by Tamsin Ley
“Does it taste… good?” She couldn’t believe any of this was happening. But she couldn’t deny how real the naked, hot-as-hell, pottery-eating gargoyle in front of her was, either.
His voice was more gravelly than usual when he replied, “The minerals are sufficient for now. However, the sodium content in your meat has made me thirsty.”
She turned to the cupboard and selected a tall glass, filling it with tap water before handing it to him. “Please don’t eat my glass.”
He eyed the water. “Much like your Caramel-Ohs, there is little nutritional value in glass.”
“Oh.” She watched his muscular throat move as he swallowed the water. Tiny spur-like protrusions on his jawline reminded her once more she wasn’t looking at a man, but damn, he was sexy.
He set the empty glass carefully on the countertop, his emerald eyes seeming to cloud over. “The duramna is trying to claim me once more.”
“What’s that?”
“My healing form, much like the one I held in your garden.”
She put a hand on his forearm, suddenly worried he’d go back to being a statue without answering her questions. “Don’t go yet.”
“Unless you have more food for me, I must rest.”
“I have vegetables or dried beans.” She moved to the pantry and held up the bag. “Beans have protein like meat, but they take time to soak and cook.”
“I have had beans before. They are quite nutritious.” He snatched the bag from her. Hooking through one corner of the plastic with a clawed forefinger, he tore it open and poured several beans into his mouth.
Was there anything this guy actually considered inedible? After a few moments of him crunching loudly with his eyes closed, she ventured, “They’re much better cooked.”
He opened his eyes. “Thank you for your concern. I will return to the garden now.”
“Not so fast! You owe me an explanation.”
He ran his claws through his hair and stared up at the ceiling. “I cannot break our Prime Directive.”
“Prime Directive? Like in Star Trek?” She looked pointedly at his crotch. “I think you’ve already broken that tonight.”
His color darkened. “You are correct.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what you are.”
“Humans call us gargoyles.”
It felt like there had to be another shoe about to drop, but he didn’t volunteer anything else. She put her hands on her hips. “Clever. But what are you really?”
He let out a sigh. “I am a Khargal. When my ship crashed on your planet, our duramna allowed us to hide amidst the stone statues your kind creates.”
“But my father said his grandfather brought our statue—you—over on a frigate back in the days before steam engines. You can’t be that old.”
“I have been here a long time. Your legends of gargoyles came to be because of us.” Sten pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “Some of my kind attempted to assimilate and even found mates, including my friend, Graj. I swore an oath to protect his lineage.”
It took her a moment to process what he was saying. “His… lineage?” Sten was in her garden. He protected her family. “As in descendants? Are my family descendants of a… a Khargal?” Aliens and living statues were hard enough to swallow. But this?
He pointed toward her throat. “Do you know what that is?”
She looked down, then realized he was referring to her pendant. “My dad gave it to my mom as a wedding gift.”
“But he never explained its origins?”
She shook her head.
Sten hooked the silver chain tenderly with one claw, lifting the pendant off her skin. “It is one of our sigils. A communication device carried by every one of the Khargals on board the ship when it crashed. I have one just like it hidden in your garden.”
Her fingers touched the pendant gently. “I feel like I must be dreaming again.”
“You are not.” He sank into a crouch, resting forward on one hand.
She frowned. “Would you like to rest on the sofa…” then she remembered she didn’t have a sofa any more.
“I must return to your garden and resume my duramna. No one must know I am other than I seem.”
“You mean go back to being a statue? But I have more questions.” She put a hand on his muscular shoulder as if she could physically keep him in place.
“Join me in the garden.” He placed a huge clawed hand over hers, his emerald eyes intense. “I will tell you all I can before the duramna takes me.”
4
Sten stepped into the pleasantly cool night air, his need to rest and heal becoming more difficult to ignore, even with Angie’s alluring, half-naked body so close to him. He trailed the backs of his claws over the tops of the nearby foliage as he followed Angie off the porch. “I am in awe of your ability to nurture these plants. You would do well on Duras. The climate there is much like it is in these mountains.”
“Duras is the name of your planet?” She stopped at the stone bench next to where he’d stood watch for almost three generations. “Do you want to sit here to talk?”
The Prime Directive made his throat tighten as he regarded her casual invitation. Sitting next to an Earthian and discussing his people was forbidden. It went against every bit of training he’d undergone. But he’d been marooned on this planet over a thousand years with no hope of rescue. Why should he remain bereft of companionship or comfort when Lar had sent him a Hondassa? She was sweeter than anything he could have imagined and he would tell her anything she wanted to know. Give her anything she desired. He’d kept the Prime Directive long enough. He moved toward the bench. “As you wish.”
He settled onto the center of the seat, tucking his tail in behind one leg. Angie seemed uncertain as she looked at the remaining space on either side of him. She was a mouth-watering sight in that silly apron over her almost non-existent night clothes, clutching her elbows over her chest. In the darkness, his enhanced vision detected tiny bumps along her skin. The late September weather did not affect him, but Earthians would consider it chilly. “Are you cold?”
