Page 61 of Fated to the Gargoyle

Then he pulls out and sits on the edge of the bed. He lifts me onto his lap facing him and slides me down onto his dick in one long stroke.

“Oh my god⁠—” I grab for his shoulders.

He bounces me hard and fast, one arm around my back, my knees not even pretending to help. I’m crying now, because it’s too much and it’s exactly enough. And that’s when my quiet monster finally opens his mouth.

“I love you, Treasure.”

The first time he’s ever said it out loud, and this monster says it mid-stroke.

“Every year I stood,” he says against my throat, never slowing, “was the road that led to me finding you.”

“I’m gonna die,” I sob.

“No. You will not.” He drives me down harder. “But you will be on bedrest for a while.”

He’s not lying about the bedrest. He bangs me plain silly after that. When I come again I squeeze him so hard he growls. He roars into my shoulder and holds me down on him while he gives me everything he’s got.

When it’s over I am jelly, straight jelly. He gathers me up and holds me against his chest until I can breathe right again, one claw stroking slow lines up my back.

He presses his forehead to mine. “This is how I tell you how much I love you.”

“I know,” I manage.

His palm spreads warm over my belly, where I’m sitting a little swollen and full of him. “I am excited for our first hatchling.”

My eyes snap open.

“I don’t have a problem with babies,” I say carefully. “But.”

“But?” He gazes down at me with all the love in the world on his face.

“Am I about to lay an egg? Soren. Look at me and tell me I am not about to lay an egg.”

A chuckle rolls through him. “No, my love. Hatchling is only our word for our young. You will carry full term, as a human. But our hatchling will become a full gargoyle as he or she ages.”

“Oh.” I settle back down on his chest. “I saw the word when I was researching gargoyles, and my mind went straight to a whole nest.”

That deep, happy rumble starts up under my ear.

Well. At least I didn’t pass out this time. Thank God for that.

24

EPILOGUE

SOREN

THREE MONTHS LATER—SHADOW FEST

Shadow Fest reaches my nose from the road: hot oil, spun sugar, and every kind of shifter in the valley. Somewhere past the lights, The Howling Pack is playing louder than they are good, and the whole town has turned out under the Harvest Moon anyway.

Sable and I have only ever watched festivals from the dark. Tonight we walk in through the front gate with our mates.

No one screams, and a few humans raise their phones instead. The woman from my first public sunset waves from the pie table, and Treasure waves back for all of us.

Treasure keeps her hand tucked in the crook of my arm. She made her yellow dress herself, stretch panel and all, and the little round bump under it has half of Shadow Wolf Creek stopping us at the gate. People greet the bump and then remember to greet us.

Shifters ask about the dress before they ask about the bump. The measuring-tape woman has been telling the whole valley who dressed the gargoyles. Treasure keeps a list of orders on her phone now, sizes no store in town carries.