Page 119 of Labor of Love

“Consider me your tester extraordinaire,” Laney declared. “That’s my favorite part of getting to be in the kitchen. Well, and dancing while waiting for the timer to go off.”

Laney didn’t expect his comment to cause Truett to drop his fork or nearly bobble the plate he was holding. He shoved it in between two of the warmers, voice rumbling as he ordered the smart speaker to playSignal Fireby Snow Patrol.

Laney was on his feet before he finished swallowing the bite he’d taken, the energy rolling off Truett too intense to ignore. He went into the gargoyle’s arms without thought and let himself be held close as they moved to the music. Halfway through, he felt pressure on his hip, Truett’s hand, turning him, so he spun, only to be swept into Marcus’ arms for the remainder of the song.

The three of them were grinning by the time the song had ended, Laney casting reluctant looks between the two of them as he returned to his seat. It just felt wrong, somehow, to step away from Them. Like it had in the car, when Marcus had almost touched him, his skin began to prickle and warm a little before it started tingling like he’d touched something electrified. Shivering, he turned his attention back to his now lukewarm food, not that it wrecked the flavor any.

It was delicious.

“So, you wanted to know what I did that left me baking at all hours of the day?” Truett asked.

“Yes, please,” Laney said, since that was much safer than trying to figure out why his whole body had suddenly come alive with restless energy.

“I’m a forensic historian,” Truett said. “I’m called on often by all five courts to help get to the truth behind treaties, property ownership, and unfortunately, criminal acts as well.”

“That sounds like an epic scavenger hunt of old information and buried clues,” Laney said.

“When you put it like that it almost sounds glamorous,” Truett admitted, smiling at him. “Most times it’s a bureaucratic nightmare that leaves my head throbbing while my knuckles itch with the desire to be buried in someone’s face. Of course, I can’t do that without losing my position, or offering grievous offense, so I come in here or take it out on the heavy bag.”

“Mostly, he comes in here, which the heavy bag and ceiling beams greatly appreciate after several have needed replacing over the years.”

Sizing him up, Laney could picture plaster raining down on his head as he beat the hell out of one of those things. While he hadn’t spent much time in gyms and training facilities as a companion, he had hung around and watched his gargoyle friends beat on them and spar one another often, marveling at their power and strength.

“I just don’t understand why so many try to put walls up in the way of the truth,” Truett grumbled in between bites. “What’s worse is when they act likeIhave a stake in it. My only interest is in discovering exactly what took place so I can send in an accurate report when I return it to the presiding court. Beyond that, what they decided, that’s all up to them.”

“I can’t imagine how frustrating it must be, when you run into people who try and keep you from completing your work,” Laney said.

“It drives me up the wall,” Truett admitted. “And sometimes, it drives me out into the night when baking isn’t enough to settle my thoughts and keep me from sending messengers at odd hours trying to prompt someone into answering me.”

“You must have a whole murder of crows at your command,” Laney said. “Or do you use the shadows?”

When Truett’s eyes widened in surprise, Laney feared he’d accidentally blurted once to often. Then the big gargoyle’s lipscurled into a toothy grin as his eyes skimmed over Laney’s shoulder to where Marcus sat, his meal almost finished.

“He knows our ways?” Truett asked. “Even Christian was unfamiliar with all but the very basic knowledge of gargoyles before his arrival.”

“I was raised around your kind,” Laney admitted. “Some of my very best friends were gargoyles.”

“How did they come to live there with your people’s aversion to the shadow court?” Marcus asked.

Laney’s lips pressed into a grim line as he shook his head. “Oh, they have no aversion to those of the shadow court serving as protectors and guards….”

He left the rest unsaid when he could not think of a way to say it without insulting the homeland he had left behind. Despite what they’d done to him, it was poor form for a companion to speak ill of any place he’d been employed or anyone who’s company he’d spent time in.

“But they do not wish their bloodlines to mingle,” Truett finished for him.

Laney nodded, mouth full of food making it impossible for him to speak.

“We know all about that sort,” Marcus said. “And yet our people still insist upon filling those roles and accepting whatever riches are offered as a reward.”

“It isn’t worth being a second-class citizen, not even to live among the glittering high elves,” Truett spat.

A flash of hurt shot through Laney, who barely bit back words chastising him about there at least being a place for gargoyles among them the way there had been no place for Laney once his abilities made themselves known. He was stopped by the thought that followed, the one in which he asked himself if he’d have wanted to remain in his home ifstaying meant that everyone there shunned him or treated him differently?

The answer was a resounding no.

Not only wouldn’t he have wanted that for himself, but he wouldn’t have wanted that for his child, either, who’d have been considered tainted because he was Laney’s, no matter who his father or father’s family line happened to be.

“Sorry to bring the mood down,” Truett said. “It’s been that kind of a day.”

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