To Marry A Monster (by Brey Mitchell) novel Chapter 225

Chapter 225

ATASHA’S POV

For once, I had done this the right way.

I let that thought settle as I leaned back against the rough bark beneath my palm, the height no longer making my stomach twist the way it once would have. If anyone had told me months ago that I would be standing this high above Nightfall, balanced on the thick branches of one of the tallest trees bordering the pack mansion, I would have laughed in their face. I would have called it arrogance or madness.

Now, it felt earned.

The moon hung directly above us, flooding the forest below with pale light. From here, the South stretched endlessly, waves of treetops rolling into the distance, the pack grounds reduced to neat patterns of rooftops and paths. The mansion stood proud and oblivious beneath us, unaware that its walls meant nothing at this height.

I could only see it because Cassian had brought me here.

Without his grip steady at my back, without the strength that treated gravity like a suggestion, I would never have dared to stand on a branch this high, let alone look calm doing it. The night air brushed against my skin, cool enough to bite through fabric, sharp enough to clear my thoughts.

I smiled faintly to myself as I reminded myself that using him like this was not weakness. It was wisdom. After all, he was my husband, and power unused was wasted. If the North had taught me anything, it was that survival favored those who knew how to wield what stood beside them. And tonight… it was Cassian.

Cassian’s hand slid to my waist, grounding me as easily as if we were standing on solid stone instead of bark and leaves.

“It’s getting cold,” he said, his voice low near my ear.

I turned my head toward him, the moonlight cutting clean lines across his face. “Then let’s go,” I replied. “We’ve stayed long enough.”

My expression hardened as the thought I had been holding back surfaced again. Admiring the moon was a luxury. Tonight had a purpose.

Cassian didn’t ask what should we do next. He never did when he already knew.

He moved in one smooth motion, lifting me against his chest as if I weighed nothing at all. The branches fell away beneath us as he stepped into open air, the wind rushing up around us for a split second before he landed soundlessly on the ground below.

Then he jumped again.

The forest blurred into dark streaks and moonlit gaps as we crossed distance that would have taken hours on foot. We did not slow until the mansion rose ahead of us again, larger now, looming and silent.

Cassian angled us upward and toward one of the higher windows,

We slipped inside without a sound.

The room swallowed us whole, thick curtains drawn, candlelight reduced to a faint glow from embers left burning low. I took in the space immediately, recognition tightening something behind my ribs.

This was my parents‘ bedroom.

The canopied bed dominated the center, heavy drapes falling around it like a fortress within a fortress. A wide table sat near

the window, cluttered with documents and half–burned candles.

A tall bookcase lined one wall, shelves packed with records, journals, and ledgers I knew by sight if not by permission. A couch rested near the balcony doors, upholstered in dark fabric that had once been immaculate.

It was big. It was luxurious.

And it had never belonged to me.

My gaze shifted to the floor near the far wall, where two attendants lay sprawled against each other, breathing deep and even. Their wolves were down hard, their bodies loose with the kind of sleep that didn’t break easily.

I exhaled slowly. “It seems what Elder Agape taught me was very effective.”

Cassian glanced at them once. “They’ll sleep for about two hours,” he said. “No longer.”

I nodded. Two hours was enough. More than enough.

I stepped toward the bed, every sense sharpening as I approached. The man lying there barely resembled the Alpha I remembered. My father looked thinner, his skin drawn tight over bone, his breathing shallow and uneven even in unconsciousness.

I had heard the explanation more times than I cared to remember, and it never changed no matter who told it. Celeste said it started with the poison. She called it powerful and stressed that it was Demon Fang work and that witchcraft had been woven into it to make it harder to treat.

Then they added the chest wound, deep enough to turn breathing into a fight and strong enough to make the strongest warrior look helpless. By the time they finished, the conclusion was always the same: whatever hit him was not meant to injure him, it was meant to break him, and it was vicious enough to drag even an Alpha to his knees.

I reached for his wrist and closed my fingers around his pulse, steady on the surface but strained beneath.

The moment I let my ability sink into his body, the truth unfolded with unsettling clarity.

Yes, the poison was strong. Yes, it was layered and reinforced, deliberately designed to resist normal healing and remain active long after the wound itself should have closed. But that alone was not what made my stomach tighten.

This poison was not recent.

It had not been introduced days ago, nor weeks not even

months a

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