Page 14 of Below the Shadow of the City

CHAPTER 14

MONDAY, OCTOBER 1

“ I hate to put a dimmer on this afterglow but you really need to get going,” I awake to Maddox whispering in my ear as I lay in his embrace. I jolt at the feeling of fur grazing my skin, forgetting this wasn’t like any other one night stand.

My eyes flutter open and I need to get my bearings. Soft artificial light comes in through the windows, and I begin to recognize the brick walls, soft sheets, and the body beside mine.

Right, I remind myself, you slept with Maddox. I am utterly grateful my consciousness remembered this fact before I woke up screaming at the beast beside me.

My vision adjusts to the clock on his bedside table, it’s six in the morning, two hours from now I need to be walking towards the subway station to get to work. The idea of returning to my bleak cage of steel and glass for the day feels nearly oppressive after the night I had. How am I supposed to sit in my cubicle plunking away at my computer knowing that lurking stories below is Maddox and this entire underground city he resides in?

Maddox swings his legs over the side of the bed. “ Coffee?” he asks from over his shoulder. The beginnings of a hangover headache form in my temples.

I groan and nod. He pads across the room and slips on a pair of gray sweatpants, but not before I steal a look at his perfect round ass. Across species and realities gray sweatpants persist, and for that, I’m grateful.

“You’re welcome to use the shower while it brews,” he offers. I stiffen, reminding myself that of course this has to be merely a one night thing. All we are is a taste of forbidden fruit for one another. I sit up a bit and study his face. Does he do this often? Does he have a revolving door of all the other human women he’s seduced in their respective laundry rooms? Am I just creating a false narrative to make this all easier for myself?

“Seems like you’ve done this quite a few times,” I quip, maybe crueler than intended. He whips around and looks at me quizzically. His head cocks to the side.

“I have had a woman in my bed before, if that’s what you’re implying,” his voice is flat with a small hint of annoyance. I’m more than okay with it. Ending this will hurt much less if we’re both flippant and uncaring the morning after.

“Any repeat customers?” I twitch an eyebrow.

“A few failed relationships here and there, one or two hookups that I’m not particularly proud of.” He uncomfortably twirls the strings of his sweatpants, “and, hopefully, you.” My stomach flips, and not from the wine and carbs from last night.

“Ah, so you can add me to the roster?” I nervously laugh, not a damn chance I’m letting myself get swept up by his easy charm. And soft gaze. And sultry morning voice.

“So I can select you as the number one draft pick.” Fucking hell. He leaves no time for me to talk back and swiftly exits his bedroom. Might as well wash all of these conflicting feelings off.

Twenty minutes later, I wander out of the bathroom drying my hair with a remarkably fluffy towel while another is cozily wrapped around me. My fingers trail in between bricks as I walk through the lavish apartment. Maddox is leaning on the countertop, resting his elbows on the granite as he clutches a coffee mug in one hand and his forehead in the other.

His phone sits on the countertop in front of him playing some video at a low volume. Even after spending the night, seeing him with modern accoutrements like a phone and a t-shirt throws me off. With a physicality like his, he certainly doesn’t look like he should be a part of this modern world.

If he’s a beast from centuries past, what does that make me? The princess who stumbled upon him in his den, begging to be swept away to a kingdom without the complications of my own existence?

I mean, it’s kind of a nice thought, until I remember no such fantasies exist.

He’s rubbing at his brow to dissipate his own headache. It’s a small win that Maddox is in as rough shape as I am, but he’d done a far better job covering it up until now.

“You have incredibly nice hair products in there,” my voice makes him perk up a bit, he pauses the video and snaps upright. The three empty wine bottles and glasses rest next to him, carnage from the night before.

“I mean,” he turns towards me, gestures to himself, and bubbles of rough laughter erupt from his diaphragm. “I’m literally covered in hair. Of course I’m going to spend a lot to make sure it looks good.” His voice is raspy and warm and I want to bury myself in it. He’s wearing glasses, I notice. Definitely a little hungover too , I chuckle to myself. He has on classic gold round frames, like every other 20-or-30-something guy in Brooklyn. They perch on the bridge of his nose, or muzzle, or whatever that protrusion in the middle of his face technically is. I’ll figure out specifics later. Or, ideally, never .

Right now what matters is that in his low slung sweatpants and glasses he is the hottest thing I’ve seen. Tousled bed head is tenfold with him, he’s covered in waves that stick out at all angles. His shoulders tense and flex as he stretches a bit.

I deliberate dropping my towel and doing what we did last night all over again. From the look he’s giving me, I think he’s thinking the same thing. His tail flicks a bit behind him, as if it has a mind of its own. The motion makes me glance down at it, and he shamefully brushes it to the side.

