Shoulders tightening, I trudge to the thin, narrow stairs at the end of the hallway. My bedroom door is open, and a cold draft drifts from my room. Darkness yawns before me. Staring into it, I wait for something to jump out, throttle me to the floor, and eat me alive. Frowning, I head up the steps and freeze at the threshold.
The doors to my balcony are wide open, the white curtains billowing on either side. Soft moonlight flutters in. The corners of my room bleed with darkness.
Heart pitching, I flick on the lights. My room is exactly the way I left it earlier this evening. Everything, that is, except the doors.
“Hello?” I whisper. My eyes burn, unable to blink for fear something will crawl out of the shadows or from under my bed.
I hear a strange whooshing outside, like a bird’s wings.
I purse my lips, suddenly sodonewith this spooky shit. Done with fires, fugitives, and moving statues. Stomping to the doors, I step out onto the balcony, my teeth gritted like vices. As I try to look beyond, I realize I’ve made a big mistake.
The gargoyle crouches on the railing, cast in the moonlight. He straightens, becoming a towering, gothic sight, his webbed wings spanning out from his body, surrounded by a cloud of bats.
My traitorous gaze drops below his waist, fixating on the smooth stone.
His cock.It’s gone.
“Summer,” he rumbles, shocking me from my trance.
I dive back into my room, a shriek tearing out of my throat.
Chapter7
Peaches and Half-truths
Zuriel
Her expression shiftsfrom annoyance to terror within the second our eyes meet. Fear emanates stronger as I say her name.
She stumbles back, her mouth stretched open in a scream as she flees into her room. I reach out to stop her, but her clothes slip from my grip.
I rush into the sanctity of her room—bats trailing after me, her peach scent consuming me—as she stumbles toward the door at the other end.
“Wait,” I demand, my voice a deep rasp.
Her shriek turns shrill as her foot catches on a rug, snagging her mad-dash across the room. I snatch her, pinning her fragile human form against my chest. “Stop!”
“No! No, no, no!” She kicks her feet and swings her arms, trying to free her limbs. I close my wings around her. “Let me go!” she cries harder.
“I said stop!” I repeat. “Calm, human!”
She continues to flail, though I scarcely notice her jabs. Her straining makes it difficult to hold her without harm. It’s a relief when her cries morph into desperate pants, her limbs easing with exhaustion. She is slight and easy to break and bend.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpers.
“Calm, female. Calm,” I say. “We just need to speak. Nothing else.”
I would give her words of comfort if I knew how. Unfortunately, I’m woefully inept in human emotion outside their greed, fear, and sometimes their need for protection. They are weak creatures. I have lived among them for centuries and have learned many things in that time, although my understanding of them is limited—I am an outsider and will remain that way.
Her body wiggles against mine, her breaths labored. The sensation of having her so close excites the new appendage deep within me. I grit my teeth against the pleasure.
Since the last time I’ve seen her, I’ve learned to hide my cock, returning it to the stone of my body, even though I remain bewildered by it.
I have a theory, one that may explain its appearance.
Except gargoyles do not mate—they aremade.
When she sags in my arms, I loosen my grip, disturbed by the terror she’s displaying and frustrated by my abrupt arousal.
