I wake up in our bed, warm and safe. I remember things in a jumble; a story I want to tell Monster, the fact that I am pregnant, that we probably need some more coffee beans. I stretch, the tee shirt that I’m wearing without anything underneath sliding up my body.

Smiling, I know exactly who I should present my naked ass to, with the awareness that cupping and fondling will be forthcoming. Rolling over onto my side, I face Monster.

Only he’s not there. An empty space greets me starkly, his side of the bed still made up.

That’s when I realize that Monster died yesterday.

I sob out a breath, my heart hurting so damn bad I don’t know to do with myself. It’s a physical ache as much as it is a psychic one. I lie in our bed, crying out all the tears that I have to cry just now.

He’s never going to touch me again. I’m never again going to lie in his arms, feeling safe and cared for.

I’m alone and lost, somewhere deep in my own ocean of grief. I know that there are other people who probably care about Arsen Aetós, but I still feel the solitude very sharply.

I’m without a companion or lover, forever.

The magnitude of that statement, the permanence of it, shakes me to my core. I wallow in it for a while, crying and watching the sun ascend to its place high in the sky, then begin to drop again.

In the afternoon, I have to get up. I have to pee. I’m desperately thirsty, drinking water right from the water pitcher in the fridge with the door open. I know I should eat something, if not for me then for the baby, but…

I just can’t.

I settle on making some tea instead. While the water boils, I set up my tea bag and get the jar of honey out of the pantry. I discover that having my hands busy is a blessing of sorts; while I’m pouring the water and steeping the tea bag, I can only focus on that.

It doesn’t lessen the loss or blunt the feelings. But it makes it bearable for those few minutes, those precious minutes while the tea sits. I stir in a spoonful of honey and sip the tea cautiously. It’s a taste of sweet and mellow, reflecting sleepy jasmine and the sharp note of green tea.

It needs a little milk, I decide. Still holding the cup, I open the refrigerator. I pour a little bit of milk in my cup, swinging the door closed again.

And then I drop the cup, staring at the man right in front of me. Tall, dark, handsome as sin. The teacup shatters everywhere, instantly forgotten.

“Monster?” I whisper, putting my hand to my throat.

Am I seeing things?

But no, Monster steps toward me, his expression guarded. “Hello, Fiore.”

My thoughts are a mess. I gape at him. “You… but you… I saw you…”

I take a step closer, wincing at the porcelain shards underfoot. I need to touch him, to see if he’s real. I reach out and touch the solid flesh of his chest. Looking up at him with wonderment, I realize I’ve started to cry again.

“You’re real?” I ask, perplexed.

“I am,” he rumbles. Glancing down at my feet, he frowns. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

He sweeps me up in his arms, though I’m still dumbfounded. How is this possible?

I saw his last moments.

I saw the doctor declare his time of death.

I watched as he died.

He carries me to the living room, setting me on the couch.

I grab his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. A kiss, the simple gesture of love that an hour ago I never thought I would get again. My tears flow, and I simply let them.

He takes control of the kiss, his tongue rolling against mine, sweeping my mouth mercilessly. I mewl into his mouth, feeling pathetically happy. I’m so weak for this man, beyond needy. I want him… I need him.

I grip him, my movements frantic. I also have so many unanswered questions.

Why? How? I need answers. Pulling back, I wipe away my tears, and then I slap him right in the face.

Though he clearly wasn’t expecting the slap, he doesn’t move to retaliate either.

As Monster perches on the couch on his knees, he winces, moving a little stiffly. I sniffle, wiping at my eyes.

“How? How did you… what, fake your death?” I ask, growing more agitated. “And why?”

Monster purses his lips, taking a seat next to me. He examines my feet, wiping away spilled tea and a little blood. Again, he winces, reaching for his ribs. It’s clear to me that he’s been wounded there, so at least him getting stabbed was real.

“When Damen and I were in the ambulance, he whispered that if I wanted out, this was our chance. I realized he was right. The doctors and nurses that attended me pulled the glass from my wound and stitched me up. Then…” He looks down, showing the first sign of shame I’ve ever seen him display. “Damen went to tell you. You had to think it was real, so other people would believe it.”

“Who? Who was watching?” I ask, frustrated.

“All of New Orleans was watching. And the people that need to be convinced that I’m dead, the people that would hurt you, they are currently holed up, trying to figure out their next move.”

That doesn’t make me feel a single bit less used. “I could kill you myself right now. I ought to. Did you know that I was hospitalized for a while yesterday, on account of having terrible cramps? I thought I was losing the baby!”

I slap his arm to punctuate my words. He looks pained.

“I’m sorry. If there was any other way to keep you safe…”

“You could’ve hurt our child!” I say, my brow drawing down. “You should’ve told me.”

“There was no time,” he insists, catching my hands in his. “It’s not like I planned for Dryas to stab me.”

I resist, still angry beyond explanation. “What would you have done if you had come back, only to find out that grief caused me to lose the baby, huh?”

He releases one of my hands, spreading his hand over my stomach. He looks at me, his grey eyes guileless. “I would’ve mourned. We would’ve mourned, together. But we are lucky, so we don’t have to.” He pauses, then arches his eyebrow. “Right?”

I stare at him for a few more seconds, then exhale slowly. The warmth from his palm is slowly sinking into my skin. I may be so mad at him that I can’t think straight, but there is no denying that I love it. I love him. “Yes. We were lucky.”

“And we don’t have to worry about New Orleans. Damen has agreed to oversee the rest of the takeover until we agree that I ought to return.”

Tossing my head, I am indifferent about that fact. “I don’t care. I only care about you, and about the baby. I need you both to be okay. I need you both in my life. You hear me?”

Monster — Arsen, I remind myself — leans in to embrace me. And I let him.

More than that, I cling to him, my tears dampening his shoulder through his shirt. He holds me close and pets my hair.

“Don't cry,” he murmurs into my ear. “I can’t stand to see those tears and know they’re because of me.”

I raise my head, seeking out his mouth, and press mine against his. He kisses me passionately, making my senses tingle. I bury my fingers in his hair, breathing him in and kissing him at the same time.

He’s okay.

My Monster is really okay.

I’m not alone after all. And soon, in just half a year, I will have a new life to hold close. A new soul that Arsen and I will bring into this world, together.

The kiss grows hot, and I pull back, breathing hard. I look at Arsen.

“Take me to the bedroom,” I demand. “Show me how much you missed me.”

He grins wickedly and presses his lips to mine, lifting me up in his arms.