Page 94 of Bewitching Her Monsters

“What?” I demand. “What could you possibly be expecting from me after all this?”

Maxum answers when Arran doesn’t, jarring me with the reminder that he’s still here watching this whole love life fiasco. “He was hoping you could keep his beast under control.”

“It’s true,” Arran agrees. “Your presence seems to keep him quiet. Calmer.”

I don’t know if it’s his answer or my fatigue from apparently dying, but the room fuzzes out a bit. My head feels light and heavy at the same time.

“She needs to rest.” Maxum waves his hand at Arran, encouraging the shifter to leave me the fuck alone.

I’ll have to say the demon is winning some points here.

28

HEALING

JADE

I’ve been in and out of consciousness. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous to call it sleep. This “rest” has been elusive and in no way restorative.

I haven’t even seen my new incubus friend when I’ve been passed out.

Arran has been here a few times when I open my eyes, looking sorrowful and repentant. I believe he murmurs his apologies even when my eyes are closed.

Twice, I discover Maxum keeping vigil in Arran’s room, watching over me. I read the concern in his eyes. And maybe something more, or perhaps I only wish to see that he’s as attracted to me as I am to him.

Even Flint shows up, staring at me like I’m a great mystery of the ages.

His gaze is distant as I peek through my lashes at him, studying him. He fascinates me. I want to know more about this quiet, brooding presence. His fingers fiddle with some worn scrap of fabric. I have the sense that it’s precious to him.

“Hi,” I say, opening my eyes.

“Hello.” His unease is visible. “You need something?”

“To talk. Is that okay?” I wince, expecting him to tell me to stuff it. I don’t know how this guy feels about me. I am a wicked witch, after all.

“On what topic would you like to converse?” he asks.

“Anything.” I want to ask him about his fabric treasure, but I don’t want to shut him down. “But I suppose I’d like to talk about Arran, what he did. What do your friends want from me? Are all supernatural beings real? What’s it like being a gargoyle? Do you protect places or people from evil? Do you turn to stone? Do you have other kinds of magic?”

“You have a lot of questions,” Flint states, a slight upturn of his lips makes me think he’s amused by aggressive curiosity. “In which order should I answer them?”

“I don’t know.” I pick at the blanket, feeling vulnerable. “I suppose I mostly want to know if I should believe Arran’s apology and forgive him. But I also want to know more about the supernatural world… the real one, not the crap I make up.”

“It sounds as if the stories you invent aren’t excrement, but hold value and truth. At least, that’s what Maxum and Arran have told me. I haven’t read them yet. I don’t read fiction.” He glances at his fabric and sighs. “Yes, I can turn to stone, but only when I need to safeguard myself from injury. And I have a protective nature. I can’t say if I know what it is to be a gargoyle. I justamme… and don’t know what it’s like to be anything else.”

“That’s what fiction does. It can give you a glimpse into how someone else feels,” I say when he pauses.

“Perhaps I should try reading one.”

“It doesn’t have to be mine. I won’t be offended,” I add.

He nods and continues, “Maybe you can suggest something for me to begin my literary journey. Maybe not something heavy in a romantic theme?”

“Okay. I can do that.” My mind races, compiling a list of books he might enjoy.

“As for Arran, he didn’t mean to destroy your trust. He thought you were a threat. But his instinct to be near you made it impossible for him to pull away. He couldn’t confess his true nature because you didn’t know about your own. It was foolish of him to pursue a relationship with you.”

“Because I’m a witch?” I ask, tears welling in my eyes. I believe I stupidly fell in love with Arran, and my heart hurts with the idea he can’t be with me because of what I am.

---