Taken for Granite

by Nancey Cummings

He fixed her under the weight of his cold, dull eyes. “What did you see?”

  “A gargoyle,” she whispered. Her heart thundered so loudly in her chest she was surprised anyone could hear her speak.

  Chloe laughed. “A gargoyle? You’re kidding, right?”

  “My gargoyle,” he hissed, ignoring Chloe. “And you’re going to get it back.”

  “What? How? I need a grappling gun or something.” She didn’t know why grappling gun was the thing to pop out of her mouth, but the fact remained that she needed equipment.

  Mickey’s dead shark eyes narrowed. Juniper swallowed nervously. He wanted her to be scared and submissive, and here she was arguing to be kitted out for monster hunting.

  “Not my concern. You lost something of mine, so I’m going to hold something of yours as collateral until you return my property,” he said. The two henchmen finally moved and took Chloe by either arm.

  Chloe shouted and kicked, her efforts ineffective against the larger men. Mickey ignored the fuss and continued to stroke her hair. Juniper eyed the tent he pitched in his pants and, for a moment, expected him to whip his dick out.

  His hand tightened at the back of her head, pulling her hair. “We understand each other,” he said.

  Not a question.

  “I understand.”

  “Atta girl.” Mickey picked up the discarded backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Fix this, Junie.”

  “But how? It ran away.” And the gargoyle was massive. He’d overpowered her so easily. How could she capture a beast like that?

  “Hurry. You wouldn’t want me to lose your precious property now,” Mickey said as his two henchmen dragged a crying Chloe outside.

  5

  Juniper

  She couldn’t freak out. She didn’t have time for panic or being overwhelmed, and she certainly didn’t have time for the tears and the blubbering. That didn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face.

  She fucked up. Badly.

  Don’t panic.

  Don’t.

  Just stop.

  Right, because her force of will could stop her heart pounding or the cold chills.

  Helplessness nearly won out, as much as she hated that feeling of inadequacy and impotence. Life dealt her horrible surprises but other than that morning of the fire, Juniper had never been paralyzed with inaction.

  Gradually she grew aware of the household sounds, the hum of the refrigerator or the whirr of the aging PlayStation. Ordinary noises filtered in, as if this was just another day and not the worst day of her life. Definitely worse than the day of the fire. That was a tragedy. This was a clusterfuck of her own making. Knowledge of her own culpability made it hurt so much worse.

  She couldn’t see a way out of this other than Mickey’s impossible task. Capture the gargoyle she lost.

  Somehow. By herself.

  She wished she had someone to call, a boyfriend, a big dude with muscles, or even just a friend. Work and single-parenthood—well, single-sisterhood—kept her too busy for dating. Her last boyfriend had been in college, six years ago, and he vanished when she became Chloe’s guardian.

  There was no help from the ex-boyfriend.

  Briefly, Juniper entertained the idea of going down to the neighborhood bar and enlisting some mountain of a man to help her. Having someone with her in a show of solidarity would help but not in any practical way. How would she even explain it?

  I lost a gargoyle. No, it’s cool. I’m not making this up.

  Her only friend was Kim, her old roommate, and they hadn’t spoken since Juniper left college six years ago. A work friend? She couldn’t think of a single person who could help her get out from under Mickey’s wrath, not even Jack, which left her completely on her own.

  Normally, when searching for a lost item, she’d retraced her steps, but this was a monster, not a vanishing set of keys.

  Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything except a bacon sandwich after the morning rush. As much as her stomach felt sour, she needed food.

  In the kitchen, Juniper grabbed a banana and sat glumly at the kitchen table as she forced herself to eat. With the edge of hunger gone, she could think more clearly.

  She needed to go back to where the gargoyle ran off. If she were lucky, it might still be around. Gargoyles were nocturnal, right? It was probably hiding in one of the old warehouses. Wait, gargoyles weren’t vampires or probably even nocturnal creatures. She just assumed that, influenced by that cartoon she loved.

  But that was just a children’s show. She couldn’t trust any information from a cartoon. Juniper pulled out her phone for some quick and dirty research, not finding much beyond gargoyles appearing in thirteenth-century France and vague legends about dragon-slaying. She found nothing concrete, like what their weaknesses are or how best to capture one.

  She cleaned her injured hand with soap and water, before slathering it with antibiotic ointment and wrapping it up in gauze. Stomach still rumbling, she made herself a turkey sandwich and recalled that the gargoyle had looked thin. Starving, even. While his frame itself was massive, she had definitely seen his ribs. Judging by the debris in the back of the van, he had been in a shipping crate and probably came over in the cargo hold of a ship.

  How long had he been in that crate, without food or water? The cruelty of the situation rubbed her wrong way. Every living thing deserved food and clean water. Her gargoyle had been chained and starved.

  Without a second thought, she pulled everything available out of the fridge and pantry and piled it into a cardboard box. She finished making turkey sandwiches, grabbed a box of cereal, crackers, and pop-top cans of tuna. After stacking in bananas, oranges, and apples, she rinsed out an old milk jug and filled it with water.

