Page 51 of Fated to Monsters

And for what? For the power-hungry bitch named Parla to gain some kind of advantage over the demons. She's never going to win. It's been centuries and Prania is still descending into the abyss. If only hell would swallow her whole and rid us of her reprehensible ways.

No one else has to die and if I have to kill her myself to make that happen, I will.

“Did you know anything about this?” Wes stares right into my eyes, his focus intense.

“I…”

But I don’t get a chance to answer him, and even if I did, I’m not sure what I would have said. The truth? Parts of it? How do I tell him that I was doing the very thing he’s referring to? Would he forgive me if he knew how much I hated myself for it? If I told him that I wasn’t aware, not fully, of why I was doing what I was doing? I was going off orders—doing what was commanded of me, but that doesn’t make what I did any less wrong.

I’ll never forgive my actions and that burden alone is a weight I carry through each day. Can I handle the pressure of his judgment, too?

Dash comes into the room, not at all bothered by me and Wes lying here intimately. "Hey," he says. "Sorry to interrupt, but Sydney is downstairs waiting for you."

“Oh shit.” I jump up from my spot on the bed and point to a pile of clothes on top of the dresser. “Throw me something to wear, please.”

Wes props himself onto his elbows. “Where are you off to? And should I be concerned about thisalonetime you’re spending with another man?”

I roll my eyes, rushing around the bed to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Jealousy looks cute on you.”

“Here.” Dash hands me a few items from the stack—all shades of black or dark grey.

I toss the sweater over my head and step into the leggings.

“Sit,” Dash says, kneeling in front of me with a pair of socks in his grasp.

“You don’t have to—”

Wes grabs my waist and tugs me onto the edge of the mattress. “Listen to the guy.” He nuzzles his head against my side while Dash slides a sock onto each of my feet.

“Thank you,” I tell Dash.

It’s strange to allow someone to do such a simple task, but it doesn’t fail to warm my heart at the thoughtful gesture. This isn’t the first time they’ve made it a point to do little things for me. Even in Bo’s frustrating way, he does, too. Like when he serves my rations first instead of just helping himself, or when he steps aside to let me walk through a doorway in front of him. Maybe it’s so he can get a better look at my ass, but I choose to believe it’s for something else entirely. Bo is more subtle than Wes and Dash are in their displays of affection, yet still, I feel his consideration whether he refuses to admit it’s there or not.

And maybe that’s something that I’ll have to get used to—how Bo chooses to give himself only in longing stares and those soft fleeting moments. Or even in the smile of a victory won together after a brutal battle. I could learn to love him in the manner he prefers, because isn’t that what love is about? Giveandtake, not just take. I can’t expect him to change for me but perhaps I could change for him. Or at the very least, meet him somewhere in the middle.

I slide into my boots and give Wes one last kiss, leaving him lying there like he was sent here by the angels themselves with his hair wafting onto his forehead. His sleepy gaze follows me out of the room.

“You coming?” I call out to Dash, taking a departing glance at the closed door across the hall from ours.

Tremont. Another one of life’s mysteries that has yet to be solved.

He hasn’t made a commotion or tried to escape. Sometimes I expect him to be gone, but he remains imprisoned in the room of his enemy. Is it possible that he’s familiar enough with captivity that he doesn’t desire being set free? Or have his wrongdoings finally caught up to him and made him realize that he deserves the punishment? Either way, I’m no better than him. I killed without question and stole power that was not mine for the taking.

I even enjoyed doing it and took great pleasure in becoming the most lethal of my kind.

I should be locked away the same as him.

Dash catches up to me on the stairs and distracts my mind from imploding.

“You’re coming with me, right?” I take in his gentle but masculine features and try not to lose my footing and fall down the stairs.

“You want me to?” He does a poor job hiding the grin that forms on his handsome face.

“Obviously.” I cup my hand around his biceps and continue descending.

My relationship with Dash hasn’t always been easy, but it’s never been challenging either. There have been times when I worried or had doubts or grew frustrated. He’s been a constant support and goes above and beyond to show his fondness of me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. He has been kind and optimistic despite having everything taken from him. He never gave up hope that there was something better out there, and I adore his persistence to persevere. Part of me wishes I could be more like him, but I’m not foolish enough to think my darkness wouldn’t immediately drown out that light.

Maybe that's why Bo and I can't seem to get things right—because we're too much alike. Both of us forged in the depths of our despair and fueled by the continued rage pumping through our veins.

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