Page 39 of Sight of Fate

I continue to shake my head. “It’s impossible.”

“Why, sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Talk to me, Charli. Is it because I’m a gargoyle? Or is it the age difference? Something else? Whatever it is, I can work on it.”

Stunned that he thinks it’s him, the words pour out of me as if the dam I built so carefully is crumbling under the weight of everything I’ve tried to keep hidden. “It’s me. I’m not who you think I am. I’m broken. Scarred. I’ve lost everyone I ever loved. I’m terrified every time I have a vision. I don’t know how to live a normal life.” I hiccup as a sob catches me off guard. “Not to mention, I’m only here for six months.”

He cups my face with both his hands. “Oh, sweetheart. I waited a thousand years for you. If the Fates didn’t think this was right, they had plenty of time to change things.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m so thankful they didn’t, though. You’re more than I ever thought possible. You’re incredibly resilient and strong. Independent as hell. To the point that it drives me crazy. You’re brave even when you’re scared. Creative. Smart. Hard-working. And so damn beautiful, I ache to see you every morning.”

He expels a long breath. “I’m sure you’ve figured out I’m not exactly a prize. I’m impatient. I suck at romance. I have a hard time recognizing boundaries. I haven’t always made the best decisions, and others have paid the price.”

He sweeps a hand down his half-naked body. “And physically, you’ve only seen this side of me.” He chuckles. “My gargoyle form is a map of scars from past battles and, quite frankly, ugly as fuck.”

I snort in disbelief, but he lifts a shoulder. “It’s true.” His mouth firms. “And even though I’m clearly getting the better end of this deal, I need you to understand… Now that we’ve met, there’s no way I’m giving you up. You and me. We’re permanent. Temporary is off the table.”

My breath is unsteady as I realize he’s staking a claim.

Chapter Eighteen

CHARLI

Wait. “A thousand years?” He must be joking. That’s absurd.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Gargoyles are immortal, remember? It doesn’t mean we can’t die, but we’re extremely tough to kill.”

“But I’m…human.” Raine didn’t say anything about witches living longer.

He walks over and sits down beside me. “Lifespans increase to match your mate or mates once you bond.”

“Bond? Mates?” Plural? My cheeks heat at the thought of having more than one mate. Like Macklin. Andros also pops into my mind, but given what happened this morning, I shy away from that thought.

He shakes his head. “Once you’ve decided to commit, we can discuss what’s next, but I think I’ve thrown enough at you for one day. I want to talk about what happened with Andros.”

I blow out a breath. Part of me wants to know it all now, but the other half needs time to process everything he’s already told me. “Okay.”

He picks up my hand and threads his fingers with mine. “Hearing the terror in your voice. It unraveled me. I was clear across the city when I heard you calling my name. I didn’t know if I’d make it in time. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It was terrifying,” I tell him, my voice shaking as I recall how fast Andros changed from stern, sexy lawyer to vampire. “One minute, we were talking, and the next, he was telling me to run. I don’t understand what happened.”

His brow furrows. “Andros hasn’t had an episode in almost a hundred years. Something must have triggered him. What were you talking about before it happened?”

My throat closes, and the room swims as I realize when the change started happening. “I asked him for his last name.” I repeat the conversation to Teague.

He rubs a hand across the stubble on his chin. “Doesn’t sound like a big deal. But that’s the thing with triggers. We’re always so careful to manage the big ones, but it’s the little ones that catch us off guard.”

True. I tilt my head, wondering what triggers Teague.

A door slams, and I press closer to Teague.

“It’s Macklin,” he reassures me. “Andros isn’t coming back here tonight.”

Macklin strides into the room and straight up to where we’re sitting. There’s blood on the cuff of his sleeve, and his full lips are pressed together tightly. He cups my elbows, then pulls me up and into his arms. “Andros scared the fuck out of me when he called and told me you were his target.”

Stiff at first, I wait to see if a vision will hit. When it doesn’t, I relax into him, the way I’ve wanted to since we first met. He feels good. Strong. Safe. As if nothing could harm me with him around. I run a soothing hand down his back, and he gives a long, shuddering exhale, then releases me.

Gently grasping my chin, he turns my head to the light. “How bad?”

“Not bad,” I reply.

“Ten stitches,” Teague says flatly. “MacKenzie treated her, but she didn’t have any potions with her, so there might be a small scar. She did say Joy has a treatment that should take care of it, though.”