Page 52 of Fated to the Gargoyle

“You do not want to do that.”

“Oh really?” I let the covers slide right back down and stretch out on the bed. “I’ve been told once or twice I was hard-headed growing up.”

“I have a stubborn mate.” He sounds proud about it.

I pull my dress up my thighs, taking my time with it, and remember real quick that I still don’t have a stitch on underneath. “I bet I’m running real red down there where you destroyed me.”

The stone SHAKES. A grinding sound rolls out of the corner, and I slam my knees together.

“Okay, okay!” I hold both hands up at the corner. “Don’t shatter on me!”

“I want my tongue in you,” he says.

“Soren!” I smack the mattress with both hands.

“That was no stray thought. I meant it.” He sounds entirely too pleased with himself.

“I can’t tell the difference when you’re in there!” I swing my feet down over the chest and cross the floor to him.

I lay my hand flat on his chest, expecting cold rock. The stone is warm, and something thumps slow and steady against my palm.

“Soren.” I barely get the words out. “Your heart is still going in there.”

“It beats for you, Treasure,” he says, and the beat picks up quick. “Only you. Always you.”

I keep my hand right there. “I think I’m falling in love with my monster.”

The stone grinds again, harder, and I snatch my hand back.

Then he goes quiet on me.

His voice is gone, and the drifting thoughts are gone with it. Did I say it too fast? Did I break something? I stand there with my hand pressed to my own chest instead, wondering what I did.

I clear my throat. “Soren?”

Nothing comes back.

I stare at him a little longer, and then I turn to the boxes because I don’t know what else to do with my face. “I’ll just… umm… figure out how to keep myself busy until you wake.”

I’ve been strong my whole life, but this scared is new. I’ve never told a man I love him. I get one toe close to saying it, and this one turns to stone and stops talking to me.

I dig through my bags without unpacking anything. If I broke something this morning, I am not trying to have a whole life up here to pack back up. I find fresh clothes and underwear and set my hair bag on the bed. Then I go run my shower.

I spend the morning on my hair. I think about straightening it and don’t have the heart for it today. The bun goes back up. Then I clean up the mess I make of the kitchen cooking breakfast, and later, lunch. I keep my hands busy so my head stays quiet. It half works.

In the afternoon I find my purse on the sofa where he left it and dig out my phone, surprised it’s still holding a charge. I scroll way back, to the roommate days, all of us squeezed into someone’s birthday picture with LA lights behind us. I look happy in that picture. I wasn’t. It took moving out here to find the thing that was missing, and the thing that was missing has wings.

And now I’m scared I messed it all up by telling him I’m falling for him too fast.

I think about going into town, but my car isn’t here. And I am not walking down a mountain. So I stay put. The clock crawls, and he doesn’t call to my mind at all. Somewhere in there, the scared starts turning into mad.

When evening comes I pick through the fruit bowl in the kitchen and get out a knife and a cutting board. I start building a fruit salad I don’t even want, cutting louder than I need to.

The sun sets. Back in the bedroom, I hear his stone give out.

I keep my back turned and keep cutting.

Silent feet or not, I know when he fills up a doorway. Before I can reach the next peach, his warm clawed hand closes over mine. “Treasure.”