Chapter 124: 124. Mrs. Chastain I
Maisie
For all of my bravado, an hour later, I was trembling with nerves outside of a ’beach house’ that rivaled the size of the entire Night Shade pack.
I touched the sunhat Jericho had dropped over my head for the sixteenth time, and I adjusted the matching sarong around my hip, feeling extremely self conscious with the amount of skin on display.
The swim wear was a one-piece-cut-out with a deep v that went all the way to my mid-riff, revealing a scandalous amount of cleavage and my toned, trim belly.
The straps holding up my breasts firmly were just as thin as the thong parting my ass, and I might as well have been naked.
The front door swung open and a maid appeared, grinning from ear to ear. "Messieurs," she greeted perkily, eyes lighting up like jewels.
She was in a short black and white maid uniform pressed too tight to her skin and the first few buttons were popped. The flowery hem teased her long legs mid-thigh, and she looked more an actress roleplaying on a movie set than an actual maid.
And then she curtseyed deeply, flashing the Lycans a beautiful view of ample, creamy breasts and a red lacy bra peaking out from underneath.
Seriously. Was this my life now?
"Camille," Quinlan answered half-heartedly, but not unkindly. "Is mama in?"
The woman’s gaze dropped to where I stood with Quinlan’s arm resting lazily around my waist, surrounded by the Lycans, and her smile faltered slightly. "O-oui," she stammered, then reverted to heavily accented English, eyes still sharp as they took me in like I was an intruder. "She will be down shortly. Just a little occupied—"
Just then, there was a crash upstairs, followed by a boom that made me jump.
Quinlan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Soren chuckled and Mercer scoffed. A small smile danced on Jericho’s mouth.
Another loud thud echoed, shaking the entire house and I turned my gaze to Quinlan. "What is happening?"
Jericho was toying with the ends of my hair. "Relax. This is completely normal."
"The earthquakes?"
"No. Lovemaking," Mercer quipped.
I blinked rapidly, my confusion rising, and another thud rocked the entire house, following the rhythmic thump of a headboard and breathy moans. "Yes... yes... right there... oh god, yes!"
Is that what I think it is—
The thumping sound grew louder. A feminine gasp flitted down, "Harder, you big beautiful brute!"
I gasped.
Mercer’s shoulders shook. A low, helpless laughter escaped him, vibrating against my shoulder, and I jumped again at the hard crash that sounded like furniture cracking. A sting of female French curses erupted, followed by a male snarl so loud and vicious, the hairs on my skin rose.
Quinlan sighed again. "Camille, go prepare the master’s suite."
The maid’s eyes flickered to me again and a frown bloomed on the corner of her mouth before she hurried inside.
Quinlan’s fingers curled on the base of my spine as he nudged me up the steps of the house, while we continued to ignore the noises coming from above.
His fingers were warm, causing my skin to tingle, and I caught myself leaning back into the touch. I stepped out of his reach, crossing the threshold.
Inside was even more glamorous than outside. Sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the endless turquoise sea beyond like a framed painting. It was airy, with soft whitewashed walls, bleached oak floors, delicate crystal chandeliers, antique gold-framed mirrors, fresh lavender bundles on side tables, and elegant Louis XVI-style chairs mixed with sleek modern furniture.
Very French.
A grand piano gleamed in one corner of the living room and an open lurked on the other end, with a massive island.
It smelled like sea, and I realized there was a little bit of Quinlan in here too. That faint spice and citrusy scent with the undercurrent of something darkly masculine.
It seduced my senses into... relaxing. Well, until another jarring thud echoed through the house.
Quinlan let out an annoyed groan. "She promised she would be on her best behavior—"
"Mon bebe!" came a joyful cry from the top of the staircases, interrupting Quinlan, and I turned around.
Quinlan’s mother was a raven-haired beauty with striking sterling grey eyes that sparkled with mischief. She was a voluptuous woman and my cheeks felt hot as I noticed her blouse was completely askew, one strap fallen off her shoulder, and the hem of her knitted skirt was riding high on her thighs.
Her deep red lipstick was smudged, and her mascara ran down her cheeks like she’d been crying. But the scent on her told me just what she had been crying about.
There were several bite marks on her elegant neck and bruises from finger nails. Her eyes were slightly glazed with a look I recognized too well for my own liking. The infamous post-orgasmic glow.
Worse yet, as she sauntered down the stairs, her steps were slow, slightly wobbly. And my cheeks flushed even hotter when I realized she wasn’t walking right because well... oh my god. This had to be the most bizarre way to meet one’s mother-in-law.
Add father-in-law to that because Quinlan’s father stepped off the staircase after her. And my breath stalled. Quinlan and Juliette were a complete replica of their father. The blonde hair and blue eyes were all his. The height. The gait. It was like seeing an older version of Quinlan, but with something different.
Kinder.
Friendlier, if that was even possible for a fully bred Lycan male. He had a staggering aura, but rather than the stifling one I was used to, it was warm and bright.
He smiled upon sighting us. I wondered if he knew his face was covered with red lipstick and kiss marks. Or if he noticed the scratch marks on his face and arms. His blonde hair was tousled, and there was a bruise on his bottom lip.
His clothes were worn inside out, with the labels sticking out.
And suddenly, it wasn’t hard to guess where Quinlan got his risqué attitude from.
Mrs. Chastain hopped the last few steps and shoved Quinlan to the side, and I let out a soft sound of surprised when I was yanked into a warm, perfumed hug, and lots of kisses were peppered across my face, my nose, my forehead. "You are much more beautiful in person, amore. Come. Let me look at you. We have so much to talk about."
I was frozen to the spot. She was so warm, so soft and loving, she reminded me of my mother. I didn’t... didn’t know how to handle it.
She pulled back, grinning down at me. "You can call me Violette, child. Or Mama. I’d prefer the latter—"
"Er... Mrs. Chastain?" Soren cleared his throat.
"Yes, boy?" she glared playfully at Soren, and Soren grimaced. "There’s a... uh..." He pointed behind her, and I tried not to gasp again when Mrs. Chastain reached out behind her and pulled out..
"Oh," she muttered, squinting at the condom. "Sweetheart, I think this is yours," she said to Quinlan’s father.
I thought in that moment that Quinlan was right. I felt positively scandalized.
