Page 18 of Who Owns You?

My mouth waters as I remember the glittering icings and sugar decorations that sat delicately along the carefully appointed layers of cake.

“Fuck, too hungry, too hungry,” I groan and press a hand to my stomach.

I eye the time on my phone and decide against calling to check on the pizza. The last thing I want to do is seem too pushy.

I debate calling Kennedy, but the time difference is another thing I’m getting used to. I’m ahead by a few hours, and calling her in the early evening is just about lunch for her. I know my sister better than most people in the world, and if I were to call her now, she might just be at lunch with Chad.

I don’t know why I’m surprised to hear the soft chime of a doorbell, but I am. After a single night and some scattered hours of days, I’ve almost come to expect some great thunderous booming from the door knockers when my pizza arrives.

Pulling myself from my sketchbook and the cozy spot I’ve made by the window in my selected bedroom, I tiptoe down the hall. I’m not used to living alone, so my volume goes down with the sun. I’ll have to teach myself that it isn’t necessary.

Chapter 8

JULIUS

I don’t remember dozingoff, but when I come to on the old sofa, my knitting has been discarded on a dusty storage box lid, and in its place, Marcus is dozing partially in my lap and partway on the sofa. We’re intertwined together, his tail across me and wrapped around my left wrist while he leans heavily against my right. The steady puffs of his breath against the crook of my neck give me goose bumps. Sighing, I extract my hand to stroke his hair softly as he naps against me.

We’ve always been close for nest-mates, and without physical intimacy, we both would have lost our sanity ages ago. Our relationship is more than just the physical needs being met but not so much as a lover—having someone so steadily by your side in and out of danger forges a bond deeper than words.

Marcus is my favorite unknown integer.

Darius is giving him the cold shoulder for some assumed mistake he made while getting his football, and Atlas has been pretending neither of us exists. The youngest gargoyle among us does so when he gets in a mood, so it’s been some days.

“Pretty, pretty witch—” Marcus sighs, nuzzling farther into my neck. His mouth is hot against my chilly skin, and I swear I feel a flick of his tongue before he jolts awake. “Oh…Julius, fuck, sorry.”

“It’s OK.” I chuckle, gently twisting my fingers in his hair. I drop my voice, leaning our foreheads together. “Tell me about the witch.”

His eyes go bright, and his tail curls tighter around my wrist. “I only saw her for a second, but I felt her, could taste her magic, and it just tasted…felt like she belongs with us.”

His tone gives me pause, hopeful and bright even as a whisper. I’m hesitant to bring up theMword, but it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him. My eyes flick to Atlas, who is glaring out the window, before returning to Marcus.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying. A witch as our mate would mean that our nest as a whole will be tested. Atlas has his own trauma dealing with witches, Darius is someone who needs control over magic, and Marcus…as great as he is, he can be reckless. A witch’s magic is different from that of a gargoyle’s on so many levels—it’s like comparing an apple to an egg. If she were our mate, then our magic would be entwined. Where she ended and we began would be too blurry to compute.

I’m already getting ahead of myself.

“Can I taste her off you?” I ask, pressing a thumb lightly into his bottom lip as I cradle his jaw.

“Thought you’d never ask, Julius.” He slams his mouth to mine, nearly knocking my glasses off as he attacks me with his kiss.

He gives me no time to breathe before shoving his tongue past my lips to stroke at mine. A moan rattles out of me as I grip him closer, his body quickly twisting and moving so he can straddle my lap. A soft, sweet, and earthy taste followed by afizzle, a crackling on his tongue, draws me in deeper. Her magic is delicious from his lips, and I kiss him in steady sips to savor it.

He groans, fisting my sweater like he can’t get close enough. With our nest-mates here, we really can’t get any closer, so I draw away from the kiss slowly. My lips tingle from the intensity and fromher.

“Great, now I’ve got a boner,” Marcus grumbles.

Chapter 9

CHARLOTTE

For a small townin the middle of nowhere, Ireland, they make good pizza, so I order again for dinner tonight. I should probably be looking for my groceries, but I’m too spooked to go back down into the kitchen again.Who has a kitchen that’s two floors, anyway?Me, now, I guess.

The doorbell startled me from my thoughts.

“Coming!” I bellow, doing my best to project my voice through the expanse of halls that lie between me and the front entryway.

I scramble from the rumpled pile of blankets I nestled into to work in my sketchbook. My toe catches on the edge of a rug, and I try not to trip over my feet. An indignant little squeak rips itself from my chest, but I use the momentum of the near fall to clamber down the hall and find myself in the entryway faster than I expected. I don’t know if it’s my fluffy socks or the carpet, but I nearly eat the wood of the front doors when I don’t slow down. My hands slap hard against the unyielding surface, and I fumble for the knob. Pulling open the door, I thrust out afistful of crumpled euros, my eyes shut against the glare of my embarrassment.

“Well, that’s a nice tip, dear, but it’s not necessary.”

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