Page 39 of Who Owns You?

I’m more than gone for Marcus. Between his sweetness, earnest nature, and stupidly handsome face, I didn’t stand a chance. For him to have genuine feelings for me and not simply return mine feels like a miracle here.

Maybe I used my magic without even thinking about it.

That thought causes me to pull off his finger with a softpop.

He gazes at me with heavily lidded brown eyes. His skin is the color of desert sand, his hair and eyebrows are dark and thick and a little wild, softening up his hard features. He’s even more heartbreakingly handsome.

There isno waythis is real.

“Gods, you’re so perfect, Char. Did you know that?” he asks, bringing my fingers to his lip. He gives them a quick kiss before cradling my hand like a wounded bird.

“I don’t think so, and you wouldn’t either if you were in your right mind.”

His head snaps up, eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“I must have cast a spell on you or something before I knew about my magic. Guys like you never go for fat girls.” I grit my teeth against the ache in my heart but power through. I hate spouting this bullshit, but it keeps pouring out. “I’m sorry, and I’ll find a way to get Eloise to reverse it. You shouldn’t have to be forced to be with me.”

“Forced?” he croaks. He looks down at the floorboards, tracing some of the wood grain with movements that remind me of his footwork when playing soccer. “I think?—”

A whine fills the air, and I have to drop my towel to cover my ears. The pain of the shrill shriek somehow slips through my fingers and shoots right into my brain. I wince and back up into my room. Fumbling back toward my bed, I crash down onto the soft comforter.

I’ll be embarrassed when the pain stops. Marcus will have seen my fat-ass naked, and it’ll break the spell, and I’ll apologize. He’ll be like every other guy, even if he makes me feel unlike any of them ever have.

“Char!” Marcus cries, his pitch nearly matching that of the shriek still ripping through the air. “Are you alright?” he asks, slipping onto the bed.

His weight causes the bed to dip, and I go rolling. My soft flesh collides with his once-again stone body, and I groan but don’t move my hands.

“What is that?” I think I ask.

“It’s the alarm, the big emergency alarm.” Marcus glances back at the still-open door and frowns.

With his face tipped away from me, I think he speaks, but the noise is too loud, and without being able to watch the way hislips move, his words are lost. He stands in a flash, giving me one more sorry look before he rushes out in a blur of yellow.

The second shower does very little to wash away all the self-hatred that has taken root under my skin. Comparison is the killer of joy, and it’s never felt more true than now. All the gargoyles are perfect, and I’m conventionally pretty, but not in a traditional way.

I groan and grab my loofah. Scrubbing myself, I give each of my rolls and folds the love they deserve. I take a breath, pushing out the negative voices that live in my head no matter how hard I love myself. It’s other people’s fault that they don’t like me for how I look. I love the way I look and how I feel. Even if I could be carved of stone like them, there’s no guarantee Atlas wouldn’t hate me, Julius would make a move, or Darius would look at me with more than apprehension.

They’ll just have to take me as I am if they want me.

Marcus ran away from me at the drop of a hat when something like a hell siren went off, and I haven’t seen him in the few hours since.

“I need more answers,” I groan and tip my head back into the hard spray of water, enjoying the sensation of the drops on my skin.

I’m in my head, and I need to not be in my head right now.

“Oh gods, Charlotte, I am so sorry.” Darius’ voice is the last one I expect to hear when the door suddenly opens.

The tall blue gargoyle stands in a towel at the entrance of the large bathroom, his wings free and tail wrapped neatly around one of his legs.

“Didn’t I lock the door?” I ask, trying to cover my body with my arms.

The steam is thick and the glass is pretty fogged, but I don’t need two gargoyles to see me naked in one day. Even a witch has her limits.

“It wasn’t when I tried the knob.” He blanches.

The expression on his face finally shows some of the emotion underneath. There’s surprise but not in a bad sort of way. His lips are parted, and his eyes are locked on my silhouette.

Idea.

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