Page 13 of Hated By the Gargoyle

Thankfully, we spent the rest of the walk to my den in silence, much as I preferred. I could listen for threats without her voice clawing irritation down my spine. As it was, her huffs as she fought to keep up were irritating enough. By the time we neared my den, she stank of sweat and exertion, and her breathing had grown far too labored.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Please tell me we’re here.”

“Yes. This is my den.”

It was within a cave. Though the outside appeared small, the inside had been carved out and went deep underground to accommodate my size and an entire living space.

It had taken much time to create a space that would be worthy of my wife. Now that we were in front of it, I hesitated to go inside, turning my attention to the little human who stared at the mouth of my home hopefully.

This felt wrong, to have her here when it should have been another. However, there was no choice. It was either enter my den or allow the demons to follow the scent of my blood and end us both.

Inside, there was a protective barrier that would not allow anyone entry, save for those I wished. Inside, we would be safe. Inside, I would be one step closer to healing in order to go find my true wife.

“Come, feral creature.” I beckoned with my fingers. “Let us bask in shelter.” I stepped through the dark entry and the human followed after me.

The inside of my den was heavily illuminated by the demon glow worms that lived across the cavernous space. It revealed what I had worked so hard to accomplish; a home meant for a wife.

A strange sensation I could not place traveled up the length of my back as the feral little human slowly walked into my den and stood before me, taking it in.

All my life I had been the predator sent to end lives and destroy. Why did I feel like prey before her? She took in my den with narrowed eyes, her hands on her hips. It made my shoulders shoot to my ears and my teeth gnashed together.

My space felt open to scrutiny. I should not care. This would not be her home. This would be Carlota’s. And having another woman stand where my wife should be was unsettling.

I marched past her, unable to look at her expressions any longer. Instead, I went to the wooden chest I kept near the small pool of steaming self-cleaning waters that rested below the worms.

I was no stranger to pain; to blood, gore, and fights. Of us all–Nazar, Xavir, and I–I was the one who bore the most scars. I was the one they sent ahead in battle to bear the brunt of the violence. I was the one who pillaged and destroyed, because in my rage I did not feel beyond it. I did not feel the pain as keenly as they did. But I did know what it felt like after the battle was won.

It was why I looked like this, and it was why I held a chest of salves and bandages that would bind my wounds.

There were the broken pieces of a mirror hanging against the wall. I sat in front of it, my tail dangling into the warm waters at my side. I twisted my torso, pulling my wings away to give me a better vantage point to see the wrangled mess I had become.

I gave a hiss at the sight.

I was a fast healer, but my wings were a far more delicate area. The wounds the demon inflicted would create holes in the thin membrane, and I loathed the beast for creating more imperfections against my body.

Grumbling, I dipped a cloth into the water, wrung it out, and twisted in the mirror, reaching my arm toward my back to wipe the remnants of blood from my skin.

I grumbled when I could not reach.

Somewhere behind me, I was aware of the human inching closer, her sigh loud and echoing.

“Let me help.”

I flinched when her finger grazed the hard cartilage of the top of my wing, curling over myself like her touch was composed of fire.

She did not seem to care about my reaction, or perhaps she did not notice, but she pulled the cloth from my claws and I released it without much of a fight.

“You can barely reach.” She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “I can do it much faster.”

I huffed. If she wished, I would not argue. Not when she was correct.

However, I did not calculate how unwise having her hands against my back truly was until she sat behind me and the cloth swiped against my skin.

The sting made my body tense, and yet… A soft human palm laid bare against my lower back. Gentle. Warm. Comforting. Things I was greatly unfamiliar with and found myself leaning into, craving more of.

The cloth swiped against me, over and over. It was a lulling sensation that put me into a false state of peace, yet I succumbed. It was methodic. She swiped, then dipped the cloth into water, and swiped again.