Page 57 of Who Owns You?

Dara stands, muttering something to herself and sweeping out of the room.

“I think it’s been almost twenty-four hours now. I haven’t been able to sleep.” I wheeze, pressing my face harder into my hands. “I’m so fucking worried.”

“So one of them spilled the beans about being your mate and he took off. Atlas is sensitive with witches. You have to understand.” Eloise reaches over and pats my knee gently.

“He thinks I hate him!” I sob, finally unable to hold it back any longer. I lift my face, the hot tears and snot running like rivers down my face.

“Don’t you? The last time we spoke, it didn’t seem like you liked him very much at all.” Eloise shrugs lightly, her eyes watching my every movement intensely, like I’m going to snap and set her house on fire.

Who knows? Maybe I could actually do it with my magic, if only it did anything when I called to it.

Eloise stares with wide eyes at me as I whimper and sniffle, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

“What am I going to do?” I croak, wiping my face on my sleeve for lack of something better.

“Do you want something stronger than tea?” she finally asks.

I laugh a little, the sound broken and small. “Yes, please.”

Eloise stands and goes over to a small cabinet. She bends down and begins looking through bottles. The soft clinking of glass and release of emotions finally begins to calm me a little. I lean back into the chair and shut my eyes, trying to keep my breath steady.

Atlas will be fine. He’s a strong, hard-headed jackass, but he isn’t stupid, and he’s old. Not as old as the others, but he’s built to be a defender. Built, not born like the rest of them.

Therein lies the problem with me and him. A witch did horrible things to him that I will never understand, but all that hatred falls onto me; all witches must burn and suffer his anger because of one horrible asshole from his past. I wish I couldfind who made Atlas and rip them apart with my bare hands, or unleash the magic that roils inside me on them. The thought alone makes it swell in my soul, like a storm you can sense due to the shift in ozone.

“Here.” Eloise presses a cool glass into my left hand, and I blink my eyes open.

The glass is filled nearly to the brim with a dark amber liquid. I bring it to my nose and instantly regret it as a strong alcoholic scent kicks me in the teeth.

I wince, and Eloise grins.

“That will more than make you feel better,” she says, returning to her seat on the couch.

“Thanks.” I raise the glass a bit before bringing it to my lips, shutting my eyes and taking a deep drink. I swallow and swallow even as it burns. All the way down, I can feel the liquor scorching until it reaches my stomach.

I cough when I finally stop guzzling the hard liquor. Half the glass is empty. “Better already.”

“Sure you are.” Eloise gives me a tight smile, and Dara finally comes back into the room.

In her arms are the strangest things I have ever seen. Plushies. Four different plushies—one yellow, one green, one blue, and one black. Gargoyles. They’re gargoyles, and they’re all dressed like the gargoyles they are modeled after.My gargoyles.

“Why the hell do you have those?” I give a startled squawk.

“Part of my magic is connected to the soul and, in turn, soulmates. It’s not an exact science because magic never is, but I had a feeling I would need to make these soon,” she says, coming over and setting them in my lap.

I involuntarily melt into the seat, whatever magic in them comforting me bone deep.

They’re about twelve inches tall and surprisingly heavy for their sizes. I lift up the Marcus plushie and nearly drop it when I feel his familiar warmth.

“These are magic stuffed toys. They are connected to your mates. You’ll be able to feel their heartbeats and their warmth,” Dara explains, her cheeks darkening slightly.

“She did it so you’d know that Atlas is alive. If the asshole goes cold or you can’t feel the heartbeat, then at least you know,” Eloise says, crossing her arms over her chest.

I gape at the plushies in my lap, sitting them up and looking into their adorable button eyes.

“They’re so cute.” I can’t help but gush over them, gently running a fingertip over the small details.

Each of their horns is different, like they are on the real-life version, and their expressions capture their personalities so well. Atlas is even wearing a little leather jacket and smirking like the jerk face he is.

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