  Struggling to carry the heavy box, she found the diner’s van waiting for her in the driveway, the keys dangling in the ignition. Well, at least Mickey had given her something.

  tas

  The female’s scent clouded his senses. His body ached. He longed for sustenance and sleep, but all he could think about was her.

  Her body beneath his, pliable and yielding, and his chest pressed against her back. The round swell of her ass would push back against him, inviting.

  His mate.

  No.

  Not his mate.

  This was a biological reaction to a random female. His mating gland produced various hormones beneficial for procreation. As the gland filled, his body demanded to empty the hormones into a suitable vessel. For whatever reason, be it a fluke of genetics or pheromones, his body decided on that female.

  It was biology, nothing more.

  He felt the familiar burn of his mating fever before but he had always tolerated the discomfort until the need to purge passed. Not once in the centuries since his people were stranded on Earth did he give in to the urge to mate. Now would be no different.

  The Khargals’ Prime Directive prohibited contact with primitive species, Tas reminded himself. Even in the confusion of the initial crash that stranded him and his crewmates on Earth, they had agreed to uphold that decree. They may have been light-years from home with little chance to ever return, but they were still honorable Khargal warriors.

  Nothing had changed. His will was stronger than his biology.

  The air temperature increased as the sun dipped lower in the sky, before dropping as night fell. He moved to the roof of the building, taking a familiar perch. Before his capture, he had passed years on top of buildings in human cities, hiding in plain sight. If a human ever bothered to look up, they saw only a stone grotesque or decoration. They did not see him.

  He listened to the sounds of the city, orienting himself. High-pitched sounds of vehicles traveling at a swift speed told him the location of a major roadway.

  A cool wind carried the scent of brine and dampness, giving him the location of a body of water, probably a river. It did not smell like the Earth’s salty ocean.

  He studied the scents, finding mostly exhaus
t, machine oil, and petroleum. Human cities were filthy endeavors, but the air quality smelled better here; perhaps it was his newly won freedom. He remembered the choking smoke and fog of London. For a century, pollution tainted the city’s air and killed its inhabitants, but the thick fog proved the perfect place to hide. A Khargal could move along the rooftops unseen, masked by shifting fog and smoke.

  The air was better here. Cleaner. He wondered what else was different in this new environment.

  Soon darkness would fall and, using the night to shroud himself, he would search out food and a safe place to rest and enter duramna.

  A vehicle approached. He recognized the rattle and hum of the engine. His female.

  No, his captor, he reminded himself and ignored that the female had been woefully unprepared if she had been working for the Rose Syndicate. Her surprise, when he pinned her to the ground, had been genuine.

  The hitch in her breathing and the scent of arousal had also been genuine.

  Tas moved closer to the edge of the roof. The door of the vehicle opened with a creak and a slam, followed by another set of doors opening, presumably the ones in the back.

  Her scent drifted toward him on the breeze, light and fresh, promising such delights. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and lose himself in those unique notes. His cock stood at attention.

  Remembering the soft, giving feel of her, he wondered about her appearance and cursed his damaged eyes. His other senses allowed him to navigate the human’s world with dexterity, but he had no way to judge the female’s attractiveness.

  Not that it mattered, because he would never take a human mate. Some of his brothers-in-arms had broken with the Prime Directive and taken human mates, even bred half human-half Khargal hybrids. He never understood how those males could abandon the pledge they took and give into physical urges, but now he understood. The weight of centuries pressed down on him, offering only loneliness and never-ending fight for survival. For what? More hiding, more loneliness, and endless waiting for a rescue that failed to arrive?

  This female represented hope. Purpose. If he had a family to safeguard, his long life would not be wasted. He would not be alone.

  For the first time, Tas understood why Frelinray had been so infatuated with his human female. He wanted his friend to have found his female and shared a long, loving life with her, despite fearing that Frelinray never made it out of the bombings. It was a fool’s wish.

  “Um, hello?”

  His body tensed at the female’s voice.

  “I have food, if you’re hungry.” Something heavy hit the ground. Tas picked up notes of bread, fruit, water, and sugar.

  An electronic device rang. “Yeah,” his female said, “I’m here. Well, I don’t know. I’m not a gargoyle catcher.” She paused, as if listening to the other half of a conversation. She must be using a portable communication device. He had observed his captors use such devices. Human technology had advanced by leaps and bounds during his captivity.

  “I want to talk to Chloe.” Another pause. “Oh god, Chloe. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Pain and grief flooded her voice. “No, put her back on. I won’t do this unless I can talk to her.”

  Tas’ protective instincts stirred. Someone held a loved one of his female—against that person’s will, judging by the distress in her voice. Tas drew several conclusions quickly. The female did not work for the Rose Syndicate, and the people she did work for were also not the Syndicate. That they shoved his crate in the back of a vehicle with no armed guards spoke of amateurs entirely unprepared to contain a Khargal, even an injured one. These amateurs thought one lone female could recapture him? Lure him back into a crate? His female had been pressured into this; presumably, her Chloe’s safety was at stake.

  Was Chloe a child? The female did not smell of a mate but that meant little. Her mate could have perished or abandoned her, as was the fickle human way.

  “Mick—”

  Tas tensed at the name of the male, a probably former mate. His wing twitched and spiked down his spine. He decided that he hated the male.

