Comforting his Restless Stallion

by Charlie Richards

  “So Chieftain Grecian is an asshole, too,” Vane stated.

  Maelgwn barked a dry laugh, but his words when he spoke were cold, angry-sounding. “I think it’s a matter of manipulation and control. You got away from him. Now you’re being granted a mate.” Maelgwn pointed at Conchlin. “He wants to make you suffer, and when his first attempt at making you walk away from your mate didn’t work, since he knew I’d wipe out his damn clutch for trying”—his smile turned feral for an instant before he sobered—”he’s resorting to these tactics instead. A back-up plan.”

  Understanding seeped into Conchlin, and goose bumps broke out on his skin. “So it doesn’t matter to Festian that Baron is a man. He probably won’t even take him as a mate. Even if the challenge isn’t to the death, he’ll still try to kill me.” He scowled as he rubbed his hands over Baron’s arms where they were wrapped around his torso. “And if that doesn’t work, keeping me away from my mate will drive me insane... a fate worse than death.”

  Chapter Nine

  Baron could hardly process the emotions roiling through him. He wanted to shout and scream at the injustice. Some group of gargoyles he didn’t know was trying to steal his fated mate.

  No way was he going to allow that to happen.

  He instinctively tightened his hold on Conchlin and sucked on his neck, darkening the hicky he’d already given him. His canines tingled, and he just managed to keep them from extending. His horse huffed and snorted in the back of his mind, wanting desperately to claim their mate, consequences be damned.

  Baron was sort of on the same page with his animal.

  “How bad would it be if I totally blew those bastards off and bit Conchlin?” Baron asked, nuzzling his neck some more. “Start our bonding?”

  Recalling what it would take to finish the bonding, Baron winced.

  “Only a complete bond would stop this, but—” Maelgwn paused, his brow ridges furrowing. He turned his attention to Vane. “Remember reading about something like that happening and what happened after?”

  Vane nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, the penalty for that is death.”

  “Shit.” Baron wondered if the chieftain would help him flee with Conchlin. Nuzzling his gargoyle’s bright orange skin, he nearly vibrated with impotent rage. He wanted to volunteer to take Conchlin’s place in the fight.

  Is that allowed?

  Unfortunately, due to his still-healing injuries, Baron wasn’t certain he could win. Festian was a damn large male with claws and wings.

  “I’ll review everything I’ve read about First Rights to Mate challenges and see if I missed anything,” Vane stated, pushing away from the wall. “There must be something we can use.”

  Maelgwn rose to his feet and nodded. “As soon as you can, give us specifics for what kind of arena has been used in the past.” He growled low as he shook his head. “Morons always fighting for power and dominance.”

  Stopping before Conchlin where Baron still held him in his arms, Maelgwn glanced between them. “We will not allow them to get away with this. Elder Bodb will be here tomorrow. We will stall until then.”

  “Why do you have an elder coming?” Baron asked curiously. “Are they like shifter councilmen?”

  Maelgwn nodded. “They are. Bodb and a couple of his enforcers are coming to take Gabe into custody.” Baron’s confusion must have shown on his face, for he added, “He’s the gargoyle that betrayed Nolan’s location to your herd’s alpha.” Maelgwn cocked his head and thinned his lips. “Although the argument could be made that if Gabe hadn’t betrayed us, then Lachlan wouldn’t have been able to extract your location from Alpha Beacham.” Offering a feral grin, he stated, “That won’t stop him from being punished.”

  Baron nodded. “I want to know about your plans,” he demanded softly. Seeing Maelgwn lift one brow ridge, he continued, “Conchlin is my mate. This is our lives, our future on the line.”

  Maelgwn gave him a curt nod. “Very well.” He swept his gaze over them both. “In the meantime, you should go back to the infirmary and rest. You’re looking a little flushed.”

  Scowling, Baron grumbled, “That’s anger and frustration you see flushing my skin.”

