by Tami Lund
That is definitely not happening!
Someone cleared their throat. Not Antoinette or Ketu. She turned around to see another man standing on the dock with them. He was shorter than both of them but just as bulky as Ketu, and his facial features looked as if they were carved from stone.
The gargoyle had come to life.
“May I help you?” he asked, sounding almost pleasant, although Antoinette knew that his presence here meant he was protecting something. If he felt they were a threat, he would act accordingly.
“We were being chased,” Ketu explained. “We needed a place to hide.”
“You bring your dragon wars to my mistress’s doorstep?”
So that’s what he was protecting. A mistress. Likely a witch who lived in this shack.
“No,” Ketu said. “We are leaving. We just needed to land safely. We’ll make our way back to town now.”
The gargoyle canted his head and studied Ketu. “It is late. And we are far from any other civilization, dragon or otherwise. Flying is your most logical means of returning.”
Ketu shook his head. “Our enemies are no doubt up there, searching for us.” He pointed through the branches at the night sky.
“You will be walking all night, and this one looks tired.” The gargoyle nodded at Antoinette.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, straightening her slouching shoulders. If Ketu could hang, so could she.
“You have another suggestion?” Ketu asked the gargoyle.
“Fly away home.” He flapped his arms.
Ketu made a noise of impatience. “That’s not an option.” He glanced at the dark shack, barely discernable against the unlit landscape. “Is your mistress home?”
“No. She is away, visiting family. I await her return but do not expect it for another day or two.” He sounded wistful. Like maybe their relationship was more than protector and mistress. Or at least he wanted it to be.
Ketu glanced at Antoinette then stepped up to the gargoyle, maintaining eye contact for several seconds before inclining his head. “I am Argyle’s friend.”
“Argyle? One of the protectors of the City of the Dead? Why did you not say so? Come, come inside. My mistress will not mind that you’ve stopped to refresh yourselves before returning on the morrow.” The stone-like man cracked a smile as he headed down the dock toward the shack, waving at them to follow him.
“Who’s Argyle?” Antoinette asked.
Before Ketu could respond, the gargoyle asked, “How is Argyle? When did you see him last? My name is Pongo, by the way.”
“Ketu. And this is Antoinette. I saw Argyle yesterday. He is doing well, now that he is back to protecting his City of the Dead.”
Pongo nodded and held the door open to allow them inside first. “I am glad to hear he is no longer obligated to protect that half-witch. Her spirit was not good; I never understood that relationship. Gargoyles protect only those who deserve protection.”
“It’s a long story,” Ketu said. “But basically, the witch you refer to had cast a curse, tying another, good witch, to herself. That was how she was able to force the gargoyles to protect her.”
How the hell did Ketu know so much about witches and gargoyles? Were things that different in Detroit?
Antoinette allowed herself to be distracted from her unanswered questions by glancing around the interior of the shack, which was as small as it looked from the outside. The single room consisted of a tiny kitchen on one end and a bedroom on the other. There were two doors on the far wall, one of which Antoinette presumed—hoped—led to a bathroom.
The only pieces of furniture, other than kitchen appliances, were a rickety, old, wooden table and two chairs, a dresser with flaking, faded paint, and a lumpy-looking bed covered haphazardly by a frayed, patchwork quilt. Pongo indicated the two ladder-back chairs.
“Sit. Would you care for something to drink?” He opened the fridge and the sudden appearance of bright light caused Antoinette to shield her eyes with her hand.
But at least that meant the place had electricity.
And hopefully a bathroom.
Or better yet, a car they could borrow to get them back to town. Because it suddenly occurred to her what Pongo said earlier. “You expect us to spend the night here?” she blurted.
Pongo nodded. “My mistress will not mind. And you need to rest before you are able to go on. My mistress took her motor vehicle with her; however, tomorrow I will take you in the pirogue to the nearest town, where you can secure transportation back to where you came from.”
“Henri. I have to get home to him.”
Ketu pulled his phone out of his pocket. “The signal’s weak, but I should be able to text my mother, let her know we’re okay and that we’ll be home tomorrow.”
“But…”
His phone vibrated and he glanced down at it. “She says as long as we’re together, she knows we’re safe, and she’ll give Henri a kiss goodnight for us.”
Us?
Antoinette surveyed the room again. The bed couldn’t be more than full sized. It would be a squeeze with two of them, let alone three, sharing these sleeping quarters.
Pongo offered them each a bottled water then closed the fridge, plunging them in darkness. He strode across the small space, tugged a metal chain attached to a lamp next to the bed, and lit the room again.
“Facilities are through there,” he said, pointing at the door Antoinette had suspected led to a bathroom. “I will return to my post now. Should you require my assistance, come out to the dock. Otherwise, make yourselves at home, and I bid you good night.” He nodded to each of them in turn, and then ambled out of the shack.
Antoinette could just make out his shape as he strode to the end of the dock and stood there for a moment before, in the blink of an eye, turning to stone.
“Well, that was certainly…odd,” she commented to Ketu, who was prowling the room, inspecting Pongo’s mistress’s meager belongings.
