Page 6 of Stolen By the Gargoyle
Fuck.
I closed my eyes and felt my body sway from side to side. I tilted, gravity betraying me, and then…
A gust of cool wind and he was there, sweeping me up into his arms, saving me from the fall.
But goodness, he was sobig. His body curved over mine, wings wrapping us into a protective cocoon. His gaze swept over me, that dark brow bending into a concerned frown.
“You are unwell,” he stated, his voice dipping deeper into that accent that I would have found endearing, if this situation weren’t so fucked up.
I shifted in his hold, my pathetic attempt to put space between us, but he tightened his grip. His skin was still warm and hard. Like he was sculpted of pure flexing muscle. He held me so I was at eye level, his horns towering over my head.
I stared at the sharp tips of them before looking into those fathomless eyes.
“Wife,” he grumbled. “Tell me where you ache.”
The words sounded so tender it made my heart… clench. But I couldn’t shake the word from my mind, and it caused my anxiety to spike.
Wife. That was the one thing I wasnot.
“I’m not your wife,” I whispered. Maybe saying it out loud would draw a clear boundary in the sand between us, make him understand that he was delusional. There was no ring on my finger. He hadn’t taken chiquihuites to my parents to ask for my hand in marriage. And, honestly, with all the stress I was currently feeling, I would have welcomed a woven basket with Mexican sweet bread and mangos right then.
His arms wrapped tighter around me, body tensing even further like he wanted to physically reject the words I’d just said. Like even the whisper of them offended him.
But he merely replied, “Not yet.”
What the fuck did that even mean? Was he planning on taking chiquihuites? I knew in some places they took cows and shit in exchange for their brides. A bit antiquated, to be honest, but I liked the idea of having someone loaded enough to give my parents a bunch of farm animals, food, and furniture to prove they could provide for me.
Did gargoyles know about chiquihuites? Did they know about rings and weddings? I mean, obviously not. Maybe I should tell him? Would he listen?
I bit my tongue, aware I was getting way off topic in my own head, acting as though he was my betrothed or some shit, and winced. He pulled me closer. The movement had my bare skin grinding against his, the rough texture of his scraping against my swollen, wet nether regions salaciously.
I bit my lips to hide my whimper.
“Not yet.” It sounded like a promise. “We must finish mating first.” Then he moved and gently laid me against the nest of fluffy blankets and pillows. He pulled away reluctantly, like he didn’t want to let me go. But he did, keeping very little space between us.
“Now tell me, where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not.”
I wasn’t; he was right. I was going out of my mind here. I needed things explained to me. Slowly.Con peras y manzanas, as my mom said. Because how was one plus one equaling three right then? I needed him to explain like I was either five or dumb as a bag of rocks, because, what the actualfuck? But I needed space from him. Being this close was only making my head swirl, and it was like he swallowed up all the air that was near. I couldn’t stand it. This entire situation was fucked, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit how heady he was.
Maybe I was the one who was fucked.
I wasn’t supposed to be attracted to this monster. He’dkidnappedme, and I wasn’t about to be on some stockholm syndrome bullshit, but his appearancewasappealing. Strong and vicious and yet so contrast with the tender cadence of his words. Even if they were rough, his voice an echo sprung from hollowed depths of the center of the earth.
Maybethatwas the appeal, but I couldn’t think about that. Not when his words hung between us like a dangling noose.
Wife.
Mating.
I took a breath, trying to scramble back, but coming up short when I hit the protective barrier of his wings behind me.
Right.
He didn’t want me to leave.
