The other monster

“Monster?”

Ronan echoed the word as if tasting it. A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. He let the steel poker fall. It struck stone with a sharp, final clatter. Then he stepped over Lydia’s body without a glance, as though she were nothing more than another piece of debris in a ruined hall.

“My dear,” he said softly, “you can only imagine.”

Pebbles ground beneath his boots. Around them the pack territory still screamed—war cries, dying howls, the wet sound of blades meeting flesh. Blood painted the streets in thick, glistening rivers under the firelight.

“Don’t mistake me, little rabbit. I am no angel.”

He dropped to one knee in front of her. The back of one finger traced a slow path down her cheek. Every place he touched ignited—pleasure and revulsion tangled so tightly she could no longer separate them. Only when his hand fell away did she realize tears were already sliding down her face.

“She was my friend,” Kaela whispered, voice raw. “You killed my only friend.”

“Friend?” Ronan’s laugh held no warmth. “There are no friends in this world. Only allies and enemies. She might have been an ally today. Tomorrow she could have become the knife in your back.”

“I’ll never know now, will I?”

His gaze flicked to Lydia’s still form, then back to Kaela. “Better by my hand than yours, bunny.” He rose in one fluid motion. “Come. We leave for home.”

He went silent, eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the flames. Kaela realized he must be speaking through a pack link. Seconds later the screaming stopped. The entire battlefield fell into an unnatural hush, as if the night itself had been ordered to kneel. The weight of that power pressed against her skin like a physical force.

A man who could silence an entire war with a thought.

She could never belong to him.

“I’m not coming with you,” she said. “Kill me if you must.”

“Of course you are.” The words almost sounded playful. “You are my mate.”

“Then I reject you.”

The temperature in the air dropped. The faint light in Ronan’s eyes vanished, replaced by something colder and far more dangerous.

“What did you just say?”

“I reject you.” There was no retreat left. “I, Kaela Voss, reject you, Ronan Kingsley, as my—”

His hand sealed over her mouth before the final words could leave it. In the same motion he hauled her upright until only the tips of her toes brushed the ground. She clawed at his wrist. Her strength meant nothing.

“Rejection overruled.” His voice remained almost gentle. The look in his eyes was not. “Who do you think you are to reject me?”

No one. She was no one. There was no reason for a man like him to keep her when countless others—women like Vivienne—would have crawled for the chance. The Moon Goddess had made a cruel mistake.

“Let’s be clear, little rabbit.” A low growl threaded through the words. “You will not leave my side while I still breathe. Speak of rejection again and I will break your legs and chain you to the bed. Do you understand?”

Tears of pain and terror blurred her vision. She could not stay with him. Staying would be a slower, more intimate kind of death.

She never got the chance to plan an escape.

A sharp blow struck the back of her neck. Darkness took her before she hit the ground.

---

Her head felt like it had been filled with lead. Pain pulsed at the base of her skull where the blow had landed. Memory returned in jagged pieces: the fall of Ashclaw, Lydia’s blood, Ronan Kingsley’s hand around her throat.

And the mate bond that refused to die.

The room smelled of him—or of something so close it made her pulse stutter. Musky. Woody. Beneath the faint trace of blood and smoke.

She tried to sit up. Metal bit into her wrists. Iron cuffs, heavy and tight, had already left angry red rings on her skin. Chains rattled when she moved.

“That damned bastard,” she muttered. “Trying to keep me like a caged bird.”

“Who are you talking about?”

The voice came from the shadows.

A man stepped into the low light. For one disorienting heartbeat she thought Ronan had returned. The same black hair. The same sharp, devastating features. The same impossible pull in her blood. But there was no scar on this face, and the smile that curved his mouth was smoother, almost elegant—yet equally empty of warmth.

The mate bond stirred again, just as fiercely as it had for Ronan.

Kaela’s breath caught.

“Who are you?”

He inclined his head, the gesture almost courtly.

“It seems my brother brought home a new toy. How entertaining.” His eyes traveled over her slowly. “Hello, little bird. Allow me to apologize for Ronan’s manners. He has never been particularly gentle with women.”

