Page 4 of Dance in the Stones

Damon’s expression flickered. Relief? Disappointment? Redford couldn’t tell. “Right, yes, of course. That makes sense.” Damon took a step back, and Redford forced himself not to close the gap again. “I see you have people waiting, so I should let you get on to your meeting. I just wanted to introduce myself. Welcome to Duncarrick Castle and all that.”

Stunned, Redford managed to stammer out, “Thank you,” as Damon nodded, took another step back, then turned and walked toward the cottage. Redford watched him go, unable to look away. When Damon reached his door, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. Their eyes met for another heartbeat before he disappeared inside. The stone’s song had faded to a gentle hum, but it was still there.

“Mr. Stone?” Redford jerked his attention back to find the architect and contractor approaching. Both of them were human, both of them probably wondering what it was they’d just witnessed.

I instructed them to be here, the least I can do is go through with this meeting, even though, in that moment, Redford would far rather examine the cottage and the man living there.

Forcing his professional face back on, Redford gave a small smile. “Shall we inspect the castle? I’d like to know what I’m dealing with here.”

But as they walked toward the crumbling walls, and the architect launched into a very detailed explanation of the structural issues, Redford could barely focus. His gargoyle was demanding his attention, determined to go back and speak with Damon again. It took a hell of a lot of effort for Redford to hold him back.

It was clear Damon had no idea what they were to each other. He was definitely paranormal, that growl left no doubt about that at all. But apparently, he couldn’t sense or scent his mate the way most paranormals could, which raised a dozen questions Redford desperately wanted answers to – and none of them had anything to do with the crumbling castle.

The contractor was saying something about the roof. The architect pointed out the tower that looked about ready to collapse. Redford nodded at appropriate moments and made sounds of agreement, but his mind was still fifty feet away in a stone cottage, or more specifically, with the man who lived there.

We need a plan, Redford told his gargoyle firmly. He doesn’t know what we are to each other. We need to figure out what he is first and then find a way to tell him without scaring him away. We’ve got the time.

Redford was going to make sure he had the time. He took three months’ worth of leave to renovate a castle – three months where he hoped to find peace that would soothe the burnout that had been slowly eating him alive.

Instead, he’d found his mate – an oblivious mate. Thank goodness I was blessed with patience, he thought, as the architect droned on about load-bearing walls. Unable to help himself, Redford’s gaze drifted back to the cottage one more time, and he caught a curtain twitching in the window. He mentally smirked. Damon might not know they were mates, but it seemed the man was keeping an eye on him. Redford could work with that.

Chapter Three

When was the last time I got laid? That was the only reason Damon could think of as to why he was staring at his bedroom ceiling, thinking about a man he’d only just met. Yes, Redford was definitely Damon’s type, and yes, there were a lot of things Damon would love to do with those muscles he’d only glimpsed impressions of through layers of clothing. But lying here mooning over a man when I’m supposed to be sleeping… It’s all my hound’s fault.

His hound was pacing beneath his skin – not a gentle “it’s time we went for a shift and a run” type of prowl, but a constant freaking pacing that had kept Damon awake for most of the night.

Sleep. Damon tried ordering the hound, but his second half just snarled right back.

Restless… Needing… Wanting…

“Wanting what,” Damon muttered in the darkness, but his hound was too busy pacing to answer.

It was tempting to translocate – disappear down to the Underworld and run until his legs felt like jelly. But he doubted his hound would want to go that far. Not with Redford Stone sleeping in that tiny caravan not two minutes’ walk away. Knowing his luck, as Damon went to translocate, his hound would change direction, and they’d end up sitting on the end of Redford’s bed. That would make a worse impression than he’d managed on their first meeting.

Rolling over, Damon punched at his pillow. He’d replayed that handshake a hundred times since morning. The electric jolt when their palms met, the way his hound had surged forward, almost forcing a shift right there in the driveway.

None of his hound’s behavior made sense. His animal side was acting more like a randy wolf shifter who’d just met their mate than a respected hound. Which was impossible. Damon had to keep reminding himself of that. Hellhounds couldn’t scent their mates. That’s what the collar box was for, a gift that Lord Hades had given each of them when they left the Underworld. Only a mate could open the box, and that was absolutely the only way for a hellhound to know for certain that a person was the one intended for them.

Which meant that the way his hound was acting around the likes of Redford Stone - as if he was the most important being on the planet - was just plain ridiculous.

“He’s attractive,” Damon said to the ceiling. “That’s all it is. We think he’s hot.”

His hound snorted. More like you do. And there could be more.

Damon refused to admit it – not without proof. “We don’t even know what he is yet.” Although that wasn’t entirely true either. Damon had caught the scent of stone dust and mountain air, of ancient rock warmed by centuries of the sun. Combined with those dark eyes and gravelly voice, and Damon would bet his right arm that Redford was a gargoyle.

Much like Kolton’s mate, Simon, was. Although Damon got the idea that Redford was older than Simon, or maybe Damon felt that because the man looked tired. But Simon definitely didn’t send his hound into a tizzy every time they’d visited, and apparently Kolton had been around Simon for a month before he found out who Simon was to him.

The light in the room slowly changed, the dark giving way to the gray signaling the sunrise, which meant Damon could finally give up on pretending to be asleep and drag himself out of bed.

The air in the cottage was decidedly chilly as he’d let the fire die out overnight. Too busy thinking about a certain pair of warm eyes, he grumbled quietly. Building the fire back up didn’t take long, then he made himself a pot of coffee – strong and black, just the way he liked it.

Cup in hand, Damon moved to the kitchen window. He could see the caravan clearly, sitting in the castle’s courtyard, a white box on wheels that looked far too small for a man of Redford’s size.

There were lights on already inside of it, and Damon wondered if Redford had slept any better than he had.

Probably not. His hound sounded smug.