He shakes himself off and steps into the open living room and tosses me a sweatshirt that was lying on the couch, “You can put this on, since, you know, I tore apart your underwear. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not, not even a little.”

The warmth of the shower, thinking of ripping those gray sweatpants off of him, and his comment make my entire body bloom with a rosy flush. “…Is that going to be a regular thing?”

“Are you actually admitting you want to see me again?” He winks. Fuck.

I slide the sweatshirt over myself and it hangs below my knees, I’m now totally enveloped by his smell. My hair smells like him, the sweatshirt smells like him, in the most subtle way imaginable, he’s marked his territory. It’s taking every bone in my body to fight off the blooming arousal.

“We’ll see,” I say flatly. He tightens his lips and tilts his head to the side to study me like I’m prey. I won’t let him pry a real answer out of me. One step off the ledge and nothing will stop me from falling until I crash at the bottom with a splat like Wile E. Coyote.

Maddox wordlessly heads back to the counter and hands me a mug filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee. “I made an assumption that you’d take it black.”

“And you assumed correctly,” our hands lightly brush when I reach for the cup. My fingertips graze the soft dark fur that covers the backs of his hands. It’s almost too hot to drink, but I need the caffeine and the distraction from how his touch makes me feel. A few gulps and the mug is halfway drained.

Maddox smirks as he takes a sip from his own mug. “Sorry, should I have asked if you wanted it to go?”

I laugh and take another sip, a normal one this time.

He glances up at me again.

“Come back tonight,” he rubs his thumb over my hand. “Please.” I want to come back, I don’t want to leave his apartment, I didn’t want to leave his bed. Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. He’ll leave too, they always do. I feel my eyes sting a bit.

It would be so easy to chalk this up to being one of the best nights I’ve had in years and leave it at that. Years from now I could look back wistfully on the night I spent with the fanged, horned, and furry handsome stranger as a distant memory. It would hurt a bit. I tell myself that the pain now would be much less than allowing myself to see him over and over again and fall in love only to have it ripped out from under me.

“I—I don’t know,” I start, staring into the tiny bubbles on the coffee’s inky surface. Maddox cups my chin and lifts my head towards him.

“Is it because of me? Something I did?” he asks sadly. He’s the least of my concerns, he’s everything I’ve wanted and then some. I can also guarantee no one else will give me multiple orgasms in one night like he did. I’m the problem here, I’m the one terrified of falling in love because losing Perrie fucked me over so badly almost a year ago.

“No, that’s not it, it’s me,” I respond quietly. His hand lowers and he stiffens.

“Because you’re attracted to me?” He snaps slightly with discontentment and catches himself. The stinging behind my eyes grows stronger, my vision begins to blur.

“No, no, that’s not why in the slightest,” my voice cracks.

“Sigrid,” his eyes soften, he wants to say something, I can sense the words forming on his lips. Even him saying my name brings the tears bubbling to the surface, I feverishly blink them away. It’s too vulnerable to cry in front of him, he’s so well-adjusted, and attractive, and I’m this messy, ugly, babbling idiot. I can’t let him see so much vulnerability. I’m overtired and hungover, that’s all. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m carrying this looming curse with me, I can try to convince myself of that.

I thought Perrie loved me once, just as I thought all the ones before her did. All of them, despite their whispered sweet nothings and insistences that they wanted me forever, vanished. He’ll be just like them, despite how wonderful he is right now.

“Please, please just come back tonight.” He asks again, his voice just above a whisper.

The clock on his stove says it’s a few minutes past seven thirty. I have hardly enough time to run back to my place, finish getting ready, and work a full day. I’m flushed, flustered, and puffy from silent tears. And now I have to leave without giving him an answer.

He tries to say the words he was ruminating on but I raise my hand to stop him. “I have to go,” I say solemnly. His brows lower and he dips his head in a single nod. I swipe my purse and phone off the counter and shuffle out the door.

Once in the hallway I regain my bearings and try to retrace my steps from last night. After a few minutes of walking the wrong direction and ducking into alcoves to avoid others likely leaving for work, I find the elevator and smack the button to take me to the top floor. The stale air makes his sweatshirt smell all that much stronger and it’s choking me. I tap my foot and count the floors as they steadily tick up, the moment the doors open I flee down the basement hallway.

I’m back above ground, back to normalcy. Soon enough I’ll forget last night ever happened.

“You look like you slept in a subway tunnel,” Margo leans on the top of my cubicle. The morning had barely started and I was barely going to get through it. I chugged a coffee next to the island at Maddox’s place, gulped down another from the bodega down my street, and was currently sipping my third from the office kitchen.

I’d been staring at nothing in particular for most of the day, my eyes glazed over from steadily losing my grip on reality. I thought I was a rational person, at least I was 24 hours ago. I had every intention of this being a one-time hookup. Proof that the basement stranger was real, and proof that I could sleep with someone without making it complicated and weird. It had been fewer than six hours since I left his apartment and I was already making it very, very complicated. And exceptionally weird.

