She builds gardens. I build graves. She shouldn’t be on my mountain. She shouldn’t be in my cottage. She sure as hell shouldn’t be sleeping three feet from my fire like I won’t take her in the night. But I don’t just want to scare her. I want to own her. She plants flowers—I mark territory. She spills tea—I crave blood. She calls me a monster while curling up in the warmth I stole from the earth just to keep her alive. She thinks I’m here to protect the land. She doesn’t know she’s the land now. And I’m the beast who guards it. Read on for monster daddies, cottage captivity, forced proximity in the cold, and a massive, molten MMC who worships his fragile little gardener. HEA Guaranteed!