Page 58 of Monsters Like Us
Micah’s heavy arm drapes across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. He’s never been a deep sleeper, but with me in his arms, he’s out cold, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
I lie still, memorizing it. The weight of him. The safety that only feels real when he’s wrapped around me like this. For the first time since Holloway, I don’t feel like prey.
I feel alive.
The bed creaks when I shift, and his arm tightens instantly, dragging me back against him. “Don’t,” he rasps, his voice shredded from panting and moaning last night. His lips brush my shoulder. “Stay.”
I twist in his hold until I can see his face. The shadows under his eyes are deep, his jaw rough with stubble, but his pupils are soft now, not black with rage. Just watching me.
“I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” My fingers trace his jawline. “You slept,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches—something almost like a smile. “Because you were here.”
My chest aches, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I kiss him, slow and lingering, tasting the promise in it. His hand cups the back of my head, gentle where he was brutal before. When we part, I brush my thumb along the bandages covering the cut on his arm from Corinne’s scalpel.
“You need stitches.”
He shrugs, already dismissing it. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I murmur.
That makes him pause. His eyes flicker, like he’s not used to someone claiming his pain, treating it like it belongs to both of us.
“We’ll find more supplies today,” I add. “Food. Better bandages. Maybe even pretty, soft blankets.”
His hand slides down my side, anchoring at my hip. “We’ll find whatever you want. As long as we’re together.”
The words aren’t romantic—not in the way most people would think—but they brand me deeper than any love poem ever could.
I press my forehead to his, whispering against his mouth, “Together.”
Outside, the wind rattles through the trees, carrying the crisp bite of late October. It’s Halloween morning. We’re two fugitives with nothing but stolen clothes, food, and each other.
But lying in that bed, bruised and marked, I don’t feel broken anymore. I feel dangerous.
Because we’re not just survivors.
We’re monsters.
And monsters always find a way.
CHAPTER 49
Katana
Days pass.The sun rises and sets. We’re together every single moment, and that’s all that matters to me. To him. To us.
I curl beside him in our bed. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer. His body heat warms me, and the safety and security I feel in his embrace is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Something I’ll feel every day until we take our last breath.
Closing my eyes, I let sleep pull me under.
The first thingI feel is warmth.
Not the heat of machines, not the burn of electricity, but real warmth. The heavy quilt smells faintly of sex, woodsmoke, and pine. For a moment, I think I’m dreaming, that I’ll wake to chains and concrete. But then my eyes flutter open and I see him.
Micah.
He’s sprawled on his back beside me, his hair a dark tangleagainst the pillow, lips parted in sleep. His chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm, the scars that cut across his body exposed in the pale morning light slipping through the dirty, cracked blinds. Dangerous. Savage.Mine.
