Hearts of Stone

by Mina Carter

  “Huh.” They were all empty. Even the fire escape two windows across. That had been the reason she’d picked this apartment. High enough to stop all but the most determined from reaching her windows, and with an escape route. Of course, it was one that needed the escapee to be fit as hell and have a head for heights, both of which she was and had, and would slow down most pursuers. Unless they were as batshit crazy as she was anyway.

  After watching for a few more moments, she sighed and padded back to the coffee table, sliding the gun away into the concealed holster. She was actually going crazy, obviously. Hearing and seeing things. Grabbing her tumbler, she drained the rest of the contents and was on her way back to get a refill when the doorbell sounded.

  Great. The pizza was here. Her stomach rumbling in anticipation, she put her tumbler down on the phone table in the hall as she passed and opened the door. But it wasn’t the pizza delivery boy she was expecting. Instead, Kenneth stood on the other side, his face twisted with anger.

  “Bitch.”

  Given her past employment history, Iliona was used to being called names, and given the emotional state Kenneth had worked himself up into, she expected it from him. What she didn’t expect, though, was the fist winging its way toward her face. She tried to duck, the move instinctive, but he was surprisingly quick, and pain exploded across her face.

  He shoved forward, winding his fist back to hit her again, but the blow didn’t land. Instead, the door slammed open, and a solid male body shoved into the gap between her and it. Kenneth’s punch was caught in a hard hand. His mouth dropped open in shock. She stumbled backward, catching herself on the doorframe as her unexpected rescuer shoved his face into Kenneth’s.

  “I think you should leave, meat sack.”

  His voice was low, but it had an indefinable rumble, as if most of it was below the human hearing threshold. A gargoyle.

  She gasped. “Cal? What the hell are you doing here?” She flicked a look back toward the open window. He’d pushed past her from the apartment, so he had to have come in that way.

  “M-meat sack?”

  The blood drained from Kenneth’s face as he glared up at nearly seven feet of pissed off gargoyle. At least, she assumed Cal was pissed off since he was almost fully in his stone form.

  “Uh-huh,” she supplied helpfully, trying and failing to step around Cal’s bulk in the doorway. The guy was built like a bloody mountain.

  “Move your arm down a little, Cal . . . thanks, hon. Yeah,” she addressed Kenneth through the gap between a rocky arm and the doorframe. “Gargoyles tend to view us humans as rather squishy. Just meat tied up in a little skin bag. Just last week, Marb managed to crush a guy . . .” she said, making it up as she went. The PPA had no gargoyle employees yet. “Mind you, he was trying to enter the building Grav guarded. Which is a bit of a no-no where gargoyles are concerned.”

  “Gargoyles . . . guard,” Cal ground out, his voice like a landslide as he played up the stereotype to the max. His knuckles cracked as his free hand snaked out to grab Kenneth around the throat.

  “They do indeed.” A little worried about the shade of purple Kenneth had turned, she reached out to pat Cal’s arm. “You want to ease up on the death grip, hon? I’d hate for you to get any of his pulverized flesh under your fingernails.”

  His head turned on his neck with the squeal of rock across more rock to look at her quizzically. She had to give him credit. She’d have bought the dumb rock act as well if she hadn’t seen the light of amusement buried deep in his eyes.

  “You want I should—” He paused. Every paranormal species was different. Vampires tended toward verbal diarrhea, werewolves were vain, incubi . . . yeah, that one went without saying. Gargoyles were usually careful with their words and actions. “You want I should blow him?”

  Kenneth passed out, sprawled full length on the floor of the corridor.

  “Ohmyfreakinglordalive,” she gasped, hardly able to get the words out as she collapsed with laughter. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Did you see his face?”

  Cal grinned, the stone rolling back from his skin as he resumed his former size and build. He’d still put any human, even wrestlers or pro body builders, to shame, but at least he would fit through the door now. “He really is scared of us. Isn’t he?”

