Novels by MR. SCRATCHES

Vanessa's scream rattled the hallway again."I don't care if the price of steel went up, Ramiro! You cannot cancel the route on a Friday morning!"I let go of my office doorknob and cracked the glass door open with extreme caution. Out in the hall, barely fifteen feet away, Vanessa was pacing back and forth in front of the water dispenser. She had her phone glued to her ear, her face flushed with rage, and her blonde hair slightly disheveled. It was a glorious sight to watch her perfect armor crack.The problem was that, spinning around on her high heels, she caught me peeking.Her blue eyes flashed with instant malice. The panic on her face vanished, immediately replaced by the smile of a predator who had just found the perfect bait to throw to the lions.Vanessa lowered the phone, covered the mouthpiece with her hand, and marched straight toward me. Before I could step back and lock the door, she wedged her foot in the gap."Vice President Dupont, what a timely encounter," she said,

The Google search bar blinked on my laptop screen with the relentless mockery of modern technology. The results yielded three monasteries in the Alps, but absolutely none of them were dedicated to producing Gruyère cheese in sensory deprivation. My lie was a house of cards teetering on the edge of a cliff.I was about to close the tab to look up cheap flights or tutorials on how to forge a new identity, when my busted cell phone vibrated against the mahogany desk.The noise made me jump. I grabbed the device, fully expecting another text full of insults from Gutierrez, my landlord, demanding my imminent eviction.But it wasn't the landlord. It was a push notification from my low-budget bank app.Transfer received.I opened the message with a trembling thumb, ignoring the cracked glass scratching my fingertip. The screen took ten agonizing seconds to load, courtesy of the corporate tower's free Wi-Fi. When the numbers finally snapped into focus, my heart actually stopped. I literally f

The digital display above the doors ticked down: floor 38, 37, 36. The slowness of the elevator was psychological torture. Maximiliano was still leaning against the wall next to my head, his breath brushing my forehead, analyzing every bead of sweat threatening to ruin my cheap makeup."So you made cheese in silence," he finally said, his low tone vibrating in my chest like a cello string. "I suppose that explains your peculiar negotiation style. Though I do wonder at what point the Swiss nuns taught you about the precise slicing of marinated pork."I opened my mouth to invent some atrocity about spice exports in eighteenth-century convents, but fate, in its infinite and sadistic wisdom, decided to intervene.A horrific metallic screech echoed through the elevator shaft, sounding like two giant gears grinding each other to dust. Before I could process the noise, the steel floor beneath my feet vanished.The elevator plummeted into freefall.It was only a fraction of a second, a couple

I stormed out of the boardroom walking so fast my secondhand heels practically threw sparks against the polished wood. I wanted to get to my office, lock the door, and have a panic attack in peace. My legs were shaking. I had managed to fool twelve of the most ruthless executives in the country using a metaphor about marinated pork, but I knew my streak of luck had a limit.I reached the private elevator at the end of the hall and slammed the down button so hard I nearly caved the panel into the wall.The polished steel doors slid open. I shot inside like lightning, glued my back to the rear panel, and prayed the metal doors would shut before anyone could speak to me. There were only four inches left to seal my escape when a massive hand, sporting a watch that cost as much as my entire life, shoved itself into the gap.The doors retreated with an obedient buzz.Maximiliano Montenegro stepped into the cube.The space, which a second ago had felt luxurious and wide, shrank dramatically

Boardroom number one was a freezer designed to intimidate. It featured a dark glass oval table that seemed to float in the center of the room, surrounded by twelve black leather chairs occupied by twelve very unfriendly-looking people.At the head of the table, like a king judging his vassals, sat Maximiliano Montenegro.I walked in trying to project confidence, but my shoes squeaked against the polished wood floor. Twelve heads snapped toward me in unison. I felt my stomach shrink to the size of a walnut. Max watched me from the other end of the table. His gray eyes scanned my jacket—buttoned up to my chin—and the strand of hair rendered stiff by dried milk. One of his eyebrows arched a fraction of a millimeter, but he didn't say a word.I slipped into the only empty chair, directly across from Vanessa, who shot me a venom-laced smile."Now that we’re all here," Max said, his voice slicing through the air like a whip, "we can continue with the quarterly logistics report. Roberto, the

The clock read nine-twelve in the morning. I desperately needed caffeine, or my brain, already fried from the stress of signing a fraudulent contract, was going to shut down completely.The problem was the coffee maker in my office.Calling it a "coffee maker" was an insult. That chrome monster embedded in the mahogany wall looked like the control panel of a space shuttle. It had two analog pressure gauges, four stainless steel nozzles, and a touchscreen with options written entirely in Italian. I was used to boiling water in an aluminum pot and stirring in a spoonful of off-brand instant coffee. This was alien territory.I tapped a button that said Espresso Doppio and then grabbed a little metal pitcher sitting to the side, assuming it was for heating milk. There was a red lever with the word Vapore. Sounded harmless enough. I pushed the lever down.It was like opening the gates of hell itself.A blast of industrial-pressurized steam shot out of the nozzle with a deafening shriek, sl