He shrugged. “Southern hospitality extends to supernatural species, as you well know.”
“True, but a gargoyle offering lodging to dragons? That’s a stretch. Except apparently it isn’t. How do you know so much about gargoyles and witches?”
“Like I told Pongo, it’s a long story.” Ketu tugged on a knob and opened an accordion door, revealing a shallow closet with shelves piled with towels, sheets, and blankets. “Which I promise to share in the morning.”
She opened her mouth and he said, “No arguments. You’re exhausted. Get some rest.” He pointed at the bed.
“What about you?” She eyed the worn quilt covering the lumpy mattress.
He pointed at the linen closet. “Plenty of blankets in here. I’ll make myself a pallet. Should be able to get a few hours’ rest, at least.”
Antoinette swallowed thickly. Her limbs felt like lead. She really was exhausted. She was used to fighting dragon’s blood dealers one-on-one, in brief hand-to-hand combat and usually in human form. Battling four of them while flapping her wings hard enough to stay in the sky and then flying out here to the middle of nowhere had seriously wiped her out. The second she touched that mattress she’d be down for the count, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.
“All right,” she finally conceded. “If you insist.”
In the few moments before sleep claimed her, she thought, Shit.
I found my mate.
Chapter 5
Between the battle from the night before and lying on a wooden floor, listening to the foreign sounds of a backwoods bayou, Ketu pretty much felt like crap when he woke in the morning.
Still, the real world was better than those few restless hours he’d been in the dream world. The last image of Antoinette, straddling him, her naked breasts jiggling while she rode him to a climax that he hadn’t been able to reach disappeared like smoke as he stretched and forced his eyes open.
The smell of frying bacon hit his nostrils and he breathed deeply, annoyed that he caught Antoinette’s citrusy scent as well
.
His mate.
Shifting and flying together for the first time was generally how dragons discovered their fated mates. Yet he and Antoinette had known each other for practically their entire lives. Was it possible they’d never flown together until now?
Yeah, he supposed it was. She had been Eulalie’s friend, not his, and they were four years younger than him. While she’d been underfoot practically all the time—she had a pretty shitty home life—they hadn’t hung in the same circles. She and Eulalie were still in elementary school when he started high school, and he’d graduated and moved to Biloxi before they began high school. They ate meals together, played video games together, argued and fought like siblings, but no, they’d never actually flown together.
Until now.
He rubbed his hand over his face, the stubble scraping his palm. He was mated to a freaking drug dealer.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He rolled to his feet and stretched to work the kinks out of his abused muscles, and headed to the bathroom. After taking care of business and using his finger as a toothbrush, Ketu felt almost dragon again.
“Coffee,” Pongo said when he wandered into the kitchen. The gargoyle inclined his head, indicating the pot perched on the small bit of counter next to him.
“Mmm, chicory,” Ketu said, savoring the rich aroma before taking the first fortifying sip. “Thanks.”
“You slept on the floor,” Pongo commented while he whipped eggs and milk together in a bowl. “I had thought you two were mates.”
Ketu cupped the back of his neck and glanced at the bed, where Antoinette was still buried under the covers. “No, we’re not.” It was a technicality, though. Flying together was the discovery; having sex sealed the deal. Officially made them mates.
He’d not given much thought to finding his mate since he moved to Detroit. He’d assumed she was likely a member of the Rojo colony since that was where he grew up, which meant so long as he stayed away, he wouldn’t find her.
And now that he had, it was Antoinette. His sister’s best friend.
And a drug dealer.
Yeah, he couldn’t get past that fact.
He took another drink while turning his focus to the empty dock. “Do gargoyles not sleep?” The question was partially an attempt to distract himself but also because he was genuinely interested. He knew precious little about their species and yet he’d now met two gargoyles who had helped dragons in their time of need.
“We get our rest while in stone form. When my mistress is home, we share the bed, and after a few days I usually will sleep. Although that bed is so lumpy, I almost would rather return to my perch at the end of the dock. We really need to replace it.”
“You share your mistress’s bed? Is that a normal witch-gargoyle relationship? I mean, assuming she’s a witch, of course.”
He nodded and poured the egg mixture into a heated wrought iron pan. “She is. I do not know that I would call it normal, but we do have a personal relationship. You dragons would call it mates, although she calls it husband and wife.”
Ketu nodded while continuing to nurse his coffee. Given Ginger, his reeve’s grandmother—who was a witch—had created a child with a dragon, the fact that a gargoyle and a witch had mated didn’t seem all that odd.
Using a spatula, Pongo scrambled the eggs while they cooked. “Her family does not know of our marriage. They do not approve of me.” His face took on a hang dog look at odds with the squareness of his jaw.
“Why?”
“They believe she should marry one of her own kind.” He waved at the screen door leading out to the dock and then scraped the fluffy eggs into a clean bowl. “That is why she is away and I am left here, awaiting her return. Her niece had a baby, and she went to visit. She should be home by the morrow. She will be disappointed to have missed you. She is fascinated by all beings who are different from her.”
