“We love you too,” they reply automatically—our standard nighttime routine.
And I fall asleep between the four men I love.
The four men who own my soul.
Chapter 7
Peony
Christmas morning.
One week since the incident with Meghan.
I’m vibrating with nervous anticipation as I cuddle on the couch beside Karsyn. One of his large, muscular arms is wrapped around my waist, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
“Is it time for presents?” Cassian runs into the living room, a wide grin on his face as he jumps on the balls of his feet.
“You’re such a child,” Elias says with an eye roll, but his smile is indulgent as he hands me a mug of steaming hot chocolate before moving to claim the armchair.
Cassian simply sticks out his tongue.
All of us are still in our pajamas—except for Lucas, that is—and the sky is barely more than a blip in the sky, painting the gray in shades of metallic violet and orange. But it’s Christmas! I may not share Cassian’s enthusiasm, but I love the holiday. The pine tree in our living room, decorated with red and green lights, golden tinsel, and an assortment of ornaments. The candy canes. The Christmas caroling. The decorations.
And the presents.
“I suppose we can open up presents,” Lucas muses as he moves to sit on the other side of me. Unlike the rest of us, he’s already dressed for the day in a pair of khakis that conform to his muscular legs and a red sweater that heightens the fiery red of his hair.
“Hey, handsome,” I greet as he moves to kiss me.
“Enough kisses!” Cassian fakes a pout, stomping his foot like a spoiled child throwing a temper-tantrum. Karsyn and I both laugh at his antics, while Elias and Lucas simply roll their eyes. “Let’s open presents!”
We decided that we would do presents from each other this morning, before heading to Nana’s house this afternoon to do a gift exchange with her and her two husbands. Mariabella will join us there as well.
But for now…
For now, it’s about us.
And I’m more nervous than ever about my gift for them.
They open up their gifts for each other first. Everything from paintball sets to new workout clothes in Karsyn’s case, and an amp for a guitar in Cassian’s case. It warms my heart to see how much their relationship has flourished over the years. They went from childhood best friends to virtual strangers to brothers…and now husband-wives, as Cassian always likes to joke.
“Open my present first, Peony!” Cassian’s knee is bouncing like crazy, and I shake my head at my enthusiastic boy before complying. I tear the haphazardly wrapped paper off the box, only to see the box is…empty.
“Huh?” I glance away from the box, just in time to see Cassian throw the strap of his guitar over his head. My heart gains wings and begins to buzz around like a damn bumblebee as he kneels in front of me.
“I wrote you a song,” he admits with a soft smile.
“Cassian…” Tears burn my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, as I stare at this beautiful, proud man now humbling himself by kneeling before me. This isn’t the first song he’s written for me, and I know it won’t be his last. It’s his way of showing me how much I mean to him. I love and treasure each and every song he writes for me.
The song, as always, is gorgeous. His raspy voice sends goosebumps pebbling across my arms. It tells a story of a beast and a princess, and how they found love on a snowy, Christmas day, despite the world trying to keep them apart. The tears fall harder when Cassian’s own eyes become glassy. Fuck, does he really see himself as the beast of my story?
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Maybe I’m not the only one who needs validation every once in a while.
When he finally finishes his song, I lean forward and kiss the daylights out of him. I put all of my love and longing, all of my feelings for him, into that one kiss.
“I love you. I love it. I love everything,” I say with a choked laugh, and Cassian smiles against my lips.
“I love you more.”
Cassian moves to sit beside me, and it’s only then that I realize that sometime during our kiss, Karsyn had vacated the seat next to me. He returns a moment later, holding something in his hands. His cheeks are stained an adorable red as he shuffles from foot to foot.
I smile at him softly as I rip off the wrapping paper to reveal a jersey in our school colors. A football jersey. On the back is Karsyn’s football number and the words Karsyn’s Girl stitched into the fabric at the very top.
“Karsyn…” I wrap my arms around the jersey as he bites down on his plump lower lip.
“I know it’s not a song or anything like that…”
“But I thought your coach didn’t want people to know the truth about us?” I confess, and I try not to let it show just how much that bothers me. I’ll never in a million years get in the way of Karsyn’s career playing football. It’s his dream. His legacy. But the thought of hiding…
“I have nothing to hide,” Karsyn says, his eyes turning as flinty as steel. “Nothing. And if the world doesn’t like it…” He shrugs his broad shoulders, a wry smirk tilting up his lips. “Then they can suck my ass.”
“I love it, Kar. And I love you.”
Like with Cassian, I give him a chaste kiss on the lips, one that he quickly deepens. Before it can advance into a full on make-out session, Elias clears his throat.
“Lucas and I actually bought Peony our gift together,” Elias explains with a side-eyed look at the man in question.
Cassian gapes mockingly. “Lucas shared something? He was a team player?”
“Fuck off, Jereome,” Lucas says without any heat.
With a wide smile, I move from the couch and capture Lucas’s and Elias’s hands in my own.
“Let me see!” I beseech eagerly, pulling them after me…though I have no idea where I’m going. Elias chuckles with a shake of his head, and Lucas’s eyes soften ever so slightly, which means he’s fucking ecstatic.
The two men drag me towards the garage door, and my heart jumps through my chest when I spot the tiny silver car where Elias’s Jeep once sat.
“What…?”
I don’t know enough about cars to tell you the make and model, but I can say without hesitation that it’s fucking adorable. Even motionless, it looks sleek and fast and perfect.
“What is this?” I finally manage to ask.
“Your present,” Lucas answers with a self-satisfied grin.
“You got me a…a car?” I stutter out, dumbfounded.
“I know you’ve been relying on us for transportation,” Elias begins, giving my hand a squeeze.
“And that the only car you could drive has been stuck in snow,” adds Lucas.
“So Lucas bought you the Volvo, I fixed it up in the garage, and we designated this half of the garage for it. You’ll never again have to walk in a snowstorm, baby,” Elias finishes, and I detect a hint of guilt when he speaks that last sentence.
My heart swells with love for the two of them, and I throw one arm around each of their shoulders, kissing first Elias and then Lucas.
“Thank you. Thank you, both. I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too,” Elias whispers as he kisses my head.
“You’re my world,” Lucas replies simply.
And now…
And now it’s my turn.
I’m suddenly feeling hesitant and unsure as we move back into the living room, the guys joking and laughing with one another. My presents for them aren’t underneath the tree, so I tell them I’ll be back in a second before running upstairs and into our shared bedroom.
When I come back down, Elias, Lucas, and Karsyn have reclaimed their seats from earlier, while Cassian remains standing, a bright smile illuminating his handsome features.
“I got…um…” I begin to shuffle my feet as their conversation ceases and all eyes are trained on me. “I just… Her
e!” Before I can rethink my decision, I thrust a box into each of their hands. Their expressions show confusion as they take off the lid, before their faces freeze.
“What…what is this?” Karsyn manages to ask.
“I know that this is a really fucking cheesy way to tell you, but—”
Elias cuts off my rambling. “Is this…?” He holds up the tiny keyring that says Father on it.
“Fuck, it’s too cheesy, isn’t it? I should’ve gotten you guys, like, cars or something.”
“Peony…” Cassian trails off, and I see that there are tears in his eyes. Fuck, did I make him cry?!? Did I make all of them cry?
“Surprise.” I give them awkward jazz-hands, because apparently, I still don’t know how to people. “I’m pregnant.”
I swear all four of them are frozen, shock splayed onto their faces, before Lucas begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh.
I stare at him in concern, wondering if I broke his big, beautiful mind, before the laughter turns into sobs. Lucas, the man who never cries, who rarely shows emotion. Who lives his life with a perpetual mask obscuring his true feelings from view.
What the hell did I do?
But then he moves to stand in front of me and falls to his knees, his forehead resting on my stomach as his body shakes.
“You’re going to have a baby,” he whispers against my stomach.
“I just discovered it a few days ago.” Originally, I planned to take the guys on a vacation, knowing that we all need the break and time together, but I discovered I was pregnant before I had time to buy the tickets.
“We’re going to be dads?” Karsyn’s eyes are bright with tears as he stares at me with wonder, as if I just offered him the entire world.
“You’re going to be fucking amazing dads,” I reply, and then suddenly, I find myself in the center of all four of my men. Lucas remains on his knees before me, sobbing into my stomach, while Elias and Cassian wrap me in their arms from either side. Karsyn moves to my back and places an arm over my breasts.
A family.
We’re going to be a real family.
Just one little witch, her four charming Devils, and…
And our unborn child.
What a charming Christmas this has turned out to be.
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The Drunk Girl: A Cleaners Holiday Story by L.L. Frost
Blurb
The paranormal world is a messy place, and keeping regular humans from discovering demons exist isn’t the easiest job. But Pen, Flint, and Marc have been cleaning up messes for the paranormal for a long time, so Pen doesn’t hesitate to take a job on Christmas Eve, much to her partners’ dismay.
When the simple retrieval job heads south, the Cleaners team find themselves dodging police while the bodies start piling up. Can Pen hope to spend Christmas Day with her men, or will they all find themselves in lockup, or wore, dead?
Note to Reader:
The Drunk Girl is set the Christmas before The (un)Lucky Succubus begin with Succubus Bargain. Please enjoy this look into the lives of the Cleaners.
Chapter 1
THE DRUNK GIRL
Red and green twinkle lights cast a festive glow over the bar, and someone had taken the time to wrap the ceiling supports with silver tinsel. The bartender and waitresses even wear a mix of Santa hats and reindeer antlers. It’s a nice attempt to infuse the place with holiday cheer.
Across from me, Flint sneezes and pushes the basket filled with cinnamon drenched pinecones off to the side. “This is not what I was expecting when you said we’d have a holiday party, Pen.”
I turn from my perusal of the patrons to look at my coworker and lover. He’s breathtakingly lovely, with dark hair and features that somehow combine masculine and delicate. With his cheekbones, slender yet muscular frame, and strikingly blue eyes, he would look right at home on a runway.
But the gorgeous glamour he wears to disguise the scarred right side of his face no longer phases me the way it used to, and I focus on his good, left eye. “Were you expecting cocktails at the Waldorf?”
“It would have been better than this,” he grumbles as he hunches over a green beer that smells weirdly of peppermint. “Don’t you think we deserve a night off?”
“Sure.” I look away from him to search the bar once more. “Maybe in January. This is our busiest time of year.”
“Are we at least being paid to sit in this squalor?” He peels his boots off the sticky floor for emphasis, where one too many merrymakers have spilled their holiday laced drinks tonight.
I purse my lips without looking at him.
“Pen.” Flint leans around the table to block my view with his too pretty face. “Please tell me this is a paying gig and not some kind of public service.”
I reluctantly shift my attention to him. “Does every trip out of the office have to pay?”
Wincing, he slouches back into his seat. “At least the holiday ones do.”
“I’ll pay you,” I offer.
His foot taps mine under the table. “I don’t want your money. I want the stupid people’s money.”
I look back at him and lift a brow. “At least you’re inside?”
“Well, there is that.” His foot taps mine again. “It’s because I’m your favorite, right?”
I nod. “That, or because Marc is on my shit list again.”
Flint curses under his breath. “When is Marc not on your shit list? I don’t know why he sticks around.”
“Yes, you do.” A couple at the bar catch my attention, and I nudge Flint, then use two fingers on the table to direct his attention.
He casually slides off his chair and walks to the bar, depositing himself next to the couple as he tries to gain the bartender’s attention.
It takes a while, which is perfect, since Flint needs time to make an assessment. The bar on Christmas Eve holds a lot of people, and they look to be running on half-staff. Likely all volunteers who either don’t celebrate the holiday or want time and a half more than they want to spend the night with their families.
I don’t know why Flint complains about working a job during Christmas Eve. It’s not like he has a family outside of the company, and he never takes vacations. His life—all our lives—center around the job, and everything else comes second to that.
As he strolls back with another green beer, I catch women and men alike checking him out. He really is too pretty for his own good, but I don’t feel jealous. Flint’s a showman and a flirt, but he’s not actually social. He doesn’t make connections easily, which is why I think he worries so much about his appearance. For all the glances he pulls, he’ll be going home with Marc and me tonight.
Flint slides the new beer onto our table, then hooks a foot around the leg of his chair and pulls it over next to mine before he sits, now with his back to the bar. It gives me an excuse to keep watching the couple without looking too obvious.
Flint leans close, his lips skimming my cheek, and his voice pitched to carry to my ears alone. “We have a live one.”
I nod in acknowledgment and make a show of sipping my beer. The peppermint scent grows stronger, and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. Why would anyone put peppermint in beer? That’s just turning an already foul drink into something disgusting.
Over the next hour, I watch the girl slurp down one holiday drink after another, and her partner gets more and more handsy with her. When she stumbles off her stool and wobbles to the lady’s room, he calls the bartender over and orders a new drink that looks like nothing but booze. When she stumbles back, she downs the offering without question.
In another five minutes, she can barely sit on her stool. The guy hooks his arm around the woman and helps her stumble from the bar.
I loo
k at Flint. “Let’s go.”
“About fucking time.” He stands, then motions for me to walk ahead of him.
I weave myself through the packed tables, beelining for the door.
The cold blast of December air clears the stale booze scent from my nose, and I look both ways down the dark street. At almost midnight, there aren’t a lot of people outside, which makes our job easier. I’m glad we didn’t have to wait around for the two o’clock cut off. If that had happened, there would have been a higher risk of witnesses.
Another bar casts lights across the sidewalk to the right. To the left, the streetlight in front of the ally lays dark, glass shards barely visible on the sidewalk. Tonight’s attack was premeditated, but the darkness only works in our favor.
By silent agreement, Flint and I head left down the street and duck into the dark alley. At first, it looks empty, with only a dumpster and the smell of piss to greet us. But then a light scuff comes from farther down, followed by a male grunt.
My hand slips into my jacket, and I pull out a metal baton. With a flick of my wrist, it opens to its full length.
Flint stays a step behind me. He’s not much of a fighter, but he’ll cover me if needed. No way is our target escaping this alley.
We pass the dumpster, and the couple comes into view. The guy has her pinned up against the wall with her skirt hiked up but seems to be having trouble getting his pants open while keeping her supported. He’s a baby rapist, without the practice to perfect his moves.
At the sound of our footsteps, he jerks around with a scowl. “Fuck off. We’re busy here.”
“How about you fuck off?” I counter as I twirl my baton for effect.
“Mind your own business.” He releases the woman, who sways but stays upright, and turns to face me fully, flexing his muscles. “What are you, one of those women’s lib freaks?”
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