  She nodded, managing to stand upright and look down at the unconscious body of her ex. “He’s speciesist, racist, sexist . . . every type of ‘ist’ you can imagine. I feel sorry for him. Life’s going to be so hard for him until he finally realizes he’s not the center of the universe.”

  “Poor little human. Sorrynotsorry.” Cal shrugged. “What do you want me to do with him?”

  Iliona sighed, already heading into her apartment for her cell. “Take him down to the lobby, hon. I’ll call a car around to take him home,” she said, speed-dialing a local firm that would drop him off no questions asked, even help him back to his apartment if he was still groggy. “Probably best he come around anywhere but here. I can’t believe you threatened to blow him.”

  Cal grinned again, reaching down to grab the unconscious man and slinging him over a broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

  “If they’re phobic, their reactions are hilarious, as you saw. Right, down to the lobby with him. I’ll be back . . .”

  He winked and disappeared off down the hall with Kenneth over his shoulder, whistling a jaunty tune.

  * * *

  ❖

  * * *

  “This is getting to be a habit,” Cal rumbled, his strong fingers gentle as he tilted her chin up to look at the cut on her lip.

  “Tell me about it. A painful one.” She probed the inside of her cheek and winced. “Never knew he had such a good right hook. Asshole spends most of his time behind a damn desk.”

  “Looked that way.” He looked at her directly. “I stopped by your office earlier. Looked like you and he . . . had history?”

  She sighed, the sound turning into a small groan. “He’s my ex and won’t take no for an answer. I thought he had when I sent him packing earlier. But . . . obviously, he didn’t get the message. I think he has now, though.”

  Cal tilted his head to the side as he dabbed carefully at the blood on her lip. She hissed when she saw he hadn’t put any gloves on, reaching around him to the first aid kit and searching through it. “Wait. I’m bleeding. You need gloves.”

  “Stay still,” he ordered brusquely. “Not human. A little blood isn’t gonna hurt me.”

  A big hand dropped onto her shoulder to hold her into place, and she grunted. It felt like he’d dropped a ton weight on her. He flicked her a glance and moved it quickly, an odd look in his eyes.

  “Sorry, don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

  His comment was soft, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She frowned as she looked up at him. Was he ashamed of his strength? Of being different? But why? He was awesome. No human could take on a demon like he had and live. She nearly hadn’t. But no, when she caught his eye by accident, she realized it wasn’t embarrassment of what he was. He was annoyed. With her.

  “Have I done something wrong?” she asked, not entirely sure of the reason for his anger. Quickly, she thought back. He’d been off at lunch and now this. If he wanted nothing to do with her, though, why had he come crashing through her window to the rescue? “If I’ve offended you in some way, I apologize. It certainly wasn’t intentional.”

  He sighed, pausing to look at her finally. “You haven’t offended me. Someone said something to me earlier, though, and I need to ask . . . were you part of a paranormal hunting team?”

  Shit. Her face blanched. How had he found out about that?

  Meeting his gaze levelly, she nodded. “I was, but it wasn’t a hunting team at first. We were assigned to track down dangerous creatures of both paranormal and ordinary origin. Dogs with rabies, man-eating lions . . . werewolves with moon fever and all that. We did our best to capture first… we only killed those that couldn’t be dealt with any other
way. I promise, killing was a very, very last resort.”

  A sigh escaped her, the frustration still as sharp as it had been back then.

  “But then the management changed, and we started getting odd orders. At first it was a phoenix shifter we tracked down for a medical research program in Brazil. The orders said it had dementia, so we had to use force… for it’s own good. But rapidly it escalated. The higher-ups authorized more and more force to apprehend our targets, citing research all the time. It wasn’t until I was somewhere I shouldn’t have been that I realized they were sliding extra targets in and selling them on the black market. I blew the whistle, ruined my career, and had to watch my back for a long time afterward . . .”

