Page 50

What?

“You said good morning.”

I am capable of basic civility.

“Could’ve fooled me.” She sets the mugs on a nearby table and approaches. “Ready?”

I would tell her yes. But the truth is that I am always ready. Every second I spend in this form is a second I am waiting for her to touch me again. A pathetic state of affairs.

April places her hand against my stone cheek. Warmth spreads through me. It starts beneath her palm, then moves through my chest, my arms, my legs. The granite softens, my wings retract, and suddenly—air. Glorious, wonderful air.

I draw in a deep breath. Then another.

My fingers flex, and my heart pounds.

April stands directly in front of me, grinning. “There he is.”

I look down at her.

Her hand is still against my cheek. Her eyes are bright.

And for one ridiculous moment, I have the urge to pull her into my arms. To embrace her and thank her for… well, for letting me have brief respites where I can be myself again.

Instead, I clear my throat. “Good morning.”

She laughs. “Twice in one day. Who are you, and what have you done with my gargoyle?”

“Grotesque.”

“Right. Sorry.” She doesn’t sound sorry. Not even a little. “You’re still naked, by the way.”

“And you are wearing what I can only assume is private sleeping attire.”

She steps back to look at herself.

Immediately, I feel the familiar chill creeping over my skin. I catch her hand. “Wait.”

“Oh. Right.” Her fingers curl around mine.

The chill retreats.

“My sleep shorts are somehow noteworthy despite the fact that you are standing there with your junk hanging out?”

My brow furrows in a frown. “I beg your pardon. My what?”

“Modern colloquialism for a man’s…” She motions in the general direction of my crotch.

“Are you to tell me that men have gone from calling one’s appendage a cock or dick to simply junk? That is equally as horrifying as blue bananas.”

She giggles. “I suppose that is a downgrade in terminology.”

“Perhaps if we go back to the sitting room we will find Derek’s pants, and I can put my…” I shake my head. “No, I will not call that. It is a very fine cock and not at all junk. Whatever you want to call it, I shall put it away.”

She’s still chuckling. “Sure. We can go back in there.” She hands me one of the mugs of coffee. “I didn’t know how you liked it, so I left it black. Like your soul.”

I refuse to laugh. “You think you are quite amusing, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know I am,” she says. “Come on, Rocky, let’s take you and your very fine cock into the sitting room.”