The Mates of Monsters
Chapter 10

is likely tucked away in his room, but I attempt quiet footsteps anyway as I travel downstairs.

I leave the bedroom like a child woken by a terrible nightmare. My cheeks are salty from dried streams of tears, my eyes are red and wet, and I wander the hallway in search of safety, a parent, a hug, or in this case, any possible form of comfort. The house is asleep. David I traverse the shadows but follow the light once I see it. It's in the kitchen-the moonlight shines through the many windows and pours onto the floor through the glass of the back doors. The kitchen is the only room bright enough to move around in without my arms extended forward. I won't dare to turn on the lights. I feel like David will see it somehow. He'll see that I'm awake and he'll come to put me back in bed.

My eyes study the night through the back doors. There are guards out there, ready to hunt me down and drag me back kicking and screaming. Or maybe I won't get that far. I'm sure David has some alarm in this head that the bond blares whenever I do wrong. Or maybe he feels my heart-the uncertainty; the anxious, heavy beating. I hate it. I hate that I can't keep myself from him in that way. David will always have access to a part of me, and it scares me even more not knowing how big of a part that is.

I won't be able to protect myself if he hurts me. In one way or another, I'm forever exposed and vulnerable. And he's going to hurt me.

"Brigette."

I don't need to look back. My eyes remain on the window. It's the alarm-does it sound for wrong thoughts as well as actions?

"Yes?" I answer, hushed. The house is tranquil with silence, and to speak too loudly would disrupt everything asleep-disarmed-inside.

"Are you alright?" He asks. He's been asleep; I can hear the deep, tiredness in his rough voice. The alarm woke him. How inconsiderate of me to think such things in the middle of the night when the Alpha needs to rest. "Yeah. Just thirsty. I came for water."

The sounds of shuffling and cabinets and finally glass touching the stone countertops tells me what's he's doing. I peer over my shoulder-hoping the shade of night hides my fleeting distress-to see his fingers around a tall glass. He slides it kindly in my direction. I feel like a deer in the forest, and David is careful, steady. He lures me over, and I trust him stupidly. I fill the glass and take a sip as his eyes watch me. He would have had the perfect moment to strike as my chin is lifted and my neck is stretched open, but he doesn't. "Have you slept at all?"

Should I tell him why I'm awake? Should I explain the glassiness of my eyes or the uneven breathes pushing out of me?

I set the glass down and avoid making eye contact. "A little. On and off," I reply. "I know, that's probably not good considering my first self-defense lesson is tomorrow. Looks like it will be an easy win for you. I don't know h-how much of a fight I'll be able to put up." David studies me. I didn't think I gave much away on my face, but he is making me reconsider my tactics. "Don't worry about it. If you need to sleep in-have the day tomorrow. It can be difficult to adjust."

My chest fills with air as we look at each other.

Maybe if we were in a different setting, my responses would be different-my actions as well. I imagine us under the stars or in his bedroom. What would I say to him in such places? Would I sprint for the hills outside? Would I do whatever he asks in the bedroom? I thank myself for fleeing to the kitchen, then.

"It's because of you," I mutter carelessly. "It's not the move that's keeping me up-it's the bond."

I remember when he offered his own

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bed to me, with him remaining in it, of course. Every night I lay in my bed and play with the idea of being so close to him. It's ridiculous and dangerous of me, but we all indulge in private. I don't know why I would say such a thing now, however. Qr-well-the weakest part of me may just yearn to hear the offer again. I know I can't accept, but something about hearing those words leave his lips is as reassuring as things come.

David continues to look at me, and I can't help but glance off. I'm sure my face is kissed with blush. My neck grows hot as my own thoughts consume and devour me. He doesn't have to do or say anything to fluster me; I am far too capable on my own. "What are you looking for, Brigette? An apology?"

He questions me with a lack of hurt. Instead, I detect curiosity. "No. I'm just complaining, I guess, because I know how all of this works. I may be difficult or in denial, but I'm not completely naive about this. It's not entirely because of you. I do it to myself because I won't give in. I lay in bed awake and restless because I'm too busy thinking about you and trying not to. And... I know you think about me too, even if you don't want to. We might as well be honest."

His gaze falters for a moment. He glances to the ground, to the side before returning his dark orbs to me.

"You don't have to live like this, but you won't let me help you," he says.

"Because I know what it means for you to help me. I-I shouldn't have said anything in the first place. There's nothing you can do-"

"Nothing you would let me," he mutters and leans against the counter. "You know, while I was traveling, looking for you, I had the master bedroom redone. Helena picked colors for me. I wanted the room to be renewed." I whisper, "For your mate."

David's grip on the counter tightens. "You are my mate, Brigette. Nothing you try to convince yourself of will change that."

"I can't-"

"Don't," he interrupts. "Don't say that you can't be. You are choosing to defy the bond. You are choosing to torture yourself."

The frustration in his voice brings

the tears back to my eyes. They sit and gather and threaten to fall, but I fight to keep my face still. After nights of terrible sleep, I don't have the energy to give a snarky remark or play the game, as I call it. My mind is torn into so many pieces, so many plans that I can't remember which version of myself Pam

supposed to be. Game master. Perfect Luna. Prisoner ready to escape. Girl desperate for love, or girl terrified of love.