To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 237

Atasha’s POV

There it was again. The smell of blood.

It reached me before the sounds of battle fully registered, sharp and unmistakable, cutting through the air until it settled deep in my chest. The moment it did, something inside me stirred in response, immediate and instinctive, as if my body recognized it before my mind had time to react.

This was not fear. This was not shock.

It was hunger.

Not the kind that came from an empty stomach, but the kind rooted in the bond, in the part of me that did not reason or hesitate. The beast that lived beneath my skin woke at the scent, alert and restless, demanding attention. It was a pull that tightened my muscles and sharpened my senses, urging me forward, urging me closer.

I understood it now, the way Cassian once described it without softness. Blood did not merely signal danger to us. It was a trigger. It fed the connection, strengthened it, and stripped away restraint. Once the scent reached a certain point, the bond did the rest, pushing instinct over logic, response over reflection.

My heartbeat slowed instead of racing. My breathing steadied instead of breaking. That alone told me everything I needed to know.

The beast was awake.

And once it tasted blood, it would not be satisfied by standing still.

“Your Highness…” Grace said behind me. I nodded in response. Grace had seen it before. I knew she could already feel the change inside me. Slowly, I turned.

“Stay close,” I said.

I reached for the short sword at my side and closed my fingers around the hilt. The weight was familiar, grounding, and the moment steel met my palm, the last trace of hesitation vanished. I smiled, and it was not the kind of smile meant for reassurance or courage. It was the kind that came when the decision had already been made and the body was simply catching up.

Without giving myself time to think, I moved.

I vaulted forward, clearing the broken edge of the ridge and dropping straight into the chaos below. The noise hit me all at once. Shouts, metal striking metal, the sharp crack of fire and the wet sound of bodies colliding with the ground. The Demon Fangs were everywhere, and they were not retreating. They were fighting like they expected to win.

They did not expect me.

The first one turned just in time to widen his eyes before my blade slid cleanly across his throat. I did not stop to watch him fall. My body flowed into the next movement without instruction, pivoting, ducking under a wild swing, driving my sword upward into another man’s ribs. I felt the resistance give, felt the heat splash against my hand, and with it came a rush that made my limbs feel lighter instead of heavier.

Blood sprayed. The smell thickened.

And with it, the hunger grew sharper, clearer, almost comforting

I moved faster the more it surrounded me. Each strike landed with precision that surprised even me, as if the bond itself was guiding my hands. I did not hesitate. I did not slow down. The Demon Fangs fought brutally, but they fought with rage and panic. I fought with focus and intent.

A blade grazed my arm. I barely noticed.

Another tried to flank me, but before he could close in, Grace was there. She cut him down with ruthless efficiency, her sword moving like an extension of her body. There was nothing restrained in her movements. She fought like someone who had been waiting for permission to unleash everything she was holding back.

We moved together without speaking, covering each other’s blind spots, advancing deeper into the base. Bodies fell around us, some before they even realized we were the ones cutting through their ranks. The Demon Fangs shouted warnings too late. They tried to regroup, but the momentum was already gone

The more blood hit the ground, the lighter I felt.

The weight that had been sitting in my chest for days loosened with every kill. The anger sharpened into clarity instead of chaos. My breathing stayed steady even as my muscles burned. This was not exhaustion. This was release.

I could sense others nearby. Rio was out there somewhere, holding position like he always did, watching the field and waiting for the right moment to move. I would not be surprised if Cassian himself was observing from the shadows, measuring the battle the way he always did. That knowledge brushed the edge of my awareness, but it did not matter.

I was not here for approval. I was not here for strategy.

I was here to end this.

A Demon Fang charged at me, his face twisted with fury as he raised his weapon. I stepped into his space instead of backing away, drove my shoulder into his chest, and sent him stumbling. Before he could recover, my blade plunged into his throat. I twisted and pulled free, already turning toward the next threat.

They started to break then. I saw it in their eyes, in the way their formation collapsed, in the way some tried to run while others fought harder out of desperation. It did not save them.

Grace cut down one who tried to escape past her. I finished another who thought he could hide behind debris. Every movement felt clean, efficient, inevitable.

This was what the bond did when it was fully awake. It stripped away doubt and replaced it with purpose. It made the world smaller and simpler. There were enemies in front of me, and they needed to die.

I did not feel remorse. I did not feel hesitation.

I felt alive.

And as the Demon Fangs continued to fall, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Celeste had made a mistake by underestimating me.

And tonight, they were paying for it in blood.

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