Page 1 of Loved By the Gargoyle

Xavir vowed he would claim a bride…

…before death came to claim him.

As Spymaster of the Legions of the Underworld, Xavir was all too familiar with shadows and loneliness. When he and his brothers escaped the Underworld to find their brides, he had not expected the Lords of Hell to hunt them down, demanding retribution. To save himself from their wrath, he knew he must find a human of his own and make her fall in love with him.

And when Xavir first heard her music, he knew she was the one.

Mia Song.

Before her, Xavir did not know what it was to truly crave. And he would do whatever it took to claim Mia as his wife… before it was too late.

Mia Song understood too well what it meant to be lonely.

Though she was surrounded by people, living the life of her dreams, it felt empty without someone to share it with. So when she began receiving mysterious letters from a man desperate to get to know her, it was all too easy to reply, and far easier falling in love.

But Mia got more than she bargained for the moment dark, erotic dreams of a shadowy figure began to plague her. And when the figure appeared before her, claiming to be her penpal, all she could do was scream.

Because he was a terrifying monster. And he was determined to make her his wife.

Grocery bags twisted over my fingers, cutting off my circulation as I juggled the heavy weight of fruits and vegetables and made my way towards the door to my apartment. My thin arms trembled halfway up the stairs, but I hadn’t wanted to make several trips out to my car to get these.

I was paying for that decision now as my entire hand went numb with my efforts.

Whispering a curse, I maneuvered some of the bags onto a single hand, leaving the other one free to dig into the pocket of my pants for my house key.

Another mistake on my end.

I should have taken the key out first.

Once I dug it out, I shuffled towards my door, the key nearly slipping from my fingers when I caught sight of a folded slip of paper tucked into the frame.

The breath left me at the sight of the note. My heartbeat sped up in a way that had nothing to do with exertion of carrying so much weight up four flights of stairs. I snatched the note up, crumpling it into my palm before I hurried and opened the door, tripping into my house and promptly closing the door behind me.

I couldn’t be sure how fast I moved. Within seconds, I’d kicked my shoes off and slipped my feet into my house slippers, dumped my groceries onto my kitchen counter, and hurried to take a seat on my couch, the paper firmly in my grasp.

It felt like unwrapping a gift to reveal a surprise underneath. My fingers were firm, eager, as the note slowly unfolded from the complicated nips and tucks it was secured in. Once the full page was spread out on my lap, familiar, looping scrawl greeted me, and the smile it brought to my lips wasn’t one I could hide.

Leaning back on the couch, I pulled my feet from my slippers and tucked them under me, finding a comfortable position before diving into it.

M,

It was with much joy that I received your last letter. It saddens me to say I have not yet been to The Cauldron, though the way you have described it has piqued my curiosity and I wish to rectify my mistake immediately.

I paused, chuckling, and dove back in.

My palette is not as elevated as your own. When you questioned what food I favored, I realized I eat for sustenance, not for pleasure. Food is merely a way to fuel the body, not to be enjoyed. Perhaps I must change my point of view and find a meal to devour slowly. Perhaps, with the right company, I might even find myself enjoying it.

Signed,

X

That was it. That was all the small slip of paper contained. Still, I read it over and over again until every single word was burned into my brain and I could recite it without looking.

The handwriting had grown familiar to me in the past few months. A little messy, confident, bold… The penmarks dug grooves deep into the paper, nearly tearing holes through it, but at the same time the scrawl was rushed, like the person on the other end wanted to get every thought down on paper quickly. And yet, there was a contradiction in the words themselves. Those were always so careful. Almost like English wasn’t their first language and they were putting down a foreign verbiage that was almost too respectful.

The letters were always respectful.

I remembered the first one that had been stuck on my door’s frame. I’d opened to leave, and the piece of paper had come fluttering to the ground at my feet. Curiosity had me picking it up, looking left and right in the hallway of my floor to see if there’d been anyone there. When there seemed to be no one around, I opened it to find a single word etched onto the page.