Page 8 of Gargoyle Vigilante

Dante licked his lips. Of course, he’d always protect this tiny Nephilim, make sure he and their progeny were safe. Butthat didn’t mean he couldn’t carry on killing Rogues. Surely the Divine wouldn’t have a problem with that?

Ezekiel’s lips were pressed together, eyes tightly shut as he used his palm to scan the still man. Dante swallowed hard. He didn’t have a clue how Ezekiel’s powers worked since he was more of a life-taker than a giver.

Ezekiel whispered words in a language Dante had never heard as he moved his hands in increasingly elaborate gestures as if he were conducting an orchestra. The minutes ticked by, and he became increasingly anxious. Was it too late? Were Ezekiel's efforts pointless?

His mate stirred, his brow wrinkling as his eyes fluttered open, and Dante let out an audible sigh. Ezekiel snorted, and Dante’s thoughts returned to the idea of throat-punching him. Yet, in a shocking moment, he found himself more concerned about this mysterious person than showing Ezekiel what he thought of his snarkiness.

“W-what… Where am I? Who are you?”

His mate gazed up at Ezekiel, who was still leaning over him, and Dante was gripped with a surge of raging jealousy. He balled his fists to keep from reacting irrationally. He’d sort through his feelings later. For now, not terrifying this confused half-human was his main concern.

Ezekiel smiled at him as he straightened, and Dante bit back an angry remark.

“I’m Ezekiel, a healer. You were wounded quite badly.”

Dante crossed his arms, shifting his weight to the other foot then shifting back again. He wanted to be the one to answer all of his mate’s questions, yet he’d never felt more awkward in his life. Fear of saying the wrong thing had overtaken him, which made zero sense. He’d never given a shit about what he said.

Dante cleared his throat. “And I brought you here because you’re…” No, that wouldn’t be the best way to announce theirstatus. “What I mean is that I was one of the Slayers who fought off the rogue gargoyles attacking you. I brought you here so my associate could heal you.”

His mate abruptly straightened, sitting up as if he were about to bolt from the bed. His jaw went slack, his eyes widening. “Slayer? Slayer?” He shook his head then quickly palmed his skull with a wince. “Ow.” Peering up at him, Dante couldn’t miss the fear in his gaze. “Are you… Are you going to slay me?”

Ezekiel chuckled, patting his mate’s shoulder. Dante tensed. If Ezekiel didn’t immediately remove his hand, he was going to lose an arm. Ezekiel darted his eyes in Dante’s direction.

“Cool down, lover boy.”

He did, however, stop touching his mate.

Dante pressed his lips together. While his natural inclination leaned toward losing his shit rather than calm discussion, the fear radiating off his mate was palpable. He’d heard of the inescapable bond between mates for ages, how they could sense everything about each other, know if their mate was in pain, sad, happy, or scared.

But hearing about and experiencing that state were two massively different things.

Dante glanced at Ezekiel, who seemed to be having way too much fun observing his discomfort. He’d had about enough of his secretive, wry grins and eyes dancing with amusement.

“Would you mind?” He made a shooing gesture. “I need to explain everything to my mate.”

Dante pinched the bridge of his nose at his mate’s gasp. He truly had zero social skills.

Ezekiel snorted. “Nice one, champ.” He leaned over his mate again and stage-whispered, “Good luck.” As he left, he peered over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows at Dante. “You’re welcome, by the way. Oh, and you can expect Michael to show upsoon to…” He jerked his head in this mate’s direction. “Find out what all the fuss was about.”

Dante nodded, knowing that Ezekiel was being vague until they knew more about his mate’s circumstances. Perhaps he had no idea what the relic was that he carried. Although, they had no idea what he was carrying either. But whatever it was, the Rogues seemed awfully interested in stealing it.

“Got it.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he realized how ungrateful he was being. “And, uh, thanks. Appreciate it.”

His stomach clenched from having to say something decent to Ezekiel. Perhaps he should quit being so hostile toward his comrades. Theywereall on the same side.

Before he closed the door, Ezekiel peeked around the edge. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do it foryou.”

Dante frowned.Back to being hostile.

Once Ezekiel was gone, Dante regarded his mate. He was pressed against the elaborately carved mahogany headboard with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looked at Dante as if he were the devil himself. Yet, something about the way he stared at him was unsettling.

Dante rubbed his chin.Hmm. Yeah, he was definitely out of his element on how to proceed. He rubbed his hands together as he surveyed his room. Since he was quite a bit larger than his mate, and towering over him was undoubtedly more intimidating, he should at least sit down before they began a relatively complicated discussion.

His room was truly untouched. His gaze landed on his favorite lounging chair, which was more of a throne since he’d stolen it from Whitehall Palace after the death of Henry VIII. Everyone had been so distracted by all the pesky royal succession panic that it had been simple enough to remove the gold-gilt piece of furniture without being detected.

As he dragged the opulent red-velvet cushioned chair across the room, his mate whimpered, recoiling from him. Dante drew his eyebrows together at the unexpected reaction. As soon as he sat down, his mate’s shoulders relaxed.

“You don’t have to fear me, you know. No matter what else happens, I’ll always protect you.”

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