Page 29 of Loved By the Gargoyle

She laughed, the sound melodious and comforting. “That’s true.”

“Mia, when I first saw you, I knew you would be mine. I came back to the Underworld briefly to begin construction of our home.”

As I said this, we walked up the slope of sand where our house sat… a few yards away from Nazzar’s home.

“Xavir…” She turned in my direction. There were tears in her eyes already. “You did not build us a house.”

“I did.” She began to cry and I reached for her, bending and cupping her cheeks. “I created a home for you, wife. A place where we can live. Where you can write and play music, where I can provide for you and love you until I take my very last breath.”

She began nodding her head vigorously. “Yes, yes, yes. Oh my gosh. I love it!”

“You have not yet seen the inside.”

Her small hands reached up to grab my wrists, squeezing them. “I don’t care,” she said. “I love it.” Then she was tugging me in the direction of our home.

I had not lied when I said I had started construction the moment I saw her. I had ordered many demons to do it, changing the design as I grew to know more of her. It was tall and built of glass, painted gray. The glass showed our reflections, and for a second I marveled at how we looked side by side as we made our way towards the door.

Mia arrived first, throwing a glance over her shoulder as if seeking my consent to open. I nodded and she giggled, turning back and pushing the door open and making her way inside.

I followed after her, eager to show her where we would raise our young together.

However, the moment we stepped inside, a voice crooned out.

“About fucking time you arrived.”

Mia yelped a sound of fear. I could understand the sentiment, for it pounded through me within moments as I caught sight of the male lounging leisurely against our couch.

“Oh, no, none of that, lovely,” he purred, stretching along the cushions as he propped his head up on his hand, those feline-like eyes finding me.

My body moved on memory, dropping quickly to my knees and bowing low before a king of hell.

“Oh, Xavir,” Lorenzo di Morte sighed, though the sound was laced with glee. “You’ve been a very baaaaad booooy.”

I had no idea who this man was, but if there was one thing I noticed, it was that he was extremely beautiful.

He had light brown skin that appeared very moisturized and chiseled to literal perfection. A silk robe clung to his frame, but parted at the front, revealing a dark crop top and… I squinted. Was he wearing a skort?

Twin short horns were on his forehead, and from behind him where he laid leisurely, a pointed tail waved in a lazy manner.

And he was sooo pretty.

But from the way Xavir dropped to his knees and bowed low, to the way the man’s dark eyes suddenly began glowing with menace, even if the words out of his mouth were teasing, I knew he had to be dangerous.

I stood there stupidly, staring at him while he watched Xavir lower his forehead to the ground.

“My Lord,” Xavir said, his voice far more guttural than usual. “Forgive my slight. I had not expected to see you upon my return.”

“Hmmm.” The man was cat-like in his mannerisms, like a panther ready to pounce. “I suppose it’s not every day you lot are graced with such beauty and perfection.” He yawned, and even that seemed practiced. “Though I must say, having to chase you down has pulled me away from where I really want to be.” He looked to me then, pursing his lips before he whispered, “Between my wife’s thighs.” He giggled and winked at me, and I stood there, with my flabbers gasted, because what the heck was going on?

As though he was reading my mind, he pushed himself up to a seating position, leaning back against the couch, his arms splayed out along the back of it as he regarded me with curiosity.

“She doesn’t look like she’s kidnapped and in distress,” he mused. “But, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself.”

One minute he was sitting and the next, he appeared in front of me as if by magic or teletransportation. He took my stiff hand in his own and, very gallantly, bent over my knuckles. He didn’t kiss them, but I felt his breath.

“My name is Lorenzo di Morte.” His accent was thick, Latin or Italian, I couldn’t have been sure. But it was charming. He was charming. Even as a fire blazed behind his eyes. There was still something warm and kind about him, even though he radiated power. “And you are?”

“Um… Mia Song.”