Page 12 of Taken for Granite
Juniper
She couldn’t freak out. She didn’t have time for panic or being overwhelmed, and she certainly didn’t have time for the tears and the blubbering. That didn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face.
She fucked up. Badly.
Don’t panic.
Don’t.
Just stop.
Right, because her force of will could stop her heart pounding or the cold chills.
Helplessness nearly won out, as much as she hated that feeling of inadequacy and impotence. Life dealt her horrible surprises but other than that morning of the fire, Juniper had never been paralyzed with inaction.
Gradually she grew aware of the household sounds, the hum of the refrigerator or the whirr of the aging PlayStation. Ordinary noises filtered in, as if this was just another day and not the worst day of her life. Definitely worse than the day of the fire. That was a tragedy. This was a clusterfuck of her own making. Knowledge of her own culpability made it hurt so much worse.
She couldn’t see a way out of this other than Mickey’s impossible task. Capture the gargoyle she lost.
Somehow. By herself.
She wished she had someone to call, a boyfriend, a big dude with muscles, or even just a friend. Work and single-parenthood—well, single-sisterhood—kept her too busy for dating. Her last boyfriend had been in college, six years ago, and he vanished when she became Chloe’s guardian.
There was no help from the ex-boyfriend.
Briefly, Juniper entertained the idea of going down to the neighborhood bar and enlisting some mountain of a man to help her. Having someone with her in a show of solidarity would help but not in any practical way. How would she even explain it?
I lost a gargoyle. No, it’s cool. I’m not making this up.
Her only friend was Kim, her old roommate, and they hadn’t spoken since Juniper left college six years ago. A work friend? She couldn’t think of a single person who could help her get out from under Mickey’s wrath, not even Jack, which left her completely on her own.
Normally, when searching for a lost item, she’d retraced her steps, but this was a monster, not a vanishing set of keys.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything except a bacon sandwich after the morning rush. As much as her stomach felt sour, she needed food.
In the kitchen, Juniper grabbed a banana and sat glumly at the kitchen table as she forced herself to eat. With the edge of hunger gone, she could think more clearly.
She needed to go back to where the gargoyle ran off. If she were lucky, it might still be around. Gargoyles were nocturnal, right? It was probably hiding in one of the old warehouses. Wait, gargoyles weren’t vampires or probably even nocturnal creatures. She just assumed that, influenced by that cartoon she loved.
But that was just a children’s show. She couldn’t trust any information from a cartoon. Juniper pulled out her phone for some quick and dirty research, not finding much beyond gargoyles appearing in thirteenth-century France and vague legends about dragon-slaying. She found nothing concrete, like what their weaknesses are or how best to capture one.
She cleaned her injured hand with soap and water, before slathering it with antibiotic ointment and wrapping it up in gauze. Stomach still rumbling, she made herself a turkey sandwich and recalled that the gargoyle had looked thin. Starving, even. While his frame itself was massive, she had definitely seen his ribs. Judging by the debris in the back of the van, he had been in a shipping crate and probably came over in the cargo hold of a ship.
How long had he been in that crate, without food or water? The cruelty of the situation rubbed her wrong way. Every living thing deserved food and clean water. Her gargoyle had been chained and starved.
Without a second thought, she pulled everything available out of the fridge and pantry and piled it into a cardboard box. She finished making turkey sandwiches, grabbed a box of cereal, crackers, and pop-top cans of tuna. After stacking in bananas, oranges, and apples, she rinsed out an old milk jug and filled it with water.
Struggling to carry the heavy box, she found the diner’s van waiting for her in the driveway, the keys dangling in the ignition. Well, at least Mickey had given her something.
* * *
tas
The female’s scent clouded his senses. His body ached. He longed for sustenance and sleep, but all he could think about washer.
Her body beneath his, pliable and yielding, and his chest pressed against her back. The round swell of her ass would push back against him, inviting.
His mate.
