Page 44 of Mated to the Monster Under my Bed
When I was done, the plate disappeared—just vanished, like the cottage was doing the dishes for me. I was momentarily surprised…but then I decided to just go with it. After all, who was I to complain about not washing dishes?
When I looked back, I saw that a stack of books had appeared on the coffee table. I reached for them and my breath caught in my throat. Harriet the Spy. The Wolves of Willoughby Chase. Dragondrums.
Books I’d read again and again as a little girl—three of my childhood favorites that I hadn’t thought of in years.
Oh, Grandma, thank you! I thought, running my finger over the cracked spine of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase.
I curled up under one of the thick knitted throws the cottage kept providing and cracked open the familiar pages. The scent of old paper and adventure filled my nose, and I was instantly lost in the tale I hadn’t read since I was ten years old.
Halfway through, a steaming mug of hot cocoa appeared at my elbow, complete with gooey marshmallows bobbing on top and golden-brown toast sticks on a little plate.
Okay, this is ridiculous, I thought as I dipped one into the cocoa. Ridiculously perfect. I’m never going to want to leave!
By the time I finished the book, the fire was burning low and the shadows had stretched across the room, soft and cozy. I stretched my arms over my head and felt every inch of myself relax.
I haven’t felt this safe in… God, years. Not since before Craig got sick. The memory of his wan face and haunted eyes threatened to rise, but I gently pushed it back. Not now. Not when I feel like I’m finally coming back to life.
I padded into the bathroom and was unsurprised to find the clawfoot tub full of creamy bubbles again. The scent tonight was different—not honeysuckle this time, but something richer and more decadent. Like warm milk and honey laced with jasmine. I stripped out of my clothes and sank into the hot water with a grateful moan.
The bubbles were thicker tonight, the water velvety on my skin. I leaned my head back and let the warmth sink into my bones.
I should probably think about going back to my house. There are still things there I might need… I frowned, sinking deeper into the tub.
But what exactly would I need? Clothes? The cottage brought them to me. Toiletries? Already here. Books? My favorites were being summoned like magic. Even the food I love appears before I ask for it—as long as it’s something I loved when I was a kid.
And did I really want to return to that house full of sad memories? Where I’d watched my husband fade day by day until he was a hollow shell of the man he used to be? My throat tightened.
No, I thought fiercely. This place is mine now. This is my fresh start. My clean slate. I’m not going back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I dozed in the bath, drifting in and out of sleep. The bubbles slid warmly against my bare skin, and I felt weightless…supported…cared for in a way I hadn’t been in years.
And then I heard it.
A deep voice, dark and velvet-rich, coming from the bedroom.
"It's dark outside, little witch… are you coming to bed soon?"
My heart gave a little flutter, not of fear, but anticipation.
Shadow.
The corners of my mouth turned up as warmth bloomed inside me, richer than the bathwater and sweeter than the cocoa. My fingers trailed through the bubbles and I smiled.
Yes, I was most definitely coming.
25
DANNI
His voice wrapped around me like smoke—low, warm, and sensuous. I blinked in the steamy bathroom, still up to my chin in creamy bubbles. The scent of whatever magic the cottage had added to the bath—honey and something darker, maybe myrrh or clove—clung to my damp skin.
I sat up slowly, suds sliding down my breasts, and called back,
“Just a minute!”
I could feel my cheeks getting hot as I spoke. I wasn’t sure why I felt shy. Maybe because I knew what I wanted. Maybe because I knew he knew, too.
Wrapping myself in a thick towel, I walked into the bedroom, my skin flushed from the heat of the bath—and from anticipation. Shadow was already reclining on the bed, propped on one elbow, a huge, muscular shape in the dimness. The faint glow of firelight from the living room made the sharp edges of his face inhuman—all hollows and glowing golden eyes.
