Page 23

JULIUS

As the credits begin to roll, I glance up, bleary eyed, from my knitting project to see that Marcus has passed out cuddling Charlotte’s feet, and she’s fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder.

The little witch is drooling on my sweater, but I can’t muster up the ire I normally would at someone getting my clothes dirty.

I guess this is what it feels like to have a mate.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Atlas’ voice sounds through the small room before his silhouette appears against the screen. He tosses it up, quickly stepping into the nest with a scowl.

“Kidding you about what?” I ask in a whisper, trying not to disturb the sleeping witch who stirs my heart or the gargoyle who has been my companion for hundreds of years.

The possessiveness that flares to life inside my chest at the look of irritation that Atlas levels on Charlotte surprises me.

I’m not an angry guy, much more a lover than a fighter and the poet rather than the soldier, but I want to toss him out the window.

I want to drown him in the loch. Even if we don’t need to breathe, I want to find a way to make him stop.

I curl an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder and stroke at the strap of her overalls. The fabric is well worn and covered in paint, and it doesn’t trigger the part of my brain with the impulse to clean. The Gods must be fucking with me, giving me such a messy little mate.

“Oh Gods above and below, Julius, I thought you of all people wouldn’t fall for this pest.” He clenches a fist and punches the wall without his full force. His magic flares in our shared bond before fizzling down. “She is nothing to us.”

“She could be everything to all of us if you’d just give her a chance,” I snarl.

Atlas snorts, crossing his arms over his chest and stalking into the room. The blankets suddenly become dirty . My mind sticks on the fact, and I growl softly, unable to help the animalistic noise that wrenches from my damn soul.

Our nest is dirty because of him and those damn boots.

It’s supposed to be a perfect space for us, and we made No Shoes the first rule.

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Atlas snarks before plopping down and making a mess of the arrangement of blankets beside Charlotte.

“You know you’re getting on my nerves. You’re being a brat,” I hiss softly, pulling Charlotte from against me into my lap. I bring my arms around her protectively.

“The pest is too sweet to be savory. Julius. Take your head out of your arse and just look. She shows up the day supernaturals revealed themselves, with the deed to our castle and nary a penny more.” He hisses the words with such vitriol it makes my blood boil.

I open my mouth to rebut him, but Charlotte stirs in my arms and yawns softly.

“And you’ve been nothing but a rude asshole since I showed up. I’m sorry for having the world’s worst timing and being poor,” she snaps, shifting out of my lap and shoving herself into the small space between me and Atlas.

I bite my lip and try not to think about how her ass is practically in my hand and how fucking soft it is against me and how hot she is when defending herself. Yeah, I see nothing. Nothing going on here. I totally have a hard-on because of knitting. Totally normal.

“What? Did you want me to roll out the red carpet? Well, I’m sorry, I was told at the last fucking minute I’d have to hide in my own damn attic with my nest-mates because there was a confused little pest of a witch coming to town,” he snaps back, pushing away from Charlotte.

The beautiful witch scowls and crawls across the blankets to get up close to him again, and though I mourn the loss of her against me, I get an incredible view of her arse in those overalls. I stifle a groan, but Marcus doesn’t as he wakes.

“What’s with all the noise?” he asks in a sleepy murmur, eyes opening for a second before locking on Charlotte’s backside.

“Atlas,” I grumble.

“Stop!” Atlas yelps, falling back into a pile of pillows and blankets as Charlotte crawls over his supine body.

I’m jealous of the arsehole because he’s where I should be. He’s done nothing but be a knob, but he gets straddled…sorta.

“You are invading my personal space,” he sputters, freezing up.

“Yeah, well, your attitude has been invading mine. You need to quit it. I’m going to be here until I’m able to get my inheritance and find out more about myself.

I didn’t know I was a witch when I stepped into this castle, but I’m going to leave knowing everything I need to know about it,” she says, leaning down so she’s nose to nose with Atlas.

The jealousy burns in my blood, but so does a satisfaction unlike anything I’ve known.

Charlotte is a badass, and she’s putting Atlas in his place just like Darius or I would do…

though not as gently. She looms over him for another long moment before she pushes herself up onto her knees and then stands.