  She trailed off, watching his expression carefully. Did he believe her? For some reason, even though she’d known him only a few days, it was important to her that he think the best of her.

  He carried on with her lip, studiously not looking at her as though engrossed in his task, so she took the opportunity to study him. Even though he’d all but returned to his human form, his shoulders seemed a bit wider and he was an inch or so taller. His skin looked craggy still, not quite smooth like it was when he appeared fully human. Fascinated, she couldn’t stop looking. What would it feel like against hers . . .

  Heat swamped her system as an image of them naked in bed formed in her mind, skin against skin, moving together. Quickly she damped the thought down. There was no way she should be thinking about him like that, not after what she’d just admitted . . . that she used to hunt others of his kind. Well, other paranormals. Not gargoyles. She’d never been sent after one of his kin. A shiver hit her. Having seen him in action, she was really glad about that. The team would never have survived.

  “Cal? Are you okay?” Belatedly, she realized the danger she could be in, shut in her kitchen with a creature who could take on a demon and win. Even if she could get to any of the weapons hidden around the apartment, she was still no match for him. Some of her nervousness must have shown on her face, or maybe in the slight hitch in her breathing, because he looked at her suddenly.

  “I thought it might be something like that. Something explainable.” He offered a small smile. “Couldn’t see you as the bloodthirsty type.”

  “I’m not. I promise. I tried to track down where they’d all gone, the ones we captured, but the net closed around me, and I couldn’t find them,” she whispered. She still had nightmares of those little basilisk babies, all alone without their mama. Sure, they were snakes, but they were baby snakes, and she knew fear when she saw it.

  “What goes around comes around. Can’t keep us locked up for long. All it takes is a moment’s lapse in concentration.” He gave a small shrug. “We’re not defenseless. One on one with most of us, humans come off the loser.”

  She nodded, her worries eased a little by his words, and then got sidetracked looking at him again. His skin was even a little gray still. Unable to stop herself, she reached out to touch it, and then jumped at the slight roughness against her fingers. Once she’d started, though, she couldn’t stop, smoothing her hand over his arm and totally forgetting about personal space as the need to touch him overwhelmed her. More fantasies filled her mind. Him braced on those strong arms over her, claiming her lips as he parted her thighs and slid into her. She bit back a moan, liquid heat dampening her panties at the idea of them together.

  He cleared his throat, and she looked up, her cheeks going flame red.

  “Gargoyles aren’t telepathic, are they?”

  Please, please, don’t let them be telepathic, she begged mentally. If they were, she was so screwed. He’d probably already labeled her a pervert. And she was, lusting after him, especially after he’d made it clear this afternoon he really wasn’t interested.

  “Sorry . . .” She lifted her hand like his skin had burned her. “That was inappropriate and unprofessional.”

  He flicked a glance from her to his arm and back again.

  “Don’t be. I liked it,” he admitted, his voice low and deep in the intimate silence of the kitchen. It felt like there was only the two of them in the whole world, never mind just in the little room. “And we’re not. Well, we are between ourselves, but not with other species. Don’t need to be, though.” His lip quirked up at the corner. “Predator’s sense of smell.”

  OhmyGodpleasekillmenow. She managed not to squeak in distress. “So you can . . .”

  He held her gaze levelly, his blue eyes so warm with emotion she felt like she was floating in a tropical sea. His grip changed, his thumb stroking over her full lower lip. “Smell your need? Yeah . . .”

  “Fuck.”

  The quirk of his lips became a slow, lazy smile that had her ovaries whimpering with need. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  “I didn’t . . .” Her thoughts scattered like fall leaves on the wind, and she looked up at him blankly, her gaze latching onto his lips. Would they be as soft as they looked, or rough, like the rest of his skin? He moved in closer, sliding a hand around the back of her waist to pull her up against him.

  She fit perfectly, as though she were made to be there. Her hands smoothed over his solid upper arms, sliding up across the front of his broad shoulders. He bent his head but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he brushed the side of her nose with his, a sexy little gesture that made her ache with need.

