Page 11 of Claimed By Her Monsters

Chapter Eleven

You're A Toddler

We make another round of margaritas, strawberry this time. Mick gets the speckled red berries out of the refrigerator and blends them with ice. Since we already used the wide-rimmed margarita glasses, they go into red Solo cups like we’re at a frat party.

Monopoly intensifies as first Caspian and then Mick go bankrupt.

“It’s down to just you and me,” I tell Alister, showing him my teeth.

He sighs, unimpressed. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You should be,” I retort. “I’m ruthless. I’ll bleed you dry.”

A slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips. “Careful, little one. You don’t scare me. It’s more likely to be the other way around.”

“I’m not here to scare you.” I lean forward, eyes narrowing on the board. “I’m here to win.”

“Win?” His tone drips with mockery. “You’ve got two railroads and some pastel shacks in the slums. I own Boardwalk. You’re a toddler with a piggy bank trying to take down a hedge fund.”

I jab my finger at his cluster of blue hotels. “Every empire falls. Every dictator eventually chokes on their own power. Enjoy your evil kingdom while it lasts. I’m winning this. Watch me.”

He leans in close, his voice a silken taunt. “Oh, trust me. I’m watching you.”

My mouth goes dry at the hidden threat, the heat in those words.

Mick sprawls on his back in front of the fireplace. He throws an arm over his eyes and groans. “Christ, you two should just arm wrestle and get it over with.”

“Or make out,” Caspian mutters, just as thunder crackles outside and the lights in the room blink off, then immediately back on.

We go around and around the board, neither of us able to best the other. Sometimes Alister is ahead, then the pendulum swings back and I claw my way into the lead. It’s a stalemate, but one humming with electricity.

Finally, Mick sits up, the back of his hair mussed from where he’s been lying flat. He never put his shirt back on and all night, Alister, Caspian, and I have been stealing glances like his body is a sweet nectar, a slow poison that’ll kill us if we take too long of a drink.

“I’m bored,” he declares now, like a king pronouncing judgment. “Let’s pause Monopoly for a little while.”

In a feat of pure athleticism, he springs to his feet and prowls to the complicated-looking audio system Alister keeps.

A twist of a knob, and the room swells with a slow, melancholy song.

I don’t miss the look Mick darts at Alister when the lyrics mention heartbreak or how Alister shifts, uncomfortable, like invisible fingers prod old bruises.

The volume rises. The air thickens. The board lies forgotten.

The first tune bleeds into another, slower still. I’m half-lulled by the music and the background patter of rain on the windows when a shadow falls over me. I glance up and startle, surprised to find Caspian standing there, tall and uncertain, one hand extended.

His eyes are hidden under his shaggy fringe, his voice halting. “Do you…want to dance?”

Impressed by his courage, and maybe a little charmed, I rise. Moving slowly, careful not to spook him, I slide my hand into his. My skin is warm. His is cool, almost startlingly so, but I don’t let go.

He draws me gently into his arms. His movements are stiff at first, like he doesn’t quite know how to hold me, but when I rest my head against his chest, I feel a shudder ripple through him. His arms tighten, protective, almost possessive, and then his chin lowers, brushing the top of my head.

I close my eyes and let myself melt, tension from the day unraveling like a loose string pulled from a sweater.

“My turn.”

The words snap me back, and suddenly Mick is there, unceremonious as ever. He shoves Caspian aside like it’s a game of musical chairs.

“Mick—” I start, half protesting, but Caspian’s whisper cuts me off.

“It’s okay.” His smile is small but real, his shoulders squaring as if the dance gave him something he needed.

When he steps back, the rug dents under his heel and the chair gives a quiet creak as he slips back into his seat.

I’m left blinking up at the giant who now towers over me, broad grin firmly in place.

The song shifts brighter, faster, and Mick sweeps me up like I weigh nothing. His arms lock around me and he spins until the room blurs. I’m laughing, breathless, when he slows, raises our joined hands, and twirls me out, only to pull me back in.

I slam against him so we’re chest to chest, his body hard as granite, heat searing me through. My palms flatten against his bare skin, and I nearly gasp at the sheer wall of muscle that flexes beneath my hands.

His grin falters at my touch, slips into something more serious.

His bright green eyes drop heavy-lidded, gaze scorching.

The air between us vibrates like static, charged and dangerous.

He leans down, mouth brushing my ear so that every whispered word falls against my skin like a caress.

“You sure are a pretty thing, our Maddie.”

The compliment shouldn’t matter. He’s drunk, he’s reckless, but it lights me up anyway, chases away shadows that have clung to my soul for too long. In place of all that pain, warmth fizzes, it bursts like fireworks, wild and impossible to quell.