She shrugged. “Not exactly.”
Gesturing to the bench, he spread his wings. “I shall shelter you.”
She shook her head, but took a seat next to him. “Sexy and poetic. Are you certain I’m not dreaming?”
With a chuckle, he pulled her closer, cocooning her with his wing. She was so small, so frail, his urge to protect her from harm surged beyond mere duty. There was nothing else that mattered half as much.
“That man who was in the garden,” he said. “Did he say who he represented?” He’d only been partially awake for the conversation, brought alert by the man’s touch.
Angie shrugged. “I didn’t ask. He gave me a card, but I didn’t keep it. Was he the one who broke in?”
“No, it was a different Earthian. But it is a strange coincidence.”
“Earthian. That’s what you you call humans?”
He nodded once. “Yes. Human.”
“Cute. So, I thought that guy wanted my gargoyle—you. Why break in?”
Sten reached over and touched the pendant nestled at her throat. “He may have seen your pendant and recognized it. There is a society of humans who have pursued my kind—our kind—for centuries, seeking knowledge of our technology. Men like them are the very reason we have a Prime Directive. Was there a symbol on the card? A flower of some type?”
“I didn’t look.”
He sighed. “You must be cautious. If these men I speak of discover you have Khargal blood, they will not be so easily chased away.”
“I’m still not buying this whole part-alien thing.” She rubbed her fingertips along her forehead. “I don’t have even a hint of horns, let alone wings or a tail. Neither did my dad.”
“On the contrary, your father had a residual tail which the doctor removed at birth. Your family’s Khargal attributes have subsided with the introduction of more human blood over the ge
nerations. After so many births of exclusively males, I believed a female might be impossible. Then you were born, and I assumed the bloodline had ended.”
“But if I have kids…” She stiffened against his side, her brows pinching. “Wait, are you saying you thought I wasn’t my father’s biological child?”
“The possibility crossed my mind. However, I know that is not the case, now. You have Khargal blood.”
“How do you know?”
He turned his head to look into her eyes. “There is no other explanation for the feelings I have.”
“What kind of… feelings?” Her scent changed, arousal spiking the air.
Macero, she was ready for him at barely a word. He could no longer deny that Angie was his Hondassa, regardless of how much Earthian DNA she had. His cock stirred, urging him to mate again, to claim her despite the need to shift to his duramna. “Khargals are sensitive to pheromonal connections, a way of discerning which partner has the potential to be a true mate. Finding a match is rare, even between Khargals.”
He let his words sink in, conscious of her wide-eyed stare beneath his wing.
The silence grew heavy. His eyes ached and skin itched with the need to shift. Finally, Angie spoke. “You’re saying you think I’m your… true mate.”
“Do not worry. I would never give you the venom without your permission.”
“Venom?” She shot to her feet, pulling free of his wing with a sharp twist. “What’s this about venom? Are you a vampire? An alien gargoyle is weird enough for one night.”
“Nothing like a vampire. I chose the wrong Earthian word. In Durassian we call it dassa.” He pulled his wings against his back, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “Mates share the dassa bond at a cellular level. It allows them to procreate, grants a longer life, and other benefits.”
The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed. “So to have a baby, my ancestors shared this dassa?”
“Yes. If your female ancestor had not been killed by her own kind, she would have lived alongside Graj for many centuries.”
Angie licked her lips in a way that made his cock stir again. “So Graj was… my great-whatever grandfather? How did that happen?”
“Yes, Graj is the Khargal who sired your family bloodline.” Taking a deep breath, he called to mind those days, centuries ago, when he and his crew mates had gone their separate ways, trying to hide from the Earthians hunting them. “When my ship first arrived on your planet, your kind believed we were demons. Those of us who were not killed were forced into hiding. Graj was a science officer and specialized in primitive alien cultures; Earthian cities were a lure to him. He had a perception filter that could disguise him as an Earthian—a human—and often scouted alleys and brothels during the black of night. There was one particular woman he liked to watch. Then one night, he revealed himself to her. He believed he’d found his Hondassa.”
“There’s that word you keep using.”
Sten looked at the sky. The horizon had developed a lavender cast with the coming dawn, reminding him of the violet skies of home. “It means true mate.”
“Oh.” She settled to the bench at his side once more.
A thrill ran through Sten at her choosing to be close once more, and he wrapped her in his wing. “Is this all right?”
“Yes. Please, tell me more.”
“As you wish.” A tingling warmth spread from her skin to his. “Graj and his Hondassa enjoyed many years together. He had been elated to discover his Hondassa was a compatible species to produce offspring.” The memory of his friend’s joy was still etched in Sten’s memory. “But while he could use his perception filter to hide among your people, he did not have a second device for the youngling. The child had a Khargal’s tail. The midwife wanted to smother it immediately. Instead, Graj and his mate kept the youngling swaddled to hide the difference. Within a few months, the babe’s horn buds and wings emerged, however. Those were more difficult to hide.
