Page 29 of Hated By the Gargoyle

“I…have brothers,” he whispered, the words a quiet confession that echoed through the chamber like a gunshot. “They abandoned me long ago.”

There was heartbreak in his words, and they caused me to slide the rest of my fingers between the spaces of his own. He appeared startled by the action, staring down at our joined hands, at my tight grip, before he gripped me back and continued.

“I am not like them. Nazzar and Xavir were forged from the fires of powerful, compassionate Kings of the Underworld. I was molded from revenge and anger.” His eyes appeared haunted. “My earliest memory is the sound of screams. Of being bred for torture and violence. It lives in me and drives my actions. My brothers stopped trying to understand me and instead began to use me in our wars.”

I wanted to interrupt and ask him what he meant, but it seemed important he got all of this off his chest first, so I listened, holding onto his hand in case he needed me.

“I became their berserker in battle. I am nothing to them but a weapon to tear through armies and take the brunt force of their wrath.” His other hand swept up across his broken horn, down his scarred face, over his scarred chest.

His body was a testament to a life of brutality. Wars he’d been thrust into against his will. I squeezed his hand, feeling the sorrow gnaw at me all over.

“I, too, am alone,” he whispered. “Alone with the rage that overtakes me until I become it and know nothing and no one else. It has been my only companion for centuries.” His body turned, grasping a strand of hair and tucking it behind my ear, like he’d been watching me do it and wanted to try it as well. “So you see, feral creature? I understand all too well. But you? You are not alone any longer.” His hand lifted, swiping at my tears, though I hadn’t even realized they’d fallen. “You have a husband now. Do not forget.”

I chuckled, shaking my head back and forth. I wanted to know more about him and his life. He’d lived for so long and obviously had stories to tell, but maybe that was enough on the heavy topics for the day. “How about we start as friends?”

He pushed my hair over my shoulder, almost distracted as he took me in. “Friends?”

“I don’t have friends, either.”

Qanek contemplated this. “Neither do I.” He looked at me again. “Perhaps, then, we shall be friends as well.”

I lifted our joined hands, releasing my hold so only our pinkies met like a promise, and curled them tightly together.

“Friends,” I said.

A calm settled over the two of us and finally I felt like maybe, for once, things would be okay.

We weren’t quite husband and not quite wife.

We were something else entirely.

But something precious, just the same.

The feeling of having her delicate little finger entwined with mine was… pleasant. A sensation that was not at all expected and yet I welcomed the rush of it as it swept through the entirety of my body.

It was soon after our discussion that we released one another from our holds and something between us shifted. My contempt no longer threatened to burn holes through my chest, and when she stood up and made her way around my den, her presence was no longer suffocating. Something in my chest had eased a fraction. Though things were still tense in the air, charged with what I could not describe.

I observed her in the silence that followed as she clicked away with her little black device.

My insides were strange. I did not know what this meant for us. She called us friends. I did not know the meaning of the word, but I wanted to. I wanted her to teach me what it meant.

I had spoken true when I had said I did not know what the future held.

Resentment? Hatred? Those were things I felt keenly every second of my life. They breathed through the blood in my veins and made themselves known in every second I remained alive. But would I feel them for her?

Perhaps I did not want her as a wife, but the truth was she was mine now, and I would force my feelings to shift, to change.

Perhaps one day, I could grow to care for her the way a husband should. Perhaps, even, I was already on the way towards wanting her the way I should.

She did not believe I could protect her, provide for her, be her husband. That truth had been glaringly obvious when we spoke.

A fierceness rose in me, wanting to assuage her fears. Though she was not the one I had sought, she was the wife I had and the bonds of marriage were not something I took lightly. Now that I had her, I would not let her go.

I would learn her. I would know her every expression, learn every sound, wring them from her body. I would know the gentle press of her hands as she held me the way a wife should.

And she would be mine.

And we would be content.