He held himself above her until her hips ceased undulating and her breathing leveled out. Holding her close, he rolled to his back and pulled her to him.
This female. He would never stop craving her.
13
Juniper
Tas clearly didn’t know how to share a bed but he liked to snuggle. He sprawled in the center, on his stomach, with one arm tossed over her hip and his tail around her ankle in a possessive grip. Juniper kept inching closer to the edge, trying to make herself small, but he’d drag her back. For a guy who claimed he didn’t want attachments, he was a cuddler.
Her bladder woke her before dawn. She tried to slip away but his arm weighed heavy on her hip. Too heavy.
“Tas? I need to get up,” she muttered, sleepily. She pushed at his arm; it did not budge and was cool to the touch. Alert now, she twisted around.
With his face perfectly composed, Tas was a deep granite gray, completely made of stone, and asleep.
Her fingers skated down his nose and tapped his lips.
No response. This must be the stone sleep. Experimenting, she tapped his forehead with her knuckles. Yup, solid stone. If she didn’t know he had been living, breathing, and making love to her just hours ago, she’d swear she had a gargoyle statue in her bed.
She slipped her ankle free from the stony grip of his tail and escaped to the bathroom. After a shower, she made pancakes from a mix she found in the pantry.
Reading through the collection of historical romances—Mrs. Cannella enjoyed Victoria Holt and Barbara Cartland novels from the 1970s—kept her occupied as the sun moved through the day. Juniper could not bear the silence. As radio signals came in spotty, she explored the extensive collection of Mario Lanza, the Philadelphia-born singer, whose albums were stashed in the hi-fi cabinet. Soon the warmth and pops of tenor and vinyl filled the house.
When night fell, she checked on the gargoyle in her bed. He had not moved an inch and appeared unchanged.
Juniper perched at the edge of the bed and brushed the granite strands of hair splayed across her pillow. The strands were so fine she worried they would break if jostled. Resting her hand against his chest, she wanted to feel his heartbeat but found only cold stone. Her chest tightened with irritation, wishing she knew more or that Tas had told her more.
The damn gargoyle was so skittish. It was clear he didn’t trust her and only gave her the barest information necessary. He explained his mating gland but only because taking the stoic route and suffering in silence failed. He told her nothing about this duramna or what to expect, just that he would be asleep. Was his temperature supposed to be this cold? How long would he be like this? What if he had been too hurt to wake up? What happens if he never woke?
Juniper didn’t want to consider that. She needed to hand him over to free Chloe, but the idea of a world without her grumpy gargoyle upset her. Tas made the best noises when agitated or dissatisfied, which was often. He also made the best noises when he pushed in her, a long, low groan. The heated thought made her smile.
“Good night.” She kissed him on the lips, knowing that if he were awake, he’d protest. It just wasn’t done among his kind, apparently. He resisted her kisses the night before but didn’t object when she applied her lips to other parts of his anatomy.
Reading into the night, she fell asleep on the plastic-covered sofa.
tas
The scent of wood smoke tickled his nose. A breeze from an open window carried it to Tas, waking him.
He felt different. Tas stretched out on the soft bed, the musk of his female clinging to the sheets. He hadn’t rested on a comfortable bed in ages, which was the first difference. The second was the appalling orange and navy floral pattern on the sheets.
Sitting upright, he found himself in a bedroom with dull green-and-white-lattice wallpaper with matching green carpeting. A sheer orange curtain partially obscured a door that opened onto a balcony. It seemed decor had moved in an offensive direction during his captivity and he did not regret missing it one jot.
Despite the dimness of the room and the night beyond, the world felt too bright. He closed his eyes, resting in familiar darkness for a moment. Adjusting to light would take time.
He flexed his wings, pleased to discover the broken wing healed and healthy, if stiff. The same could be said about his entire body: healthy but stiff.
With a grin, he glanced down at his calmly resting cock. Not stiff. Thank Lar that was behind him.
Tas strode to the balcony, throwing open the door. Clouds partially obscured the moon and the threat of rain hung in the air.
The perfect night for flying.
With a growl, he leaped from the balcony. Long ignored muscles burned pleasantly as his wings worked to gain altitude. The soft glow of the cabin fell away and he lost himself in the night sky. The occasional light pierced the darkness below, but the forest remained largely free of humans and their clutter. The bracing coolness of the air and the first scattering drops of rain felt like freedom against his skin. He was whole again. He was himself at last.
He felt the pull of his sigil. Awareness of the device had increased in strength as Juniper drove north. Wherever the Rose Syndicate kept her sibling, he knew he would find his sigil and the trap Rhododendron had waiting for him. He was certain that Juniper was not an agent, refusing to believe that someone with her compassion could work for a heartless organization. Her reactions to him, to the violence the Syndicate left in its wake, to everything, had been real.
Every thought, every emotion registered in her voice, her breaths, and the pounding of her heart. She had been nothing more than herself, an open book for him to read in raised bumps, and he had been a fool for doubting her. But why shouldn’t he believe in the very worst of human nature? He had experienced nothing but brutality for so long it eclipsed all the things he had enjoyed about Earth and walking among humans. Briefly, he entertained the thought of walking alongside Juniper, watching wonder and delight flicker across her face. He just knew that every thought would be transmitted on her face.
