Page 37 of Fated to Monsters

I blink and come to terms with the fact that Arthlia is sounding less and less fun by the minute. But with these strict rules, the burden of being constantly in a state of worry reduces. If Prania had these types of laws, maybe things wouldn't have been in total anarchy.

“What’s tax evasion?” Dash asks.

“Citizens of the United States have a duty to pay taxes on the income they make. Some people try to avoid doing so, for various reasons. But if the government finds out, you can be charged with tax evasion.”

“What do they do with the taxes? The government?” Dash leans forward a bit in his seat.

"It depends on which level. There are taxes at the city level, all the way up to the federal. A lot of it goes to funding public services for things like health care, education, and transportation. They spend it on our military, um, what else, I don't know, there's probably a website I could find with more information if you're really invested in the topic."

“No, I was just curious. It’s fascinating.” Dash smiles softly.

Sydney turns the car again, but this time, we pull onto a one-lane road with no yellow or white lines like the rest. He drives slower, barely moving us down the long lane. "This is where we live, Willow and the rest of us."

My mouth goes dry, and my hands sweat within seconds of hearing the words leave his mouth.

A house that rivals the size of Sydney’s comes into view. The lane circles around the front, making a perfect loop in front of the massive structure. Greenery weaves its way up the sides of the building, and perfectly sculpted shrubs line the entryway.

“You guys arerichrich.” Dash says the thing that was on my mind, too.

Sydney laughs. “We inherited this home shortly after Willow became head of the supernatural council. We’re fortunate for the resources that were provided for us. Not everyone is so lucky.”

I had safe houses back in Prania, but none of them weremine. They were property of Parla and the hunter’s organization. I only got them when I advanced through the ranks and proved what I could do for them. Other hunters weren’t living the way I did because they weren’t as skilled as me. I got preferential treatment because I worked my ass off for it. I vetted the witches that spelled the houses, but I only had access to them through my position working for Parla.

Witches. That reminds me of what Parla had been angry about at Rockbridge. She claimed I was working with a witch to stop her from harvesting the demonic power I had been harnessing from those that I killed and consumed. What if that had something to do with what Sydney had told me—of my bloodline being connected to Willows? Was itmypowers that stopped her from taking what was mine? How strange that Willow fought a war to regain the magic that was stolen from her, and here I was, doing the same fucking thing to demons? The similarities are chilling.

I’d love to know the truth that Parla was asking for, but I’d have to confess to my crimes, and I don’t think I’m ready to face the ghosts of those demons just yet.

The punishment of losing the people I care for is far worse than anything agovernmentcould do to me.

11

Wren

Ihold my breath upon crossing the threshold into Willow’s home.

Dash slides his fingers through mine, and it’s like I can breathe again, the comfort of his touch holding me together. He always has a way of settling my soul in times of disarray.

He smiles and my heart warms to his presence.

“This way,” Sydney says, guiding us through the entry.

Two staircases hug the walls on both sides, curving and leading up to a second story with an open walkway. The floor is made up of something hard and shiny, like a polished rock that had been cut into perfectly sized squares and laid with such ease that not a piece is out of place. A mirror hangs on a wall we pass, the gold frame of it beautiful in a peculiar kind of manner.

Our footsteps patter on a hard surface, then on a long rug, winding us through the labyrinth of this home before Sydney brings us to a halt.

“Wait here.” Sydney points toward a sitting area. “I’ll be right back for you.”

He disappears through a door, the thing almost closing but not quite latching all the way shut.

Dash settles into one of the seats without question, his palms rubbing the arms of the chair. “This is nice.”

I appreciate the carelessness in his demeanor and how he’s not bothered by the unknowns of this world. He goes with the flow and despite having a nightmare that quite literally hurt him, he doesn’t seem impacted by it.

Or, he’s just really good at masking what’s wrong.

I hate to think something could upset him and I wouldn’t know about it. Out of the three men in my life, he’s the one I want to shield the most from harm. Bo and Wes are supernaturally strong and capable of fighting their own battles, and it’s not that Dash isn’t, but he isn’t as equipped as the rest of us; naturally, my concern falls mostly to him.

Dash is pure, and he deserves more than this world has to offer.

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