Ketu caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to watch as Antoinette came awake. She stretched, her arms reaching out from underneath the covers, and then she pushed the blankets down to her waist as she sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her curls were sticking up every which way and her face was flushed.
I could see myself waking up next to that each and every day.
Me too, his dragon replied.
Ugh. What the hell am I thinking?
He cleared his throat. “Good morning.”
She narrowed her eyes and grunted.
He chuckled and lifted his mug. “Coffee?”
She grunted again and said, “Bathroom first.” And then she rolled out of bed and disappeared behind the closed door.
“Your mate is not a morning person,” Pongo said.
“She’s not my mate.” Ketu filled a second mug with the dark, aromatic brew. He had no idea if she liked it black or doctored. She hadn’t been a coffee drinker before he ran away to Detroit.
“There is much history between the two of you,” Pongo said as he loaded a plate with eggs and bacon and handed it to Ketu.
“Thanks.” He placed the dish on the small table. “We’ve known each other since she was five, so yeah, lots of history.”
“Not all of it is good,” Pongo said, handing him another plate.
“Is it ever, with that many years under our belts?”
“I suppose that is a fair assessment.” He filled a third plate and said, “I will eat out on the dock. When you are ready, I shall take you to the nearest town.”
“Thanks again for your hospitality,” Ketu said to the gargoyle’s retreating back.
When Antoinette joined him, he offered her the steaming mug. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Nope.” She lifted it to her lips, breathed deeply, and then sipped. When the hell had the act of drinking coffee become so damn erotic? “What?” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He shook his head and waved at the table. “Breakfast?”
She tossed him a suspicious look before making her way toward the smell of bacon and eggs. “Is there any hot sauce?”
A woman after his own heart. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce and handed it to her.
She grunted again.
“Definitely not a morning person, I see,” he noted.
She focused on eating and didn’t respond.
“Were you always like this? I remember you spending the night a lot, but I don’t really recall what you were like in the mornings.”
“Yes. Eulalie used to harass me endlessly. She was always so damn chipper the second she woke up. At least, until those last few months.”
Ketu dropped his gaze to his plate. He didn’t want to talk about his sister, because it hurt, yet he did because Antoinette probably had as many memories as he did, and in a weird way, it warmed his heart to hear her talk so fondly about his baby sis.
But he didn’t want to think about those last few months.
“Mental note: don’t talk to Antoinette until she’s had at least one cup of coffee.”
She grunted again. “I’d make it two if I were you.”
He smiled, and it widened when he noticed her lips twitching, like she was trying to suppress her own. But then she focused on her breakfast, shoveling eggs into her mouth and chasing them with coffee before saying, “So Pongo’s ready when we are?”
Ketu nodded and carried his plate to the sink, scrubbing it with a sponge before rinsing and placing it in the drainer. No doubt Antoinette was eager to get home to her son.
They’d cleaned up the kitchen by the time Pongo stepped inside with his empty dish. He looked around and nodded. “You are good guests. You are welcome back anytime, but I am sure you are ready to be gone. Come.” He placed his plate in the sink and motioned for them to follow him back to the dock.
A pirogue, which was essentially a flat-bottom canoe, lay upside down on shore. Pongo easily flipped it over and then waded out into the water, holding the boat stead
y and instructing first Ketu then Antoinette to get in. Once all three were ensconced in the small watercraft, Pongo lifted a long, narrow pole from the dock and used it for leverage as he pushed them through the stagnant bayou.
Almost immediately, a snake slithered across the top of the water away from them, and Antoinette gave a start and grabbed Ketu’s arm. He patted her hand and she snatched it away like his skin was on fire.
They passed giant cypress trees, their fat, cone-shaped trunks growing straight out of the water, Spanish moss dripping from their sprawling branches. He and Eulalie and Antoinette used to play hide-and-seek in the park near his parents’ house, and the Spanish moss hanging from the trees had been so thick it had provided an excellent hiding spot.
After a short while, they floated past another shack, this one even smaller than Pongo’s. An old man sitting in a chair on the dock lifted his coffee mug in greeting as they floated by.
“Human,” Pongo commented after they were out of earshot. “A little peculiar but a pleasant enough neighbor.”
A short while later, they passed a wild boar snuffling the dirt next to the swamp, then a nutria attempting to swim out of reach of a nearby alligator, while a blue heron took flight, scattering myriad smaller birds in the process. Even though his parents’ house was in town, plenty of wildlife had visited their yard over the years, probably thanks to the small bayou at the end of the street.
“I miss this,” Ketu murmured.
Antoinette arched her brow. “You lived in the city when you were here.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, but doesn’t this remind you of our childhood?”
She looked around at their surroundings: muddy water, foliage, birds, water animals, but not a house or human-like creature in sight. She glanced back at him without saying a word.
She didn’t get it, but then again, she hadn’t been away for a decade.
So Ketu said, “The first time I shifted, it was out in the bayou. Even if there were humans around, the ones who live out here are far less likely to question the sight of a couple of dragons in the sky.”