Page 52 of Bound to a Monster

He’s normally so careful. But it’s like when Emory crossed a line with me—he couldn’t help himself.

It broke him. And it nearly killed Emory.

I don’t know how I feel about it. Afraid, but also excited.

Like I have power over him, even though he clearly doesn’t like it.

There’s a noise in the hall. I go very still, listening closely. This house is pretty old, and it creaks a lot, and I tell myself that it’s just the walls settling for the night.

But there’s the noise again. A creak, getting closer.

My heart starts racing. Lev’s room isn’t far away, and if I scream, he’ll hear me. I’m being silly, though. Nobody would break in here. At least, not if they want to live.

There’s a rattling at the doorknob. It slowly opens.

I’m sitting up, heart racing. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across my chest. Blood rushes to my head. I’m wearing a thin t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts, but I feel like I’m naked. I reach for my fencing foil, except it’s on the floor near the closet.

The door opens, and a man’s standing there.

He’s big. So freaking big. And shirtless.

Rippling muscles are covered by dark tattoos.

He’s wearing a fencing mask.

This can’t be happening. I’m having a nightmare. The man stands in my doorway, shirtless and gorgeous, with only a pair of tight joggers covering his lower half.

I’m about to finally force the scream out when I realize?—

I know those tattoos. I know that body and those pants.

“What are you doing?” I manage to say, and it comes out strangled.

He steps deeper into the room. This has to be a prank, right? Some weird joke he’s playing?

But he doesn’t say anything. He only lurks over me in the fencing mask, faceless and terrifying.

It’s him, though. It’s Lev without a doubt. I know him now that my head’s clearing up. There’s a fresh bandage on his shoulder where I stabbed him.

“Lev, what are you doing?” I repeat as he comes even closer.

“You know why I’m here.” His voice is low and muffled. It sounds almost inhuman. He keeps advancing toward my bed.

And all at once, I’m right; I’m positive I understand what’s happening.

I know what he wants, and now the mask makes sense.

He needs layers. He needs protection. If he can’t wear his normal charming smile, what else can he use to protect himself from me?

A literal mask.

A faceless monstrosity.

“You can tell me to leave,” he says, looming over my bedside.

God, he’s beautiful. Rippling muscles and those terrifying tattoos. I was never into guys like him back in the day, and there sure as hell were plenty. Growing up in a family like mine, there was always some big, tattooed asshole lurking nearby, and plenty of them wanted something from me.

Plenty wantedthis.

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