Unease slithered through Tian, and he wondered just how big a mistake he was making. Any of the huge men could snap him like a twig if they discovered his duplicity. That the doctor could easily give him away should have registered to him sooner.
“Hi,” a dark-haired, black eyed, huge man greeted. Stepping forward, he held out his hand. “I’m Grigoris, Aaden’s... significant other.” His thick lips curved into an amused smile when Tian took his hand and squeezed lightly. “I’m happy to meet you. I’ve been looking forward to thanking you for helping my man out of that tight spot a few months ago.”
“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Tian responded. After feeling Grigoris’s light squeeze, he pulled away. He put on his best amused expression and offered, “Beatin’ on some asshole douche? Count me in anytime.”
Another male chuckled, offering his hand. “I’m Maelgwn, head of this place.” After they shook, he told him, “I’ve agreed to have you brought here for aid, since you helped out my friend’s man, but I must remind you that what you see here stays here. We’re a very private people.” His brows drew together in a firm expression. “And do not stray from Grigoris, who has graciously agreed to be your escort while you’re here.”
“Of course,” Tian immediately agreed.
Too bad the words of the man piqued his curiosity. He was a resourceful guy, maybe he could find a way to slip away. Hell, if for nothing else but to see someone naked. He could use something new for his spank bank.
“Well, let’s go to the infirmary and get your leg checked out,” Grigoris urged, resting a hand on his shoulder in a way-too-familiar way. “Let’s go see Doc Perseus.”
Fighting his urge to twist away from the much larger man, Tian nodded. “Thanks.”
As they moved through the halls of the estate, Tian couldn’t help peering left and right. He took in the comfortable but not overly done furnishings. The carpets were rich, but not plush. All the while, he searched for a way to get away from his escort.
Chapter Two
“I’m going to kill him,” Roman muttered under his breath.
If Conchlin told him one more time about the man of his dreams, he was going to boot the little orange gargoyle out of his kitchen. Roman didn’t give a shit that the spritely, over-energetic male mashed potatoes faster than any other gargoyle in the place. He also didn’t care that he needed help cleaning the kitchen.
Roman’s hip ached, and the scars on his thigh felt tighter than usual. In fact, ever since waking from roost, he’d felt on edge. He’d also felt unnaturally aroused.
And why the hell is my cock at half-mast?
It’d been centuries since Roman had woken with a stiffie. As he thought about it, he realized it wasn’t until he’d strolled through the estate and smelled an odd musky cologne or air freshener that he’d started getting hard. It’d been near the main hall, so there was no telling who’d sprayed it.
Just what I need. For some gargoyle to find an air freshener that turns me on.
“I think I’d be okay if he had some blond in his hair, like from being sun-bleached.” Conchlin’s rambling registered, intruding into Roman’s thoughts. “But I definitely want him to have at least light-brown hair. I love the natural bronze skin of humans with brown hair... like Italians! Mmmm.”
Conchlin stopped next to Roman and rested his hand on his arm. “Don’t you think my orange hide would look spectacular against a bronze-skinned human?” He grinned up at Roman, seemingly oblivious to the reaction his ramblings were having on him. “Well?”
Roman growled under his breath as he glared down at the small gargoyle. “I cannot believe you just asked me that.”
The small gargoyle’s cheeks darkened in a blush, and he lowered his arm. Roman returned to dicing carrots for the pot roast he was prepping for the evening meal... or in a gargoyle’s case, the meal eaten four hours prior to sunrise. Unfortunately, that only kept Conchlin silent for a few seconds.
“What about you, Roman?” Conchlin asked, returning to his bowl of potatoes and resuming his mashing. “You’re like, really old, right? Haven’t you thought about what your dream man would be like?”
“No,” Roman grumbled. “Are you done with those potatoes?”
Conchlin’s green eyes widened as he peered at him. “Really? Never?”
“The potatoes?”
“Oh, yeah,” Conchlin confirmed. “I finished them. Just a few lumps, just like the chieftain loves.”
