9
Ipull my weapon from across my back. I suddenly feel stupidly unprepared facing a gargoyle holding nothing but a wooden stick and a lamp. I reach for the lightning but it’s gone. The Storm can’t save me now.
The gargoyle’s lips curl as he hisses, “Elf!”
He thuds forward, his wings angled toward me. I backpedal as fast as I can. I need to avoid the daggers at the points of his wings as well as his fists. He swipes at me, faster than I anticipated, more agile, stepping lightly as I try to avoid his attack. I barely avoid the fist that slams into the rock beside me, cracking the surface easily like the gargoyle’s body is made of steel.
My eyes widen as his fist lands a hairsbreadth from my cheek. His hands are the size of my face. He has muscles on muscles. He’s way more lean and nimble than I anticipated. And he’s about to pin me against the rock where I won’t be able to move.
I leap into action, dropping the lamp and whipping my weapon upward, whacking the beast hard beneath his chin, followed by another three quick strikes that force him to take a step backward. That gives me just enough space to slide into the clearing where I can swing my weapon more freely.
I jab at his chest, legs, and thick neck, but the gargoyle avoids each blow, my weapon sliding harmlessly by. Even though I don’t make contact, I’m one painful step at a time closer to the way out. I need to escape back the way I came and hope the gargoyle doesn’t follow me.
I strike once more, but this time he snatches the weapon out of my hands, pulling it instead of avoiding it, bending at the same time and snapping it across his knee.
I stare in shock at the stump in my hands.
Stupid wooden weapon!
I turn to run, but the gargoyle snags me, a claw dragging against my back, ripping the top of my suit. I arch as pain rakes between my shoulders. I swallow the scream that will draw every nearby elf.
Maybe Ishouldscream. Maybe I—
The gargoyle slams me back against the rock wall and all thought stops. He presses me into it, jagged rock edges poking into my back. The daggers at the tips of his wings slide deep into the rock beside me, cracking the surface. The edges of his wings seal against the rock face on either side of me.
I’m trapped inside a cocoon made of his steel-colored wings, the gargoyle’s face leaning down to mine. His nose is small and his chin angular like it’s carved out of stone, but his ears are pointed like mine. One of his fists pins my left shoulder. His other hand wraps around the right side of my waist. Both press me into the rock.
The creature inhales, his nostrils flaring. His breath washes over me as he inhales and exhales again.
I’m winded and pinned. I can’t move. The only thing keeping me from panicking is that he didn’t kill me on the spot when he could have. That has to be a good sign. Unless he likes to play with his prey…
I stay very still as he drops his head to mine, studying me. His nose wrinkles. “You smell like… the air before it rains. Most elves reek of flowers and perfume but you… are clouds and ice. Why is that?”
I try to breathe around the pressure of his hand on my waist pushing against the base of my ribcage. “I’m told I’m not like other elves.”
He narrows his eyes at me and snarls. “State your intentions.”
I seriously want to ask him the same thing. Is he going to kill me? “I didn’t come here to fight you or harm you. I’m here because…”
There’s a soft snuffling sound from within the cave across the clearing. The gargoyle shifts uneasily, his eyes lifting from mine, flicking left.
A baby cries. It sounds just like a newborn elf, but it isn’t.
The gargoyle snaps back to me. He thrums like a plucked chord. He strains closer to me, a growl rumbling in his throat, his daggers pushing further into the rock. “No elf has ever been this close to my children and lived as long as you have. You are testing every reserve I have.”
I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing. My mouth is completely dry and my voice is a bare whisper. “Why haven’t you killed me?”
He’s frowning hard, shaking his head. One dagger retracts and slams into the rock closer to me. One strike will shatter my chest. The daggers penetrate rock—my bones will be like butter. It’s a reflex. He wants to kill me. I don’t know what’s stopping him and I don’t think he does either.
A growl rips from his throat as he demands, “What are you?”
I find my voice, but barely. “I’m the Storm Princess.”
“Storm…” The gargoyle’s eyes widen. He sniffs my neck and his breath is oddly soft, sending shivers down my spine. Some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. “You speak the truth.”
He presses closer and I’m suddenly aware that there’s a whole lot of male across from me right now. I’ve never seen a gargoyle in real life. The only images I have are pictures drawn by elves showing angry beasts with red eyes and dripping teeth—creatures that sit on their haunches and hunch over the bodies of dead elves. This gargoyle is nothing like that. He’s lean, powerful, and graceful. His thigh presses into mine as he continues to sniff my neck, tickling my ear with every exhale.
The reality of what he is shakes me.
