Page 95 of Bewitching Her Monsters

“No, because he is a monster,” Flint corrects, his voice soft. “We all are.”

“Oh. You think he will hurt me? That you will all hurt me?”

“The odds are not in your favor.”

“Are all supes monsters?”

“No. Most are much like humans. Perhaps they are more arrogant, which seems impossible. Supernaturals are often devastatingly beautiful. Obviously, I’m not like most supes.”

His face and body are wide, and he epitomizes masculinity to the point of being absurd. “You are extremely handsome.”

“This isn’t my true form. You wouldn’t find it appealing.”

“My tastes are broader than most.” I offer him a smile, hoping he will show me.

He grumbles, but changes the subject. “Arran cares about you. He didn’t mean to damage the relationship you were developing.”

“But his beast might accidentally hurt me?”

Flint nods. “None of us want to see you hurt. I don’t even think Calder wants that, no matter how he blusters.”

“Do you believe me when I say that I didn’t hurt Osen? I didn’t even know I was a witch. If I helped the witches and warlocks kill your friend, it wasn’t my choice.”

“I know. You were being used.” He frowns.

My fatigue hits me again, and my eyes flutter shut.

“Sleep, sweet witch,” he whispers, perhaps not intending for me to hear.

* * *

Waking up, I feel like crap, and that’s putting it mildly. It seems as though each time I wake up, I feel worse.

My dry throat makes me cough, and it’s enough to rouse me to move and seek water. Of course, this is the one time when I open my eyes that no one is here to help me.

With great effort, I get the covers off me and sit on the edge of the bed, summoning the energy to get up.

It takes another few minutes to remember how standing works.

I shuffle to the open doorway, zeroing in on the doorframe as my next life goal.

My hand settles on the frame, and I gasp in a breath, basking in my victory.

My grip slips, and I tumble forward.

At the same moment, someone turns from the hall into Arran’s room.

A male voice is cut off mid-word, “Wha—”

My body crashes against what feels like a wall.

Massive arms wrap around my torso, and they freeze.

I look at the literal rock-hard body my face is pressed against—tan-colored marble. I didn’t know a gargoyle’s flesh was so unyielding.

Flint… the gargoyle version.

“Okay, buddy, you can let go.” My arm wanly pats his biceps.

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