Page 86 of The Gargoyle and the Songbird

But when the door opens, it’s as if it’s into a fairytale.

“Whoa.” The word slips out, a whisper lost among blooms and candlelight. The scent of roses and lilies wraps around me, sweet and heady, chasing away the remnants of unease.

And there he is—Graeme, my gargoyle protector, my love. His eyes reflect the flickering candles, and there’s an openness in his gaze that makes my chest ache.

The normally muted room is alive with color, petals strewn across the floor, bouquets bursting from vases on every surface. Candles adorn every surface, twinkling like the fairy lights in Elderberry Falls.

Everything blurs at the edges, reality turning soft and dreamlike. Is this real? Or am I caught in some sort of waking dream?

Then, laughter bubbles up from my chest because there, nestled among the sheets of my bed, is Minx. A crown of tiny flowers sits askew on her fuzzy head, making her look like a creature from a storybook—a mischievous fairy queen surveying her court.

“Minx, you traitor,” I say with feigned indignation, though relief floods through me at the sight of her. She blinks lazily, entirely unmoved by my concern.

Graeme steps toward me and I’m drawn in, unable to resist the pull of his presence. My heart hammers, not with fear now, but with something much more dangerous—hope.

My pulse surges as Graeme’s large, cool hands close over mine. He pulls me closer and I can barely catch my breath.

“You were right,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “About my uncle, about the clan. There’s nothing for me there, not anymore.” His eyes, glowing in the candlelight, lock onto mine with an intensity that anchors me to the spot.

“I told my uncle that I had to leave. That I have another responsibility now, something precious to me that needs guarding far more than some dusty old mountain pass.” His words wrap around me like a vow, a promise etched in stone.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” I manage to say, though it comes out more like a plea than a command.

Graeme’s laughter is a rich, joyous sound that warms me to my core. “Never,” he promises, and his arms envelop me, pulling me against the solid fortress of his body.

When his lips meet mine, it’s a collision of worlds—the softness of siren song against the unyielding strength of a gargoyle’s devotion.

We fall together onto the bed, a whirlwind of limbs and scattered petals. Minx darts off with a startled meow, abandoning her fairy queen throne.

I hardly notice, lost in the sensation of Graeme’s hands exploring, claiming, reacquainting themselves with every inch of me. The flowers cushion our descent, their perfume mingling with the scent of us, creating a heady, intoxicating blend that makes my head spin.

I arch into his touch, a moan slipping from my lips as he worships my body with his hands and mouth, as he claims me inside and out. It’s reverence in its purest form—every caress a prayer, every kiss an offering.

Afterwards, my fingers dance along the contours of Graeme’s stony face. He’s solid beneath me, his chest a grounding rhythm with each measured breath he takes. The quiet of the room hums around us, filled only by the soft symphony of our intertwined breathing.

“I think we should move in together,” I whisper into the silence, my voice barely louder than the beat of my own heart.

Graeme hums, a low vibration that resonates through his granite form and into my bones. His hand rises to brush a strand of my blue hair away from my face, lingering on my cheek in a stroke so full of tenderness it makes me want to cry. Or maybe sing. Maybe both.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replies simply, the gravelly texture of his voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

I prop myself up on one elbow, enthusiasm igniting in my chest. “And I’m thinking a change of neighborhood might be in order,” I say with a smile.

33

ECCO - A FEW MONTHS LATER

The sun’s warm rays play across my skin as Graeme and I stand hand in hand, gazing at our new home.

The quaint, picturesque cottage before us looks like something out of a storybook: a charming stone facade covered in lush green vines, a bright red door beckoning us inside, and a thatched roof that adds to its whimsical aura.

Best of all, my dad’s house is just a few blocks away, easy distance for as many visits and home recording sessions as I could desire.

“Elderberry Falls, you’ve outdone yourself,” I sigh, and Graeme laughs.

The sound of footsteps pulls my attention away, and I turn to see Mariah waddling down the cobblestone street towards us, a heavy box of my belongings balanced precariously in her arms. Her round, full belly strains against her flowy maternity dress. She looks like she’s glowing from within, her skin practically luminous with the joy of impending motherhood.

“Mariah, what are you doing?” I call out, my brow creasing with concern as I rush to my best friend’s side. “You shouldn’t be carrying?—”

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