Page 11 of A Monstrous World: The Complete Series

Chapter Nine

Emerson

I stumble into the house on wobbly legs. I need to check on Ember and get to bed quickly. If I don't, I'll be miserable when she wakes up in four or five short hours.

I take a five-minute shower and change into a comfortable sleep dress. Only a few steps from Ember's door, it becomes glaringly obvious something isn't right. Her door is ajar, and a bright blue light radiates around the doorframe. Her night-light casts a light warm yellow glow.

My heart stalls in my chest as panic rips through my system with physical force. I stagger forward, pushing the door open, and stop dead in my tracks.

Ember sleeps with her blanket cuddled to her side and her bottom up in the air. One small arm is between the crib tines. Her hand rests on the back of... a fucking hellhound . It sleeps curled in a ball near the side of Ember's crib, blue flames dancing along its entire body.

A choked gasp escapes my lips.

Hellhounds can burn through almost anything with their hellfire.

“No, no,” Meena whispers, appearing at my side. “Look carefully. The fire doesn't burn her.”

“How?” I ask in an equally low tone.

“He chooses not to.” Meena’s long, straight black hair brushes my skin as she stretches to close the door.

“What the hell is going on?” I whisper, my jaw still hanging open.

“He came in shortly after you left.” Meena shrugs a lithe shoulder. “She'll find no greater safety than under the watchful eye of the hound. If he's offering the two of you protection, then trust me when I say you want to graciously accept it.”

My mouth opens and closes several times as my mind races with possibilities. But none of them make much sense.

Is Dread in my toddler's bedroom? I don't know any other hellhounds. Meaning, it has to be him, right?

I still have no words.

Meena pats my arm. “Get some rest. Everything is fine. Life will likely make more sense after a few hours of sleep and some coffee.” She shuffles back the way she came, and I again peek in the door to check on Ember.

I carefully tiptoe into the room and skirt around the hound.

His head raises and he blinks at me. I swallow thickly and give him a nod of appreciation before tentatively stretching out a hand to run my fingers over my daughter's wrist. Her skin is always warmer than mine.

Likely, it's a product of being half shifter.

Wolves run hotter than normal humans, or even witches.

I've learned a lot since Nadia and Meena befriended me.

Ember's skin feels like it always does, and I blow out a breath of pure relief. My wrist brushes the hound's soft fur. Flames lick over my skin, but Meena was right; they don't burn.

There's a low buzzing feeling, almost like the humming of an appliance or slight static electricity, but nothing more than a minor inconvenience. My fingers dance in the hound's long hair. I can't seem to help myself.

Dread lets out a soft huff, and I yank my hand back. “I'm sorry,” I whisper. “Thank you for looking after her.” And with that, I bolt to my bedroom.

I blink awake to sunlight streaming through the window. My anxiety compounds when I realize Ember isn't calling for me or softly chattering on the monitor.

My feet hit the ground, and I'm out the door in a flash.

I head down the hallway and through Ember's open door.

She isn't in her crib and my heart sinks.

Occasionally, Meena keeps an eye on her while I sleep, but almost never first thing in the morning.

I tear through the house and into the kitchen.

Dread stands near the stove in a pair of low-slung dark jeans and nothing else. Ember sits on his forearm with her head leaned back against his chest. His long dark hair falls around his shoulders in waves as he stirs scrambled eggs.

My heart tries to race right out of my damn chest. For being a hellhound, Dread isn't overly hairy.

His chest has a smattering of a dark hair, and he absolutely has a line of hair that disappears under the waistband of his jeans, but no hair whatsoever on his back.

I catch myself as I lick my lips. Am I seriously ogling him? What the hell is wrong with me?

“G-good morning,” I say, heading for the pair of them.

“Mommy!” Ember squeals. Her chubby little hands wiggle as she stretches for me.

“Hey, baby,” I say, scooping her up and nuzzling my cheek against hers. She looks and sounds more like a three- or four-year-old child than the almost two-year-old she is.

Before he disappeared, Alix warned me she'd likely progress faster than a human. My pregnancy barely lasted five months, but Ember didn't have any of the traits a premature human would've had. She was chubby and had rolls like a full-term baby.

“That's Dread,” she says, pointing at the massive man currently cooking eggs in my kitchen. I only have a hope of understanding her because I talk to her on a daily basis.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, turning to face me as he slides the eggs onto a plate. “There's bacon cooling in the microwave, and I made toast.”

“Yes, thank you?” I say, but it comes out more like a question.

“Get her settled.” Dread nods to the table. “I'll make you both a plate.”

“That's okay,” I say, putting Ember in her highchair. “I can handle it. I don't want to put you out.”

I'd also really like to know why the hell he's in Meena's house.

My confusion is still sitting at an all-time high. I have no clue what the hell is going on.

“Juice,” Ember says, giving me a cheesy smile. “I can has juice?”

Dread grabs the sippy cup off the counter and places it down for her.

“She showed me where her plates were too,” he says, running a hand over Ember's wild curls.

“She's very verbal for her age.” He heads over to the counter and starts making plates.

“But she's behind in everything else. She doesn't shift?”

My mouth falls open. “She's not behind,” I snap. “She's got the spatial skills of a three-year-old, and she doesn't turn two for close to two months.”

“I meant no offense,” Dread says, coming to the table with Ember's plate. It's bizarre seeing the six-and-a-half-foot tall demon hound carrying her teal plastic plate and yellow fork. “Most pups her age sleep in shifted form. Does she shift?”

“Ooo, I like it,” Ember says, biting into a piece of bacon and chewing loudly. “I like bacon!”

“Say ‘thank you’,” I gently remind her.

“Thanks, Dread,” she says, giving him a huge grin.

“Of course.” He guides me to the chair next to hers. “Sit, please. And answer my question.”

“She has never shifted,” I say, sitting down and grabbing a paper towel. I hand it to Ember. “We don't wipe our hands on our clothes.”

“Thanks.” She takes it without using it, then goes back to trying to fork her eggs.

“She will soon.” He places a plate in front of me, along with a glass of orange juice. He sets another on the other side of Ember and takes a seat in the chair.

Coffee.

I need coffee.

That's probably why nothing is making sense. I need proper caffeination to deal with the day.

Dread's head tilts to the side as he studies me. He looks nearly animalistic, even in his human form. Those bright red eyes of his don't help him blend in, but they are damn beautiful. “Why aren't you eating?”

“S-sorry,” I stutter. What the hell am I doing? Grabbing my fork, I dig into the eggs. They're light and fluffy and flavorful as hell. “Mmm, these are delicious. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Ember repeats.

Dread chuckles, shaking his head. “You're very welcome, little wolf.” His shocking red eyes glow as they meet mine. “Where's her father?”

I choke on my juice, sputtering out a cough. Dread's eyes glow even brighter for a second, until I catch my breath.

“He disappeared when I was pregnant with Ember. I haven't seen or heard from him since,” I say, acting like it doesn't hurt like hell every time I think of Alix.

Dread studies my face carefully, and Ember continues her morning routine of getting food everywhere in her attempt to make it to her mouth.

Today is officially the weirdest day ever.