Page 95 of Mate of a Monster

“Because it does,” the Nightkin laughs. “Everything he touches that isn’t you is about to fucking hurt.”

“Wrong, beast,” I correct. “He’s going to hurt when he touches me, too.”

I don’t need to elaborate. Under the desperate need to reclaim what is meant to be mine, the betrayal burns bright.

“What is that?” the gifted whine, slamming their palms over their noses as a pungent smell drifts across the room.

The question is followed by a chorus of vomiting and violent heaves. Even London gags, spinning away and hopelessly fighting for a breath that isn’t tainted.

I don’t try to avoid it. I let it sting my eyes and throat, needing to feel every part of this, if only to keep my head.

Arabella makes another sound behind him, raising her hand from his ankle to his calf, and the movement rips a raw groan from his mouth.

He’s confused. Why the fuck is he still confused?

I cock my head. “Oh, that’s how she controls you, isn’t it?”

I stomp on her wrist, pinning it to the floor, delighting in the cry of pain that escapes her.

His face shutters, but those baby blues don’t leave me.

“It’s working,” the Nightkin murmurs. “It’s working, little mate.”

A sickening feeling wraps its claws around the stupid organ that beats wildly in my chest. “I…I don’t think I want it to,” I rasp.

It aches for this man, but—

“Haide. I am here. Trust in us,” the Nightkin begs, and it sounds so wrong for a fucking demon. “Mate, please.”

My demon.

My eyes narrow on Legend again and it’s like he can see my turmoil.

Knight shifts a few paces away, shoulders tight, coiling as if ready to interfere the second the situation turns dangerous.

Their king looks like he is about to come apart at the seams in front of a room full of Argents. Guests who came to witness a sacred bonding and ended up choking on their own secrets.

They should not see him like this.

I should not see him like this.

Pity twists my stomach, and I hate it as much as I know he would. My ribs tighten when he sways, like my own body is bracing for the moment he falls. It’s almost invasive, too much, to feel him this deeply. I don’t know how I’ll get used to this after being alone for so long.

A tiny part of me, the embarrassing part that’s hurt, doesn’t want to.

“He is your mate,” the Nightkin says, softer now, and it’s not his attempt to comfort. It’s fact. “You can be angry with him, you can hate him, but you will accept him.”

“Maybe I don’t want him,” I snap back, and the lie tastes like acid on my tongue. I do want him.

I think I always did.

Legend winces.

The Nightkin hums a low laugh. “You do not have to want him to claim him. He’s yours either way.”

My gaze drops to the smoke curling around my ankles up toward my shin.

Legend’s chest rises in a hard jerk, and the smoke flares brighter as if fed by my attention. The white of his eyes are ringed with something feral. His lips part, but nothing comes out but a broken exhale.