Page 22 of Monsters Carve Thrones
The third turned to run. Rafe was faster, closing the distance before grabbing the man by the collar and smashing his face into the crate. He kept going until it broke open like fruit.
The last screamed something desperate and lunged at me with a knife. I sidestepped, caught his arm, and drove the blade into his own gut before pushing him backward. He collapsed, eyes wide, mouth open like a fish, gurgling blood.
Silence settled, aside from my steady breathing.
I turned toward Rafe. He was already watching me, expression proud and possessive. And perhaps just a little aroused.
Damien Voss clapped. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Utterly fucking beautiful.”
Rafe didn’t smile. “This stays clean. Or next time it’s you.”
Voss nodded quickly.
My hand shook slightly as I lowered the gun. Not from nerves, but from adrenaline. And then my gaze drifted back to Waylon. Still there, watching. He didn’t flinch or even speak. Just gave me the smallest smile before slipping out through the side door like he’d never been there at all.
I didn’t like that. But he’d conceded when Rafe absorbed Moreau’s business...so fuck him. I stood in the middle of a room full of corpses, blood soaking my boots, and felt… nothing.
Not horror. Not guilt.
Just a strange sense of purpose. A calm hum in my chest. My father would’ve been proud of me, I think. I glanced at Rafe, who was already walking toward me. When he reached me, he didn’t speak. He just took the gun from my hand and ran his fingers over my blood-smeared wrist like it was art.
We left the warehouse together, feared and respected. Gods in a world of monsters.
The SUV was quiet, the low hum of the engine barely audible beneath the weight of everything we’d just done. My pulse still hadn’t fully settled. I could feel it in the tips of my fingers.
Rafe drove one-handed, the other resting on his thigh. His shirt was rumpled, his jaw streaked with drying blood. I was watching him through the reflection in the window, but I could feel his gaze burning into the side of my face.
I turned to him slowly, catching the heat in his eyes. “You’re staring,” I murmured.
His voice was rough. “You were fucking impressive. As always. I couldn’t have found a better queen to run the city with me.”
A thrill rolled through me. “I am always impressive,” I said lightly.
He reached across the console and ran the back of his fingers along the inside of my thigh, dragging them up slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “You didn’t hesitate. Not once.”
I looked over at him again, this time really looking, and smiled. “You’ve got blood on your jaw.”
He smirked. “Leave it.”
My heart skipped. God, he was so alive after these nights. This was when the monster in him breathed the deepest, and it always pulled the wildest version of me to the surface, too.
I leaned back in the seat and let my eyes drift closed. “I did see someone, though.”
He glanced at me.
I opened my eyes. “Waylon.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I saw him, too. Lurking near the edge like he wanted to be forgotten.”
“He looked at me weird.”
Rafe didn’t speak for a moment. The air in the car shifted. “He’s been quiet since Moreau’s death,” he finally said. “But I’ve had eyes on him. Mostly small-time deals. Side partnerships. Nothing major yet.”
“I don’t like the way he looked at me,” I murmured.
“I’ll be on the lookout,” he said, his voice darkening. “And you should be, too.”
I nodded slowly, but he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.
