Page 9 of Monster's Pretty Bride

The word is guttural, barely understandable.

I turn sharply, striding away from the arena, away from the watchful gazes that will only see weakness in the cracks beneath my skin.

Behind me, the woman watches.

She does not follow.

She does not kneel.

Damn me, but I think I almost respect her for it.

5

ERYSS

The stronghold breathes around me.

Not the way a living thing does, not with lungs and heartbeat, but with stone shifting, with the hum of something ancient curling through the walls. The fortress pulses with magic buried so deep in its bones that even now, creeping through its corridors with the enchanted dagger pressed against my thigh, I feel it pressing against my skin.

I shouldn’t be here.

The thought is useless.

I am already moving, bare feet silent against the cold floor, my body pressed to the shadows. My pulse thrums, each measured step keeping time with the flickering torches that line the hallway. The entrance to Naranus’s chambers looms ahead, massive iron doors marked with sigils I don’t recognize. The runes glow faintly, a deep embered red, as if carved from molten rock.

A warning. Or a challenge.

I exhale through my nose and press forward.

Two guards stand at the threshold, their enormous, stone-blooded bodies cast in sharp relief by the firelight. Their wings are folded tight against their backs, tails flicking with restless energy. They don’t speak. They barely move. But their presence is a barricade, a reminder that no one enters the chambers of their warlord without consequence.

My hold on the dagger’s hilt tightens, and I lower myself into a crouch, pressing my back against the cold stone.

I wait.

A flicker of movement, one of the guards shifts, cracking his neck, muttering something under his breath. The other exhales sharply, wings twitching. They are growing restless.

Good.

I reach into the band at my hip and retrieve the vial tucked against my waist. The liquid inside swirls, dark and thick as ink, its smell sharp even through the glass. It’s not a weapon, not in the traditional sense. But it’s useful.

I hurl it against the wall behind them.

The vial shatters. The contents splatter.

The effect is instant.

The smell of burning resin floods the hallway, curling in thick, acrid waves. The guards react immediately, snapping their heads toward the noise, their bodies tensing. One lets out a guttural curse, his face twisting. “What in the?—”

I move before he can finish.

I slip past them, into the chamber beyond, my body a streak of shadow against the threshold.

The doors shut behind me, cutting off the sound of their confusion.

Silence.

The room stretches before me, vast and cavernous, the walls lined with ancient stone carvings, the ceiling lost in darkness. The space is designed for something larger than human comfort. Tapestries hang in thick swathes of crimson and black, their woven sigils stitched in the same script I have yet to decipher. The air is thick, warm and laced with something electric.

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