  Never would Baron admit that all the walking and standing, not to mention catching Conchlin when he’d flown into a rage, had severely taxed him. It was damn pathetic. He couldn’t wait until he was back to full health.

  Conchlin turned in Baron’s grip. Rubbing his palms over his chest, he peered up at his face and met his gaze. His green eyes were darkened with worry, but the gargoyle still gave him a warm smile.

  “We should probably get you back to bed, um, your room,” Conchlin murmured, his voice a little husky, probably remembering what they’d done earlier that evening. He cleared his throat, then hurried to add, “There’s no point in you being up if you don’t have to be.”

  Baron growled softly. “I would very much like a repeat of earlier.”

  “Only if you can remember to keep your teeth to yourself,” Maelgwn warned. “I don’t want to have to figure out a way to keep them from demanding your head.”

  Nodding in acknowledgment of the warning, Baron finally managed to ease his hold on Conchlin a little. He moved his right hand to his lower back as he stepped left. Rubbing up and down Conchlin’s spine, Baron enjoyed the feel of his slightly bumpy skin under his fingers.

  “We’ll keep our teeth to ourselves, but no promises on anything else,” Baron responded huskily, giving Conchlin a hungry smile. “Come on, my sweet.”

  Conchlin trembled, his lips parting a little. His eyes dilated, and the smell of his arousal flooded the air. He nodded.

  Groaning at that response, Baron started his man walking. As they headed down one hall and along another, Baron was happy to allow his mate to choose the route. He wasn’t entirely certain that he’d be able to make his way back to the infirmary.

  “How big is this place?” Baron asked curiously, taking in the richly appointed furnishings.

  His own herd hadn’t been poor, but they certainly hadn’t lived in luxury like this. Even Alpha Beacham’s home couldn’t compare, and he’d had some pretty nice things. Being invited to the alpha’s house had been a privilege, not to mention a treat, since the guest would be subjected to fantastic food, comfortable furnishings, and expensive spirits.

  “Three wings, three stories each,” Conchlin explained. “The smallest wing houses the infirmary on the bottom, guest quarters on the second floor, and the inner circle on the top floor. One wing isn’t used much, so remodeling is slow. That’s where prisoners are kept, so I heard. Most everyone else enjoys space in the main wing. It—”

  “Trying to run away with my mate?”

  Conchlin tensed and spun.

  Baron couldn’t move quite that swiftly. When he did turn, he spotted Festian standing near a closing double door. He had his arms crossed, and his lips were curved in a cold smirk.

  Behind the dark orange gargoyle stood a reddish-brown gargoyle. He was the one that Chieftain Grecian had at first nodded at in the office. Baron hadn’t heard his name, however.

  “Father. Festian,” Conchlin greeted them both.

  Well, that answers that question. Shit. His own father?

  “Where are you taking Festian’s future mate, Conchlin?” the big male who Conchlin had called his father demanded to know. “You shouldn’t be with him without a chaperone.”

  Baron narrowed his eyes as he growled low in his throat. He opened his mouth, but Conchlin beat him to it.

  “Why would you encourage such fighting between your own sons?” Conchlin asked, frowning. “You’re my father. You should be happy that Fate granted me a mate... not trying to take him away.”

  “You are hardly worthy of the title son,” Conchlin’s father replied, scowling at him. The reddish-brown gargoyle rested his hands on his hips and swept a critical gaze over him, his expression one of clear distaste. “That Fate would try to give you a mate
before Festian or Kinsey is ridiculous. If that shifter had truly been your mate, and you’d been a strong gargoyle, worthy of such, you’d have already claimed him, injured or not.”

  “That would have just made me an inconsiderate asshole,” Conchlin muttered, bowing his head and scowling at the floor. “If Festian tries that, that’s what he’d be, too.”

  “Why you little prick,” Festian snarled, lunging forward.

  Baron instinctively pushed Conchlin behind him, ready to defend his mate. He didn’t end up having to though. A big, dark-gray-hided gargoyle appeared, having just exited the same room as the other pair—the dining hall, by the smell of it.

