To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 243

Enought

Enough to Fight

Atasha’s POV

“How is this man so strong?” Those words stayed inside my head as my body slammed into the cave wall with enough force that the impact rattled my teeth.

Pain exploded across my back and shoulder as rough stone bit into my skin, the air tearing out of my lungs in a harsh gasp Something cracked inside me, the sound echoed louder in my head than the impact itself.

My vision went white for a split second, then snapped back into focus as my knees buckled and I slid down the wall, barely catching myself before collapsing completely.

Blood surged up my throat.

I barely had time to turn my head before I vomited, dark red splattering against the ground at my feet. The taste was thick and metallic, clinging to my tongue as my chest convulsed again. My ribs screamed in protest with every breath, my arm hung at an angle that felt wrong, numb and burning all at once,

“Come on…” I thought I heard him say. “Show me what you can do.”

My ability reacted instantly, heat rushing through my veins, racing to repair the damage before it could settle. Bone ground back into place with a sickening sensation that made my stomach lurch again. Flesh knitted itself together. The pressure in my chest eased, then dulled, then faded into a lingering ache that refused to disappear completely.

Across from me, the man laughed.

He did not raise his voice, but the sound carried easily through the cave, bouncing off the stone walls and coming back warped and layered, like the space itself was amplifying his amusement.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” he said, watching me with open interest. “Every time someone hurts you, you fix it. You fix yourself. You fix others. You don’t even have to think about it.”

He clicked his tongue. “It makes me wonder.”

I forced myself upright, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, my glare locking onto him despite the lingering pain. “What did you do?” I demanded, my voice rough but steady.

I was not talking about the wall.

The bond with Cassian flickered again, unstable. It felt like it was struggling to break through interference. One moment it burned bright enough to ground me, the next it dimmed, stretched thin, as if something was deliberately muffling it. Panic clawed at the edge of my thoughts, but I shoved it down hard.

The man’s smile widened. “I know someone is coming for you,” he said lightly. “Very soon, in fact.”

My blood ran cold. Was it possible that he noticed the bond?

“So,” he continued, spreading his hands slightly, “I set a trap.”

My eyes widened before I could stop myself. The bond pulsed weakly, then stuttered, like it was hitting a wall it could not pass through.

He straightened, and the amusement drained from his face so quickly it was unsettling. In two strides, he closed the distance between us. His hand clamped around my arm, fingers digging into muscle as he twisted hard.

Pain flared fresh and bright, ripping a sharp hiss from my throat as my shoulder protested violently. My ability surged again, fighting to keep up, but the constant damage was starting to slow it, just enough to make every second count.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “How did they find you?” he asked. “This place isn’t accessible to ordinary wolves. Not without help.”

His grip tightened. “Are they working with witches too?”

I snorted despite the pain. “You’re not as clever as you think,” I shot back.

Before he could react, I drove my forehead forward with everything I had.

The impact cracked through the space between us, skull against skull, close enough that I felt the shock vibrate down my spine. He staggered back half a step, more surprised than hurt, his grip loosening just enough.

That was all I needed.

I shifted my weight and kicked upward hard, using the wall for leverage, driving my knee straight into his groin with every ounce of strength left in my body.

The sound he made was not a laugh this time.

He doubled over with a sharp, strangled curse, breath ripping out of him as his balance broke. I tore my arm free and shoved away, putting distance between us even as my muscles screamed in protest and my ability flared again to keep me

1/2

Enough to Fight

on my feet.

My cheat heaved as I backed toward the wall, eyes locked on him, blood still dripping from my chin as it healed over.

My feet were still bound, the rope cinched around my ankles tight enough to keep my steps short and awkward, but the throw had scraped the knots against stone. I felt it the moment shifted, that small give that had not been there before. It was not freedom, but it was enough.

Enough to move.

Enough to fight.

1 kept my back to the wall as if I was trapped, as if I was still trying to recover, and I let my breathing stay uneven on purpose. My eyes stayed on him, measuring how fast he recovered, how he held his weight, how he favored nothing even after the kick. Then, when he lifted his head again, I dropped my gaze for a heartbeat and let my hand slide along the ground.

My fingers closed around the small rock I had picked up earlier

It fit into my palm like a tool, jagged on one edge, rough enough to bite through rope if I worked at it long enough. I brought my hands behind me, keeping the movement subtle, and pressed the rock against the bindings. The rope scratched my skin as I sawed at it, using the same spot over and over, forcing friction to do what strength could not.

Across from me, he straightened fully.

He did not look angry.

He looked entertained.

His mouth curved upward as he watched, and the sight made my stomach turn harder than the miasma ever could. “You really are feisty,” he said, sounding almost pleased. “The more I see, the more I like you.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify