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

“Aw, you look gorgeous,” I told my friend Monica. She stood in front of a long mirror in one of the twenty-five bedrooms in the castle venue, her slim body encased in a white wedding gown fit for a princess.

Poppy, her orc-green face tight with excitement and tension, fluffed Monica’s dress and made a few last-minute alterations, though really, the dress was perfect already.

“You think so?” Monica said, her teary gaze traveling from mine to Poppy’s in the mirror. “I keep seeing pictures of my mom wearing this dress when she married my dad, and now I’ll wear it when I walk down the aisle and into Trevor’s arms. Thank you so much for helping with the alterations, Poppy.” She hugged our friend, and Poppy beamed, her cheeks darkening. “If only Mom could be here to help me get ready. If only Dad was here to walk me down the aisle, though I’m honored Gunner agreed to do so.”

Gunner was Poppy’s older brother and a good friend of the groom.

With Monica’s mom dead, she only had me, her best friend from high school and Poppy to be with her during this wonderful moment in her life.

I carefully blotted away her tears. “None of that, now. I know crying’s a common thing at weddings, but don’t ruin your make-up until after you’ve joined Trevor at the altar.”

Nodding, she bit down on her trembling lower lip and smoothed the front of her gown. It had been made of the finest silk and tulle and had intricate beading and lace along the bodice. The skirt flowed out behind her, and Poppy had promised to hold it up so it wouldn’t drag on the way to the chapel.

I stepped back. “You look wonderful. Trevor’s going to be the one crying when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

Elisa, Monica’s wedding planner, murmured an agreement from where she stood nearby.

“Thank you so much for being here with me, Paige,” Monica said. “I know we only reconnected six months ago, but it means everything to me.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be. Now let’s get to that church so you can get married,” I said with a big smile.

The door opened behind us and the owner of the castle venue, Bart, a minotaur, poked his head in. “It’s time.” His gaze swept across us and remained on Poppy. Color climbed into his fuzzy cheeks, and his hooves drummed on the floor.

Poppy hid her grin. Those two. I shook my head. They’d been making eyes at each other since we arrived this morning. Romance appeared to be in the air for more than one couple.

Not for me. I’d had my chance ten years ago when I was sixteen but he died.

Monica latched onto my arms and hopped in place. “I’m about to become Trevor’s bride!”

I was surprised when she asked to be her maid of honor, though touched. When my family fled Petrified Woods, I never looked back. The memory of that time still haunted me.

A mad scientist kidnapping Darrow and other townspeople to experiment on them. They escaped, but they were never the same again . . .

Darrow texted me after he escaped, telling me he didn’t feel right. Something was terribly wrong. He was scared.

My parents wouldn’t let me go see him, stating I had to let the medical people deal with it.

It wasn’t long after that we heard screams echoing through our small town and whispers of monsters.

My terrified parents packed up all our possessions and fled the next night. This was the first time I’d returned to Petrified Woods.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” Poppy fluffed Monica’s veil. At her nod, Monica smiled and started toward the door.

“I’m so glad I found you on Facebook,” Monica said.

As Bart opened the door all the way, I handed Monica her glorious bouquet.

“If you hadn’t found me, I never would’ve returned to town.” How could I when Darrow died? When my parents told me, I collapsed. We’d been best friends since we were little. We’d even teased each other about getting married one day. We’d only kissed, but I knew who I wanted to be with for my first time.

My dreams died along with him.

We left the room and followed Elisa down the grand staircase. Bart waited at the bottom, red capes hanging over his arm.

When we reached him, he draped one around each of our shoulders. With Poppy, he paused and loosely tied a white bow beneath her chin. He stood there, staring at her while she did the same, and I began to think we’d be gray before we arrived at the church.

“Guys,” Monica said with a laugh. “Later, okay?”

Poppy blushed. Bart stumbled backward, nearly tripping when one of his hooves caught on the rug.

“I apologize,” he said, giving us a bow. His hand swept out. “Please.”

The chapel was located behind the castle, though the reception would be held in the grand ballroom spanning half the second floor. We crossed the foyer, continued down a hall, and paused at the rear entrance door.

Bart clomped around us and opened it.

Stepping outside, I paused on the big stone deck to suck in a breath of crisp, wintery air. Poppy juggled Monica’s train, making sure it didn’t fall in the snow.

Monica grinned my way, her tears gone. “I can’t wait to marry Trevor.”

And from what I’d seen last night at the rehearsal dinner, he felt the same.

The only person missing from the dinner had been the best man. I wouldn’t meet him until the wedding, though it didn’t matter. Once the wedding weekend was over and Monica and Trevor left for their honeymoon in two days, I’d drive away from Petrified Woods and never return.