“Good.” Roman heard the kitchen’s phone ring, so he set down his knife. He grabbed a hand towel and wiped his fingers as he headed to where it hung on the wall. Pointing at the furthest left of the trio of industrial-sized refrigerators, he told the smaller gargoyle, “There are two more bowls of potatoes in there. Mash them, no lumps in those batches, then place them in the warming trays and turn them on. After that, get started on the gravy.”
Picking up the handset, Roman turned away from Conchlin. He still noticed that the smaller male nodded and carried the current bowl he worked on toward the warming trays. The massive dishes were set up with gas-powered burners beneath them, keeping the food in the large, metal trays warm, or in the case of the potatoes, heating it.
“Kitchens,” Roman rumbled into the phone.
“Roman, this is Tobias,” the gargoyle on the other end of the line greeted, obviously recognizing Roman’s voice. “I need food brought to Maelgwn’s study. We’re having a meeting.”
“How many?” Roman responded. “Humans or others?”
“Eight of us,” Tobias replied. “Five gargoyles, two shifters, and a human.”
“Got it. Any requests?”
“Cornelius is pregnant again,” Tobias revealed, chuckling.
“Ah, so chicken wings. I’ll have a vat of them brought up,” Roman promised, biting back a snicker. He remembered the first time the slender rhino shifter had become pregnant. Cornelius had eaten every hot wing in sight. “Extra blue cheese. Anything else?”
“Hmmm.” Tobias paused, then said through the line. “No other requests. Whatever you have on hand.”
“Breakfast services, at the moment,” Roman told the gargoyle second. “Hope that works.”
Tobias grunted. “I’m always up for a good pile of sausage.”
“There will be plenty,” Roman assured. “I’ll have it brought up shortly.”
“Good.”
Roman realized Tobias hadn’t hung up, so he waited. Just because he wasn’t in the room with the second-in-command of the clutch didn’t mean he didn’t know he needed to show the gargoyle the respect his station was due. He rested his left hip against the counter, taking the weight off his right side.
“Is Sumak around there to bring it to us?”
Surprised by the gargoyle’s request, Roman’s brows furrowed. “I am not certain. I will have to check the schedule.” Roman didn’t normally bother keeping track. As long as he had at least one helper in the kitchen, he didn’t care who it was.
“Good, good.” Tobias cleared his throat, then stated, “If he’s not, can you get—what? Son of a bitch! How the hell did he manage that?” Then, the line went dead.
Roman lifted one brow ridge in surprise. He sure hoped he never ended up in the line of fire when the second was that angry. Clearing his throat, he turned back and went to the refrigerator to see if there were any thawed, fresh chicken wings. He spotted four one pound packages and did a mental calculation. On average, each package held fourteen wing pieces.
Just over fifty. That should be enough for one pregnant shifter. As he pulled the packages out of the fridge, he made a mental note to add more to the list.
A lot more.
After Roman had poured the several dozen wings and drummettes into the air fryer and had started it cooking, he paused to wonder just how Einan was handling the news. The gargoyle enforcer had gotten his shifter mate pregnant when they’d first met around three years before. They already had one little gargoyle hatchling—Too
ks, named after Einan’s father.
Cornelius had always made it known that he’d wanted a whole baseball team of little ones. Unfortunately for the male mates of gargoyles—or fortunately, as most thought—a male could only conceive every two years. Perseus explained it had something to do with a male’s body recovering sufficiently from doing something that nature hadn’t actually designed it to do—namely carrying and laying a gargoyle egg.
Evidently, enough time had passed.
Shaking his head, Roman started work on gathering enough food to feed the others Tobias had indicated.
“So,” Conchlin began, announcing his presence. “I finished, and you didn’t tell me about your dream man. You’re over five hundred years, right?” The small orange gargoyle grinned up at him. “Gotta have some dreams, right?”
