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“Hold your anger, Ivar. Things are unfolding as they should. He won’t dare touch her again, but she is not merely yours,” she reminded me with amusement. Our leader could switch emotions just as quickly as the humans we fed from. It was unnerving. “My gargoyle warriors are coming.”
“The gargoyles have not awoken,” I reassured her, or rather myself.
She’d told me from the moment Harlow was gifted to me that she was fated to be the link between us demons and her gargoyles, protecting the human world and ours in the process.
The stone protectors had yet to show, though. Which was for the best. Sharing wasn’t my forte, and killing them would mean my death as well. But Harlow was mine. She always had been.
“Their time hasn’t come.”
“It will, Ivar. It’s been a hundred years since the seer foretold it. We waited for Harlow to show and now the future is imminent,” she reminded me. “Only she can stop the balance from breaking our world. She’s forged from my bloodline even if it is diluted with human blood. But she cannot do this alone, and you cannot leave those halls or this one for long. There will be many in her guard.”
A low growl filled the room as I fought back words I would regret. I didn’t need to be reminded of my limitations.
Or Harlow’s supposed destiny.
I could be her guard, all she needed.
“You will have to learn to share, Ivar, and not just with the gargoyle,” she continued on like I hadn’t made a sound. She was unaffected by my anger, the only one who could be. Even my army cowered under my anger, my power, but she was the one who gifted it to me and the one who could take it away.
Pushing her further could mean my ultimate death.
“I’d sooner kill them all.” My words were full of promise, and she narrowed her eyes.
This time it was me who was cowering under her power, my entire body engulfed in flames as pain overtook me, my cries involuntary as they tore from my chest.
A reminder of my place here.
At her feet.
At her mercy.
Harlow
Saturday
The Third Floor
It had been a week since I’d seen Monty or the nightmares that had taunted me in the night. A week of being in the halls of Dark Haven and learning my way around.
The meds had finally succeeded, which likely explained the lack of my imaginary friend.
My monster.
I missed him.
The medicine made my brain feel foggy and I was tired. It was getting better, but I hated the feeling of them. Then again, I hated the hallucinations just as much. Most of them.
My days were a monotonous cycle of boring online classes, therapy, and homework. They haven’t given me any one-on-one sessions yet, claiming they had to work me into the schedule. I didn’t even have a name for my psychiatrist yet.
I’d take that as a win. Dr. Vane and Bradley didn’t exactly give me a great outlook on their staff.
“Move.” Drake’s order was barked loud enough in my ear that I jumped. Annoyance bubbled up, and I slammed the dryer closed.
“Fuck off, Drake,” I bit out as I picked up my laundry basket. Before I could even fully turn, it was yanked from my hands and tossed aside. There was no time to protest since I was being pinned against the wall, his fingers around my throat.
Nightmares and assholes liked to do that here.
A whimper nearly escaped as I was enveloped by his scent. We were a match yet there was no way he could be my mate. He was far too full of hate.
