Page 22 of Claimed By Her Monsters
My birthday.
To think all these years I had it wrong, didn’t even know the actual day I was born.
We’ve reached the top of the landing. I drag my feet, hesitant to reach our destination. The grandfather clock downstairs ticks louder. The chandelier sways above, crystals clinking like a metronome. I wait for Alister to urge me along, to remind me of the countdown to midnight, which is less than an hour away, but he doesn’t. He lets me linger. He gives me those precious extra minutes to process what’s about to happen.
“Have you ever done this before?” My fingers twist the hem of my sweater.
“Had sex with a witch?” A tiny smirk. “Yes, I have.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I know he misunderstood on purpose.
“I’ve lived a long time,” he adds ruefully. “I’ve done…a lot.”
“But the initiation, have you donethatbefore?”
“Never performed one, but we’ve seen plenty. Some covens host a big party where everyone watches their young witches awaken. Other covens keep it private, especially the ones hunting the Clover Witch.”
“Do you really think I could be her? What if I’m not? What if I only get one element or you’re wrong and I’m just…me?” I scuff my toe against the floor, overwhelmed.
His hand tips my chin until I meet those winter-blue eyes. “Listen to me, Madison. Human or witch. One element or five thousand. It doesn’t matter. You’re perfect as you are now, as whoever you’re about to become.Don’t feel pressure to be anyone but yourself.” He steps closer, his gaze dropping to my lips in a slow, deliberate way.
I remember earlier, on the couch, how I’d sell my soul to the devil for his kiss. I didn’t know who he was back then. Didn’t know whoIwas. Now that everything’s changed, do I still feel the same way? It takes less than a second to decide.
I place my hands on his broad shoulders, lift on my toes, and kiss him.
His lips are just like his hands, cold, dry, and yet heignitesme. Heat flares through my body, sharp and bright. Electricity sizzles through every nerve ending as our tongues meet. I can feel the way my hair stands on end, the goosebumps that chase one another down my arms, warmth that pools between my legs. I moan when he deepens the kiss, guiding my jaw with a sure hand beneath my chin until it’s just right. My hands tangle in his hair, tug on the ends, as we grow more desperate. More heated.God, for someone who’s supposed to be shrouded in darkness this man lights me up. By the time we break apart, I’m panting, a single note of need humming through my body, head to toe.
Alister leans his forehead against mine. “I can’t wait to meet you, Madison. All of you.”
For someone who doesn’t need to breathe, he’s strangely breathless.
Chapter Eighteen
Worship You
Igasp when we step into his bedroom. A beautiful arched ceiling rises over my head, painted with clouds that impossibly drift as I watch. These ones aren’t like the storm outside. They’re white, puffy, surprisingly cheerful for a vampire’s bedroom.
A fireplace is lit in the corner. Its flames crackle with what I now understand is a greeting. I send a silent hello back. Tonight, it feels like a friend, but I have a sense it betrayed me once.
Along one wall, shelves strain under the weight of hundreds of books. There are spines in every color, crammed two deep.
Alister notices my stare. “I have a first-edition Dickinson,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s yours.”
I arch a brow. “Bribery? Seems unnecessary. Pretty sure living through this is the real prize.”
The bed is an altar to sleep. Four carved posts climb like cathedral spires, dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, each crowned with an obsidian finial. A canopy of deep wine velvet frames two layers of curtains—heavy velvet for secrecy, sheer gauze for sin—tied back with silver-braided cords. The mattress is ridiculous, wide enough to qualify for its own zip code,piled high with embroidered pillows. There’s a low three-step stool,thank God. I’d need a running start to get up there otherwise.
Mick and Caspian are already in the room, but I balk when I see what they’re doing.
Caspian is a blur of quiet competence, setting candles at the corners of the giant rug that lies under the bed. North. East. West. The fourth candle, South, he sets aside.
Mick winds a circle of salt around the edges of the rug, a thin, bright boundary.
Alister moves past me. He goes to the hearth and gathers the rest of the items, including a large glass bowl full of water and the last candle. Outside, the storm pauses like it’s pressing its ear to the window so it can listen.
“Let’s begin.” Alister holds out his hand and I take it. “Say what I told you out loud.”
My throat works. I broadcast my voice loud and strong. “I’m nineteen today, ready to awaken. I choose this. I choose you. All of you.” I look at them, three handsome men.
