Page 24 of Forgotten Monsters
For him, I think it’s still an indulgence. A moment of pretend, like he’s happy to lose his mind in the impossibility of my existence and run with it for a few delirious laps.
Without looking, he tears the chains straight off the beam, his biceps straining at the effort. Chunks of wood fall along with them, and I both marvel and cower at the new ridges in his arm, the new shape of his chest. I link my arms around his neck, and the metal links cascade down his back. Skin, tongues, and lips fight for friction.
Until I pull away.
“How long was I gone?” A question that scares me more than this shredded, anachronistic Cole.
He doesn’t answer. In the tick of his jaw and the terrible squint of his eyes, I can tell the answer will ruin me. A couple of years, maybe? Gods, let it not be more than three…
He packs me over his shoulder, holding the back of my knees. Another round of fire melts my insides as I abandon myself to his grasp, content that the slice-me-darling section of our reunion is over.
Despite the shock, thirst, and mind-boggling revelations, a thrill tickles through me. The spicy scent of leather and peaches soothes my raw nerves. I’m home.
A grassy path wide enough to count as a road awaits us outside. Across from the interrogation tent, an immense black and gold marquee bristles in the wind. Two soldiers stiffen at our approach, but Cole barrels past them.
Contrary to the one they chained me in, Cole’s tent is cozy and warm. Magic lights flicker in heavy-duty metal cubes, the light boxes stacked on top of one another in the corners. The war room holds a large table, weapons, and a few comfortable seats, the grass covered with a thick carpet.
Fae do war in style.
Jameson spins around to face us. “You were quite quick—”
Cole raises his index finger. “Not a word.” He navigates through the many rooms of the marquee. Past the war room, I catch glimpses of a dining room, a kitchen, a bedroom…
Identical square boxes light the Fae King’s bed, the black covers perfectly tucked over the double-sized mattress. Crates pepper the corner, each of them easy to pick up and move should the need arise.
“You downgraded your bed,” I tease.
Cole acknowledges my attempt at light conversation with a grunt.
My heart pulses, a sore wound in my chest, but I can’t help but try to lighten the mood. Everything changed while I was gone, and I’m sure being Fae queen will be the least of my worries. The details of the royal war tent are an excuse not to ask more questions, a reprieve from all the answers that could destroy me.
Cole doesn’t spread me on his bed as I’d hoped. Instead, he hauls me to the back of the bedroom, the space occupied by a free-standing tub. Fluffy, white towels hang from a rack nearby.
Cole deposits me to my feet, grabs a small flask on the vanity, and drops it inside the golden tub. Instantly, it fills to the brim.
Bubbles glisten in the warm light of the tent.
I blink a few times. “You want me to take a bath? Now?”
“Yes.”
Sometimes, life just throws you a bubble bath.
A large oval-shaped mirror behind the tub reflects the absurdity of the situation as Cole breaks the link between the metal shackles and pulls the chains off, leaving the metal bracelets on.
He crosses his arms over his chest, his feet firmly planted in the plush carpet at our feet.
Heat licks my ribs. “You want me to bathein front of you?”
“I need to examine you without all that mud, and I’m not letting aprisonerout of my sight.”
“Cole. I mean—I’m all for some personal hygiene, but—”
He slithers forward. “Do it.”
“Alright. Alright.”
I peel off the muddy clothes, the pants and underwear first, my shirt long enough to cover my ass. I fumble with the thin camisole. Dust and grime have fused the fabric to my skin.
