Page 9 of Claimed By Her Monsters

Chapter Nine

Fond Of Knives

I’m a little drunk. Okay, maybe more than a little. I wasn’t paying attention when Mick poured the tequila into our margaritas, which in hindsight might’ve been a mistake. I’ve only had three, but my lips are already numb and my body feels floaty, like I’m untethered.

We’ve been playing for over an hour now. Game pieces litter the board, little green houses popping up like weeds as we each scramble to become landlords in this imaginary Monopoly kingdom.

Mick’s been cracking jokes all evening. The more he drinks, the funnier he gets, or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe it’s me. The more I drink, the funnier he gets?

I’m not the only one tipsy. Mick’s drinking two margaritas for every one I get down.

He entertains us with dirty jokes and unhinged pickup lines.

Even Alister and Caspian have softened, relaxing into the coziness of the evening.

Outside thunder booms and lightning flashes, but in here fire warms the room and jazz music plays quietly in the background.

“Oh, oh,” exclaims Mick. “I’ve got a good one.” He leans toward me, his cheeks pink, flushed from alcohol. A mischievous grin lets me know he’s about to say something scandalous. “How did Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?”

I roll my eyes but play along. “I don’t know. How?”

He’s bent over laughing before he even gets to the punchline. “He forgot to wrap his Whopper.”

Sober me would probably groan. Buzzed me howls. Tears spill down my cheeks as I laugh too hard, my body tipping sideways…right into Alister.

He goes rigid beneath me, every line of him tense, but he doesn’t shove me off. His scent, clean, sharp, fills my nose.

I blink up at him, heart thudding so loud I worry he might hear it.

He raises his hand then and slowly, deliberately, brings it to my face.

Lips pursed and eyes narrow, his fingertips trace down my cheek.

They skim the curve of my jaw and my breath hitches.

The fire pops, sending sparks shooting up the chimney. They match the ones in my veins.

“You have the most unusual eyes,” he says with a quirk of his head. A line appears between his dark brows. “Almost…silver. Never seen anything quite like them.”

His thumb ghosts past my lower lip and warmth blooms in my core. My gaze betrays me, dropping to his mouth, lips full and red.

What does he taste like?

He leans closer. For a wild, breathless moment, I think he’ll kiss me and God, I want it. Desperately. I’d sell my soul to the devil for it.

Alister doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he stands, and I roll off him like water, landing back on the couch cushions with a gentle thump. Alister gazes down at me, expression cold where a moment ago it burned.

The silence thickens until I giggle nervously and then—humiliatingly—hiccup. Eyes wide, I slap a hand over my mouth. So embarrassing.

“Alright. That’s enough.” His voice is tight, controlled. “You need water.” He stalks off, heading for the kitchen.

The cushion dips as Mick drops into Alister’s empty spot.

His size and heat fill the space. I lean the opposite direction, so I don’t fall into him the way I just did with Alister.

I expect a joke, but instead Mick stares at the doorway Alister disappeared through, his usually jolly face pensive, lined with something heavier.

Longing? Sadness? Something more? My stomach twists.

What if there’s history between them? What if they’re more than friends? Why does that bother me so much?

“How do you know him?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

Mick blinks, then grins, booming out a laugh. “Alister? He stabbed me. Twice.”

With that shocking statement, Mick reaches up and pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion. “Look!” He points to a scar low on his ribs. “Bastard poked me right here.” Then he twists and shows me another on his back. “And over here. The nerve, right?”

I’m not looking at his scars though. I’m looking at him, because wow, the man is stacked.

Broad chest, muscles carved like stone, scars like warpaint, black Celtic tattoos ripple as he gestures.

Even the thick dusting of chest hair, something I usually hate, only makes him seem more dangerous. More overwhelmingly male.

He rambles on, flexing without realizing it, the tattoos shifting as he gestures, and a slow heat unspools inside me, curling low. I press my lips together, guilty. A minute ago, I was aching for Alister’s kiss, and now I can’t stop staring at Mick.

What’s wrong with me?

I glance over to see Caspian’s watching Mick too, subdued hunger in his gaze. At least I’m not the only one feeling the pull. Slowly, I tune back into Mick’s words.

“Bastard stitched me up after, too. One minute he’s got a blade in your ribs, the next he’s saving your life. That’s Al for you.” The way Mick says it isn’t angry. If anything, it’s…fond.

Alister reappears in the doorway, a glass of water in hand. All three of our heads snap up. His gaze lingers on Mick’s bare chest a fraction too long before he moves, advancing into the room.

“Hey, Al,” Mick says cheerfully, leaning back against the couch, utterly unaware of the tension strung tight in the air. “I was just telling Maddie about how we met.”

Alister grimaces, eyes flicking to me like he’s gauging my reaction. I look away, guilty and confused, my emotions too tangled to unwind.

“Hmm.” He hums low. “Better watch yourself, Mick. Our little Maddie is just as fond of knives as I am.”

My head whips toward him, blood draining from my face. I can’t believe he just went there. His gaze cuts away, refusing to meet my eyes, like maybe even he regrets saying it.

Wanting to distract myself, I turn to Caspian. “How about you?” I wave my hand vaguely toward the other men. “How do you fit in with these two?”

Caspian locks up, shrinking in on himself, his hoodie swallows his narrow frame. Shame shadows his face, like he’s hiding a story I’m not supposed to know. Rain taps the glass like the storm won’t ever give up.

“He kinda came with the house,” says Alister as he takes a seat behind me, closer than I expected. My skin prickles when his chest brushes against my back. His hand curves into my peripheral vision, steady as he holds out the glass.

“Drink your water, Madison.” Alister’s voice is a low purr in my ear, breath hot against the side of my neck.

Mick and Caspian watch us with parted lips, their gazes fixed.

On me. On Alister. On the space between us.

Heat races down my spine. I have a sudden irrational urge to arch back against Alister, to drag Mick’s big body in and kiss him. Hell, even to invite Caspian to move closer, to close that watchful distance…

Oh my God. I’m losing my mind.

The doorbell rings.