Page 26 of Who Owns You?

I never paint still-life paintings, but now that’s all I can conjure. Moments and things that don’t quite exist yet. I want to capture them and sink my teeth right in.

Fighting off the urge to get a new canvas and paint the creator of such fine muffins, I mix up a vivid sky blue instead.

The weather has remained a terrible mess, the clouds thick and dark, promising heavy rains in the near future. I want to remember the few perfect moments of unreality when I got here. The sun was too yellow for the dreary bruised sky, the grass too green…a lot like a certain gargoyle—a few of them.

I groan a little and set the palette of paints aside, trying to refrain from mixing the base tones of their skin and just makeanything else. I’m more than capable of making lots of “elses,” but my mind does not want “elses”—it wants them.

“I’m going to lose my marbles if I can’t paint.” I huff, standing up and pacing in front of the huge windows with incredible views of the loch on one side and the path toward the town on the other.

Of course I chose the armory as my painting room. It was a mostly empty room when I found it, but I can see it returned to all its glory in my mind’s eye. Swords and shields hang from the walls, and big suits of armor are positioned to look like someone is inside, ready to protect you.

“Charlotte, there you are!” Marcus’ bright voice brings me back to the present.

A jolt of awareness of him snaps against my skin.

He smiles widely at me, standing at the mouth of my converted painting room, holding up a soccer ball in one hand. “Care to come out and watch me kick this around for a bit before the weather turns?”

“Um.” I glance out the window again. It could rain any minute, and I’m hestitent to be the reason he can’t enjoy the slight break in shit weather. “Sure, that sounds fun.”

“Sweet.” He tosses the ball up and catches it in his horns.

The space between them is just wide enough for the ball to perch against the body of his horns, long and straight before they come to an abruptly tapered end that points straight up. It’s almost like aZif you start from where they meet his hairline.

“I take it you’ll be showing off the entire time?”

“Of course I will. There is a pretty bird watching me.” He shoots me a wink, and I can’t help but blush.

I’ve never been called a bird before, but the slang will grow on me, as well as the accents…I hope. If I’m going to be staying here for at least a year, integrating with these gargoyles, then I need to get used to the Irish verbiage.

“Alright, let’s go so you can kick that soccer ball around.”

Marcus scoffs, hopping up and sending the ball into the air before catching it again. “Football, Char, it’s a football.”

Never trust the weather in the Irish countryside. The lesson is now bone deep, along with the chill.

“I’m so sorry, Charlotte. I thought we had a right bit more time than that,” Marcus says, gripping the huge fluffy towel he had been drying me off with.

“It’s OK, it’s just so cold. Is it normally that cold?” I ask, teeth starting to chatter slightly as I sit on the bottom of the steps that lead to the second floor.

“I mean, I can’t entirely feel it,” he says as he goes about drying the ends of my hair with a delicacy that makes me melt. “With the stone skin and all, temperature doesn’t really play a factor in my comfort. You have to let me know before it gets this bad next time. I wouldn’t be a very good protector if you got sick on my watch.”

He suddenly sits behind me, the towel between us. He takes one of my hands and gives it the slightest squeeze, like he’s afraid to break me. The difference in our heights is something I’ve been trying to ignore. I’m not used to feeling small. All the guys make me feel small in a good way, and that’s only beginning to lead toward unnecessary feelings.

I feel cared for and precious and delicate. I’ve never let anyone get this close before.

I swallow thickly, trying not to let on how damn comfortable he feels. I want so badly to steal all of him for myself. “You feel warm to me.”

“Magic. I need to think about it a little when I want to be warm. Otherwise I’m just sorta…room temperature?” He tips his head and squints at the thought. “Oh god, I must feel like a dead body.”

I snort loudly, my hand snapping up to catch the last bit of sound before I gaze up at him. God, Marcus doesn’t seem like he would go all monster on me if I offend him, but it’s the last thing I want to do. He’s been so sweet.

“I doubt you feel dead. Besides, when would you have the time to…be felt like that?”

I’m slowly shoving my foot into my mouth, but I can’t stop myself. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, my pulse racing and blood pumping. I’m curious if these guys fuck, because maybe they don’t. If they’ve all taken a vow of celibacy to protect mortals, it would be the second saddest day of my life.

“That’s a very naughty thing to ask, Char.” He teases me, bending his head down toward mine.

Fuck, it’s already too late. I realize that as Marcus leans down and captures my lips with his, or did I lean up and kiss him? It’s hard to tell once I fall right into the delight of having his mouth on mine. He’s so fucking warm, and he tastes clean and fresh. His mouth is surprisingly soft but with a little firmness, like a tensed muscle.