“He’s a medusa,” Monica had whispered, though not in shock. After all, she was marrying an ogre. “He has snake-like hair that has a life of its own, though it’s kind of sexy. It’s silver,” she’d said. “As is his skin, though that’s a lighter color. He’s kind of cute if sad.” She’d frowned. “I think something horrible happened after he was changed, but no one’s said a word about it to me. He’s a sculptor and, rather ironically, he runs a statuary.” She’d released a high-pitch giggle. “Get it? Gorgon. Statuary? I asked Trevor once if he poured his statues or . . . created them.”

“Created them?” I’d asked.

“You know,” she’d said in a hushed voice, “used his laser eyes to turn them to stone.”

I wasn’t sure what to believe, but I’d meet him soon. I didn’t know any sculptors, let alone guys who could solidify others with a glance from their eyes.

Leaving the deck, we walked along a garden path with Bart leading.

“Everything’s so beautiful,” Monica exclaimed, stroking the red bows decorating an evergreen tree. The place looked like a holiday wonderland, and I was happy for my friend. I couldn’t imagine a prettier place to get married.

Sunlight filtered through the tall, spiky trees, making the light dusting of snow we’d gotten last night sparkle. The sweet essence of pine mixed with the scent of cinnamon and cloves. Birds chirped as we passed, and I expected one to swoop down and land on Monica’s finger, completing the forest princess image she projected.

We walked across a small stone bridge spanning a babbling brook, pausing to watch the water trickle over rocks and gurgle where ice was starting to form.

“It’s lovely here,” I said.

“Thank you,” Bart said, clop-clop-clopping beside me on the path. “I inherited the estate from family and decided it was the perfect place for a wedding venue.” His gaze slid to Poppy, and she sidled closer to him.

“When Trevor asked me to marry him,” Monica said, “I knew we had to get married here. I’ve ridden my bike past this place for years, dreaming of walking through the grounds and sleeping in one of the beds.”

Bart gave her another bow. “We’re delighted to help make your day special.”

I couldn’t imagine what it cost, but Trevor’s family owned the country club, and Monica was a graphic designer in high demand. They could probably afford it.

Not me, but I didn’t plan to get married. My heart was ripped from my chest ten years ago, and I hadn’t found anyone who could step into the gap left by Darrow’s death. It might be silly to mourn someone I hadn’t seen for so long, but that was me, steadfast and loyal, as my mom always said. It made me a great lawyer.

We approached the big stone church, and I marveled at the stained-glass windows on either side of the two-story doors. Organ music drifted through the air. Monica wanted a traditional wedding, and the formal march would soon herald her arrival.

“Oh,” Monica called out, her eyes sparkling with tears again. “It’s almost time.” She smiled and hugged me, then Poppy, who still juggled Monica’s train.

Two staff members dressed in black suits bowed to Monica, then swept open the double doors for her to enter.

She strode inside, her head held high, and her spine stiff with pride while I scooted behind her, trying to look dignified while holding a basket full of rose petals. Without a flower girl, the job of sprinkling them on the aisle had fallen on me.

Inside the foyer, Elisa took our capes and fluffed our dresses.

We waited while the ushers approached the interior door.

Bart plodded to the right and opened a small panel, giving the signal that the bride had arrived, and the wedding could begin.

Organ music grew louder, the melody a joyous fanfare that made my heart soar along with it. Long ago, I’d planned to walk down the aisle like Monica, only Darrow would be waiting at the altar with a big grin on his handsome face.

Bart turned to Monica. “Ready?”

She nodded solemnly. “I am.”

Poppy ensured her train was perfectly smooth, then stepped around her to enter through a side door with Bart and Elisa following.

The ushers opened the door to the chapel. The music rose, almost too loud.

Easing around Monica, I stepped onto the red-carpet runner stretching between the pews, and started tossing petals, taking care not to throw too many. The basket was small, and I was supposed to hold back enough to throw onto the altar where Monica would stand with Trevor.

Peeking up, I took in Trevor gazing at Monica with complete adoration. Tears glistened in his eyes, and my heart squished for my friend. They’d be so happy together.

His best man stood to his right, though he hadn’t turned to look. The silver, snake-like hair Monica had described was pulled back in a thick bunch at his nape, the long strands dangling past his shoulders. Did a person cut living hair or let it grow as long as it liked? Tall, he towered over Trevor, who was six-three. His shoulders were equally broad, tapering to a narrow waist. He had a nice butt, something I shouldn’t be noticing.

Monica sniffed.

I paid attention to where I threw the rose petals.

When I reached the altar, I stepped to the side and tossed petals on the smooth surface. I waited for Monica to join Trevor in front of the reverend, then fluffed her train and made sure her gown lay smoothly. Taking her flowers, I stepped up beside her.

I glanced toward the best man, wondering what he looked like from the front. Was he as gorgeous face-to-face as he was from behind?

Shock poured through me, and I released a guttural groan.

Monica glanced my way, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from him.

Darrow.