Glaring, Roman growled. “My dreams were burned from me just under four hundred years ago,” he snarled. “Now, I don’t dream. I take life as it is... an endless slog of one day dragging to the next.”
Roman saw Conchlin gape, then turned away. He gritted his teeth, fighting his irritation at the boisterous gargoyle’s antics. Reminding himself that, in the grand scheme of things, considering gargoyles could live around two millennia, the little gargoyle was young, Roman focused on work.
With the way Roman had to stir and coat the wings several times over the course of cooking, he’d just managed to finish compiling a large, double-stacked trays of food by the time the wings were ready. He added a brand new bottle of chunky blue cheese dressing to the tray, then the overflowing bowl of wings. Finally, he crossed to where the clipboard with the schedule hung and checked who was on duty.
Sumak wasn’t on there, only Conchlin. Kort was set up to join them in—he checked the clock—forty-five minutes. He was about to ask Conchlin to zip the food to Maelgwn’s study when the little gargoyle touched his arm lightly.
“I’m real sorry,” Conchlin told him. “I didn’t mean to upset you or bring up bad memories.”
Gods, I need a few moments away from this male.
Roman snorted. “Finish the mac and cheese next,” he ordered. “Don’t forget the pepperoncini this time.”
“Yes, Roman.”
Ignoring the concerned edge in Conchlin’s voice, Roman picked up the stacked tray and headed out of the kitchens. He immediately noticed the temperature difference, the cooler air chilling his skin. Being in the kitchens, with the ovens and stoves often blasting, he was used to the high heat.
Good thing Roman’s skin was thick, and he took regular evening walks. Doctor Perseus insisted that he keep to an exercise regime. While some days it hurt like a son of a bitch, Roman did it.
The alternative... it was unbearable to think of. A gargoyle too injured to walk? While his wings were fine and he could still fly, losing his leg was just...
Banishing those thoughts, Roman focused on plotting a route of where he needed to go. He knew he couldn’t make it up a flight of stairs with the massive tray. At least, not safely.
Even flying up them could be iffy... unless he went to the main staircase. That one would be wide enough so he could safely spread his wings. That would also show off his excessive scarring to anyone there, however.
Not liking that idea any better, Roman instead limped to the servant’s elevator, which was situated between the kitchens and the infirmary. Normally it was only used if the meal was so large the gargoyle had to use the trolley. In fact, that actually wouldn’t have been a bad idea.
Too late, Roman used the tip of his tail to hit the button. Just as the elevator dinged and the door opened, he inhaled deeply... and caught another whiff of that interesting odor. His blood heated, flowing sluggishly south.
Shaking his head in annoyance, Roman stepped into the elevator car. He used his tail to press the number two button, then wrapped it around his left leg. Just as the door closed, he caught a glimpse of Perseus jogging down the corridor.
Odd.
Roman couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the doctor in a hurry. Dismissing the weirdness, he concentrated on balancing the two-tier platter topped with the huge bucket of wings as the elevator started moving. When it stopped and the doors opened, he limped out of the box, glancing left and right.
When Roman began to turn to the right, he thought he caught a glimpse of something to the left. The wing above the kitchens and infirmary was mostly used for visiting paranormals, and he couldn’t remember hearing any rumors about that. As someone who worked in the kitchen, he knew just about everything that went on in the estate.
Odd really, but no one ever seemed to censor their words around a chef.
Then who?
Even as Roman mentally asked the question, he knew it wasn’t his business. Except, he smelled that same scent again—the one that made his prick sit up and take notice. Setting the tray down on one of many hallway tables placed mainly for decoration, the idea of finding out who was using that cologne lodged into his mind.
I want to know, damn it.
Roman wasn’t normally given to curiosity, but he had plenty of cause. Leaving the trays behind, he stepped carefully, keeping his tread light. With his interest piqued, he wanted a look at whoever was spreading the annoyingly pleasant cologne.
Slipping into the darkened room where he thought he’d seen the flash of clothing, Roman pressed his back against the wall. He swept his gaze over the generic front sitting room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. It didn’t take too long, and it suddenly hit him that someone was crouching in the corner, mostly concealed by an end table.