“I should probably get back downstairs anyway. I want to finish up one of the pieces I was working on so I can start fresh tomorrow,” Charlotte murmurs, leaving the nest as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

Marcus’s eyes trail after her, and when the door shuts, he sits up and glares at Atlas.

“Really, man?” the happy-go-lucky one out of us asks in a tone very unlike him.

Atlas lies in the blankets with his eyes locked on the ceiling. He isn’t breathing, but I’m not entirely concerned. He doesn’t need to breathe, and this is just another way for him to be dramatic about everything.

“You need to change all the bedding. I want it washed with the good softener,” I growl, shoving to my feet and snatching up my knitting basket. “Every single piece, Atlas.”

“Yeah, you know shoes are a no-no in the nest,” Marcus says, providing unnecessary but helpful backup.

Atlas has yet to speak and continues to stare straight up at the rafters.

I storm from the nest and head toward my bedroom. The door to the armory is open a crack as I pass, but I don’t linger. The last thing I need right now is to accidentally snap at her because Atlas got me all riled up.

Stomping into my room, I slam the door and slide the lock into place.

The room is a mess, unlike the way I like to keep the rest of the house.

This space is a piece of the deepest recesses of my mind, so in here, things can be wherever the hell I want them.

I toss the basket down beside the door and pick up the blanket I had been working on the day Charlotte arrived.

It makes me think back to the conversation with Marcus and how he chose a blanket over a scarf. Maybe it was supposed to be for her.

ATLAS

I swore I would never share breath with a witch again, yet there I was, with a witch in my face, practically tasting the magic rolling off her skin.

I press my lips together after a moment and hold my breath.

The sensation of her hovering over me makes my entire body tingle, like a million fire ants biting into my flesh all at once. I may be stone, but even I have had the occasional flesh-side accident, and she feels like that but a million times worse.

Gods she is so much fucking worse than anything I could have ever imagined and so fucking perfect it makes me ache.

She left me here on the floor, just staring at the ceiling.

Marcus is still here in the nest that I’ve sullied, glaring at me.

I can feel the air of his judgment and do my best to focus on that instead.

It hurts to be near her, but it’s agony to be any distance away.

Finally, I release a breath, and Marcus snorts.

“We don’t need to breathe. That’s not very impressive.” He scoots over to sit beside me.

Too many words are swirling around in my mind to string the perfect ones together into a sentence to tell him to fuck off.

So I don’t. The ceiling is the only thing that makes sense at the moment.

It’s high above me, the ancient wood beams still sturdy and strong from our years of care.

They won’t change on me. The ceiling beams will stay the same as they have for hundreds of years.

“I can tell you like her,” Marcus says, and my entire chest constricts.

A wheeze of air rushes from my deflated lungs, and he laughs.

“You think you can hide behind all that brooding, but we’re nest-mates, man.

I can see through you in a way no one else can,” he adds with a far too chipper demeanor.

“You like Charlotte, and it scares the shit out of you because you haven’t had the best experiences with witches, especially strange ones. ”

“You don’t know anything about my experience with witches.” The words come out in a defensive hiss, more reflex than intention.

“I do so.” Marcus scoffs. “I know you were made by a witch who abandoned you, and ever since, you haven’t trusted a single witch we haven’t vetted with about a hundred years of time first.” He then flops down beside me, looking at the same beams that make up the ceiling.

“I don’t have to trust witches,” I grumble, finally letting my eyes shut.

The pain of the memories Marcus just pulled to the surface rushes to the forefront of my mind. If only it had just been abandonment.

“The pest has gotten you all twisted in knots, Marcus. We can’t trust her.”

“And why not?” he asks with a petulant little cluck of his tongue. “She’s sweet, sexy as hell, and she’s been painting us nonstop.”

“That doesn’t make her case any better.” I furrow my brows as I imagine it. Paintings of all of us in her little art room, my old armory, and something like elation rolls through me. I bite hard at my cheek, not letting the emotion show on my face.

“You should ask her to see them, Atlas. They’re incredible. She did this one of my smile, and I just like…Well, I didn’t think my smile was anything special beforehand, but seeing myself through her eyes—” His words are cut off by a dreamy sigh that makes my whole body heave up off the floor.