  “I didn’t think you were interested in me.” She finally managed to get the words out. “Not after the way you were at lunch, anyway.”

  He paused, looking down at her. There was a slightly confused expression in his eyes, just for a second, but it was gone so quickly she figured she must have imagined it.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t quite myself.”

  He nuzzled her nose again, and the thought fled. His lips grazed hers, an electric spark leaping between them, and her lips parted on a small gasp. A deep growl filled his broad chest, reverberating through her where her breasts were pressed up against the solidly muscled expanse, and he deepened the kiss.

  It was a hot, torrid kiss. Passion exploded between them as their mouths met in a furious mating. He growled again, his tongue parting her lips ruthlessly as he backed her up against the countertop. A whimper escaped her as he stroked her tongue with his, enticing her to come play with him. She didn’t need any encouragement, wrapping herself around him to kiss him back. Hot. Wet. Openmouthed. She couldn’t get enough of him, her hands touching him wherever she could reach. His odd attitude earlier forgotten, she pressed against him, needing more.

  The shrill demand of a cell made them both freeze. He lifted his head a little, his breath mingling with hers.

  “Crap,” she hissed, pushing his chest to put space between them, and twisted to reach for her cell. As soon as she spotted the caller ID, the arousal in her body damped right down.

  “Stone? What’s the problem?” she asked when she picked it up, her voice level and firm. Stone was an asshat a lot of the time, but he was a damn good operative. If he was calling at this time of night, the shit had hit the fan.

  “Sorry to interrupt anything interesting, boss lady, but this job went sideways fast,” Stone’s deep voice filled her ear. “Gonna need you to come and spring me from the pound.”

  “The pound? What the hell are you doing at the pound . . . no, don’t tell me.” She sighed. “I’ll be right there.”

  Ending the call, she looked up at Cal with a wince. “Sorry, I’m going to have to cut this short. If I don’t get him out of there quickly, I’ll probably have owners suing us for childcare for all the damn puppies he fathers.”

  Chapter 8

  Kissing Iliona had been like something out of a dream. A fantasy. The feel of her lips parting under his and her soft body pressing against him were the stuff wet dreams were made of. The snatched moments of bliss in her arms would haunt his dreams for years to come.

  Automatically he stacked the big dishwasher in the back of the kitchen, hosing the plates and mugs down before he loaded them. It was
a good thing the menial task didn’t take much brainpower. He’d tried to load the scourers at least three times but his mind kept wandering. Hissing at himself as he turned a mug the right way up, he called himself seven types of idiot.

  But . . . just the memory of her in his arms got him hot. Hot and hard, which was why he was hiding out back here. He had no clue what human men did, but when a gargoyle got a boner? It was freaking obvious. He might as well paint a neon sign and hang it on his crotch for all to see. Since the last thing he wanted was to be accused of sexual harassment or something, he’d taken the path of least resistance and offered to do all the shitty jobs in here that everyone hated.

  Carrying another tray over to the counter, he allowed himself to think back to last night and Iliona’s kitchen. As soon as she’d touched him, his body had flared to life, his cock hard in his pants and his control totally compromised. He’d been hard-pressed not to tear her clothes off there and then, boosting her onto the counter to bury himself balls deep in her hot, curvy body.

  Frankie popped her head around the door and whistled to get his attention. “Hey, hunk . . . whatcha doing hiding out in here?”

  He froze, making sure to keep his back to her as he looked down to check the state of his body. Crap. There was hard, and there was . . . mountainous.

  “Errrr . . . not feeling well,” he rumbled, thinking quickly. “Thought I’d stay back here. Not spread my germs.”

  “You’re made of rock half the time, hon . . . what germs could you possibly spread?” Frankie laughed, walking into the kitchen. He edged around, trying to keep his back to her, but she frowned and then dodged quickly to the side.