Whose Bed Have Your Claws Been Under?: A sweet & steamy monster romance (Monsterville, USA Book 3)
Whose Bed Have Your Claws Been Under: Chapter 8

We eventually found our way out of the maze, and by the time we’d made our way back to the main path that would take us to the castle, it was not only snowing, but a chilly wind swirled the flakes around us like mini twisters.

Paige clung to her long red cape, tugging it up to her chin.

I stopped her on the path and tugged off the wool coat I wore over my suit. “Let’s put this around you.”

“Oh, no, then you’ll be cold.”

I buttoned it up and tugged up the collar. I wanted to kiss her pink nose, but I was afraid she’s smack me. Maybe not smack me, but scowl. I’d already teased her with my touch enough for tonight.

Snowflakes landed on Paige’s hair, glistening like diamonds in the lights. I’d never seen anyone as gorgeous as this woman, and until the day I died, I knew I never would again.

While I should try to hold myself back, incredible longing filled me. I wanted to step right back into where we’d left off when we were sixteen and contemplating going all the way.

But I also wanted to treasure this path of rediscovery I’d set foot on with the woman Paige was today.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really think you should keep your coat, however.”

“I’ll get it back,” I said breezily. Taking her hand, I urged her down the path toward the castle.

The enormous stone building glowed with yellow lights. When I first saw it this morning, I barely held in my smirk. They’d decked it with wreathes and red bows, and even a big manger scene out front. Huge pretend presents had been stacked on the decks encircling the building, and the decorated trees out front would make it fit in well at Disney.

But I’d been touched by the beauty of Trevor and Monica’s ceremony. Bart, the minotaur who owned the castle, had put a lot of time into making sure it was perfect.

There was something magical about this time of year, and it was only enhanced by the wonder of the castle partly buried in snow. Although, that feeling might be boosted by seeing Paige again.

We reached the back steps and climbed them to the deck. Inside, we left her cape and my coat on pegs and took the back staircase up three floors to where the guest rooms were located.

Her steps lagged as we reached the top, and she paused on the landing to catch her breath.

“Maybe I should carry you next time,” I told her.

Screwing up her face, she scowled. “Why?”

“Because you’re, um,” I really should stop now, though in addition to a lack of direction, I also wasn’t wise, “because you’re short of breath.”

“I am not.” She eased past me and stomped down the hall. Rooms lined both sides. Mine was on the end, but she stopped halfway down.

“You’re right,” I said, holding up my palms. “You’re not short of breath at all.”

Turning to face me, she poked my chest. “Why aren’t you short of breath?”

“I lift stone for most of the day, carrying it around.”

“Do you go for runs in the woods with it?”

I sensed a trick in this question. “No,” I said slowly, frowning.

“Then maybe you need to work out some more.”

“Why?” I asked her the same question she’d just asked me.

She unlocked her door with the ancient key she’d taken from her pretty green gown’s pocket and swung the panel open. Stepping inside, she turned, bracing the palm of her hand on the doorframe. “Did you ever consider I might be short of breath because I’m with you, Darrow?” Her lips curled up in a devilish smile.

Hell, yeah, I liked that idea.

I stepped forward to show her how much, but she swung the door closed.

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