“I slept at mystery guy’s apartment,” I groan. Now wouldn’t be the time to reveal that he’s a seven foot tall monster with fur and all his other accompanying features. Even thinking of how it felt to have him locked inside me makes my core heat all over again.

“No fucking way, you met him?” She gasps with a dramatic flair that should only be reserved for the tackiest of TV dramas. “He’s real? Is he hot? Are you gonna see him again?” Her volume is about ten levels higher than it should be right now. My head throbs as I stew in regret and expensive Merlot.

“Why was everyone so convinced he wasn’t real?” I grumble. Both she and Matthias were too shocked for me to not be a little offended. He didn’t tell her, though, so I can’t be that mad. I shake off the comment. “He’s very, very real. Startlingly good in bed, and hot. Just in an…unconventional way.”

“Got it, like a Benedict Cumberbatch kind of deal,” she replies assuredly. No, not even a little bit like Benedict Cumberbatch, I actually cannot think of two more dissimilar looking individuals. I’m not in the mood to debate.

“Sure,” I rest my head in my palm. “I wanted this to be a one night stand but he asked me to come back tonight.” He practically pleaded with me to. It was staggering to see such a massive creature reduced to groveling like he did. It’s practically impossible not to want to return to him.

“Obviously you said yes,” Margo says with mild annoyance. My anxious avoidant attachment style looms over us like a dark cloud.

I shamefully shake my head. “I said nothing. I bolted. I can’t make this into something, it’ll end poorly.”

“Who’s to say it will?”

“Literal statistics. I have a batting average of zero. Twenty eight years on this earth and I have half a dozen failed relationships to show for it.” I attempt to smooth down the bumps in my hair pulled back in a claw clip. Strands are already falling out and grazing my ears. When I got back to my apartment I had a half hour to get ready and operated on autopilot, I don’t even remember pulling this particular blouse from my closet or swiping on mascara.

Margo groans at my self deprecation, “Sigrid you’re not even thirty you can’t resign yourself to never dating again. It’s a second date, not a marriage proposal.”

“Why can’t I throw in the towel? If I don’t date someone they won’t fall out of love and break up with me. I’m protecting myself from heartbreak.” It hurt enough to leave Maddox’s apartment this morning, and that was after only one night together. Any longer with him and the split would destroy me entirely.

“No,” she says firmly, “you’re avoiding finding your person by being so damn avoidant.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” I grumble through my hand as my cheeks grow hot .

“Sigrid, see him again, at least tonight. Suss out your feelings and then decide. Don’t build this nonsensical clamshell around yourself to keep someone from finding out you’re a perfect little pearl.” I physically cringe at her cheesy metaphor. She plays the role of “best friend in a stereotypical romcom” way too well.

I raise my head from my hands and give her a glare. “You are horribly annoying, and painfully logical, do you know that?”

“Yin and yang, baby,” she flicks her finger between herself and I with a wink. “Let me take you out to lunch, you need sustenance, and a drink.”

“No, no alcohol, I’m already hungover,” I practically gag the words out. “The thought of sipping anything but a Diet Coke right now makes me want to vomit.”

“Already got you one,” she plunks a can on my desk. “You have a very obvious hangover tell.” I immediately crack it open and chug a few glorious, bubbly sips of the healing potion.

“I should date you instead,” I bat my eyelashes up at her.

She winks at me. “Tragic you aren’t a man. The universe subjected me to being horrendously straight.”

“Tragic indeed, no man could ever know Diet Coke is the perfect hangover elixir.” My calendar sends an alert for an upcoming meeting, and for the first time I realize what day it is. October 1st, the day I was supposed to give Billie Gustafson an answer about the cookbook.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath, “the cookbook.” Margo stops mid sip of her own soda and glares at me with a genuine anger.

“Tell me you said yes,” she practically growls at me.

“I didn’t say anything,” I don’t add the modifier of ‘yet’ because I still don’t know. The weekend I was supposed to spend making an informed decision quickly devolved into something else. My priorities were misplaced. Margo doesn’t speak, instead she shoves me in my rolling chair and perches at my desk. She quickly finds Billie’s email and plunks out a reply.

Hi Billie,

Thank you for the opportunity. Yes. I’m in.

Sigrid

Before I can protest or push her away, my computer makes a whooshing sound effect as the email is sent across Manhattan to the Gingham Books office.

“You can spend the rest of your life deliberating and missing out on what’s in front of you, or you can go for the risk and see what comes of it. Since you’re waffling about mystery man, you’re not allowed to waffle about the literal biggest professional opportunity you’ll ever be handed,” she flicks her hair over her shoulders and walks off. My mouth hangs open in shock.