Page 15 of Enticing Monsters

Is my quest for answers and vengeance worth my life?

I shove that thought away for the time being. That’ll be a problem for Future Sera to deal with. Right now, I need to focus on Tristan, on my mate.

Foster stops me just before I slip through the door. He doesn’t look my way, his gaze intent on the cracked wood of Xander’s apartment, but I know I have his full attention.

“Lost, about what happened earlier today…”

I pivot completely to face him, wanting to make sure he can see the sincerity in my eyes. “I’m not mad. And I don’t blame you for losing your shit. I wanted to murder that asshole myself.”

Shock splays across his face as he whips his head in my direction. Red eyebrows touch his hairline. “What?”

“Those lies he was spewing were not only untrue and hurtful but had the potential to be extremely dangerous.” Absently, I run a hand across the bracelet on my wrist.

This isn’t the only blade I have hidden on me. There are two more in my hair, disguised as clips, and even more in my backpack, sewed into the lining. A girl always has to be prepared.

Some girls have an emergency supply of tampons.

Some girls have deadly weapons.

And some girls have both.

Foster’s jaw clenches. “I would kill anyone who touches you without your permission.”

Oh, how my heart flutters at that proclamation.

Out of all my mates, I consider Foster the least…deranged, I suppose you can say. So to hear that he’ll murder for me? Yup. It does things for me—things that have heat percolating low in my belly and my pulse exploding.

“You won’t need to kill anyone,” I assure Foster, smiling widely. I lean forward to kiss his cheek. “I’ll kill them myself.”

A blush tiptoes up Foster’s neck and congregates in his cheeks. Still, his smile is almost as bloodthirsty as V’s when he says, “And I’ll help you hide the body.”

And if that’s not love, I don’t know what it is.

CHAPTER FIVE

TRISTAN

Ihiss as the scalding heat of the iron brushes against my hand, marking my fingers with yet another burn.

I don’t pause in my ministrations, however, simply moving on to the next leg of the boxers laid out on the ironing board. I squint my eyes, focusing on the task at hand, using the familiar, detailed motions to repress the memories and panic that tease at the back of my mind.

I need to get Xander’s boxers done soon if I want to repaint the baseboards and prepare dinner before everyone gets home.

Gray spots dance on the edge of my vision, sparkling and shining as vertigo washes over me, but I shake them away, ignoring them the same way I am the pain of the burns.

None of that matters.

I don’t matter.

I hum lightly to myself, covering the thoughts that want to burrow their way into the front of my mind, and my wolf whines and pushes against my skin. He doesn’t understand exactly what I’m doing—the way he cares for those under our protection focuses more on hunting and protecting against physical dangers—but I soothe him with the assurance that wearecaring for them.

That we’re not still failing them.

I carefully hang the ironed boxers on a clipped hanger, then I reach down to unplug the iron. After that, I gather all of the hangers and move towards Xander’s closet.

Hm. I wonder if I should sort all of his clothes by color?

I tilt my head to the side, squinting my eyes slightly as I consider it. It really is a bit of a mess. His suits are mixed with his shirts, and once I hang up all of his boxers, it’ll be a tight fit. It’ll be easier for him to get dressed if everything is in order and done by color…

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