Page 108 of Monsters in Love

Memories burned the backs of her eyes, and she bowed her head against the sudden rush of grief.

Oh, Thomas.

If only you’d found refuge.

Fighting back tears, she took a small bite and chewed thoughtfully. The taste sent her straight back to the fields, into the bitter-sweet memory of the first time she’d made the cakes for Thomas. Stone-ground grain, water, yeast and a dash of salt—bound together with a few drops of lard. A common enough recipe, with easy ingredients.

Yet each baker used their own amounts.

Specific amounts, as unique to that baker as brush strokes were to a painter, or needlework to a seamstress.

Her brow furrowed, and she stared at the biscuit in her hands. This biscuit wasn’t just like the ones she’d made for Thomas, it washerrecipe.

But that was impossible.

Surely, I’m mistaken.

She missed Thomas, that was all. Sitting here, safe in the nightmare that had taken him, had brought a fresh edge to her grief and stirred the line between present and memory. Still… she didn’t need to be an expert baker to recognize the ingredients—or their relative amounts. For all her failings, her mother had taught her well in this area.

She took another bite—larger this time. Her gaze flickered between the creature and the stove as she chewed, dissecting the flavors on her tongue. Years of experience in the kitchen let her gauge the ratios of flour to yeast to salt, let her test the bread’s texture for proof of kneading.

Ten solid turns.

A half hour of proving.

Just enough lard to bind, without making it greasy.

“This is my recipe,” she whispered, staring hard at the demon. Her chest was tight, her heart pounding. “How can you possibly know it?”

Hands poised over the fire, the creature froze in the middle of flipping another cake. The half-baked biscuit fell from wooden tongs into the flames. He didn’t try to retrieve the cake or put the tongs down. He sat perfectly still, his gaze darting to hers.

She looked into his eyes—truly looked.

When they’d arrived at this space, she’d noticed they were brown and kind. Yet, her tired mind hadn’t processed what that meant, hadn't reallyseen. That passing glimpse hadn’t been enough.

Here, with his gaze boring into hers, she found everything she’d missed the night before. His eyes weren’t the burning yellow or terrifying red that had hunted her and Emmi in the tunnels. But it was more than that. So much more. Because these eyes were the warm, rich brown of perfectly tempered chocolate that had just been taken off the heat. A color that spoke of kindness and put all manner of beasts at ease while it tended their wounds.

She’d only known one man with eyes that exact shade.

The one man she’d loved with all her heart.

The man who’d died in the tunnels.

Her heart lurched in her chest, as if it toppled off an invisible cliff. The silver ring she’d never removed grew hot against her skin. And the remaining biscuit slipped from her fingertips and fell to the floor. “Th…Thomas?”

The creature stared at Isabelle, that painfully familiar gaze boring into her very soul. “Thomas is dead.”

“No.” Belle lurched off the stool. “That’s not so.”

Breath shuddering in her chest, hands flexing into fists at her sides, she looked at him in disbelief. Why was he pretending? She knew the unique recipe of those cakes, and she knew those eyes. Maybe it should have been impossible, maybe she should have been wrong.

But she wasn’t.

This creature claimed that her Thomas was dead, yet he was just like him. Huge and kind and always ready to stand between her and danger. This had to be why she’d felt inexplicably safe with him. Her love was alive in this creature. Or, if not alive, then not entirely gone.

Pieces of him lingered, even if they were changed.

Fallen Gods of Gold and Scale.

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