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Maybe something bad had happened to him. Well, worse than the damage to his wings. Was there a way she could help him fix them? She could hardly call an ambulance – she was pretty sure the local hospitals wouldn't have a clue about treating gargoyles – but if he knew what sort of first aid he needed, at least she'd be able to help.
After the panic of trying to find someone to watch Rory when Mum cancelled, followed by the fiasco of a meeting with the lawyer, not to mention the fire that had nearly burned down the café, the one thing Tacey wanted more than anything right now was someone to give her a hug and tell her everything was going to be all right.
It would probably be a lie, but a good enough hug in a pair of strong arms that pressed her up against a hard, muscled body would be enough to make her believe it. Or at least distract her.
Better yet, a kiss or something more...
Maybe she was crazy, wanting to kiss a monster. Wanting Wystan in her bed. But seeing him lying there on the floor, injured trying to save her, she just couldn't see him as a monster any more. Sure, there were the wings and the horns and the monster size of his...man bits, but he'd never been less than a perfect gentleman around her or Rory. He might look like a monster on the outside...but inside...okay, and maybe some parts on the outside...he was pretty much her ideal man.
And it wasn't that she had anything against wings or horns. The wings could be quite useful and the horns, well...they'd give her something to hold onto if they ever...
Admit it, she told herself. You've wanted that monster cock since the moment you saw it. Hang onto his horns and just ride him until you both screamed.
In fact, if he was in her bedroom right now, that's exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to screw both their brains out, until she forgot about Matt and lawyers and fires and health inspectors and everything crazy in her life so that for an hour or two, all she did was feel and not think about any of it.
Rory...Rory was safe at home and asleep. She was both the most stressful and the most important thing in Tacey's life, and Tacey would do anything for her, but in the dark hours of the night when she knew Rory was safe asleep, sometimes she wanted something more. Something for herself. Someone, even. Someone who'd be the responsible one. Who'd take charge so she didn't have to.
Like Wystan had with the fire today.
Did he take charge like that in the bedroom?
She could only hope.
And dream. Fuck, could she dream...
THIRTY-SEVEN
For what seemed like hours, the man watched his television. His took up most of one wall, so much larger than the one in Tacey's house, and the programme was nowhere near as interesting as the ones Tacey and Rory watched. No, the whole time he watched, the screen showed men in tight, bright shirts and pants so short they were barely there at all, running around on a green field, kicking and throwing an egg-shaped ball to one another.
Now, Wystan had played his fair share of games, while at school and occasionally on festival days, but watching other men do so without being part of it? Wystan could not imagine anything more tedious. He would have been in the midst of it, kicking and throwing and tackling and...did that man just bite someone? Ah, that was more like it!
Except that men came rushing onto the field to stop the game and protest about the biting, so Wystan lost interest again.
Which was why he was surprised to hear the clink of keys as the man rose from his seat and headed for the door.
He couldn't leave. At least, not without Wystan coming with him.
So while the man locked the door, Wystan slipped through the walls to the garage, and slid into the back seat of the red car. He stayed low, so the man would not see him in the mirror he knew Tacey liked to check often, and wondered what he should say to try and persuade this man to leave Tacey and Rory alone.
If it had been Effie and the baby, nothing would have kept him away from them. No threat or promise or reasoning of any kind. But Wystan had never wanted Effie dead.
The man threw himself into the driver's seat, and the engine growled into life like the beast it was.
Wystan racked his brain. He was not the silver-tongued speaker among his family. If anyone, that was Grant and Harlow. Grant could talk anyone into anything, while his brother could persuade them out of it. Wystan wished he had both of them here to advise him. But he had only his own wits, and even those seemed to have deserted him.
He was a farmer, and a plain spoken one at that. He could think of only one thing to say, so he slid higher in the seat, so that he would be visible to the driver in his mirror, and addressed him: "What would it take for you to leave Tacey and her daughter alone, Mr Masters?"
"What the fuck?" Masters stared in the mirror and actually jumped in his seat, before turning right the way around to see Wystan with his own eyes. "What the fuck are you?"
The steering wheel of the car twisted in his hands, but he was heedless of it in his panic at his passenger.
"My name is Wystan Stone, and I'm Miss Bell's gargoyle protector," Wystan said.
"Get the fuck out of my car!" the man shouted, swatting at Wystan.
Wystan easily dodged the flailing hand, though the car's movements had him sliding along the seat. Perhaps Wystan should have fastened his seat belt, like he did in Tacey's care. "Not until you give me your word you will never bother Miss Bell or her daughter again."
It was unlikely he'd get such an assurance from the man right now, who was veering crazily about the road as he tried to reach Wystan. The man had gone quite mad. But Wystan felt no guilt at all for lying to the man, who had lied so glibly to the police officers about Tacey.
