Page 7

Thoughts careened inside my skull, pinging off one another faster and faster the longer I cowered under a literal giant’s crappy table. There’s no way out of this. At least, there were none that I could deduce.

I glanced at the underside of the rickety table when another thought pushed to the forefront of my mind, along with a horrifying image. I dropped the hand covering my mouth and frantically searched the dark corners where the table legs connected to the base of the tabletop, then blew out a sharp breath through my nose. No massive spiders or webs insight. My brows scrunched. That’s extremely odd, given the state of this home.

I rubbed my temples and forced myself to breathe evenly, in through my nose and out through my mouth, only to have my heart scramble against the back of my rib cage, latching on with its ventricles, as the giant slammed something down on the table, then stood so abruptly from his chair it crashed to the floor, one of the legs cracking with a groan of wood.

I closed my eyes and listened closely. Did he hear something? I didn't hear anything, but I also don't have ears the size of mailboxes. Frowning, I realized anything I could’ve possibly herd would’ve been drowned out by the giant’s retreating footsteps.

“Now is our chance to act,” a deep, growly voice said from somewhere above me and I sucked in a gasp.

Is he talking to me? I swallowed thickly but didn't reply.

The person continued without further prompting. “Yes, yes, I know it's a risk, but how likely is it he's to run out again the next time he comes back. We can't always count on a honeybee buzzing about now, can we?”

He's obviously talking to someone else, and it sounds like he's in just as dire straits as I, or rather, they are. I quietly paced into the open and glanced around, spotting no one.

“Up here, lass,” the lilting voice called, the rolling quality of his Rs causing me to shiver.

I turned my head toward the sound and backed up several more steps, my eyes latching onto a dull, metal cage. “Are you talking to me?” I asked him, only to have my stomach cartwheel repeatedly as a too wide smile spread across his face.

From this angle, I could only see the wide breadth of his shoulders and up, the defined muscles bunching under a heathered T-shirt. I couldn’t deny that something within me was drawn to this male, a desperate ache forming in the very center of my being.

“No, I wasn’t,” he answered, jutting his chin to the opposite side of his cage, but again, my limited view impeded me. I couldn't see anything other than the edge of a nest of sorts in the area he indicated. Perhaps that's his nest? “But I'm definitely talking to you now,” he continued, “why don’t you climb on up here so we can speak properly before the eejit brute comes back?”

Nodding, my frown deepened. “How?” I questioned, my mind already working to solve the issue. I spun in a slow circle, tying up my options.

“Be quick about it. The oaf isn't bright enough to be diabolical, but it wouldn’t take much to destroy a tiny thing like you, and something tells me if he sees you, you’ll either end up locked in here with me or he might just stomp on you and be done with it.”

His head tilted as I glanced at him, causing me to notice horns poking up from his hairline. I pushed my glasses up my nose with a forefinger and sighed. His side commentary was extremely distracting. I’m not entirely sure he's sane, but he could be the solution to my problems. Plus, I could not and would not ignore the instinctual urge to go to him.

What the fuck? I don't have thoughts like these. I set my mind to a goal, then execute the plan.

I jogged over to the broom I noted earlier leaning against the edge of the table, placing my hands on my hips. The angle is a bit steep, but I should be able to scale it. I checked in with my body, acknowledging the extreme fatigue pressing on my bones like an overstuffed weighted blanket.

Screw it, I already climbed that damn thing outside. I can manage a broomstick.

I grimaced as my hands closed around the dried twigs he’d used as bristles and a splinter promptly lodged under my thumbnail. Cursing, I resisted the urge to stick my thumb into my mouth. My bare feet crunched over bits of bark that had fallen off the broom, as the giant hadn't bothered to remove it from the twigs and remnants sprinkled the ground where the base of the broom met the floor. I neared the place where the handle met the bunch of twigs, a row of thin, rough string shoddily bundling them together.

I'll be lucky if this piece of shit bears my weight.

The climb was over more quickly than I anticipated, but I supposed adrenaline and my fight-or-flight instincts must have been driving me onward.

I made my trembling limbs move faster, jumping off the broom handle and landing on a wooden cutting board, then skirted around a crude knife, the edge caked with grime and dripped some kind of green viscous liquid and walked cautiously over to the cage. Stopping a few feet away from the bars, my eyes widened. “Son-of-a-motherfuck,” I uttered, using one of my bestie’s favorite swear words. “You're a grotesque.”

His grin widened impossibly further at my statement and my gaze drifted to his mouth. I fought to regain my composure, but I couldn’t look away from the matching set of fangs he bore on the top and bottom row of his teeth. For some inexplicable reason, I pressed my thighs together at the sight. Time seemed to pause as something behind my ribs lurched against them, an impossible, unexplainable yearning erupting from my sternum and expanding outward. The grotesque tilted his head, that damn smile remaining firmly in place.

I can’t be attracted to him…is that what this is? Snap out of it, Miko.

Sighing, my stare trailed to his eyes, the exceptional shade of his icy blue irises complementing his granite skin and trapping me further within my dazed mind.

“Finally!” he shouted, throwing out his arms and, thankfully, wrenching her out of her thoughts. “Someone who understands me. I was just telling that shitehead that I was a grotesque, not a gargoyle. I fucking hate when people automatically call me a gargoyle when I'm clearly not,” he expounded, his hands flying about widely. “There's no waterspout on this gorgeous face.”

I understood his words, but I wasn't truly hearing him, far too distracted by the magnificent grey patterned moth wings at his back, seeming to shiver with excitement. Perhaps all of this is a side effect of dehydration. I did leave my water bottle in the Jeep this morning. Was that really only this morning?

I was tossed back into reality with his next words and the recognition of his hunched position, his wings tucked tightly against his back. My thoughts derailed as a hiss greeted my ears and I faced the goose resting in the nest I saw earlier. I eyed the majestic bird, my stare tracing its gold tipped, white feathers, and everything clicked. “That's the golden goose,” I whispered.

“You already know Goosey?” the grotesque replied as if we were presently engaged in conversation. I stared at him blankly and he continued. “How do you already know that she lays golden eggs? Only just found out not ten minutes ago myself,” he elaborated, pointing behind me with what I realized was a grey, stone hand with three overly long fingers and a thumb.

I spun, eyes immediately latching onto dozen or so solid gold eggs cradled in a dish. This is ridiculous. No, impossible. How am I in a freaking fairytale? Pulse thudding in my ears, I gradually turned back to the grotesque, willing my expression to remain blank despite the cacophony of emotions and countless other sensations pulling at me from every direction.