“Who’s there?” Roman called. When no one answered, he growled, “I can see you in the corner, so you’d best just come out. I’m going to turn on the lights.”
As Roman reached out for the switch, he watched a figure that was clearly a human male—judging by size and scent—rise, his hands out to his sides. “I’m sorry. I mean no har—”
As soon as Roman flicked the lights on, the man’s words died in his throat. He gaped, his brown eyes wide in his suddenly pale face. His wide torso heaved as he obviously struggled to breathe.
The human pointed at Roman, his hand trembling. “Wha-wha-wha—”
Roman smirked at the clearly shocked human. “What am I?” he asked, amused at the response. Just what the hell was an unknowledgeable human doing wandering around the estate? Crossing his arms over his chest, he lifted a brow. “You’re the one trespassing, human,” he stated gruffly. “Maybe you’d like to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here when you obviously don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“Not a nudist colony,” the guy mumbled. His eyes were still wide as he crept sideways, his back against the wall. He wasn’t watching where he was going, and when his side hit the end of one of the sofas, he stumbled and squeaked, his arms flailing.
“Easy, human,” Roman rumbled, taking a step toward him. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Just that much closer, the man’s scent intensified. Roman’s nostrils flared as a shiver worked down his spine. As he watched the human tumble over the side of the arm and sprawl on the sofa cushion, his blood heated and flowed south.
Finally, it hit Roman.
Gods, I’m such an idiot.
He should have realized it before.
This human is my mate. Just as quickly as the thought entered his mind, another pushed its way in. What the hell am I going to do with a mate?
Chapter Three
Tian sprawled on the cushions for all of three seconds, trying to get his brain to accept and process what he was staring at. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was kind of impossible.
Scrambling to a sitting position, Tian righted himself. “What are you?” he gasped, pleased he’d finally managed to find his tongue... even if he couldn’t get it to say anything else. “What? What are you?”
The monster, creature, beast? He didn’t know what. Its nostrils flared, and it stared at Tian wit
h piercing purple eyes. Purple? Really? It made sense since the thing was orange. To his shock, the male actually swept his gaze over him in a surprisingly hungry way.
The hairs on his arms stood on end, and a chill went through him. It took him a second, and he didn’t think he’d ever admit it to him, but it wasn’t revulsion. Instead, it was... he wasn’t sure, really.
Pride? Smugness? Arousal?
Pushing that response aside, because it was really weird, Tian took a deep breath, then another. He forced his racing heart to slow. So far, the creature hadn’t made any aggressive moves.
Mocked him, yes, aggression, no.
Wait.
He’d said something about him trespassing and had called him a human. Obviously, the creature knew what Tian was. That meant he knew they were different... and he could talk. That meant he was sentient, right?
Well, holy shit.
“I’ve gone down the rabbit hole, haven’t I?”
The creature’s copper orange-colored lips curved up in what appeared to be an almost wry smile. “Does that mean I should call you Alice?”
Gaping, Tian’s eyes widened once more. He shook his head once, then blurted, “You know about humans? You know about movies?” Frowning, he lifted a hand as he watched the deep-ochre-skinned creature grin widely, showing off loads of sharp, sharp teeth and take a step closer to him. “Whoa.”
The male crossed his arms over his chest—because, yeah, that was easy to see, too, since he was wearing a loincloth. He lifted one brow as he growled, “I already told you that you’re safe.” Cocking his head, he added, “Of course, you were probably so panicked you didn’t hear me.”
Huffing a deep sigh, he uncrossed his arms and rested them on his hips. His purple eyes peered into his own as he cleared his throat. “Very well. Let’s start from the top.” He pointed at the sofa. “Are you going to freak out if I sit?”
Gaping, Tian gathered enough sense to slide to the right, leaving the left two cushions available on the long sofa.
The Truth is even Stranger Page 2