A cold realization settled in her chest.

“Blaise Kingsley,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like a promise or a threat. “At your service.”

“You are—”

“Ronan’s twin,” Blaise finished for her. He crossed the room with unhurried grace and settled into the armchair beside the bed, chin resting lightly on the back of his hand. “You’re finally awake. You’ve been under for a long time. My brother still hasn’t learned how to measure his strength with women.”

Kaela’s voice came out wary. “How long?”

She knew almost nothing of Blaise Kingsley beyond the whispers—that he was fiercely loyal to the older twin who had once been thought dead. Loyalty like that rarely belonged to anyone kind.

“Three days.” Blaise leaned forward. Kaela flinched, expecting a blow, but his palm only settled against her forehead, checking for fever. The touch was careful. Almost gentle. Heat flooded her cheeks; her heart stumbled against her ribs. She dragged in a steadying breath and only succeeded in pulling more of his scent into her lungs. The mate bond tightened like a fist.

“Still a little warm,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand with a wry smile. “You’ll stay in bed a few more days. I trust you aren’t planning any dramatic escapes.”

The chains rattled as she jerked her wrists. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”

“Amusingly enough,” Blaise said with a slight shrug, “we already are. Don’t worry. We take pride in our hospitality. No one has complained yet.”

A bitter scoff escaped her. “No one would dare, after watching what your alpha is capable of.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I think you’re full of shit.” She pushed herself farther up the bed, putting every possible inch between them. “If you expect me to believe your prisoners sing your praises, you’ll be disappointed.”

Blaise’s quiet laugh held no real humor. He rose in one smooth motion and loomed over her. Kaela scrambled back until her shoulders met the wall.

“You have a sharp tongue,” he observed, almost fondly. “It would be a shame if anything happened to it.” His fingers brushed her hair behind one ear, then cupped her cheek. The intimate contact sent her pulse racing.

“What are you planning?” she demanded, forcing steel into her voice.

“Nothing you need to trouble that pretty head over. Focus on recovering.” His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. “We can’t have you falling ill so close to the ceremony.”

The word landed like a stone. “What ceremony?”

“Oops.” Blaise’s expression of contrition was perfect—and utterly false. A wicked spark lit his eyes. “That was supposed to stay secret.”

He had told her on purpose. She could see it. Whatever the ceremony was, he wanted her afraid.

“Don’t worry, darling. You and that lovely face only need to appear. You won’t have to say a word. The pack will handle the rest.” He straightened. “Rest well. I’ll see you soon.”

He turned toward the door.

“Wait—Blaise!”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The smile on his lips never reached his eyes. “If you’re hoping for details about the ceremony, you’ll be disappointed. It’s still a secret, no matter what you’re willing to offer.”

His gaze drifted over her body, slow and assessing. The silver chains made it impossible to cover herself properly. His scent thickened in the air. Kaela swallowed hard against the helpless sound rising in her throat.

“That’s not what I wanted to ask.” She forced the words out quickly. “I need to know what happened to my friend. Lydia. I know Ronan… stabbed her. She’s dead.” Tears burned behind her eyes as the memory flashed again—Lydia folding, the poker emerging from her stomach. “Was she buried somewhere? Can I see her?”

Blaise’s voice softened into something almost pitying. “Oh, darling. Why would she be buried? There’s no body left.”

The words took a moment to reach her.

No body.

No funeral. No chance for Lydia’s spirit to return to the Moon Goddess. Treated as less than nothing.

A raw howl of grief and fury tore from Kaela’s throat. She lunged, chains screaming as she strained toward him, wanting nothing more than to bury her nails in his heart so Ronan might feel even a fraction of this pain.

The metal went taut. She slammed back against the mattress, wrists flaming. Human strength meant nothing against iron.

Blaise had not even stepped away. He simply leaned closer, looming over her, and wiped the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs—the perfect parody of a caring mate.

“There, there, Kaela,” he murmured. “You won’t remember her soon enough. It’s better for everyone that way.”