Page 22 of Fated to the Gargoyle

His wings burst open so fast I stumble back a step on the mattress, and the tip of one knocks my lotion bottle clean off the dresser. “I would never harm you.” His voice rolls up through the mattress springs. “Never.”

“Maybe not physically.” I point the stick at him again and walk myself back to the edge of the bed. “But mentally? You knew I was aware of you, and you let this whole town think I was going crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his wings sink low behind him.

I ask the ceiling for strength first. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

His wings fold down slow behind him, careful of the dresser this time. “My name is Soren. It was not my intention to harm your mental state.” He pauses and chooses his words with care. “I am cautious. I have been a nomad for centuries, and I have never found a home. A land such as Shadow Wolf Creek is unheard of for my kind. It was merely a dream.” His gold eyes come back to mine. “And then, you.”

My grip goes soft on the stick, and I catch myself smiling at a home invader. You have got to do better, Treasure. I hop down off the bed.

I don’t even make it to the floor. His claws come around my waist mid-air, warm through my pajamas, and he sets me down easy on my feet and moves his hands right back to his sides. My skin stays warm everywhere his claws were.

I tip my head all the way back to take him in. He’s massive, and his head sits inches from my ceiling.

“Soren, I don’t know how your big ass got in here,” I tell him, “but come on. Let’s get out of my bedroom so we can talk.”

He nods, and then he just stands there while I wait on him. Finally he groans, tucks his head under the doorframe, and squeezes through with his wings clipping both sides of it.

When he came in, I didn’t hear a single step. I didn’t know that giant was in my room until his voice touched my ear. Now every footfall rattles the empty picture frames on my walls, and right on cue my downstairs neighbors start banging a broom against their ceiling, hollering for me to knock it off.

I snort, drop the stick on the bed, and hurry out after him. “I don’t know how you were so quiet the first time, but can you do it again? Let’s not piss off the neighbors.”

He nods, and the floor stops shaking. I don’t have one clue how.

I walk right up to him in my little living room, where he’s standing in the one spot with room enough to hold him, wings pulled in tight. “Okay. So what are you doing in here?”

He gives me nothing, again with the silence, and I narrow my eyes up at him.

“Am I in danger?”

“No.” The answer comes out fast, insulted that I even asked.

“Are you here because you were scared of what I’d find out from that messy podcast?”

“Partially, yes.” At least he’s honest.

I put my hands on my hips. “Okay. So you’re afraid of something. What?”

A grin spreads across his face, slow and a little crooked, and I catch a flash of fangs that should scare me more than it does. “You, Treasure.”

I snort so loud it echoes. “Little ol’ me? From Los Angeles? Ha!” I press my hand flat against him, and it barely covers one slab of his chest. “See the size difference, sir?”

“You are a fierce woman,” he says, smiling down at my hand like I left something precious there.

“I’m a survivor. Honestly?” The truth comes on out. “I’m tired of surviving. I want the fairytale. I want to kick my feet up sometimes and know someone’s gonna look after me.” My bonnet slips, and I push it back up where it belongs. “Am I delusional?”

He shakes his head no.

“Yes, I am,” I say anyway. “I want to be someone’s fated mate, me out of everyone in this world.”

He smiles at that, and then it eases off his face while he looks at me. “Could you…” He takes so long finding the rest of it that I almost hand him a word. “Could you love a monster?”

I stare up at him, and my throat goes thick. “Is that what you are?”

“I know that is what I am. I have been called it for centuries.”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “How old are you?”