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Rosemarie pops her hands on her hips, the picture of righteous indignation. Gods, she’s adorable when she’s cranky. Her scent turns spicy instead of the tartness of fear. I inhale, wanting to savor every bit of her company before she rejects me and I have to let her go.
“I wasn’t the one doing the flying,” she lectures as she storms away. “You obviously had a reason. Or your brother did.” She stops and stares up where Atticus stands as still as stone atop a mausoleum that holds the portal. “Hello?” she calls to him. “Now that you’ve kidnapped me, care to share your master plan? And why Jace isn’t a fan of it?”
“How’d you know?” I ask. Maybe she can sense my emotions like a mate. Wait, no, she’s not my mate. I can’t get swept up in Atticus’s fantasy.
“Because I’m not an idiot, and your body language screams dread,” she says. “Pretending to be a statue isn’t funny, you know,” she scolds Atticus. “It’s not like I wouldn’t recognize your faces when they’re the same as those on all the local gargoyles in my neighborhood.”
“Because we were those gargoyles.” Atticus drops beside us. “Someone had to watch over you at that hospital where you’ll never have to pull another shift.”
“How did you—?” Her jaw drops, and her eyes go wide. “You showed up when that robber attacked me. I didn’t imagine it.” Panic threads through her voice. “But if that was real, then…”
“Time to go,” Atticus says and reaches for her.
“No.” She jerks away, and it’s obvious from my brother’s annoyance that he didn’t expect that. He predicts what’s coming with disturbing clarity, yet Rosemarie keeps him guessing. I like it. Hell, I love it.
My twin smacks my arm to get me to quit grinning, but I hit him back.
Harder.
“You two are definitely brothers,” she says, and her gaze narrows. “How did you know about my job at the hospital ending? Have you been spying on me?”
The way she phrases the last question has me wanting to shrink beneath my wings. Shit. Atticus usually does a better job thinking through possible consequences before he opens his mouth. I’m the one who gets us into trouble with my speak first, think later norm, but not this time with him admitting we stalked her.
She stares at him. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Since your great-grandmother passed over the Bridge of Souls,” he says.
She jerks as if shocked. “You know about my Lala?” Grief tinges her voice. “You know about her Bridge of Souls? I thought the Alzheimer’s made her imagine it. I couldn’t find anything about it in her books or online.”
“It’s very real, and we’re sorry for your loss,” I tell her. “We heard your wishes for her safe crossing while you mourned at her grave.”
She glares at me. “Do you get your kicks from listening to a grieving woman?”
“No,” I rush to add. “Gargoyles guard the Bridge of Souls so we hear any petitions that come across it.” I glance at Atticus. He’d be better at handling this. Why did I open my big, clumsy mouth to try and soothe her? My asshole twin doesn’t intervene so I try my best to stumble ahead. “We didn’t mean to spy on you. Not that time anyway.”
She narrows her eyes. “But you meant to spy on me since?”
Atticus gives me a way to go and fuck everything up look. “We wanted to keep you safe,” he announces as if that makes what we did okay.
“You stalked me for months?” she asks. The tone of her voice has changed, sending warnings racing through my mind.
Behind her, I shake my head frantically at Atticus.
He nods anyway. The dolt.
Rosemarie takes a step closer to him. “You stalked me for months?” She doesn’t sound angry which makes the accusation seem even worse.
“That’s what I called it,” I say on a grumble.
“Followed for your protection,” Atticus corrects.
“Yeah, without me knowing,” she drawls. “That’s stalking.”
“We only wanted to make sure you were okay,” I reassure her. “You live and work in dangerous places, and it’s not as though we could just introduce ourselves with good evening, blessed queen, we’re your friendly guardian gargoyles who lurk in the shadows because we can’t pop out randomly to scare unknowing humans. I promise we weren’t trying to be creepers.” Because, for whatever reason, her opinion matters. It matters more than anything.
After a long, awkward pause, she says, “Guardian gargoyles.” She makes it sound like the all-important answer to an unspoken question. “Let’s say I believe you. That doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies about going through some strange portal with you.”
The tightness in my chest eases even as I know I’ll need to be careful with her feelings when I tell her I don’t want her to come with the Borderlands with us. I won’t risk Rosemarie. Not like I ruined everything with Dyphena. But my brother opens his big mouth before I can say anything.
