Page 109 of Monsters Carve Thrones
I nestled closer to him, just an inch. I wanted to be so much closer to him, even if it was physically fucking impossible. There were times under Waylon’s control when I honestly felt that I was going to die before I ever saw my husband again.
Rafe shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening gently as though his body sensed me reaching for him and answered without thought. I closed my eyes again, and for the first time in a long time, sleep found me gently.
***
The next time I woke up, I was alone. The sheets were rumpled beside me, faintly warm, but the weight of his arm was gone. My body ached, and deep bruises bloomed along my bones and muscles. But I felt… rested.
My head was heavy with the memory of tears. I knew there would be more, that the grief and rage hadn’t passed. But right now, I felt closer to calm.
God, trauma was weird.
I sat up slowly, stretching with a hiss as soreness lanced through my ribs. Bruises, no doubt. Cuts too. My wrists still throbbed where the cuffs had cut into my skin. But I was clean, dressed, and warm.
I was free.
Padding barefoot into the suite’s living room, I froze at the sight in front of me. Rafe, Laura, Nico, and Kieran hovered around, talking quietly. It felt so... normal. Nico stood at the kitchenette stove flipping pancakes, his dark curls a mess, shirthalf-buttoned. The smell of coffee and syrup made my stomach growl so loudly that Kieran turned.
“There she is,” he said with a soft smile, voice gentle like he was afraid he’d shatter me if it was too loud.
Rafe turned, too. He was shirtless in gray sweats, his shoulder wrapped in white gauze. Even bandaged and bruised, he looked like a god–feral and furious and beautiful. His eyes found mine, and he smiled like nothing else in the world existed.
Laura came closer. “How are you feeling?” she asked carefully.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to answer honestly. “Better. Sore. But… better.”
Her shoulders dropped a little, relief softening her features. “You look more like you.”
I glanced down at the oversized flowy shirt and black leggings she’d given me the night before. The leggings still made my stomach feel a little queasy, but I was wearing them. I had been Waylon’s, just like the woman before me whose clothes I was forced to wear. I swore that I could still smell her perfume.
Nico handed me a plate with two fat pancakes and sliced strawberries.
My hands shook as I took it. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“You need to eat,” he said. “Your body’s gonna need time.”
Rafe stepped forward and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his hand resting gently on the small of my back. “Tomorrow,” he said softly, “we go home.”
Home.
My chest crumpled like paper. My throat burned. I almost started crying again right there in the middle of the breakfast table.
Home.
I looked up at him, trying to breathe, trying to hold it together. “Where… are we?”
They all paused. Shared glances.
“Moscow,” Rafe said finally. “We’re in Moscow.”
I blinked.Russia. A part of me figured that, with Olesya’s accent and all–
Olesya.I sucked in a quick breath.
Rafe must’ve seen something flicker across my face because he stepped closer, brushing a hand along my spine. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Where is Olesya? Is she safe?” My heart sped up.
He smiled. “Yes, she is. She’s in the next room, actually. I gave her enough money to start a new life.”
