Monster Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #9)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Avalon

The huge house—more like a mansion—looms before me, a gothic relic swallowed by time, shadows, and ivy.

I tighten my grip on my car door handle, my heart hammering in my chest. This isn’t just an old house—it’s my new beginning.

Shadows curl around the stone archways, and the towering—holy shit!—gargoyles perched on the rooftop look almost... watchful. A shiver runs down my spine.

"I'm crazy. This is crazy," I mutter as I once again think about turning around and driving away.

I shouldn't have come here.

Taking my hand off the door handle, I lean back against the driver's seat and grab for the letter I received a few weeks ago—the one that changed everything. The paper is thick and yellowed at the edges, the handwriting elegant but a little shaky.

My Dearest Avalon,

Even though we've never met, that's exactly what you are to me.

Dear.

I write to you from beyond the grave, as morbid as that may sound. My name is Ichabod. Ichabod Apples, your mother's great-uncle.

As odd as it may seem to be receiving this missive from me, I wish to allay your fears. Your mother was just as dear to me. She used to spend her summers here, bringing life into the dark, dreary walls of my home.

Alas, she passed before she could bring you around, and your father would have none of it.

But now that you are grown, and I am, sadly, saying goodbye, I'm hoping that will change.

I wish to leave to you my entire estate, and all it entails. As such, my last will and testament has been drafted to do just that.

With this letter, you should receive another, much longer, and I daresay a fair bit more boring, letter from my attorney.

My sincerest hope is that you'll take ownership of Stonebound Manor, and make it your home. Bring life back into it, in the same way your mother once did.

My kindest regards,

Ichabod Apples

My long-lost great-great-uncle had spoken the truth. With his letter came instructions from a firm in Autumnvale, along with a stack of legal paperwork, keys, and a hand-drawn map to the manor like something out of a gothic novel.

I probably should have questioned it more—called someone, googled him, done anything—but it had come at the perfect time.

Everything else in my life was going belly-up.

My landlord had raised my rent. Again. My job—one I hated with every fiber of my being—had cut my hours. And my on-again-off-again boyfriend cheated on me during one of our on periods.

To top that, my relationship with my father was already rocky before this whole inheritance business reared its head. Telling him I was leaving had gone over like a lead balloon.

To say he wasn’t impressed with me receiving anything from my mother's side of the family is putting it mildly.

Very mildly.

But this? This is my one shot. My Hail Mary.

So I quit my crappy job, packed up my shitty one-bedroom apartment, grabbed my crabby one-eyed cat, and drove across the state to this creepy old mansion in the middle of nowhere.

And now here I am.

"Okay," I breathe, trying to steady my heart. "Okay, Avalon. You're here. You're doing it. No turning back now."

I square my shoulders and step out of the car, my boots crunching against the gravel. The air is colder than expected and thick with the scent of moss, old wood, and something else I can’t quite name.

I look up again at the imposing house, my eyes immediately drawn to the gargoyles.

They stand sentry on either side of the manor's tall turrets—massive, terrifying creatures carved from dark stone, wings unfurled and claws gripping the rooftop like they are waiting for something.

Or someone.

I pull my coat tighter around my slight frame, and the breeze tugs at my long, loose, strawberry-colored curls. Turning back to the car to grab the keys from the passenger seat, I swear it looks like one of the gargoyles moved.

No.

Just no.

"You're just statues," I whisper, even though my skin prickles and a shiver runs down my spine.

The breeze turns into a fierce wind, the cold piercing against my skin in warning.

The key in my hand suddenly feels heavy as I step up to the ornate front door.

The intricate, curling vines and runes etched into the blackened metal draws me even closer.

No matter how scared or worried I am, I need this.

More importantly, I need a bit more positivity in my life.

Things have been too dark, too icky, and way too morbid for far too long now.

And as Uncle Ichabod had said, maybe I could bring some life back into the manor.

The moment I slide the key into the lock, a slow creaking groan echoes through the air around me.

The door opens with a soft sigh.

Okay... maybe I need to come back on a warmer, sunnier day.

Because the inside is dark.

Cold.

Still.

Basically scary as all heck.

At least everything inside gleams, and it smells clean. Fresh.

The attorney's letters said that Uncle Ichabod's cleaning service continues to come through weekly. And that they would also keep the kitchen stocked in preparation for my arrival.

Before I can contemplate my next move, the large, heavy, wooden door slams shut behind me.

I jump, spinning around, my heart racing.

But no one’s there.

Obviously, there is no one there.

Just the very dramatic door.

"Okay, Stonebound Manor. I get it. You're spooky," I mutter, brushing my curls out of my face.

The foyer around me stretches up into shadowed arches and an upper balcony with dark wood balustrades. Dust mites dance around in the faint streams of afternoon light cutting in through high, narrow windows. But the strangest thing is—it doesn’t feel unpleasant.

It doesn’t feel haunted. Not in a sinister way, at least. The house feels... quiet. Settled. Like it’s holding its breath, waiting.

I take a tentative step forward. Then another. The heels of my boots echo faintly on the polished floor. The air inside is cool, but not freezing. And that mystery scent I noticed outside is even stronger in here. Wood polish, cinnamon, and something almost floral.

"Let's see what I've gotten into," I whisper again, hugging myself.

I cross into the main hall, where light spills through tall stained-glass windows, casting soft pinks and ambers onto the floor.

A grand staircase curves upward like something out of a fairytale, and thick rugs soften the steps.

On either side of the hallway, open archways led to what I guessed were the parlor and library.

To my complete shock, a fire crackles cheerfully in the library hearth.

"What the heck..." I murmur, stepping toward it. There are logs stacked in a neat iron rack beside the fireplace, and a fresh set of matches lies on the mantle. Did the cleaning crew do this? Maybe they are really thorough. Or maybe someone from the firm came ahead and prepped things for me.

Whatever it is, it is kind of nice.

"Right then," I say softly, walking toward a large, comfortable-looking settee.

I lower myself carefully onto the cushions, setting the keys on the coffee table and glancing around the library. The shelves are packed—no, stuffed—with books. Old books, new books, hard covers, paperbacks, some that even look like they might possibly be first editions.

And there. There is definitely some smutty goodness on the shelves, too.

A picture of what I assume is a young Uncle Ichabod sits on the shelf nearest me, in a frame shaped like ivy. He has a kind, tired smile and a shock of bright-red hair that reminds me of my mom. He looks like the kind of man who wrote letters that started with ‘My Dearest Avalon’.

I reach across and touch the edge of the frame.

"Thanks for this, Uncle Ichabod," I whisper, surprising myself when my eyes prickle with tears. "I really needed this."

As if in response, the fire pops warmly and sends a swirl of heat toward me.

Just then I realize I am the worst cat momma in the entire world.

"Crud! Sparrow!"

I bolt upright and rush back toward the door, flinging it open. There he is. My cranky, one-eyed orange cat, glaring at me through the car window.

"Oh my goodness!" I cry as I run to the car, opening the door and scooping him up in my arms. "I didn't forget about you, okay? I just got a little... carried away in there."

He yowls dramatically in response, but headbutts my chin, which I take as a truce.

I carry him back inside, and as I cross the threshold again—this time with the comfort of a furry, angry companion under my arm—something shifts in my chest.

I finally, after years and years of floating aimlessly, feel like I belong somewhere.

This place is mine.

And I will do exactly what was asked of me.

I'll breathe life into the manor.

Because it has most certainly breathed some life right back into me.