Page 10 of Monster's Pretty Bride

At the far end of the chamber, he sleeps.

Or at least, he appears to.

Naranus lies across the massive bed, half turned away, his broad back exposed to the firelight. His wings are partially unfurled, twitching slightly as if some unseen force pulls at them. The lines of his body are rigid even in rest, every muscle carved from tension, his fingers half-curled as though he’s prepared to strike even in sleep.

The fractures along his skin glow faintly.

Thin, molten cracks spread along his shoulders, his spine, his arms, pulsing with the same unraveled energy I saw before. The effect is both grotesque and mesmerizing, his flesh fighting itself, caught between stone and something more fragile.

My grip on the dagger tightens.

This is my moment.

He is vulnerable.

This close, I can see the fine edges of his fangs resting against his lower lip, the curve of his throat where the pulse of his life beats slow, steady. I just have to move. Just have to press the blade deep enough to make it count.

A single breath.

A single strike.

My fingers tremble.

The dagger does not move.

I watch as his brows furrow, his jaw tightening as though pain drags him under, even in sleep. A sharp inhale shudders through his chest, his claws flexing against the sheets before curling again.

A sound escapes him.

Low. Rough. Not a growl.

A wince.

Something inside my stomach twists.

This is not how he was meant to look.

I was told he was a monster. A warlord wrapped in blood and cruelty, a creature who would tear through flesh without hesitation, who would revel in the suffering of my kind.

But this thing before me, this ruined god of molten wounds and restless sleep is something else entirely.

Something… broken.

The realization digs its teeth into my chest, violent and unwelcome.

I should strike.

I should slit his throat before my resolve slips further.

Instead, my feet remain planted.

A crack splinters along his shoulder, light spilling through the wound like fire through shattered stone. A hiss curls between his lips, his breathing growing heavier. His body shifts, his wings twitching, his tail flicking against the bed.

His eyes snap open.

Molten gold.

Burning. Watching.

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