“I suggested Graj move his family far away. Find a place where no Earthians dwelled. But his Hondassa had ailing parents and did not want to leave. And she would not allow Graj to take away her baby.” Sten squeezed his eyes shut. He had not brought Graj to mind in many years, and the story was just as painful as he remembered.
“So what did they do?”
He pulled his wing closer, needing to feel Angie’s warmth. “For a time, Graj and his mate kept the child indoors, away from human eyes. But one day a priest came to attend the ailing grandparents and spied the child. He accused the woman of consorting with demons. A mob gathered and captured Graj’s mate and child, intending to burn them at the stake.”
“Oh my God!” Angie threaded her fingers through his.
Sten kept going, needing to release a story he’d not told to anyone until now. “Graj and I attempted to breach the prison and retrieve both mate and child. I succeeded with the child. Graj… did not.”
Never had he carried a burden so heavy as he had that day he left the city with a crying child in his arms, the sound of screaming Earthians, roaring flames, and shattering Khargal stone fading into the distance. The memory made Sten feel as brittle as shale, and the duramna was forcing him into darkness. He could no longer hold back the instinct to rest.
“I am unable to speak on this more.” He withdrew his wing and rose, turning to offer her a hand. “But I will come to you after dark to speak again if you’d like.”
She accepted his grip, standing to face him. “I would.”
Dawn peeked over the horizon, painting her soft skin in pastel light and catching the facets of the ruby-colored pendant at her throat. He touched a claw to it. “The Rose Syndicate may approach you again. Do not allow this sigil out of your possession.”
Her hand rose, hiding the pendant from his sight. “It was my mother’s. I never take it off. Even if you hadn’t told me what it is, I’d never let that asshat touch it.”
He smiled, amused by how protective she was to the things she considered hers. He bent, brushing his mouth over hers in the gesture of affection Earthians called a kiss. She leaned into him, her breath sweet as the nectar of the flowers surrounding them, her lips as soft as petals. His fangs ached, urging him to finalize the claim on his Hondassa. But she was not ready for that—if she ever would be—and he needed to sleep and heal. “I will be very hungry again when I wake.”
“I’ll bring back something from the diner.”
He gave her a sideways smile. “Perhaps I will need more than food.”
The flush infusing her pink skin gratified him. He turned and stepped over the mounds of flowers, adjusting himself to hide his erection before turning to stone.
Winston York the Third was an analyst, not a field agent, and he’d never seen an alien personally, but the statue in that woman’s yard matched every description he’d ever read of the creatures. Then he’d seen the woman’s necklace, that egg-shaped ruby gem every member of the Rose Syndicate was instructed to look for, and he knew the statue was no mere coincidental likeness.
He’d found a real gargoyle.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere Montana.
Who would’ve thought such a thing was even possible?
He stood in one corner of his room at the bed-and-breakfast, trying not to move and lose the connection. Cell service out here was atrocious. “The burglar you connected me to was a buffoon.” The man had left a message on York’s voicemail about monsters and armed guards. When York tried to call him back, he got no answer. “All he succeeded in doing was alerting the target.”
“We’ll take care of him. Meanwhile, keep your head low until we can get a full team out there.”
“When do you think that will be? Hello?” He wasn’t sure if she’d hung up or if the connection had been disrupted. Either way, he wasn’t going to just sit on his hands. He’d seen a pair of binoculars in the pawn shop. He was going to keep an eye on that statue.
5
Angie watched Sten resume his half-crouch ove
r her marigolds. In the pale dawn light, it looked as if he’d never moved. The casual observer might not notice the tilt of his shoulders had changed, or that the slight pattern of curls in his hair was different. She wondered how many times he’d moved over the years and she’d never noticed.
Edging closer, she stopped directly in front of Sten’s face, looking into his vacant stone eyes. With tentative fingers, she traced the side of his cheek and one perfectly sculpted biceps. His limbs were hard and cold, yet somehow not dead feeling. He was living stone, and an instinctive part of her could sense the life surging beneath his rocky exterior.
From inside the house, the gong from her grandfather clock reminded her it was time to get ready for her shift. Forcing herself to turn away, she trudged back inside to shower and dress in something besides her panties and an apron. Good thing she didn’t have neighbors to notice her attire on their way to work.
While she dressed, she stood at the window over-looking the garden. She’d been confronted with so many things in a short amount of time, she felt like she was going crazy. Only she wasn’t. The encounter with Sten had been too real. Things could never go back to the way they were now that she knew about him. And had sex with him. Yeah, don’t forget that part. Her pussy tingled when she thought about the way he’d filled her.
The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. She must be running even further behind than she thought; Mae usually honked to let her know she was waiting in her truck. Unless she’d brought extra eggs over and was letting herself inside…
The parlor! Angie flew down the stairs two at a time, grabbing the end of the banister with one hand to keep from slamming into the wall.
Too late. Mae had used her key and was already inside, egg carton about to fall out of her hand as she gaped at the mess. “What happened here?”
Angie cringed. The parlor looked even worse in daylight. The collapsed sofa was bad enough, but the huge, red stain on the area rug looked like the scene of a murder. How was she going to explain that away? “Someone broke into my house last night.”