“I can’t be Cash’s mate, I’m human,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Ronan’s laugh was loud and crackly, as if he hadn’t used it in years. “That doesn’t matter in the slightest. Despite the fact that the clan heads would have you believe it isn’t possible, we gargoyles have been mating outside of our species for millennia.”
I turned to Cash, filling my expression with every ounce of confusion I was feeling. “And you knew?”
But Cash ignored my question, his eyes still on Ronan. “How do you know that? That it’s possible to have a mate that isn’t a gargoyle?”
Ronan’s eyes started to sparkle, like he was close to tears. “Boy, in all the time I’ve known ye, ye’ve never asked me how I lost my wings.”
“It was never something that I wanted to talk about myself, so I figured you were the same,” Cash said quietly, his gaze dropping to his lap where his fists were clenched.
“It was four hundred years ago,” Ronan began, immediately jumping into his story. “My clan was always a bit more open minded, probably because we lived on the northernmost tip of Ireland and were close to the mainland. Our leader recognized that pure gargoyle children were a rarity and allowed us to love as we would so long as we kept the most basic tenets of our species.”
“No contact with humans,” Cash provided.
“Aye, no contact with humans. Several of the other males in my clan had already mated with other species. One was with a beast woman—a bear I think—and another was with a vampire. It wasn’t uncommon.” Ronan’s lips tilted up into a reminiscent smile before he continued.
“I met my Maeve by chance. She was collecting herbs for her spells and potions in the woods. I was half-convinced she was fae by the way she looked in the sunlight, I tell ya. But no, she was a hedge-witch, close to humans with just a touch of magic. But she knew of gargoyles and I knew as soon as her hands touched mine that she was the song in my heart.” Ronan placed his hands over his heart, his nearly colorless eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.
“Hedge-witches have human lifespans, how did you come to terms with the fact that she’d die long before you?” Cash asked, his voice tight.
My head whipped over to Cash. His facial expression was unreadable, but there was a hurt behind his words that helped me finally connect the dots. He didn’t tell me how he was feeling because he thought he would outlive me.
Ronan’s smile fell and he frowned at Cash’s question. “I sometimes forget how young ye were when ye were banished from your clan. No one ever told ye about heartsong mates?”
Cash just shook his head.
Ronan made a noise before turning his attention over to me. “Lass, can ye do me a favor and touch him and tell me what happens?”
I did as he asked, sliding my fingers through Cash’s as the same familiar feeling of electricity flowed through the point of contact. My heartbeat slowed down. “My pulse slows down, like it’s trying to match his, before going back to normal.”
“Good!” Ronan crowed, his expression pleased. “That is exactly how itshouldfeel. All living creatures have a certain number of heartbeats. The faster the heartbeat, the shorter the lifespan. Gargoyles have some of the slowest beating hearts of all of the living supernaturals, akin to a tortoise if ye will. If we regularly go into stone sleep, we can live for thousands of years. Our mates’, once the ceremony is held, heartbeats slow down to match ours. For some, it’s a good thing. It allowed my Maeve to be with me for an extra twenty years after her human lifespan. But for the immortals, loving a gargoyle means putting a timer, no matter how slow, on their lives.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked, trying to understand. None of this had been written in any of my research’s admittedly small section on gargoyles.
“It’s the same as vampires and werewolves, lass, a bite,” Ronan explained. “Though sealing a mating bond between a gargoyle and their heartsong has to happen during the spring or autumnal equinox.”
“Why not during either of the solstices?” I asked.
Cash answered for Ronan. “Because the solstices are about rest, like I told you before, but the equinoxes are giant celebrations.”
He seemed to have gained clarity on whatever had been bothering him before, and when I glanced over at him, his lips were starting to tilt up into a grin. “The veil between our world and the spirit realm, where magic exists, is at its thinnest during an equinox. In turn it allows us to forge a connection.”
At the mention of forging a connection the barely bridled panic that had been bubbling up in my chest seemed to finally burst. One moment I was confused about where Cash stood or if he even liked me as more than a friend, and the next we were mates.
I pinched the skin on my arm, giving it a twist.
Nope, I definitely wasn’t dreaming. I needed to change the subject before I started to hyperventilate.
“What happened to Maeve?” I asked, changing the subject. “You said it had something to do with your wings?”
“Daphne...” There was reproach in Cash’s voice.
“No, it’s all right,” Ronan said, lifting a hand to stop Cash from scolding me. “About seventy-five years after I met her, Maeve used her magic to save a babe stuck in its mother’s birth canal. The mother and her husband were grateful, but the rest of their village? Not so much. I was hunting that day and I saw the smoke from the mountains. They burned my Maeve at the stake before I could get to her.”
By the end, Ronan’s words were wobbly, his chest rising and falling in hitched sobs as he tugged on the end of the mangled t-shirt he was wearing.
“And your wings?” Cash asked, his expression stony and solemn.
