Page 2 of Monster's Pretty Bride

The purna priest stiffens. “She is Eryss, your bride, Lord Naranus. A token of our devotion to?—”

“Devotion?” His wings shift, restless. “Do not insult my intelligence.” His focus never wavers, locked onto me, burning through me. “Tell me, bride. Do you tremble behind those wide eyes? Do you pray for salvation?”

I meet his stare and do something that makes the priest beside me gasp.

I smile.

“No,” I say, voice smooth as polished steel. “I do not pray. And I do not tremble.”

Something shifts in his expression. Just a flicker. A pulse of intrigue, wicked and lingering. Then, in a single breath, he moves.

One second he stands before me, the next, his hand grips my chin, tilting my face up toward his. Claws scrape against my jaw, light, teasing. Dangerous.

My heart slams against my ribcage. The moment stretches, taut as a drawn bowstring.

His breath fans against my skin, carrying the smell of charred embers and something headier, something dark. “A liar,” he murmurs, thumb pressing just beneath my lips. “Or a fool.”

The priest starts to object, but Naranus lifts his other hand, and the dark elves stiffen, weapons tightening at their sides. A silent warning.

I hold my ground. “And what does that make you?”

His lips curl. “Curious.”

Before I can react, his grip shifts, sliding lower, wrapping around the base of my throat. Not tight, not yet. Just enough to remind me who holds the leash.

But I don’t falter. I let the moment stretch. Let him look. Let him search for the fear he expects to find.

He won’t find it.

Naranus’s expression darkens, molten eyes flickering. His grip tightens, just slightly. “A purna with no fear. Strange.”

I breathe slow, measured. “A gargoyle with no mercy. Expected.”

His claws flex, and for one sharp second, I wonder if he will squeeze. If he will crush me and end this farce before it begins.

But instead, he releases me. Steps back. And without looking away, he speaks.

“The deal is struck.”

The words settle like a death sentence.

The priest exhales, relieved. The dark elves shift, eager to leave.

And Naranus watches me as if I am a puzzle he intends to take apart, piece by piece.

I breathe in deeply, ignoring the way my pulse thrums, the way the ghost of his grip lingers against my skin.

This is only the beginning.

One day, I will slit his throat and end him.

2

NARANUS

She follows.

Her steps are measured, steady, though the ground beneath her feet was not made for creatures like her. The stone bridge twists up the cliffs, jagged and unforgiving, the path barely wide enough to allow the dark elves' entourage to trail behind. But she doesn’t falter, doesn’t glance back at them for assurance. She moves as if she belongs here. As if she isn’t walking into the lion’s den with a lamb’s throat.

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