Page 12 of Dance in the Stones

“You’re wearing my apron.” It was the first thing that came into Damon’s head.

“It’s an excellent apron.” Redford set two plates on the table. “Very informative, or suggestive, depending on how you take it.”

“I think that’s why Lamont bought it for me. He thinks he’s hilarious.”

“Lamont?” Redford tilted his head slightly, and Damon wondered if he’d heard of Lamont before.

“He’s a journalist, quite well-known apparently, but he’s also my pack brother, one of them anyway.” Damon sat down. “He sent me that after I complained about his cooking once.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Technically none, but eleven in actuality.” Damon chuckled at the look on Redford’s face. “Don’t you read your mythology? We were the original pack of twelve hellhounds, all brought into being to guard the Underworld. And yeah, we all consider ourselves brothers, even though we were actually created fully formed, so no parents in sight.”

“That must be nice, having that kind of connection.” A touch of sadness in Redford’s voice made Damon look up.

“You don’t have a pack, or a clan or whatever?” Damon tried to remember what Kolton’s mate had said about a clan…but then, thinking about it, Damon didn’t remember it being a positive connection, and it seemed that Redford might have come from similar circumstances.

“Gargoyles don’t really do pack. We’re more solitary unless we live in a clan, and I gave that up centuries ago.” Redford’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine though. I’m used to it.”

But it wasn’t fine. Damon could hear that in Redford’s tone. “You’re not alone here,” Damon said before he could think better of it.

Redford’s gaze snapped to his. “No?”

“No. You’re...” Damon trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence. You’re mine. You’re pack. You’re something important I don’t have words for yet.

“I’m here,” Redford said quietly. “For now.”

The words shouldn’t have stung, but they did. Damon took another bite of eggs, trying to figure out what to say and how to ask Redford to stay longer than three months without sounding desperate or completely insane.

His hound prowled beneath his skin, growing more agitated. Tell him, claim him, tell him he’s ours. Again, his hellhound half was jumping ten steps ahead, but maybe he should just come out and tell Redford about the collar box, about hellhound mates, and about the fact that his hound had been absolutely convinced Redford was it from the first moment, even though that wasn’t what a hellhound was supposed to do.

Setting down his fork, Damon said, “Redford, I need to...”

Redford’s phone rang, cutting him off. Redford frowned at the screen. “Sorry, I should take this. It’s work.”

“I thought you were on leave.” Damon really wanted to say something before he lost his nerve.

“I am, but…” Redford answered. “Stone here.”

Damon watched his expression shift from confusion to grim to resigned in the span of thirty seconds. “I understand. Yes, I can coordinate from here. Send me the files.” Redford pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, don’t pull him off the vampire case. Use Thompson instead. I’ll handle the rest remotely.”

The conversation continued for several minutes, Redford’s voice dropping into a clipped and authoritative mode. Clearly, the sort of voice used by FBI special agents, especially those in charge of a task force. When he finally hung up, even though it was still morning, Redford already looked exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Redford said. “There’s a situation. A corporate corruption case that I was tracking before my leave. They’ll need me to coordinate a few things from here.”

“Will you have to go back?” Damon didn’t like the sound of that, simply because he didn’t know how he could convince Redford to take him along.

“No, I can stay here, but I’ll be on the phone and computer a lot for the next few days.” Redford rubbed his face. “I probably won’t be much help at the castle.”

“That’s fine. We can manage.” Damon stood, picking up the plates. “You do what you need to do.”

Redford caught his wrist as he passed. The touch was light, barely there, but it stopped Damon in his tracks. “What were you going to say?” Redford asked. “Before the phone rang.”

Damon looked down at Redford’s hand on his wrist. At the careful way Redford was touching him as if he wanted to hold on but wasn’t sure if he should. “It was nothing important,” Damon lied. “You’ve got work to do, it can wait.”

Chapter Six

Redford spent the next three days living on his laptop and phone, coordinating his team from the small second bedroom he’d claimed not only as a sleeping space, but now as a temporary office as well. The case had blown wide open - a paranormal pharmaceutical company had been using human test subjects without proper consent and covering it up with memory wipes. It was the kind of stupidly cruel thing that was not only harmful to the humans concerned but could expose the entire paranormal community if anything they’d been doing had been leaked.