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For Dyphena’s memory.
“Just a few more nights until the trials,” Jace says. As if I need the reminder.
“I still have no idea what to expect,” I call back.
“No one does. Which is why we train you for every possibility.”
“Not helpful,” I mutter.
Huey zips around me, flying upside down. His grey feathers shimmer with green from my bracelet, his yellow eyes shine, and he looks like a tiny alien.
“Don’t know how you ever fooled me into thinking you were a normal owl,” I tell him before yelling to Jace, “I’m almost to the top. Might as well call this one a win since you’ve grabbed, dive-bombed, and tickled, all without me having the teensiest fall.” I don’t mention yesterday’s complete failure where I had to be saved six times.
Huey blows the funniest baby owl raspberry at him with his tongue, joining in my taunting.
The clomp of Howard lets me know he’s moving on even as I look up and don’t dare glance down to watch him or his rider. Yesterday, Howard gave me a lesson on Irish myths associated with death and the After Worlds, telling me scary tales of the banshees who fly by the tower. The Spidress talked on weaving’s importance in the death beliefs of cultures.
At least Atticus keeps me on the ground and resting without the threat of an attack for the hours he lectures on rituals associated with the gargoyles’ keep, the great queens, and the grandest eras of the Bridge according to their history. He talks about monster hierarchy in my realm and the Borderlands as well as in the settlements, villages, and multiple realms of the After Worlds. From up this high, I can see the spread of those worlds that welcome the dead, and I’m glad we’re far enough from the Bridge that I can’t hear it passing judgment on which paradise or hell a soul is bound for.
Easing the transition to death? I can do.
I’ll be glad to leave the rest to the Bridge.
When I become queen.
Squaring my shoulders, I fake a confidence I don’t feel and tell Jace, “Bring your worst. I’ve got this.”
“Don’t get cocky yet,” Jace tells me. “Two more challenges before you reach the top.” He traces a gentle touch along the back of my thigh, sending a thrill through me to my core. Heat and slickness between my legs tease and torture me.
The twins haven’t been shy about granting me orgasms to watch the runes glow, and they’re champion snugglers in a cuddle pile during magic and history lessons. But they refuse to take sexy times further no matter how much I coax. Something about waiting for me to be sure of my mates.
I want to scream my certainty.
While a gargoyle tongue is extremely long and versatile in how many ways it can bring me to climax, and I can’t complain how they’ve committed to studying my pleasure as much as they’ve dedicated themselves to my training, I want more.
So much more.
I want both of them, at once, in a mind-blowing, monster-howling claiming that makes them completely mine.
As if reading my mind, Jace runs his tail to the small of my back, rubbing circles that make me moan.
Damn my flirty gargoyle.
His intimate touch has me shuddering, but I keep my grip and huddle close to the cliff. “Seduction won’t work,” I lie. Ohmygod, it totally would. I breathe through the need. “You’ll have to do better with your last challenge.”
“Oh, that wasn’t a challenge,” he says. “Just me having a bit of fun.” Asshole. He hovers in mid-air, flapping his wings lazily. Show off. I spent my childhood wanting a superpower that made people happy with me just being me. Now, as a grown-ass woman, I’m having serious flight envy. I take him in from his every flexing muscle, sinewy ripple of power, and curve of claws to his strong jawline and model-worthy hair. He smirks as if he can sense the direction of my thoughts.
Maybe if he knows how badly I crave him and Atticus, he’ll call an early end to today’s session.
Or maybe not.
Since he’s staring at the shrill approach of white feathered wings, shiny curls, and horrible fangs. “They’re the challenge,” he says.
“No,” I protest. “Not the cupids. I hate freakin’ cupids.” They’re the worst possible combination of my realm’s Children of the Corn and my most terrifying clown nightmares. Their tittering giggles and high-pitched peals send goosebumps over my skin.
“Queenie,” they call in their sing-song voices. The ragged feathers of their wings look so fluffy and pristine from afar, but this close I can see the blood specks alongside dark matter that I don’t want to think about. The cupids devour anything in their path, stunning them with sweetness or shooting them with stupefaction arrows before burying fangs into flesh and ripping their victims apart.
They would do the same to me except long-ago bonds ban them from attacking gargoyles, queens, or queen candidates. Jace has given them permission to harass me but not to pull me from the wall or eat me alive while I cling to it. Plus, the wards Rona put on me won’t allow actual physical harm. I glance at Huey, hoping he’s ready to become a giant, blade-winged guardian if things go badly.
