Page 71 of Bewitching Her Monsters

I don’t care if I’m doing that, because I like the world a lot more when the crazy stuff that happens has meaning.

After making my chai tea, I head into my writing cave, and the words flow, mostly from the strange dreams I’ve been having.

Can one plagiarize their own dreams?

I don’t know, but I almost feel guilty writing out the hot hotel sex my avatar had with Calder.

22

BETRAYED

FLINT

Iwon’t lie. The odd little witch intrigues me.

She has peeked out several times to catch one of us, or maybe her ex, driving by. But she hasn’t seen me, standing across the street yet.

Gargoyles have illusion magic. We can disappear into almost any background—like a chameleon or an octopus. A gargoyle can be so still it seems as though they aren’t alive. Most people don’t look beyond the obvious human form or movement to catch their eye. So I look to be just another inanimate object while I stand here. And yes, gargoyles can also shift into our actual stone forms when we need to protect ourselves from attack.

Our vision is also better than most supes. Perhaps it’s to make up for our diminished sense of smell.

With my visual acuity, I clearly see Jade’s hazel-green eyes while they pause their search when she gets to my general location. Can she sense my presence?

Would she panic if I were to drop my camouflage and show her my true form?

Arran and Maxum tell me she reads and writes about supernaturals. But it’s one thing to dream up an image and another to have it standing in front of you. She wouldn’t want to see a monster appear before her eyes in her quiet neighborhood, watching her.

As our gazes almost seem to lock across the street, she appears to be sensitive, gentle, and perhaps inquisitive enough to want to know a person under their stone.

Few have ever wanted to know me. Even my circle of friends don’t know me as well as they think they do. Yes, they know the reason for my refusal to engage in intimate relations. But none of them know the details. No one asks how it feels to be this lonely. They claim loneliness, but they have had the comfort of each other’s embrace… of another’s touch. The only physical contact I’ve had in four hundred years has been in battle. And that certainly doesn’t count.

My sexual nature, if I have one, has never stirred. But I sometimes crave to feel the soft touch of someone who feels connected to me.

Arran has that same craving with this witch. And I have to admit, I understand his attraction. She has appealing features and qualities.

Her hair looks silky soft with its streaks of silver, and I want to see how it feels in my hands. I never would touch a female… not again. Not even if I lived another four hundred years. I won’t do that.

Not that she would accept my touch.

Arran teased me that she wrote about how attractive I was, but she only saw my human glamour. I’m not as pretty as my true self—not at all.

My monstrous appearance would frighten her.

Real gargoyles, living ones, are so rare that they frighten most of the supernatural world. Many supes and witches don’t know what to make of my abilities. Most supes prefer the etheric beauty of their own faekind. To them, I’m an abomination.

She is too beautiful for me to claim. Other than her full curves, Jade has the look of a half-fae. She has a beauty that glows. Her clumsiness or the small laugh lines around her eyes and mouth only enhance her attractiveness. She’s perfectly imperfect.

Not that I’m interested in pursuing her. It’s not like she would see me as a compatible mate anyway.

No one does or should. I don’t fit in with witchesorsupernaturals from Fae or the Underworld.

I amother.

I had always figured I would never fit in anywhere until I met Maxum.

He accepted me. Then the others did too. We are all outsiders in our own way.

Calder is almost as rare as I am. And Arran is one of a kind with his beast… that we are aware of.

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