Page 35 of Below the Shadow of the City

Before I can protest or push her away, my computer makes a whooshing sound effect as the email is sent across Manhattan to the Gingham Books office.

“You can spend the rest of your life deliberating and missing out on what’s in front of you, or you can go for the risk and see what comes of it. Since you’re waffling about mystery man, you’re not allowed to waffle about the literal biggest professional opportunity you’ll ever be handed,” she flicks her hair over her shoulders and walks off. My mouth hangs open in shock.

CHAPTER 15

Everything I do from here on out has to exude a calm confidence that contradicts the ever-present twitching between my thighs. I may never be able to go back to human sex again, but I’ll make do once this inevitably fizzles out. I’m sure there’s plenty of fanfiction I can dredge up to satiate my fantasies once I’m left alone with myself, the glow of my phone, and the buzz of my vibrator late in the evening.

You’re just seeing him again, I tell myself. It’s not symbolic of anything or any pursuit of a relationship. I selfishly enjoyed myself, and I want a taste of it again. It’s a casual hookup situation.

This can be something casual if I completely ignore the fact that everything about how he makes me feel is very much not casual.

I can overlook the fact that his personality fills me with an unbelievable warmth. And I’m certainly not thinking about how he’s going to perceive me as I touch up my makeup and refresh my lipstick.

Sure, the dress I’m wearing is one of my favorites and I shaved my legs. That’s purely coincidental. I’m apathetic! I’m chill! I’m low key! I’m…getting more and more flustered by the idea of being with him again because it’s all I’ve been thinking about this afternoon.

At this point in time, I’m not sure what makes me more terrified, the fact that I’m going on a second date with Maddox (even though it’s not a date) or that I’m committed now to submitting recipes to an actual, real life, published cookbook.

Ever since Margo replied on my behalf I’ve been trying to pretend that I don’t have that massive obligation looming over me. I could still back out, I haven’t received the contract that legally binds me to the project yet. Margo’s (unfortunately correct) voice is echoing in my ear over and over.

I can’t keep missing out, and while whatever is going on with Maddox sorts itself out, I can at least take a risk with something I understand, like baking.

I examine my face in the mirror, scowling at the dark bags that have settled on my lower lids. Sleep will likely escape me again tonight, either thanks to incredible sex or the ball of stress ping-ponging in my stomach. Or, the most likely answer, a sickening combination of the two. My insides twist and curl at the thought of it.

When I open the basement door he’s already waiting. His broad back is to me, so it takes a moment for him to notice my presence. In that split second, I gaze at him again, nothing has changed. He’s still massive, still covered in fur, still has those majestic horns, and his tail still twitches. A thin black sweater stretches across his shoulders. In the dim lighting of the hallway entrance he looks far more imposing than he did this morning when we’d parted ways. Whatever softness and vulnerability he’d shown when he asked to see me again has been replaced by his cool demeanor again.

When he turns to face me, he still has those intoxicatingly blue eyes that make my stomach feel like a butterfly observatory. His gaze meets mine and a wild grin spreads across his face, genuine and slightly crooked in a way that makes me melt. Maddox’s expression makes him less physically imposing, but I’m wholly terrified to be before him for reasons unrelated to his appearance.

“Ahh, she makes her triumphant return! Welcome back to the underworld, mon chéri.” He chuckles and braces his arms in the doorway of the laundry room.

I squint an eye and stare him down. He looks tired, but nowhere near as worse for the wear as I do. He’s made a miraculous recovery since this morning. “Do you not feel like death right now?” I ask bitterly.

“No, thanks to the six Diet Cokes I drank today,” he counts on his fingers, laughing. “They’re the perfect hangover cure. In college I used to call it my ‘magic elixir’. I’d add in a sprinkle of ginger and fresh lemon juice then sell the concoction to hungover frat guys.”

“You’re kidding,” my jaw nearly drops, and I make a note of the two additions for the next time I’m feeling hungover.

“About swindling nineteen-year-olds? No, I made, like, $500 one weekend,” he remembers his adolescent antics with a goofy grin. His face is deliciously expressive.

“About the Diet Coke thing. That’s my hangover cure, too.” It’s almost too aligned with my own habits. “You’re not stalking me, right?” A brief flash of discomfort overcomes me. Maybe my sighting of him in the alley was a small glimpse of all the times he’d followed me above ground. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t weirdly kismet.

His brows furrow and he shakes his head as if I just suggested the most ridiculous thing imaginable. His surprise immediately extinguishes any flames of fear. “Not unless you live in the laundry room and talk loudly about your preferred hangover remedies,” he takes a few steps closer to me. Each step he takes on the black and white tile makes my heart beat quicker and I try to ignore the incessant thumping.

“Fair point,” I exhale. He’s directly before me now, I have to crane my neck up to look him in the eyes as he wraps himself around me.

His arms grip tighter until we’re pressed up against one another. My shallow breaths slow once our bodies touch. He is both the cause of my anxiety and the remedy. It’s a fucked up balancing act that I don’t care to explore further right now. I purse my lips, prepared for another passion-laced kiss. His sweet taste has been a craving all day, my tongue longs to slide against his fangs. Something beastly and primal claws at my ribcage like they’re prison bars, begging to be released. My heart thuds as I await our collision, and then, nothing.

“I’m really, really glad you came back, Sigrid,” he states, smiling and unassuming. “I was beginning to worry last night would be a one time thing. After all the texting and calling for weeks it would’ve been a disappointing end.”

I pull back and glare devilishly at him. “You’re saying sex with me was disappointing?” I find myself flirting with him, it’s becoming easier and easier now.

“Sex with you only once would be,” he snickers, equally flirty as I wonder if he has the ability to blush underneath those layers of dark fur.

“I honestly don’t know what to make of all this,” I admit. “But last night was memorable enough to make me…curious.”

His cheeks puff out as he grunts in faux anger. “Well, geez, I’m glad I can satiate that curiosity of yours. I was thinking of something a little more formal than pizza and sex tonight. Maybe a real dinner date? If that quells your intrigue?” The way he practically growls out the question, even as facetious as he sounds, sends a waterfall of molten lava down my spine and directly between my thighs. He notices me tense up and gets flustered, “Or we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No,” I choke out, “dinner sounds wonderful.” I can muscle through a dinner together, I can cross my legs like a lady and pretend I’m not trying to chase an orgasm like the one I had last night again. It’s just dinner. It’s fine, I’ll live through this.

“Great, because I was presumptuous and already booked a reservation for us.” He pantomimes looking at a watch on his fur-covered wrist. “We’ll be right on time if we get going now.” His hand is held open, primed for mine to rest in it. I tentatively reach for him and he pulls me in closer.