For a long, lingering second, I let myself bask in it.

In him looking at me like this, like I’m rare. Desired. Beautiful.

His nose skims my hair as he breathes me in, slow and savoring. “You smell nice too,” he murmurs, lips brushing the crown of my head in a kiss that pretends to be chaste but isn’t. His hands, huge, warm, unyielding, press lower, spreading heat across my back as he drags me closer.

He doesn’t stop there. His mouth hovers, first at my temple, then trailing lower, toward my cheek. His breath ghosts over my skin, his lips so close that one tilt, one slip, would have us kissing.

My knees weaken. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

An ache grows, deep in my core, sharp with desire.

Guilt nips at its heels. Alister’s handsome face flashes in my mind.

The way Caspian held me earlier, gentle, protective.

My stomach knots. What’s wrong with me? How can I want this, want him, when I’m still aching for Alister this very minute?

When Caspian’s touch lingers on my skin?

I should pull away.

I don’t.

Mick’s nose skims down my neck. He inhales, long and indulgent. “So good.” He nuzzles into me, and the rough scrape of his stubble against my skin makes my blood sing. Another sniff, a fond, almost drugged sigh. His words slur, “Sweet. Warm. Like smoke curling off the fire.”

I lift my chin, tilt my head, to give him better access.

“This okay?” He murmurs, dragging his lips along my skin.

“Yes.” The word leaves me before sense can catch it.

He presses a soft kiss to the tender skin of my neck. The moan slips out before I can stifle it. I shouldn’t want this. He’s Alister’s friend. He’s huge, overwhelming, and yet my body responds, heat unspooling low, shame curling with it.

Mick trails his tongue lower to my collarbone which he licks, and I moan louder. I want to look over, to know if Alister is watching this, but I’m too scared of what I’ll see.

Will he be disgusted? Disinterested? Turned on?

I don’t even know how I want him to respond.

Mick groans against my neck, then bites down gently, a nip so soft I doubt it’ll even leave a mark.

I force myself to look over at Alister then, needing to know what he’s thinking.

Alister sits on the couch, with his legs splayed, his shoulders loose, the picture of practiced boredom. My stomach sinks, sad and strangely disappointed.

He doesn’t care.

That’s when I lift my gaze to his face and my heart stops beating.

Alister is not happy.

His handsome face is a mask, frozen in place, but his eyes…his eyes burn with a furious, primal, possessive rage. So terrifying that I’m suddenly scared for Mick’s life. Tension fills the air.

Unaware of the danger he’s in, Mick licks the place he just bit. His lips lift to hover over mine, every movement broadcasting he’s about to kiss me.

I can’t move, trapped in Alister’s dark gaze.

Right before he kisses me, Mick inhales, and…his whole body locks up.

“Wait.” His voice sharpens. His eyes snap open, wide with alarm.

He sniffs again, not sexy this time, but focused.

He’s quick, desperate, a hound on a trail.

His nose touches my cheek, my throat, burrows into my hair like he needs to test every part of me.

He inhales once, twice, a final deep drag, and jerks back, eyes wild.

“Fuck.” Every muscle in him seizes. Horror floods his face, sobering him faster than a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. “That’s not smoke.” His voice is strangled. “Alister!”

From the couch comes a low, clipped, “I know.”

Mick shoves me back like I’m a loaded gun, panic rising. “Alister!”

“I said, I know,” Alister snaps, jaw tight. “I smelled it when she cut her finger. It’s in her blood.”

“What?” My voice cracks, fear raises the tiny hairs on my arms. In the fireplace, there’s a crackle as flames lick higher like it’s feeding off my emotion. “What’re you talking about?”

Mick’s wild gaze flicks to Caspian. “Caspian?”

Caspian doesn’t even flinch. “Her aura is red, getting darker all evening.” He stares at me, unblinking. “She’s about to awaken.”

Mick flinches, all his jolly bravado gone. His voice drops, guttural, horrified. “Oh my God.” His big frame trembles, his skin turns pale, every scar etched in sharp relief. “She’ll kill us all.”

My chest caves. “No!” The word rips out of me. “I’m not—I wouldn’t—I’m just me!” I look at each of them in turn. “Please tell me what’s going on!”

Mick swallows hard, eyes brimming with terror. His answer hits like a hammer against an anvil. “It’s not smoke, what you smell like.” His voice cracks. “It’s brimstone.”

My blood turns to ice. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mick stares, jaw clenched, fear plain.

“You’re a witch.”