Page 155 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

She let me know seven years ago that if I ever lose my head and become an uncontrollable monster who needs blood and killings to survive daily, she will leave my ass using all the weapons in her arsenal.

I told her she could try, but I would never let her take two steps before trapping her once again; surviving without her is not an option. She might have fallen in love with me, but it doesn't change that I blackmailed her into this union.

And because I love her, truly love her, and cannot breathe if she doesn't exist in my world, I won’t ever lose my head.

Especially not after she gave me them.

I catch her hand, raising it to my mouth, and give it a gentle kiss. “Just a nick.”

She studies me for several seconds before her arms circle my neck, and she steps closer, leaving no space between us.

Holding her with one hand and removing a lock of hair from her face with the other, I whisper, “We don’t live in a myth.”

“Achilles had a weakness.”

“I do too. It’s you.”

She exhales heavily, and I slam my mouth onto hers, nipping on her lips. Her gasp lets me probe my tongue deep, searching for hers, and then brush them together, roaming inside her mouth, giving her a deep kiss.

She moans into my mouth, pushing herself closer against me, and goose bumps break on her skin while my hand fists her hair, tilting her head back so I can deepen it, the kiss turning more passionate each second.

Finally, the music tears through the haze that settled on us and reminds me we aren't alone, and no one gets to see my woman on the edge.

Snatching my mouth away, I rub her swollen lips, and tell her, “You’re mine once the presentation is over.”

A loud crash reverberating off the walls followed by several horrified gasps interrupts our moment, and I groan, already knowing in advance this disaster will bite me in the ass.

Should have probably expected that.

We dart toward the white marble spread in tiny pieces all over the parquet—what used to be a small statue while the guilty people responsible for this destruction stand near it.

All four of them.

Javier, Miguel, Amai, and Carina.

My seven-year-old quadruplets are always in the epicenter of trouble, and at this point, I should open a bank account dedicated to all their fuckups.

“Oops,” Amai mutters, flicking her dark hair back as her blue eyes become round. “It really broke.” She turns to Javier. “You were right. We shouldn't have run around it. The floor is too slippery.” She takes out a chocolate bar from her pocket and gives it to him, my son’s dark eyes sparkling in victory.

He even puffs his chest—fucking puffs his chest—while everyone is staring at them, and grins. “Told you.”

Carina offers, “Let’s bet on something else. I want my chocolate back.”

Miguel wiggles his fingers. “No. You're a sore loser, hermana.”

“Santiago,” Briseis whispers, mortification lacing her tone as people keep staring and murmuring to each other.

I give her a light squeeze, hoping it will ease her embarrassment. She should be used to it by now though. The kids were born hellions, and no amount of parenting can fix it.

God knows everyone has tried, down to my serial killer friends who always wished me good luck after spending time with them.

Callum still gives me the finger for how they destroyed his favorite orchids.

I still remember how horrified I was when the doctor told us how many babies Briseis was carrying. How was I supposed to protect all these tiny humans relying on me from the darkness lurking in every corner? That was until I heard a heartbeat though, and then all my fiercely possessive and protective instincts kicked in.

I would give them anything they ever wanted, so they would know only imaginary monsters.

Because Daddy would slay all the others.

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