Page 13 of Claimed By Her Monsters

Chapter Thriteen

Darling

Eventually, my sobs fade to sniffles. I tilt my face up, eyes wet. “Alister?”

“Yes, darling?” He raises a dark brow, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

“Darling?” Mick bristles. “How come you never call us darling? Hundreds of years, not one darling.”

Alister ignores him, gaze steady on me. “Go ahead, Madison. Ask whatever you need.”

“Are you a…” I hesitate, piecing together the clues. “Vampire?”

He smiles, prideful. “I am.”

Feeling a bit better, I lean closer and scan his mouth. “Where are your teeth?”

He smiles, displaying a set of very unimpressive, blunt-edged teeth. “They only come out when I’m hungry.” His voice drops low and his gaze travels over my body at a leisurely pace, like he enjoys the view, like I’m the one who stirs his appetite.

Heat floods my face. “But you picked me up in the middle of the afternoon? What about the sunlight?”

He heaves a sigh and settles me better on his lap, so I’m perched on his knee rather than trying to climb his neck like I’m a koala and he’s a eucalyptus tree. “Okay,” he says, stern and commanding. “I’m going to explain this once, so pay attention.”

I nod, my expression focused, serious.

“I don’t sleep in a coffin. I can go out in daylight. I like garlic on my pizza. I can step into a church, bathe in holy water, eat, drink, and fuck just like anyone else.” He sounds exasperated, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to explain.

“I need a small amount of blood to survive. I usually get it from a blood bank. Sometimes,” his eyes flick to Mick, then Caspian, then quickly away, “I get it from humans or other creatures.” He fixes me with a look.

“See? No big deal.” He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, then he tacks on a quick, “Oh yeah, and I’m immortal. ”

“Immortal?” I sit up straight and shoot him a glare, not liking how he tried to sneak that little detail past me. “Are witches immortal? Not that I’m one, I’m just asking.”

All three men look faintly amused, like they’re humoring me.

“A witch’s soul is immortal,” Caspian explains.

“It travels from one mortal body to another endlessly, like reincarnation, retaining all memories and powers once they’re awakened at nineteen.

That’s why you didn’t know what you are.

A child’s mind couldn’t comprehend all the lives it’s lived, and they certainly can’t be trusted with a witch’s power.

I mean, can you imagine? A two-year-old who could set off an earthquake just because they got strawberry milk instead of chocolate? ”

“Oh.” I droop. That wasn’t the answer I hoped to hear, which is stupid because I’m not a witch and I don’t want to be immortal just because Alister is. Right?

“Unless,” he says, and I perk up, “a witch finds her fated mate. Then her body stops aging. She remains in that form forever.”

“Oh. Interesting,” I say, like the idea of a fated mate doesn’t totally freak me out.

Don’t look at Alister. Don’t look at Alister.

“Does everyone have them?” I ask. “These…fated mates.”

“Yep,” Mick confirms, then grows wistful. “Remember Sabine? That witch from Turkey? I could’ve sworn she was my mate.”

“The one who was good at crossword puzzles?” asks Caspian.

Mick answers with a smirk. “The one with the great tits.”

“So your mate can be another…” I’m not sure what the terminology is, “species?”

Don’t look at Alister. Don’t look at Alister.

“Sure.” Mick shrugs. “Happens all the time.”

“If you’re a werewolf and you’re a vampire,” I point to Mick, Alister, then my finger swings over to Caspian. “What’re you?”

Alister’s hand is on my back again, tracing lazy circles. I don’t even think he’s aware he’s doing it. The movement is hypnotic. It makes me want to sink into him, but I need answers first, so I force my spine to straighten, stiff with resolve.

“Show her, Caspian,” Alister commands.

Caspian sends me an apologetic look, then he shimmers and vanishes.

Just poof. He’s gone. My head swivels, searching for him.

A whisper of cool air slides under my shirt and travels upward, skimming over my bra to brush against my nipples.

Invisible lips place a small, shy kiss on the underside of my jaw.

“Caspian?” My voice is barely a whisper, caught between fear and something far more dangerous. "Do that again so I know it's you."

The air shifts. I feel him, there but not there, circling me like a current. A flick against my wrist. A lingering chill snakes up my inner thigh, fingers, lips, tongue. My eyes flutter shut without meaning to.

The air rustles over me, sliding away and then, poof! Caspian’s back, blushing furiously.

“You’re like what?” I blink, my pulse racing. “An invisible peeping Tom?”

His eyebrows slash together. “I’m a ghost.”

“Oh!” I tap my finger on my lip. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“He’s bound to this house, because he died here,” explains Alister.

I whip my head towards Caspian, my heart clenching. “How?”

Mick drops his voice low and says in a spooky, warbling tone, “Murder.”

I gasp, clutch my chest. “Who killed you?” I ask Caspian.

“Dunno,” he blinks. “One minute I was walking down the stairs, and a hand shoved me. Next thing I know, I’m staring down at my dead body with my neck bent the wrong way.”

“We should solve the crime,” I cry out, wanting to bring justice to whoever hurt him.

“Why?” Caspian asks.

More hesitant now, I say, “So you can rest in peace?”

“I’m already at peace, here in this house, surrounded by the people I love.

” He, Mick, and Alister all share a warm look, smiling fondly at one another.

I would feel left out, except Alister’s hand is still on my back, tracing what I’m just realizing isn’t random patterns, but rather words.

I concentrate, trying to make out what he’s saying, but all I catch is the letter Y.

Yoga? Yurt? Yearning?

Maybe he doesn’t want me to figure it out. Maybe it’s a random assortment of letters. An alphabet soup. Or maybe it could change everything.