To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 228

Chapter 228

Chapter 228

“What do you mean by that?” Celeste raised an eyebrow, but the question came out sharper than she intended. She quickly turned towards Grace, wondering if she would somehow point a sword towards her just because of her tone.

Grace stood between them and the door like she owned the room. Her posture was straight, her expression blank.

What made her more irritated was how she was speaking to her with a voice that made it clear she did not care whether Celeste approved.

“I mean exactly what I said,” Grace replied. “Lady Atasha is still recovering. She cannot heal yet. Not safely, and not on demand.”

Celeste forced a small laugh, the kind she used when she wanted to sound patient while her temper clawed at her throat. “That is difficult to believe, Lieutenant,” she said, keeping her tone pleasant. “I saw her heal multiple people yesterday. I saw her stand after collapsing. I saw her heal you.”

Grace’s gaze did not soften. “And that is why she collapsed,” she answered. “She pushed herself too far. The attack happened at your border, with your

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people watching, and you want to tell me this is the right time to let strangers crowd her again?”

Celeste’s jaw tightened at the word strangers, because it was an insult wrapped in a question.

“This is the South,” Celeste said. “This is her home. These are her packmates. These people grew up with her!”

Grace’s eyes flicked toward Celeste, then to William, then back to Celeste again. “The Demon Fangs attacked at your border,” she repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to a child. “You can call it home all you want. That does not make it safe.”

Celeste turned her head toward Atasha, expecting her sister to step in and smooth it over the way she always used to. Atasha used to apologize even when she did not understand what she was apologizing for. Atasha used to lower her eyes and try to keep everyone comfortable, even when it cut her in half.

Now Atasha did none of that.

Atasha’s lips parted, but instead of speaking, she coughed. It started as a small sound, then turned into a deeper cough that made her shoulders tense. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, and when she lowered it, Celeste saw the faint smear of red on her skin.

Celeste froze for a fraction of a second.

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Why was she coughing?

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She wasn’t sick. Atasha could heal herself. Everyone said she could. Celeste herself had watched Atasha close wounds with one touch. She had watched her stop blood like it was nothing. She had watched her turn pain into silence.

So why did she look like this?

Celeste’s chest filled with irritation so sharp it almost made her dizzy. Outside this room, people were already talking like Atasha was a miracle made flesh. They were whispering her name with awe. They were staring at Celeste like she was lucky to be related to her. The representatives from the other packs were going to leave Nightfall territory with their stories, and those stories would not be about William’s leadership or Celeste’s sacrifice. Those stories would be about Atasha.

And Atasha was sitting here, coughing like a fragile thing.

Acting sick. Acting weak. Letting them all watch her suffer.

It should have disgusted Celeste, but the worse part was that it worked. The more Atasha looked pale and fragile, the more everyone wanted to protect her. The more she hesitated, the more valuable she seemed. It made Celeste feel like she was losing control over a narrative she thought she had already

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Celeste swallowed her frustration and leaned in, taking Atasha’s hand with both of hers. Her touch was gentle, careful, full of that sisterly warmth she had practiced since they were young.

“Sister,” Celeste murmured, voice soft enough to sound genuine to anyone listening. “These are our people. They are suffering and… bleeding. Some of them will not survive if you continue to wait.”

Grace immediately cut in. “And if she heals them, she will be the one who suffers,” Grace said. “You people saw her gift and decided it belonged to you. You do not understand what it costs her. You do not understand how quickly she burns through herself when she forces it.”

Celeste’s fingers tightened around Atasha’s hand. She forced herself not to glare. She forced herself to keep the sweet expression on her face even as something ugly rose in her chest.

“You speak as if we are asking her to die,” Celeste said. “We are asking her to help. We are her family.”

“You are asking her to drain herself because it is convenient for you,” she replied. “You are asking because you believe her ability is a tool, not a part of her body. You are asking because you did not pay the price when she collapsed.”

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Celeste’s smile strained at the edges.

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She turned back to Atasha, searching her face for the familiar softness, the old obedience, anything that would prove Atasha still belonged to her in

some way.

Atasha coughed again, quieter this time. Her grip around Celeste’s fingers loosened slightly like she truly didn’t have the strength to hold on. Then, instead of answering Celeste, Atasha reached out with her other hand and caught Grace’s wrist.

It wasn’t a hard grip, but it was enough to stop Grace mid–sentence.

Grace’s head turned toward Atasha, surprised, the way a soldier looked when a command came from an unexpected mouth.

Atasha’s voice came out faint. “Grace,” she said.

Grace’s jaw tightened, but she did not pull away. She simply went still, her eyes fixed on Atasha.

Atasha inhaled slowly, then lifted her gaze to Celeste. Her expression softened into something that looked almost kind.

Almost.

“I cannot heal the others right now,” Atasha said, voice gentle. “If I push again, I will collapse again,

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and you will all stand there watching while my body gives out.”

Celeste forced her face to stay calm, but inside her relief and anger twisted together so tightly she could barely separate them. Atasha was refusing the pack, refusing their injured, refusing the chance to impress more witnesses.

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