Page 11 of Bumpy, the Gargoyle Slayer

“I’d hire you.” I grit the words from between my teeth, something about her proximity and my grief melding into an uncomfortable… joy?

Yes, incalculably, joy. I’d cast her in every part, just to watch her walk around blinking. And what a pleasure it would be to escort her to parties afterward.

Damn it. This is a bad idea.

I’m about to lift her from my lap when she says, “Isn’t that what you’re doing, actually? Hiring me for a part?”

“A sure sign that I’m trustworthy. I just proved my words.”

“I don’t think it works that way.” But she giggles, and the sound… the sound settles in my chest like winging butterflies.

As we pass through the gates, Jean-Luc waves at the guards. It’s nearly a mile to the house once I add in all the twists and turns. Bunny hasn’t noticed the grandeur yet, but she knows I’m a billionaire. No reason she’d expect me to live in a trailer.

When the car stops in front of the staircase, I lean over and pop open the door before sliding out, carrying her with me. She makes no protest as I port her up the stairs. Jean-Luc runs in front of us to open the enormous door.

When we hit the large entryway, Bunny starts to wiggle. “Hey, put me down. I want to see. Wow. There must be a thousand crystals,” she adds, finding her feet while I hold her steady and she stares overhead at the massive crystal chandelier.

“Fifteen-hundred, actually. What do you think, girlfriend?”

And is it weird that my breath catches while I wait for her to answer?

I look around and try to see it all through her eyes. I’m an old-fashioned gargoyle. I’ve been around since before paint was paint. And I’m a creature of stone and magick. My ambience needs to reflect my inner self, and so, my home, all ten-thousand square feet of palatial splendor, is built of stone. White stone floors. White stone walls. Upstairs, the floors are wood, and some rooms have plasterboard surrounds, but most are just stone.

Against the stone are wide swathes of rich, jewel-toned velvet, different colors to match the different areas. And tapestries. And Middle Eastern rugs. And… well, it all looks very homey to me, but it might look archaic to her?

“It’s amazing,” she says, breathing out. “And look at those flowers.”

“I have a thing for lilies.”

In the center of the round white oak table is a crystal vase that refracts the chandelier above. In it are rubrum lilies, scenting the air so that it smells like heaven. Sure, Jean-Luc says it smells like a funeral parlor, but I like it.

When I turn to tell him he can go, he’s got his hands in his pocket, waiting. “Will Miss Winters be staying the night?” he asks, making the question as pointed as her stake.

“Miss Winters will be staying the month. She’s a guest. In her own suite of rooms.” I don’t know why I stress where she’ll be sleeping. It’s none of his business.

“Lady’s chambers, I presume.”

There are twenty-three bedrooms. I think. Still, I like that she’ll only be a connecting door away. All the better to dream of her while I take myself in hand. Not that I’m going to do that. No. That would be wrong.

I’m so hard, I could drive my cock through granite.

This is such a bad idea.

I shake myself back to the conversation. “Yes. Of course. Miss Winters is my girlfriend. She’ll be treated as such.”

His gaze drops to her and swiftly returns to mine. “Is she, now?”

Instead of answering, I place my hand around Bunny’s waist and lead her through the endless corridor, past rooms and rooms, all the way back to the library, which is my favorite part of the home.

“And this is where you can find me most often,” I say, appreciating her gasp and the way her hands steeple over her mouth as she gazes along the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books. “You’re welcome to read anything you choose, but please exercise some caution with the older works. There.” I point to the second floor where tomes are kept behind special glass that filters out light, dust, and age. “Most are hand-written. Before the printing press. There are a few I picked up during my first years of existence.”

“This is amazing,” she breathes, turning to me. “Have you read all of them?”

“Read, or ingested with magick. I’m a curious sort of fellow, though my time in flesh has been rather brief. Mostly, I’ve been stone. Not a lot of reading gets done.”

“Right.” She pulls away, her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she places her hands on her hips. “We’re alone now. If I’m going to live with you, I need you to prove that you’re not a vampire. So, go ahead. Shift. Become a gargoyle.”

“And lose my stunning physique?” I mutter, deadpan.