles coil, blood pulsing like a drumline in my ears.

Because she’s not just disobeying, she’s taunting me.

Testing me. Dangling her throat in front of a wolf just to see how sharp his teeth are.

Just to see if he’ll bite down hard enough to draw blood.

She wants to know if I’ll break, wants to see if she can make me lose control. She fucking will. I can feel it fraying at the edges, unraveling one breath at a time. My hand trembles as I type the words back.

Don’t you dare.

But even as I hit SEND, I know it’s already too late.

Because in her mind, she’s already unzipped him.

Already decided to use his touch like a weapon aimed at me.

And I feel it, that sick, violent twist in my gut.

Jealousy doesn’t cover it. What I feel is pure, untamed rage .

It’s the kind of possessive fury that makes monsters out of men.

The kind that has me seeing red as I picture her spread out beneath him, and makes me want to wrap my hands around his scrawny fucking neck.

I want to tear the door off its hinges, rip the roof from the house and drag her out. Remind her that She. Is. Mine.

She wants to test me? She’s about to learn that obsession doesn’t wait. It devours.

My hands shake with rage and restraint. I want to rip Carl apart at the seams and make her watch while I paint the walls red with her mistake.

But I don’t. Because something captures my attention.

Carl’s voice. Somewhere inside. Low and smug.

I sneak around the side of the house where Carl stands in his bedroom.

His voice low as he speaks into his phone.

“...Yeah. She came over on her own. Told you she would. I didn’t even have to push.

” A pause. “She’s sweet. A little skittish but curious.

I’ll have my fun while we wait for the signal.

No point letting a body like that go to waste.

” The world tilts as he heads out and makes his way back to her.

My hands curl into fists so tight my nails break skin.

I feel the blood pool in my palm like it’s asking for permission as I watch them drink wine, flirt, and move to the living room.

I can’t breathe, can’t blink. But now I wait.

I have to wait. Because I need to report this to Matteo, I’m still on a mission and we might need more information from Carl.

Although I want nothing more than to rip his throat out and make him eat it, I know that I need a better plan.

I need to be strategic. Careful. If he’s been sent by one of Matteo’s enemies, I need to find out as much as I can before I kill him.

She leans closer to him and laughs again before reaching out and touching his leg.

My jaw almost cracks under the pressure as I pull my phone from my jacket and start dialing Matteo.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer. “Pick up, you bastard,” I growl under my breath, pacing like a caged animal in the shadows, the phone pressed tight to my ear. Four. Five. Voicemail.

“Fucking fuck,” I hiss, snapping the phone away from my face. My fingers twitch and my vision tunnels. Rage thickens behind my eyes until the trees blur. I circle the house again and reach the living room window just in time to see him kiss her.

What. The. Fuck. My grip on the siding tightens until the wood cracks beneath my palm. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.

I call her. She declines it. Her face unreadable and her voice too soft to make out what she says next.

His one hand disappears under the fabric of her hoodie and I go still. The other is on her thigh now, and his mouth moves to her neck. She arches into him, her hips shifting. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt like she’s bracing for the fall.

His hand disappears beneath the hem of her leggings.

And I know. I know that look. Her mouth parts and her head falls back.

Her body offers itself and that sound, that sound , even through the fucking glass, I hear it.

I watch his fingers move frantically beneath her leggings and hear her moan.

Her legs start to tremble like she’s about to come.

No . No one makes her come but me. That pleasure is mine .

That sound belongs to me . Not his fingers.

Not his mouth. I don’t wait. I can’t. Because if I wait any longer, she’s going to break me.

This is what she wanted. I fucking warned her and she still went ahead and did it.

She just couldn’t play along and wait like a good girl.

She wanted me to come for her. Forced me to act now. And now there is no more holding back.

Without thinking, I reach down, grab the nearest rock I can find, and launch it straight through the living room window. Glass explodes, sharp and bright like lightning breaking the sky. Inside, she jolts and Carl shouts, but I don’t stop.

I throw another rock, sending it crashing through the bedroom window. Then another through the kitchen. I circle the house like a predator with blood in his teeth. And this? This is just a warning.

Carl bolts for the door, barefoot and stupid, yelling into the dark like it’ll answer back.

I disappear into the trees to where neither of them can see me.

But I see them. She steps out next, slower.

Her arms are crossed as she scans the dark like she knows I’m there.

Because she feels me. She always does. Carl says something, maybe trying to explain, apologize, or convince her to come back inside.

But she’s not listening, instead she mumbles something before turning and walking away. She doesn’t let him follow, doesn’t give him a second glance. Just leaves him standing there in the doorway.

Because deep down, under the rebellion and under the fight, she knows she’s pissed me off and she knows it’s time to face the demon she worked so hard to summon.

So I follow. Not close enough to be seen, not yet, just far enough to watch the tension in her back, the way her fists are clenched in her sleeves, the uneven edge of her breath as it curls out into the cold.

She’s shaking, but not just from fear, from adrenaline, but from knowing what’s coming for her. Who’s coming for her.

She cuts back toward her cabin, taking the fastest path through the woods, like she can actually outrun me now.

I keep my eyes on her and stay in the tree line, trailing her as the first drops of rain start to fall.

Thunder cracks overhead as she reaches the edge of her property and starts unlocking the door.

I watch her fumble with her keys as I pull out my phone and send a text.

You knew exactly what you were doing tonight.

She doesn’t look at her phone when it buzzes in her hand, not right away, but I know she feels it. Feels the heat of the leash tightening around her throat. Feels me . Her fingers twitch and her pace slows as I send another. She won’t escape me tonight, not after the little stunt she just pulled.

Did he feel good, little lamb? Did you like knowing I was watching while you let him touch you?

She stops, barely for a breath, but enough for me to see the tremble start at her spine. Before she enters the house, she glances over her shoulder, and I let her see me standing in the shadows. I take a step closer. Silent and slow. I send three texts in a row and watch as it buzzes in her hand.

You don’t get to act surprised when I come for you.

You were begging for it.

You opened your legs for another man just to see if I’d come unhinged.

And now? I’m going to fuck the disobedience out of you.

I’m going to make your body forget the feeling of him inside you.

You didn’t just ask for punishment tonight, little lamb .

.. you begged to be broken. And I heard you. Loud. And. Fucking. Clear.

The phone lights again in her hand. She reads it but doesn’t reply.

She doesn’t have to. I move in closer, no longer bothering to mask the sound of my steps.

Let her hear me. Let her feel the weight of me closing in.

Because if she wanted me to stay away? She wouldn’t have gone to him.

She wouldn’t have opened her legs like she was trying to crawl out of my reach.

She did it to provoke me. And now? Now she’s going to get exactly what she asked for.

Every inch of my fury. Every second of my restraint snapping.

I’m not just going to fuck her, I’m going to rewrite her.

Break her open and fill every hollow space with my name, my breath, my fucking madness, until the only thing she recognizes in the mirror is what I left behind