If he knew what her face looked like.
The sigil pulled him to the north and slightly to the west, luring him back to a Syndicate facility. Chances were that the Syndicate did not understand how the sigil functioned or that it called to him, but if they knew…
He hated the feeling of knowing he flew into a trap, but there was nothing to be done to avoid it. He needed the sigil if he wanted to return home.
He could leave now and perhaps catch Rhododendron off guard. A lone Khargal could infiltrate the facility easier than if he were burdened with Juniper.
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of leaving without Juniper. Flying at his top speed, he could reach his sigil by dawn. Unused muscles would require rest and nourishment before attempting to break into the Syndicate’s facility. Such an attempt during the day would be foolish, forcing him to wait for nightfall.
His chest tightened, realizing that could have his sigil back in less than a day and read the message from home.
His thoughts traveled back to Juniper and the plot to fly away seemed unsatisfactory. The Syndicate would kill the youngling once they determined that Tas had vanished. He could ignore that fact and make his life easier, but he would have no honor if he did so.
He turned back to the cabin. Juniper would never forgive him for leaving without a word and he gained nothing by rushing now. He would never forgive himself.
Pushing aside the sentimental claptrap, he had given her his word of honor and he would not break that word, even if it led to him being captured again. Besides, he wanted to see her face.
The cold wind invigorated him and he whooped with joy. Determined to share a flight with her, he landed on the balcony. The moment his foot touched the vile green carpet, his skin shifted into a more human shape and coloration. The process was not pleasant but not unbearable. Previously, he had shifted into a camouflaged form with hardly a thought. Now he studied himself
in the mirror, getting the details correct. Would she know him like this, he wondered. Then, more disturbing, would she like him with this visage?
Once satisfied with his appearance, he found his female downstairs sleeping on the settee.
The first impression was that she was lovely, even sleeping with her mouth gaping open and moisture trickling down her chin. The second impression was of her very blue hair. Clearly a chemical treatment but still vibrantly blue. Faint worry lines on her brow marred her otherwise clear olive complexion, golden from the sun. He wanted to rouse her, to discover the color of her eyes and then kiss her. First a Khargal greeting of pressing foreheads together, and then a human meeting of lips and tongues.
He knew the shape of her, having mapped her with his hands and his mouth, but seeing the curves and planes of her altogether pleased him. Her appearance was as lovely as he knew her heart to be.
She woke and knew him instantly, even with his active camouflage.
14
Juniper
The sensation of being watched woke her. Juniper’s eyes fluttered open, reluctant to start the day, and her face damp from drool. Folds from the plastic dug into her skin everywhere, no doubt marking her.
A man stood over her, watching her with curiosity. His eyes were a vivid amethyst shot through with silver. They were beautiful eyes hardened with experience and they narrowed as he studied her.
“You snore and your hair is blue.”
She jerked upright, clutching the paperback to her chest. “Who are—” The question died on her lips at the man’s smirk of amused irritation. “Tas,” she said.
He nodded. “This is my human disguise. Good, no?”
Too good. His face had already been classically handsome—by human standards—but now it was too refined, almost delicate and unreal. His pale skin was a flawless peaches-and-cream complexion. His hair, somehow shoulder-length now, had a just-out-bed tousle that Juniper found far too sexy for her own good. Standing in front of her naked, she noted with relief that his dick remained the same, even if it was a boring beige color.
She never thought she’d be critical about waking with the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in real life standing in front of her, sporting a hard-on. He looked nice, but he didn’t look like her Tas. The only things about him that still looked like Tas were the horns on his head and the tail curled around his leg. And the smirk, of course.
He noticed her gaze and his hand briefly obscured his dick. “I don’t normally camouflage this part. Fear not,” he said, gracing her with that smirk again.
Cocky gargoyle.
“How are you doing this?” She circled around. Other than the tail, his backside looked one hundred percent human.
“It is an innate ability. Some Khargals are able to shift our form as a disguise.”
“It’s really good. What about—” She waved a hand at her head.
“Some parts of me remain immutable, so I wear hats.”
“A hat?”
“Humans wear a lot of hats.” Then he frowned. “Or they used to. And the tail wraps around my leg. It is tolerable in trousers,” he said, anticipating her next question. “I already explained my cock.”
“That’s an immutable part of you,” she said.
“I suspect it is for most males.”
Juniper rolled her eyes. Such a typical guy response. “We can get you a ballcap. What about your wings? Aren’t they immutable?” She thought his wings would be pretty darn immutable.
With a mock yawn, he stretched his arms over his head and his wings unfurled.
“Oh wow,” she breathed.
Tas grinned with pride. “They collapse and are stored in a flap on my shoulder blades.”
She blinked, barely able to process the words he used. She held out a hand to touch his mended wing but waited for him to give a nod of permission. The leathery membrane felt as it had the night before, perhaps healthier and more robust. “But your skin,” she finally said.
