Page 13 of Monster's Pretty Bride

"If you had magic," I muse, running my thumb along the delicate ridges of the chains, "you would have melted through these bindings already."

Her throat moves as she swallows. "Is that why you haven’t killed me?"

I don’t answer immediately. I let the question settle, let it burn into the silence between us.

I hold the manacles tightly and yank her forward. She stumbles into me, the full length of her body pressing against mine, the soft inhale that escapes her barely audible over the crackling embers.

Her pulse thrums against my chest.

I lower my mouth to her ear, letting my breath skate across her jaw. "No, little bride. I haven’t killed you because I enjoy watching you fight."

She exhales sharply, but she doesn’t shove me away.

Instead, her fingers tighten against the chains, her body rigid against my hold.

"You're playing a dangerous game, warlord," she murmurs, her voice steady despite the sharp edge of tension strung between us.

My claws flex against the iron. "And you're foolish enough to play it with me."

Another silence.

Then, she leans up, just slightly, just enough that the movement feels like a challenge.

"I was taught you were nothing more than a beast," she says. "A mindless monster cursed by my kind, doomed to die by my hand."

I release her wrists, stepping back just enough to look down at her fully. "And yet?"

She studies me, gaze tracing the fractures still healing along my arms, the lines of my jaw, the molten glow that still flickers beneath my skin.

"And yet, you're still here."

The words linger, softer than I expect, laced with something sharp.

I turn away before I let them sink deeper.

She will fight me. She will try again.

But she will not break. I find it more to my taste.

7

ERYSS

The stronghold is restless.

I hear it in the corridors, shifting bodies, muttered curses, the scrape of claws against the walls. Something unsettles the gargoyles, a tension coiling thick in the walls, pressing against my skin like the static before a storm.

It is not because of me.

But I’m certainly a part of it.

I press my back against the cool stone of my chamber, eyes on the heavy door that seals me inside. The manacles are gone, but the cage remains. Even unchained, I am watched.

Even unbound, I am not free.

The thought simmers, slow and hot, as I pace the length of my chamber. I press my palms against the cool stone of the balcony railing, staring down at the fortress below.

The few gargoyle sentries that remain perched along the ridges are watchful, their bodies carved from both flesh and stone, their eyes trained on the horizon.

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