Page 6 of Hated By the Gargoyle

Black taloned claws curved above his palms. His wings spread out so wide and he bent at his knees, leaned forward, and roared.

The sound was loud enough to make my ears pop. I stumbled back just as the little demon flung itself at the gargoyle. It was an attack that seemed to be in vain. As soon as it reached the gargoyle, he gripped it tightly in his hands, uncaring or unaffected by the acid it dripped. And he promptly ripped the creature in half.

Blood, bone, and guts splattered along the earth. Bile rose in my throat at the sight, and when the monster tossed the dead demon carelessly, it landed near my feet, causing me to jump back, narrowly missing black blood.

Now that one threat was down, my gaze darted up to meet the new threat of my kidnapper.

He wasn’t paying me any attention though. He was grumbling, the sound like a rockslide, as he flicked black blood off his hands with annoyance.

I took a breath, trying to reign in my fear. He’d killed the demon like it was nothing, while I’d struggled to get away from it. It was proof of our differences in strength.

He could kill me if he wanted to. Easily. And there would be nothing I could do to stop it.

The thought nearly sent me into a spiral. My breath threatened to come out in uneven pants, but I got myself under control, determination steeling me.

I wasn’t going down without a fight.

If he was here to finish off the demon’s job, I would fight back. I wouldn’t make my death an easy thing, that was for certain.

Slowly, I tip-toed forward while he grumbled and kept wiping demon blood off his body. When I was close to the dead demon, I quickly slipped my button-up shirt off my shoulders, remaining in nothing but a tank top, and wrapped the material around my hand to create a glove. Slowly and as quietly as I could manage, I reached for one of those spikes, careful and waiting to see if the goo would drip through my shirt and burn my palm. When it didn’t, I pulled it off, wrapping my fingers around it like a weapon that I hid behind my back.

Perhaps the demon had different types of acid, I wasn’t sure. I only knew it wasn’t burning me, and that the tip was as sharp enough to be used as a weapon. That was good enough.

Gripping it tight in one hand, I used the other to bend and pick up my discarded rock. If I wanted to have a slight chance, I needed to appear weak and pathetic, so I hid the spike in my back pocket, cushioned tightly within my shirt.

The gargoyle’s gaze snapped to mine and I sucked in a breath.

Having the heat of its attention on me felt like I was drowning. Then he stomped in my direction, each footstep creating an earthquake on its own. I held my ground as he approached, bracing my legs… and when he was close, I swung the rock.

It caught him off guard, snapping against his jaw.

For a second, the world stilled. He held his breath. I held mine. He remained frozen, his head to the side, my hand gripping the rock still in the air.

Then slowly, he turned his gaze down to mine, and the hatred I found in his depths was infinite.

I barely breathed. Could barely move. He lifted his hand and swatted the rock out of my own. The slap nearly twisted my wrist, so I let it fall. Then he was reaching for me, picking me up by the back of my tank top and lifting me in the air like an errant puppy.

The material of my tank top rose to my neck, choking me. It also had my tatas–clad in a cheap, white bra–out in the air like I was at a damn nudist beach.

“Let go of me,” I rasped. “The fuck?!”

The gargoyle didn’t reply or pay my chichis any mind. I would have found that offensive in and of itself, but I forced myself to focus. He gave me a look, one I couldn’t interpret when his facial features were so different from my own. Then he was hauling me up and throwing me over his shoulder.

It was like landing on warm cement. The tops of my breasts scraped along the roughness of his back, creating a pain similar to rug burn. The breath whooshed from my chest when his thick palm slapped down against the back of a single ass cheek and spanned across the tops of my thighs to hold me in place.

I reacted then. Screaming profanities, my hands clawed at his back, scratching against the membranous feel of his scarred wings. His body twitched and he jostled me into compliance a second before he took to flight.

The sensation left me as breathless as the first time, but the tightness in my belly was even worse because I was thrown over his shoulder. Though his grip on the backs of my thighs was tight, it felt like one slip-up and I would go careening to my death.

I scrambled up, pushing against his muscular back, scratching at his wings, only to think better of it when the thought of him dropping me invaded. I tried to keep still, close my eyes against the onslaught of sensation.

I wasn’t sure how long he flew, but it was enough to make me dizzy and nauseous. But I waited until he finally slowed and then the wing beats stopped and his black-clawed feet touched the ground.

I opened my eyes then, gasping for breath as he unceremoniously dumped me onto a burnt patch of grass.

I turned my body last minute before I hit the ground, so I’d fall on my side instead. The imprint of the demon’s spike pressed against my jeans, and I didn’t want him knowing I had it, though he probably knew, considering the way he was groping me back there.

I quickly stood up, bracing my legs again and lifting my hands in a defensive position in front of me.