  “Mick!” His female sobbed and cursed. She threw something that clattered to the pavement.

  Definitely hated.

  Tas pushed himself to the edge of the roof, ready to leap down, but he hesitated. If he revealed himself to her, she would attempt to recapture him. That did not concern him so much. He was injured but not so badly that he could not break free from one female.

  But her child was held hostage.

  The female had food and water, which he needed. The flaking iron he had scrounged that day had been inadequate. If he took the supplies she offered, he would be honor-bound to repay her and rescue her Chloe.

  More than just repaying a debt, though, he found himself wanting to help her and that was dangerous. He did not believe that she worked for the Syndicate but if a Syndicate agent discovered how sympathetic he felt to the female, they would use that against him.

  Trap him.

  He escaped once thanks to coincidence and sloppiness. He could not rely on such luck a second time, at least not while he was still injured. With food and the necessary minerals, he should be able to shift into stone form, into duramna.

  The amateurs held the female’s young hostage. He would take the female’s food and drink in exchange for his own freedom. It seemed a hard bargain to allow himself to be led obediently into another cage, but he would be strong enough to fight his way out, especially if his captors proved to be amateurs.

  Resolute, he stretched his one good wing and pushed off the building. Falling into a one-winged glide, he landed heavily with his knees taking more of the impact than ideal.

  The female gasped. He growled, overcome with the desire to lick her neck and feel that delicate pulse flutter under his tongue. His mouth watered.

  Not now. He ignored his body’s reaction to the female’s proximity.

  “Female,” he ground out. “I believe we can help one another.”

  6

  Juniper

  The creature—the gargoyle, her half-terrified mind supplied—landed in front of her with preternatural grace. His flat gray eyes swung toward her, but she had the distinct impression that he did not see her, not in the sense of seeing as she understood it. He knew her location and strode toward her with purpose, pausing just out of arm’s reach.

  “Female.”

  She had to tilt her head back to look at him and briefly wondered about his height. Tall, probably close to six and a half feet. More than just his height was the size of him. Wide shoulders spoke to a large frame, made to be filled with solid muscle, but at the moment those shoulders were sharp.

  Her eyes drifted down, noticing the line at the bottom of his ribcage and the concave slope of his abdomen. He was gaunt—starved, even.

  And completely naked.

  Juniper averted her eyes but not before she got a gander at his thick cock, again standing at attention. That bit of him didn’t seem emaciated. It looked robust, healthy, and definitely not human.

  “What kind of help did you have in mind?” Blushing at the forwardness of her own words, she didn’t mean that kind of help. She hadn’t flirted in years and the first thing she said to the gargoyle was awkward, clumsy and so, so flirty.

  And he was still naked.

  She should have taken the time to stop and buy him some damn pants. It’s not like she had anything in her closet that would remotely fit him. All she brought was a throw blanket from the back of her sofa, grabbed at the last moment when she thought her gargoyle might be cold.

  “Are you hungry?” She held out an apple. Starved and naked, feelings of pity for the gargoyle shoved out thoughts of her awkward flirting. She should be ashamed of herself for creeping on the gargoyle and using food to coax him back into the van. Whatever he was, he was a thinking, feeling person and deserve to be treated with respect, not like an animal.

  A fine time to develop moral principles now. Morals were a luxury she couldn’t aff
ord, not until she got Chloe back.

  She gave the apple a shake, as if to encourage him to take it.

  His nostrils flared and his cock bobbed, but he said nothing. She gulped nervously. He was hungry for something.

  “It’s safe.” She took a bite to demonstrate. “See,” she said around a mouthful. Juice trickled at the corners of her mouth.

  The gargoyle leaned in, pressing his face close to hers. Hot breath wafted over her face. For a moment, she thought he might lick the juice from her lips. She swallowed, her body electrified with awareness of him.

  He snagged the apple and devoured it quickly, core and all, bits and chunks of ravaged apple spraying her in the face. “More,” he growled.

  “I brought a box of food.” The cardboard box sat on the throw blanket. Juniper knelt and patted the ground. The gargoyle hesitated for a moment but sank to the ground. She unwrapped the turkey sandwiches before handing them over. He ate them just as quickly as the apple but waited for her to hand him the next item, bananas, and he ate the bunch whole, peels included.

  He drained the gallon of water and the carton of orange juice. He emptied the box of corn flakes like it was only a handful of popcorn. Well, with the size of his hands, it might as well have been just a snack.

  Strangest picnic ever.

  The occasional car passed by, but no one seemed to notice. After business hours, that part of the city hibernated, so the roads weren’t particularly busy. Commuters didn’t pay attention to the girl and the gargoyle in a poorly lit parking lot.

  Juniper munched on her own apple, considering her next move. Despite the sparse, low lighting, she had the opportunity for a decent look at him. Her mind cataloged the obvious differences: horns like a crown around his brow, wings, talons at the top of the wings, and tail.

  Yup. Different.

  His features were too perfect to be human, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline any actor or model would envy. He looked chiseled from stone with handsomely hewn features, hard all at once, but nothing about his features approached the hardness of his eyes.