Page 13 of Monster Mate

If it had been arson, at least he could hunt the responsible party down and make sure they died slowly, painfully, screaming for mercy that would never come because he was going to—

The tiniest, weakest, most gloriously beautiful groan he’d ever heard rose from his queen’s lips. Her nose scrunched up and her forehead wrinkled as she fought her way back to consciousness. Back to him.

He tightened his grip on her hand ever so slightly. “Wake up, sweetheart. It’s time to open your eyes.”

Her answering disgruntled rumble made him smile. “Open your eyes,” he repeated, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Roxie’s lovely eyes finally—finally!—fluttered opened and shifted to him. “There was…” She cleared her raw throat. “A fire?”

He leaned forward. “Yes. I’m afraid your house was a total loss, but the doctors have said you’ll be perfectly fine. They just want to keep you under observation to make sure your lungs haven’t suffered any damage. You should be able to leave tomorrow.”

She tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t let her. “Winston?” she asked. “Waldo?”

“Both fine. Apparently, the fire started in your bathroom. When Waldo couldn’t rouse you, he woke Winston. Winston called 911 when he couldn’t wake you, and he texted me right after that.”

Riordan had to give Winston credit. He imagined there weren’t too many men who would stand that close to a fire and not run. Winston would’ve died next to her if help hadn’t arrived in time. Riordan admired his dedication and loyalty.

And that dedication now meant Winston was his family, as well. His list of humans he would die to protect was now at two. And one canine, because Waldo had also chosen to remain at Roxie’s side, even as flames licked at his paws.

Relief and fear still warred in her eyes as they moved over him in an assessing manner. “Are you OK?”

The fact that she would be concerned for him in this scenario was humbling. “I’m fireproof,” he reminded her gently.

“That’s convenient,” she mumbled, eyes getting heavy again. “Wish I was, too.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he whispered as she drifted off to sleep.

He watched her sleep for another hour. A kind nurse had suggested he go home and get some sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her here, alone and defenseless.

When she was well rested and feeling better, he’d let her know his plan for her recovery. She might not like it. But he had to try.

And in the meantime, he supposed he should do some reading on whether fated mates who were technically just friends could live together without too many complications.

Seemed manageable for someone who had crossed time, space, and dimensions to find his reluctant fated mate…right?

CHAPTER 10

Roxie wanted a bath, a cheeseburger, and a nice, warm bed. In that order. Immediately.

Which would be tough to accomplish since she’d just been released from the hospital and no longer had a bathtub or a nice warm bed thanks to the stupid fire.

Hell, even the cheeseburger was problematic now since her debit card burned up and all she owned were a set of hospital scrubs and a plastic bag full of yesterday’s clothes that smelled like hell had barfed all over her.

The only positive to this whole fiasco was Riordan. Not only had he saved her life (along with Winston’s and Waldo’s), but he hadn’t left her side since.

He’d made sure her medications were filled by the pharmacy, listened carefully to all her discharge instructions as if he alone was responsible for her care, and helped her into a pair of socks with grippers on the bottom (because all her shoes had burned in the fire.)

And now that all her paperwork was complete and she’d been wheeled to the hospital exit, she did something she hadn’t done since she was a child.

She cried.

It started off as a few little sniffles and a trembling lower lip. That morphed into tears sliding down her cheeks. And then it was all-out emotional anarchy. Gut-wrenching sobs tore their way out of her chest, and it seemed like she’d never be able to stop them.

All of the emotion she’d let build inside of her over the years, all of the pain and regret and sorrow she’d tamped down and refused to release, was all coming up now. She was hemorrhaging emotion, and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

Riordan knelt in front of her wheelchair, wiping tears and snot away as fast as he could, but the onslaught was more than even his huge hands could manage. “What hurts?” he asked, his voice rough with fear and what she could only assume was empathy for her emotional vomit.

“I…don’t…hurt,” she choked out between sobs. “My house…burned. All…my…stuff…is…gone. I…have…nothing.”

---