Page 8 of Stolen By the Gargoyle
“I don’t appreciate being kidnapped, you know.”
That line of his chipped brow furrowed. “In my culture, it is an honor to be taken as a bride. To be desired and hunted.”
Right. I wasn’t a fucking turkey, though. I waved at him with my hand, gesturing for him to continue.
“Then, we mate with them.”
I swallowed, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“We wrap them in our nest and feed them.”
The softness beneath my body suddenly felt much more damning all of a sudden. Like I shouldn’t be sitting on this mound of pillows and blankets because it was essentially a marital bed.
“We shower you with gifts.”
Okay, that didn’t sound bad. I liked gifts. Who didn’t?
“And then you become my wife once all these steps are completed.”
That was… Okay, well, while it wasn’t what I was expecting it was still very much a marriage ceremony rooted in his culture and his beliefs. While not like my own Mexican traditions, they were still his. Yet, despite all the trouble he’d gone through to get me, I couldn’t go through with any ceremony with him.
Because he hadn’taskedme to be his wife.
Apparently, gargoyles don’t need consent for that.
Or did they?
He hadn’t explicitly asked me. He’d implied that we would be sleeping together. But when he’d tried for more and I’d said no, he had stopped. If I told him I wouldn’t have sex with him, would he be angry?
Would he try to force me anyway?
The sudden thought seized me with fear, but I tried to keep my expression neutral. This was definitely fucked up.
I didn’t belong here with him. I didn’t know him. What if he tried to take what I wasn’t willing to give? That would mean I’d be trapped in this cave with him forever. The fear of an unknown future grabbed at me and wouldn’t let go. Suddenly, I didn’t care about anything else. I didn’t care about asking questions or getting answers. I panicked and wanted to get out.
But I couldn’t let any of this show on my expression.
Instead, I relaxed my features into something soft, tipping my lips up into a smile I hoped didn’t look like a grimace as it felt.
“Wow,” I said. “What a beautiful tradition…”
His chest puffed up with pride, and he looked at me with admiration.
I swallowed.
“Humans have rituals too,” I said slowly.
He nodded, attentive to my every word, like he didn’t want to miss a single thing.
“Before… mating… we have to… freshen up. Clean ourselves, fix our hair.” My hands went up to my coils, which I wassure were tangling together at this point. “Make ourselves presentable and pretty for our mates before we… join.”
His eyes flashed blue like the pits of a fire and there was something–hopeful?–in that expression that made a sliver of guilt worm its way up my chest.
“If you want me to mate with you, I just ask that you give me the privacy to get ready, like my tradition dictates.”
His chest rumbled with that rock sliding sound, and I worried for a second he was having an anxiety attack with the way his chest expanded like he would burst. His nostrils flared and steam seemed to come out of his nose.
He looked over me, his claws reaching in my direction. I tried not to flinch, but he was gentle as his hands wrapped around my upper arms, holding me softly.