Moving in sync when you absolutely hate the person next to you is an extreme sport. Navigating to the penthouse's massive open-concept living area takes us five minutes of stumbling, muttered insults, and complaints about my stride length versus his.The place is disgustingly elegant. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, white leather furniture that screams don't stain me, and a kitchen featuring a black marble island so shiny I can see my own disastrous reflection in it. Before leaving the bedroom, I grabbed the first piece of clothing I saw lying in his closet to fight off the freezing AC. It’s a heavy black silk robe with Alistair's initials embroidered in silver on the pocket. It swallows me like a tent, dragging across the floor, but it is ridiculously comfortable.Alistair sets his laptop up on the glass dining table. He’s wearing a perfectly ironed white button-down shirt and a navy blue tie. From the waist down, he’s still rocking the grey sweatpants and bare

"Alistair! I demand an explana—!"The hysterical yell from the doorway barely registers in my sleep-fogged brain. My street-level survival instinct, combined with the absolute irritation of being woken up before eight in the morning, takes control of my right arm. I blindly grab the first thing I find on the mattress. It’s a heavy pillow, stuffed with something disgustingly expensive. Without opening my eyes, I wind up and launch it with all my strength at the source of the noise.The dull thwack of silk smacking into flesh and bone echoes through the room."Shut the damn door!" I yell, burying my face back into the warm mattress. "You’re letting the AC out.""Insolent wretch!" an old, indignant voice roars.I crack one eye open, blinking against the hallway light invading the dim bedroom. Magnus is standing in the doorway, face red with fury, the goose-down pillow lying at his feet. The ancient Alpha is gripping his silver-handled cane so hard his knuckles are pure white.The body be

Sleep swallows me like a dark pit. My human consciousness, full of debt, sarcasm, and defense mechanisms, powers down.That's when she wakes up.In the blackness of my mind, my wolf opens one golden eye. She stretches lazily, shaking out her fur. Finally. Took her forever to shut up, the beast murmurs, grabbing the steering wheel of my body.In the real world, my human eyes stay closed, but my body responds to a much more primal command. The wolf hates the cold AC. She hates the edge of the bed. And above all else, she hates being away from her mate.Through the magic bond, my wolf catches a signal. An energetic vibration from the other side of the massive mattress. Alistair’s wolf just took the wheel, too. The Alpha's hyperactive, playful beast has waited hours for this exact moment, crushed under his human's neurotic self-control.Hello? my wolf howls mentally, twitching her nose.HELLO! Alistair's wolf replies with the energy of a locked-up puppy. It's cold. The human is boring. Co

We survived the bathroom disaster only to face a worse hell: bedtime.A violent yank nearly rips me off the mattress. Alistair grabs the silk duvet and yanks it with pure territorial Alpha strength, leaving me exposed to the penthouse’s arctic air. The cold raises goosebumps on my skin. My wolf growls at the offense. I don't think twice. I half-extend the claws on my right hand, dig my fingers into the pearl-grey fabric, and yank back.The sharp sound of three-thousand-dollar silk tearing right down the middle echoes through the massive, dark room."You're insane!" Alistair spits, sitting bolt upright. The motion-sensor lights flicker on, blinding me for a second. "That cover was handmade in Italy.""And my core temperature requires me not to die of hypothermia," I reply, wrapping my half of the shredded duvet around my shoulders like a human burrito. "You have the AC set to sixty-five degrees, rich boy. What are you, a penguin with anger issues?""I am a wolf, Violeta. My internal te

The steam has already turned the bathroom into a sauna. I finish my business, flush, and step over to the sink to wash my hands. Alistair is still under the spray of water.Suddenly, I hear him grunt. It isn't a growl aimed at me. It's an internal protest."Shut up," Alistair mutters, slamming a closed fist against the glass wall.I raise an eyebrow, picking up his black-bristled toothbrush."I didn't say anything, rich boy. I'm busy deciding whether to use your organic mint toothpaste or let my fangs rot.""I'm not talking to you," he growls again, jerking his head sharply to the left like he's arguing with someone invisible. "I'm talking to this insufferable furball in my head."My wolf lets out a mental giggle. His wolf is mocking him.Alistair rubs his face beneath the silk blindfold. His inner wolf, who clearly has way more energy and less shame than he does, is pushing against his mental barriers. Wolves don't understand human modesty. To his beast, hiding from his fated mate be

"If you don't open this damn door in the next three seconds, Alistair, I swear to the Moon Goddess I am going to piss directly into your Italian shoes."I kick the solid mahogany with the sole of my boot. The echo rings down the entire hallway of the Alpha's ridiculous mansion. My bladder is on the verge of declaring independence. Getting to this penthouse after leaving the pizza joint was a logistical hell thanks to the disgusting cosmic magnet, and now my body is demanding I empty out the pizza and cola I just had for dinner.The lock clicks. The door is yanked open.Alistair is standing in the doorway. His black hair is a mess, dark circles shadow his sharp cheekbones, and he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His torso is completely bare. My brain registers his abs—carved like blocks of granite—but my bladder is screaming a hell of a lot louder than my hormones."Do you have to yell like a savage at three in the morning?" the great Alpha grumbles, pinchin