Page 8 of Claimed By Her Monsters
Our little mutiny only makes Alister scowl harder. He glares at each of us in turn, and when his frosty gaze lands on me, I freeze, lost in it.Lord help me, even furious he’s beautiful. The edge of my anger softens, morphs into something hazy and dreamy. I lean against the counter, rest my chin in my palm, and let out a wistful sigh.
Mick bumps my elbow, jolting me back to reality. “Hey, look sharp, Maddie. This is the secret ingredient for the perfect margarita.”
I expect some exotic bottle of alcohol, maybe something distilled from butterfly sweat or unicorn tears. Instead, he whips out a pack of tiny paper umbrellas and unfolds them with all the seriousness of a surgeon. One by one, he pops them into the glasses.
Then he shoves a glass into my hand, grinning like a proud parent. “I gave you the pink one.”
I pull the chilly glass close to my body, oddly touched. “Thanks,” I tell him, hoping he won’t notice the faint waver in my voice. Mick's smile softens. His eyes fix on mine for a beat too long.
“Can we get on with it?” Alister’s still slouched on the couch, posture all deceptive ease, but his gaze is anything but lazy. It flicks between Mick and me, sharp and assessing, his frown deepens like he’s just hit a plot twist in a book he wishes he could rewrite.
“Sorry, Grandpa.” I roll my eyes and flounce over to the couch where I drop down beside Alister hard enough to make the cushion bounce.
Mick laughs and murmurs a low, “If you only knew.”
I’ve landed closer to Alister than intended; my shoulder brushes his and his jaw tenses. He shifts, just a bit, but enough to put some space between us. It shouldn’t bother me that he can’t stand to touch me. It doesn’t bother me, at least that’s what I tell myself.
“Caspian won last time, so he starts.” Mick sits on the floor across from us, sipping his drink, comically oversized with his knees bumping the underside of the table, like an adult invited to a princess tea party.
Caspian perches in a stiff wooden chair, dragged in from the kitchen. He sits with his shoulders hunched. Every time it’s his turn he practically folds himself in half just to reach across the board. It’s less playing Monopoly and more like watching human origami. Between turns, he idly sketches in a small notepad with a charcoal pencil, broad strokes that rasp against the paper like dry leaves skittering over concrete. I try to peek, but he shields the page with a protective hand.
We make it through a round with each of us taking a turn, the chatter minimal. Mick mentions it’s been a while since they played. Same here. Ican’t remember the last time I did this, so I concentrate way too hard at first, trying to remember all the rules.
Alister snags Boardwalk on his first pass, straight for the power move, no hesitation. The rest of us scrape by with smaller properties. I’m secretly thrilled to pick up two of the light blue ones. They’re cheap, yeah, but still cute. I can already picture my little shoe token living there, rent control and all. Mick lands on Reading Railroad and makes choo-choo sounds like he’s already king of the tracks, while Caspian buys Water Works without blinking, his face as bland as the utility itself.
The second time our game pieces move around the board, Mick breaks the silence. “So tell me, Maddie, how’d you get lucky enough to hang out with us gorgeous male specimens tonight?” He waggles his eyebrows like he’s dead serious about the “specimens” part.
I freeze, my little shoe token hovers midair over theGet Out of Jail Freespace. “Um…”
How exactly am I supposed to answer that? Do I bring up the knife? The blood? The man pinning me down? How he squealed like a pig when I stabbed him? My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Outside, thunder booms and the lights of the room dim like they’re answering its call.
“I’m her state-appointed host,” Alister says smoothly, saving me from choking on the words. His tone is calm, precise. “It’s a short-term arrangement.”
The way he says it, cool and clipped, makes it sound neat, almost respectable. Like I’m just some paperwork, not a walking disaster.
“Yeah, what he said.” I let out a shaky breath. "I'll be gone on Monday."
Mick lifts his nose in the air, closes his eyes, and sniffs. “She doesn’t smell like one of yours,” he says to Alister like that’s a completely normal thing to bring up. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there like…what?
Alister shrugs, a careless lift and drop of his shoulders. “She’s not. She’s adopted, but they claim her adoptive father was related to me. Very distantly.” His eyes flick to mine. “There wasn’t anyone else to come pick her up.”
I scowl, not liking how he makes me sound like a stray dog he got from the pound.
As if that’s not bad enough, he adds the detail I never tell anyone.
It’s too weird. Too embarrassing.
“Someone left her on her adoptive parent’s doorstep,” Alister widens his eyes as if even he thinks it’s strange. “Like a changeling.”
I resist the urge to burst into tears. I hate that part of my story. That I was so unloved my birth parent just dropped me off at a stranger’s door.
I swallow down the tears, unwilling to let him get to me. To change the topic, I fire off a question of my own. “Why Monopoly?” I direct my words to Mick, too angry at Alister to give him my attention.
Caspian surprises me by answering, “It takes forever to play, weeks and weeks if you really take it to the end.”
The three men share a long, charged look.
“We’ve got nothing but time,” Alister finishes, something somber, almost resigned, in his tone.
