Page 33 of Below the Shadow of the City

If he’s a beast from centuries past, what does that make me? The princess who stumbled upon him in his den, begging to be swept away to a kingdom without the complications of my own existence?

I mean, it’s kind of a nice thought, until I remember no such fantasies exist.

He’s rubbing at his brow to dissipate his own headache. It’s a small win that Maddox is in as rough shape as I am, but he’d done a far better job covering it up until now.

“You have incredibly nice hair products in there,” my voice makes him perk up a bit, he pauses the video and snaps upright. The three empty wine bottles and glasses rest next to him, carnage from the night before.

“I mean,” he turns towards me, gestures to himself, and bubbles of rough laughter erupt from his diaphragm. “I’m literally covered in hair. Of course I’m going to spend a lot to make sure it looks good.” His voice is raspy and warm and I want to bury myself in it. He’s wearing glasses, I notice. Definitely a little hungover too, I chuckle to myself. He has on classic gold round frames, like every other 20-or-30-something guy in Brooklyn. They perch on the bridge of his nose, or muzzle, or whatever that protrusion in the middle of his face technically is. I’ll figure out specifics later. Or, ideally, never.

Right now what matters is that in his low slung sweatpants and glasses he is the hottest thing I’ve seen. Tousled bed head is tenfold with him, he’s covered in waves that stick out at all angles. His shoulders tense and flex as he stretches a bit.

I deliberate dropping my towel and doing what we did last night all over again. From the look he’s giving me, I think he’s thinking the same thing. His tail flicks a bit behind him, as if it has a mind of its own. The motion makes me glance down at it, and he shamefully brushes it to the side.

He shakes himself off and steps into the open living room and tosses me a sweatshirt that was lying on the couch, “You can put this on, since, you know, I tore apart your underwear. I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not, not even a little.”

The warmth of the shower, thinking of ripping those gray sweatpants off of him, and his comment make my entire body bloom with a rosy flush. “…Is that going to be a regular thing?”

“Are you actually admitting you want to see me again?” He winks. Fuck.

I slide the sweatshirt over myself and it hangs below my knees, I’m now totally enveloped by his smell. My hair smells like him, the sweatshirt smells like him, in the most subtle way imaginable, he’s marked his territory. It’s taking every bone in my body to fight off the blooming arousal.

“We’ll see,” I say flatly. He tightens his lips and tilts his head to the side to study me like I’m prey. I won’t let him pry a real answer out of me. One step off the ledge and nothing will stop me from falling until I crash at the bottom with a splat like Wile E. Coyote.

Maddox wordlessly heads back to the counter and hands me a mug filled to the brim with steaming hot coffee. “I made an assumption that you’d take it black.”

“And you assumed correctly,” our hands lightly brush when I reach for the cup. My fingertips graze the soft dark fur that covers the backs of his hands. It’s almost too hot to drink, but I need the caffeine and the distraction from how his touch makes me feel. A few gulps and the mug is halfway drained.

Maddox smirks as he takes a sip from his own mug. “Sorry, should I have asked if you wanted it to go?”

I laugh and take another sip, a normal one this time.

He glances up at me again.

“Come back tonight,” he rubs his thumb over my hand. “Please.” I want to come back, I don’t want to leave his apartment, I didn’t want to leave his bed. Something tugs at me in the back of my mind. He’ll leave too, they always do. I feel my eyes sting a bit.

It would be so easy to chalk this up to being one of the best nights I’ve had in years and leave it at that. Years from now I could look back wistfully on the night I spent with the fanged, horned, and furry handsome stranger as a distant memory. It would hurt a bit. I tell myself that the pain now would be much less than allowing myself to see him over and over again and fall in love only to have it ripped out from under me.

“I—I don’t know,” I start, staring into the tiny bubbles on the coffee’s inky surface. Maddox cups my chin and lifts my head towards him.

“Is it because of me? Something I did?” he asks sadly. He’s the least of my concerns, he’s everything I’ve wanted and then some. I can also guarantee no one else will give me multiple orgasms in one night like he did. I’m the problem here, I’m the one terrified of falling in love because losing Perrie fucked me over so badly almost a year ago.

“No, that’s not it, it’s me,” I respond quietly. His hand lowers and he stiffens.

“Because you’re attracted to me?” He snaps slightly with discontentment and catches himself. The stinging behind my eyes grows stronger, my vision begins to blur.

“No, no, that’s not why in the slightest,” my voice cracks.

“Sigrid,” his eyes soften, he wants to say something, I can sense the words forming on his lips. Even him saying my name brings the tears bubbling to the surface, I feverishly blink them away. It’s too vulnerable to cry in front of him, he’s so well-adjusted, and attractive, and I’m this messy, ugly, babbling idiot. I can’t let him see so much vulnerability. I’m overtired and hungover, that’s all. It has nothing to do with the fact that I’m carrying this looming curse with me, I can try to convince myself of that.

I thought Perrie loved me once, just as I thought all the ones before her did. All of them, despite their whispered sweet nothings and insistences that they wanted me forever, vanished. He’ll be just like them, despite how wonderful he is right now.

“Please, please just come back tonight.” He asks again, his voice just above a whisper.

The clock on his stove says it’s a few minutes past seven thirty. I have hardly enough time to run back to my place, finish getting ready, and work a full day. I’m flushed, flustered, and puffy from silent tears. And now I have to leave without giving him an answer.

He tries to say the words he was ruminating on but I raise my hand to stop him. “I have to go,” I say solemnly. His brows lower and he dips his head in a single nod. I swipe my purse and phone off the counter and shuffle out the door.

Once in the hallway I regain my bearings and try to retrace my steps from last night. After a few minutes of walking the wrong direction and ducking into alcoves to avoid others likely leaving for work, I find the elevator and smack the button to take me to the top floor. The stale air makes his sweatshirt smell all that much stronger and it’s choking me. I tap my foot and count the floors as they steadily tick up, the moment the doors open I flee down the basement hallway.