Page 58 of Mate of a Monster

“You cannot let her get inside your head,” she murmurs, fingers smoothing down my spine. “She came to provoke you. That’s all she wants. Revenge. To hurt you. We can’t let her.”

My teeth clench and I don’t answer.

Her touch grows slower, more rhythmic, her voice lowering as if she is speaking only for me, a sort of sereneness taking over her already soft tone. “She is chaos, filth at its finest, and you are a king.”

The words should settle me, so why do my insides twist?

I feel restless, like I’m the one with royal magic bound around my wrists.

Arabella’s fingers glide across my collarbone and down my arm. The tension drains too quickly from my body, the sharp edge of my anger dulling into something hazy.

I straighten abruptly, stepping away from her. “Stop.”

She freezes before flashing a wounded expression. “I’m just trying to help you, my mate.”

“You’re trying to—” I snap, catching myself before I say something I regret.

I need to control myself, lock up my anger and this—this fucked-up fog in my head so I can think straight.

Her expression flickers for a fraction of a second before smoothing again. “You are overwhelmed.”

I drag a hand down my face. With her touch gone entirely, that restless heat returns, stronger than before, pushing hard against my ribs.

I need answers, and the only way to get them is to speak to the witch who holds them.

“She is beneath you,” she says quickly, reading my resolve through the bond. “I hate what she’s done to you.”

I spin so fast my shoes nearly slip beneath me.

She calls after me, footsteps chasing mine through corridor after corridor, but I don’t slow. The closer I get, the faster my feet seem to carry me, until I finally reach the chamber where she’s being held.

I throw the door open.

Creed pushes to his feet with the grace of a king and speed of a serpent. “Legend.”

He might as well be a wall; his presence means nothing to me.

My eyes instantly fall to the girl on the ground. She sits with her legs crossed, bound in hellhound leashes that hum faintly against her skin, red light sliding over her wrists and throat like molten thread. There’s something so relaxed in her posture that draws a dark cloud of anger over me.

She glares at first, fury etched into every line of her body. But the second her eyes lock onto mine, a hint of softness appears, so subtle I almost miss it.

Heat and longing curl under my sternum, and I hate her even more for that.

Arabella steps in behind me. Haide’s gaze hardens again, her upper lip lifting slightly in a low, unmistakable growl that vibrates through the room.

I step closer despite myself. The leashes flare faintly as she moves, but she doesn’t flinch. Something shuffles inside me again.

“The man with the mask,” I say evenly. “Who is he?”

Arabella stiffens beside me.

Haide’s mouth curves slowly, deliberately. “That’s your first question after everything that’s happened?”

“Yes.” My voice is colder than I feel, my response instant. “Why did he smell of you?”

She tilts her head slightly. “Make her leave,” she says softly, gaze never breaking from mine. “And I will answer every question you have.”

Arabella inhales sharply. “Legend, don’t entertain her games—”