Page 45 of Who Owns You?

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 becomedirty. My mind sticks on the fact, and I growl softly, unable to help the animalistic noise that wrenches from my damn soul.

Our nest isdirtybecause 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.

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