“Pigment is the easiest thing to shift.” He frowned. “Do you not like this visage?”
Juniper stopped her examination of his wings and grabbed his chin. Dutifully he turned to face her. She held his gaze. His amethyst eyes stared at her with such intensity, as if he wanted to be attractive to her.
“I like you,” she said. “This is different, but still you. Do you like it?”
He rolled a shoulder and flexed his neck. “I will grow accustomed to it.”
“But do you like it?”
The light in his eyes flared. “I have not been myself for so long, I am unsure.”
That settled the matter in her mind. “Well, then you should be what feels comfortable.”
With a growl, he crouched and planted on hand on the floor. His skin darkened slowly, like drops of ink spreading in water. Wings stretched, taking up nearly the breadth of the living room. His hands flexed and Juniper nearly missed the moment when his form rippled and then doubled in size. Suddenly, his thick thigh was all she could focus on as it grew.
Tas stood to his full height, looking every gorgeous inch a gargoyle—her gargoyle. His bright purple eyes shot through with silver stared down at her, challenging her to be frightened or turn away.
She couldn’t. He was wondrous.
“Oh, wow,” she said, repeating herself.
He examined the room. “I see the interior design is questionable in the entire abode.”
“You don’t like Little Old Lady?”
He raised a brow.
Juniper grinned. “It’s not so bad. You get used to it after a while.”
“No doubt from the retinal damage,” he muttered. He drifted to the hi-fi cabinet and picked through the record collection. “Does this work?”
“Yes. Want do you want to hear?” She knew nothing about Mario Lanza other than Mrs. Cannella was a big fan.
“This one.” He slipped the record from the dust jacket and placed it on the turntable.
“You’ve done this before.”
His tail twitched. With irritation or amusement, she couldn’t tell.
“I used to have a record player. This one is a bit more advanced, but the basic operation is the same,” he said and he dropped the needle. After a moment of hisses and pops, orchestral music swelled. His eyes shut and he breathed deep. “Music is one of the few things your people do well.”
He swayed in place.
Juniper felt as if she were invading a private moment and backed away to the kitchen. It wasn’t long until sunrise and she might as well make a pot of coffee.
His eyes snapped open. “Dance with me,” he commanded.
“What?”
“Dance. With. Me.” His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close. With her hand in his, he led and she awkwardly followed in shuffling steps.
“I know you have rhythm,” he said, familiar irritation creeping back in his voice.
“What is this? Some weird alien dance?” She tried to anticipate his moves but stepped on his foot. Maybe she’d have rhythm if the dance weren’t so strange.
“It is called a waltz,” he said dryly. “Listen to the music. Let it set the pace.”
“I’m listening.”
“No. You are babbling. Listen.” They stood still for a moment, then he counted softly. She nodded, keeping the rhythm. He stepped forward and she flowed back, finally moving together.
“Something more advanced,” he said, just before clutching her tight and leaping up with a hop. They turned mid-hop and his wing whacked into a table lamp.
Tas hissed, backing away, his tail striking a side table with decorative figurines. They teetered, but Juniper caught the little porcelain shepherd before he hit the floor.
He huffed.
“Sorry. It’s cramped in here,” she said. It wasn’t, normally, unless there was a six-and-a-half-foot tall gargoyle with a wingspan that filled the living room.
“Outside,” he said, just before turning up the volume on the hi-fi.
&
nbsp; With the front door open, the orchestral music drifted out.
“Can we try again?” He held out a hand.
Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his.
They resumed the waltz, the sound of the waking forest and the record wrapping around them. Then his arm tightened around her waist and his wings stretched. With a hop, he was airborne, turning and landing gently. Juniper gave a surprised laugh.
“It is how we dance where I am from,” he said. “We have entire aerial ballets, performed without the dancers ever touching the ground.”
“That must be beautiful,” she said, picturing leaping and twirling gargoyles. “Can we do it again?”
His eyes flared with what she suspected was approval. “Yes.”
Holding her close, he took two steps then leaped. His wings beat, holding them aloft for three heartbeats before they returned to the ground. The instant their toes touched the ground, he pushed off again. They moved in a wide circle, creating a pattern above and below.
She felt the absolute strength and power in his arms, knowing he could hold her aloft for hours. A satisfied purr rumbled in his chest, adding another layer to the music.
Finally, the needle ran out of vinyl. The only music that remained was his crooning whisper and the beating of her heart.
They landed for the final time, her head resting on his chest.
“Juniper, my pebble. I want you.”
tas
The worst of the mating fever had passed and yet he still desired her. It baffled him how he reached for her.
“Juniper, my pebble,” he crooned in her ear, pressing his body firmly against her. His hands slid down her back, paying special attention to her shoulder blades. “I want you.” He rubbed his hard cock against her hip as evidence.
“I thought once you went all stony, these urges left.” She pushed back against him, eliciting a growl. She chose her next words to sound clinical. “You expressed that gland.”
Taken for Granite Page 10