Page 17 of Monster's Pretty Bride

She is waiting.

For another chance to strike.

For another moment of weakness.

A sharp exhale forces its way through my chest, but the sensation that follows is worse. My hands twitch as the fractures along my arms pulse again, the glow seeping through my skin, aching from the inside out.

Unraveling. Splintering.

I drag a clawed hand through my hair, pacing. I should send for the healer. The cracks are deeper than before, spreading along my ribs, creeping toward my throat. The magic does not heal as it once did. It lingers, burns slow, like a beast gnawing its way through my bones.

It is getting worse.

And she saw.

I inhale sharply, pushing the thought aside. I need to focus. The dark elves are watching, the rogue gargoyle factions are waiting for the right moment to move against me, and my own kind doubts my strength. The purna’s presence here was never meant to be an offering. She is a blade sent to cut me down.

Yet, the longer she lingers, the less she resembles a weapon and the more she becomes a question.

A knock echoes against the chamber doors.

I turn, my wings shifting, irritation flickering at the edges of my fraying temper.

“Enter.”

The door creaks open, and she steps through.

Not a guard.

Not a messenger.

Her.

I go still.

She’s wearing leather and dark fabric that moves with her body, hugging the sharp lines of her frame, and I can’t help but run my eyes all over her. Her bare arms are lean with muscle, her shoulders set in that same defiant way, as if daring me to command her to kneel.

The silence stretches, thick and charged, neither of us willing to break it.

I exhale. “You should not be here.”

Eryss tilts her head. “No guards stopped me.”

I smirk. “That does not mean you are welcome.”

A flicker of amusement crosses her features. Or maybe it is something else. Something sharper.

“I watched you tonight.” Her voice is smooth, measured, but I hear the edge beneath it. “I watched as you nearly ripped your own man apart.”

I arch a brow. “Did it disappoint you?”

Her fingers flex at her sides, but she does not step back. “No.”

I chuckle, low and slow. “And why did you follow me, little bride? Hoping to see me bleed? Or did you come to finish what you started?”

Her expression does not change. “Would you let me?”

I move.

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