Page 71 of Fated to Monsters

Without making a sound, I scoot from under the covers and inch to the foot of the bed. Then, I hop over and onto the floor.

I hug the loose sweater around my chest and tiptoe through the room, the door creaking on my way out and almost giving me up. The hall is quiet and desolate, and it welcomes me with its solitude. My footsteps silently descend the stairs, and once I'm at the bottom, I release the breath I had been holding. Sydney's house is vast and has an eerie ambiance to it that only comes with the memories of something terrible.

Growing up the way that I did, I’m familiar with tragedy.

Every single person in this house has their own trauma.

Maybe that’s why we get along, because we share in the agony of what our past has dealt us. The real test is what we choose to do with our suffering. We can inflict that same pain on others in an attempt to settle the score, or we can overcome the hardships we’ve experienced.

Dash is a perfect example of someone who perseveres despite everything that's happened to him. And Bo and I are the opposite, we have taken our past and allowed it to shape us into the murderous psychopaths we are today.

I want to do better. Be better. But it’s hard when that innate desire to kill still remains.

At least now I’ve channeled it into wanting to end Parla and free Prania from her hold.

But how will I be successful if I’m here, in Arthlia?

My entire life, I’ve never thought it was possible to escape Prania. People talked about it in hushed conversations or drunken moments. It was a fever dream that could never come true. Yet I am living proof that there is more out there than the forsaken remnants of my homeland.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His deep voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

“No.” I shut the fridge, empty-handed, and consider snatching a banana off the counter. I don’t. “You?”

Bo leans there in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. The grey sweatpants he’s wearing leave little to the imagination. “No.”

I stalk toward him with every intention to go right by and back up the stairs.

“Can we talk?” he says when I’m inches from him.

I pause in the doorway but don’t look up at his ruggedly handsome face. “Now you want to talk?”

“Yes.”

“What’s left to say, Bo?”

He slams his hand up on the doorframe, caging me between it and him. Bo takes his other hand to grip my jaw and tilt my head toward him. His dark gaze darts between mine like he’s trying to say something without words.

But doesn’t he know I can’t read his fucking mind?

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispers.

I swallow at his nearness—his breath that kisses my cheek. “Explain it to me.”

His thumb grazes my bottom lip. He leans in closer and inhales, his eyes widening. “You’re bleeding.”

“What? No, I’m not.” I turn my hands over in front of me and examine my arms. “I’m fine.”

Bo drops to his knees, his hands on my hips. He drags his nose over my crotch. “Birdie.” He stares at me through his thick, dark lashes. “I want to taste you.” Bo clutches the sides of my bottoms. “I need you to stop me.”

But how can I do that when it goes against every desire consuming me?

“No,” I tell him. “I won’t.”

“You’re giving me permission?” The defiant alpha doesn’t move, not even when I nod. “I need you to say it, Birdie.”

“You have permission.”

His chest rises and falls dramatically, and he yanks my sweats over my ass, along with my panties, exposing me to anyone who might walk by. Bo inches closer and grinds his nose against me, only this time, I’m no longer covered by clothing. “Fuck,” he moans.

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