Page 122 of Monsters Wear Crowns
I glanced down at the body, then toward the door. I needed to get home. I needed to feel her legs tangled with mine, her soft sigh when I touched her, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the stars.
Adela was the only part of my life that didn’t reek of rot. And I’d kill every last man in this goddamn city to keep her safe. I looked to one of my guards. “Clean this shit up. Burn him. I’m done.” Then I turned, already pulling out my phone to send her a message.
On my way, love.
Leave the lights on.
***
ADELA
I heard him before I saw him. The bedroom door creaked open, and the heavy sound of his footsteps filled the quiet space. I glanced up from my book, already knowing.
Rafe looked like hell.
His black dress shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The collar was undone, revealing a hint of his tattooed chest. But what really made my stomach tighten was the blood. It was splattered across his arm like a cruel piece of abstract art.
And his knuckles–raw and torn.
My fingers tightened around the book. I swallowed hard.
He didn’t speak, didn’t even meet my gaze. He just exhaled slowly and began unbuttoning his shirt, his movements methodical and detached.
I set the book aside and sat up in bed, my heart thudding. “Rafe?” My voice was softer than I meant it to be. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer right away. His fingers worked the last button free, and he shrugged out of the ruined shirt, revealing the long, lean stretch of muscle beneath. He let it fall to the floor, then finally looked at me.
His eyes were dead.
Dark. Hollow.
“Weak people,” he said simply.
The pit in my stomach deepened. “That’s not an answer,” I murmured, my voice quieter now.
He let out a short, humorless laugh, toeing off his shoes before moving to the belt at his waist. “I don’t want to talk about it.” But he wasn’t shutting me out. Not completely. Even in his exhaustion, in the weight of whatever he had done tonight, he still gave mesomething.
That mattered. Perhaps I could coax it out little by little.
I licked my lips, my fingers twitching against the sheets. “You’re covered in blood.”
He didn’t react to that at first. Then, as if just realizing it, he glanced down at his arm, exhaling through his nose. “It’s not mine.”
I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make me feel better or worse.
He pushed his pants down, stepping out of them with a slow deliberateness. He was tired, his movements slightly sluggish. “One of Moreau’s men,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “He was a fucking rat. A nuisance.”
My stomach twisted.Was. I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside–fuck. Moreau had been right. Rafe was encroaching on his territory. That meant he was the bad guy here in the grand scheme of things. And yet…I looked at him. At the weight of the night dragging down his shoulders. At the bruises forming across his knuckles. At the exhaustion carving into his face.
And I still loved him.
Rafe didn’t wait for my response. He stepped into the bathroom, turning on the shower, and within seconds, steam curled into the bedroom.
I inhaled slowly, pressing my lips together. Then, exhaling, I picked my book back up and settled against the pillows. And I waited for him to come back.
***
Rafe stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around his tall, muscular frame. His damp hair was pushed back, droplets sliding down his collarbone, disappearing beneath the white towel slung low on his hips. He looked refreshed, a little less haunted, but the exhaustion still clung to him like an invisible weight. I went to set my book down, but–
