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“Was last night just a one time thing?”

I set the cloth aside on the nightstand and cup his face with both hands.

"No," I say firmly. "You’re my partner now. My human. My mate."

Teagan’s gasps, sitting up violently. "Say that last word again."

"My mate," I repeat the word, feeling it in my soul. "I don't know who I was ten years ago, Teagan. I don't know what kind of life I lived before I woke up on that rooftop. But I know who I am right now. I'm the monster who belongs to you."

Teagan reaches up, his small hands covering mine. "And I'm the human who belongs to you." He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around him, pulling his smaller frame flush against my chest, shifting my tail so it curls around his waist.

We stay like that for a long time, held in the quiet warmth of the room, completely undisturbed by the outside world. Eventually, Teagan looks up at me with a playful glint in his eye. "So, speaking of your lost past..."

I arch an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"You were pretty amazing with those hands last night," he teases. "And I don't just mean the gargoyle stuff. The way you handle delicate things... the precision..."

Even as I laugh at his double entendre, a familiar, phantom hum ripples beneath my skin. It’s that familiar pulse of muscle memory that always triggers whenever we talk about tailoring, fabrics, or structure. But today, after everything we've shared, it doesn't feel like a terrifying void anymore. It feels like a piece of a puzzle waiting to be fitted into place.

"I guess I've always had an eye for structure," I say softly. I study at my broad, clawed hands. "Whether it's the frame of a tailored coat... or the person inside it."

Teagan’s smile softens. A knowing look passes through his eyes. It’s a look I can't quite decipher, but one that makes me feel like whatever the hell is happening, is real for both of us.

"We'll figure it out, Ryker," Teagan whispers, reaching up to gently stroke the base of my horn. The touch causes a shiver to run down my spine. "All of it. Together."

I pull him closer, wrapping my wings around us once more.

Together.

Chapter fifteen

Teagan

The morning sun shines through the window. Outside, Creelin is slowly coming back to life after the Blood Moon. Next to me, Ryker is snoring softly. We’re tangled together in a sea of sheets. My head is resting directly on his chest, my fingers tracing the sexy-as-sin lines of his abdomen.

Ryker’s arm is hooked around my waist, his tail resting over my shins. His wings aren't fully around us anymore, but one leathery, purple span is draped loosely over the side of the bed.

"You're awake," Ryker rumbles. The sound vibrates against my cheek. "Everything okay?"

"Mmhmm. Definitely okay," I murmur back with a smile. I look into those brilliant, cerulean blue eyes. "I was just thinking. I know so much about your instincts and your bodyguard side, but I realized I don't actually know much about your last ten years. You know... after you woke up."

Ryker’s expression softens. A thoughtful, distant look settles over his handsome features. "There isn't a whole lot to tell at first. I woke up on a bench in Philly. No wallet, no ID, no memory of a name, a life, or a face. Just... a giant purple guy sitting on a fucking bench in, staring at his own clawed hands."

My heart aches for him. I reach up, gently cupping his jaw. "How did you survive?"

"Odd jobs," he says softly, leaning into my touch. "Nightlife was the easiest route. Bouncer work. Club security in downtown Philly. When you're a seven-foot-tall gargoyle with wings, people generally don't pick fights at the door. I worked at a couple of high-end lounges, a few underground rave spots. It paid cash, and nobody asked for a birth certificate or a past."

"Did you ever find things you actually enjoyed doing? Outside of standing at a door looking terrifying?"

Ryker chuckles. "I did, actually. I discovered I really like late-night jazz clubs. And thrift stores—spending hours touching old fabrics and looking at how vintage clothes were built, even if I didn't know why I found it so fascinating back then. But mostly... I just felt this deep, constant yearning. A dull ache in my chest that kept telling me I belonged somewhere, or to someone, but I couldn't find where the road started."

He shifts his weight, his large hand gently stroking my back.

"When I heard about Creepin U, I thought it was my chance to finally figure it out," he continues, his voice dropping an octave. "I was so excited to meet other gargoyles. I thought, finally, my people. I'll ask them where we come from, how we feel, who we are. But when I got here..."

"They weren't like you," I offer gently.

He shakes his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "Not at all. The other gargoyles on campus are all shades of dull gray or dark stone-brown. They're stoic, rigid, almost emotionless. They talk in short sentences and care about one thing: guarding a fixed physical perimeter. They don't care about music, or clothes, or... feeling things deeply. They don't have purple skin or bright blue eyes. For a long time, I wondered if I was a fake. A completely different species pretending to be a gargoyle."