  The gargoyle grabbed Festian’s upper arm and yanked him back. “Whoa, there, buddy.” As soon as he stopped Festian’s forward momentum, he released him, stepped around the pair, and stopped to stand beside Conchlin and Baron. “No need to quarrel.” He frowned. “What seems to be the trouble?”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Conchlin’s father stated, his irritation clear. He appeared to give the big gray gargoyle respect, however, since he rested his hand on Festian’s shoulder to keep him in place. “This is between my sons.”

  “Oh, you’re Conchlin’s father.” The gray gargoyle grinned. “Here to congratulate him, then?”

  “Actually, he’s here to try to steal my mate, Grigoris,” Conchlin admitted softly, pressing closer to Baron’s side. “My father—”

  “Stop calling me that,” the reddish-brown gargoyle ordered.

  Conchlin’s scent took on a bitter tinge, betraying his sadness and frustration. “Creasis doesn’t approve.”

  The gray gargoyle, Grigoris, snorted as he scowled. “What?” He actually seemed offended on Conchlin’s behalf. Turning his attention to the pair, glancing between them, Grigoris eyed them incredulously. “What the fuck, dude? Why the hell would you try to steal a mate? Hell, Baron is Conchlin’s fated mate.” He scoffed, his brow ridges rising. “Trying to steal him would do you no damn good. What the hell are you all thinking?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me.” Creasis sounded indignant as he drew himself up. “And it’s Second Creasis. And you address my son as Enforcer Festian.”

  Grigoris didn’t appear impressed. He turned his attention back to Conchlin. “Conch, what the hell do you mean? What’s going on?”

  The concern in Grigoris’s tone was almost touching.

  Baron certainly liked that it seemed Conchlin had some support.

  “My brother called for something called First Rights to Mate,” Conchlin told the much larger gargoyle. “I don’t, uh, it’s a fight.”

  “Oh, fuck no.” Grigoris let out a low, mean snarl as he returned his attention back to Festian and his father. “Are you two really that big of assholes?”

  Baron snorted, not even trying to hide his mirth. Conchlin gaped. Obviously, few spoke to the pair that way.

  Creasis growled, his anger clouding his features. Festian snarled and yanked from his father’s hold. He lunged at Grigoris, who easily knocked his reaching, clawed hands away. Then he landed twin, open-palmed blows to Festian’s chest, sending the dark orange gargoyle stumbling backward.

  Festian crouched, preparing to lunge again, when another door opened, and a red gargoyle with white wings and claws entered the hallway. He spotted the altercation and came running. “Hey! What’s going on?”

  A short human hung back, staying near the door, a look of concern on his boy next door features.

  “Just a friendly disagreement,” Grigoris snarled gruffly, his lips curling into a sneer. He never took his attention away from the other men.

  “Well, brawls aren’t a real good idea in this clutch,” the red male warned, glancing around the group.

  “Don’t worry,” Grigoris responded. “We’re done.” Suddenly, the big gray male sported a feral grin, his sharp, sharp teeth on display in clear aggression. “Conchlin, I volunteer to be your champion.”

  “M-My what?”

  Baron was just as confused. “Champion?” He didn’t really like the insinuation... Conchlin’s champion.

  “What the fuck is that?” Festian asked the question, betraying that he didn’t know what Grigoris meant, either.

  Grigoris’s brow ridges shot up, his expression clearing as he tipped his head down and focused on Conchlin. “Gods, please tell me you didn’t think you would have to actually fight your brother yourself, did you?”

  “I, uh, well—”

  “Fuck, you did!” Grigoris exclaimed. He refocused on Creasis.

  That gargoyle’s narrowed eyes appeared all too knowing. It seemed some of their guests knew to what Grigoris referred.

  “I bet you weren’t even going to say anything, were you?” Grigoris demanded.

  Creasis lifted a brow, his expression imperious. “It’s not my fault your leaders are too stupid to know about the rules.” Then his eyes narrowed. “And it’s not your place to explain. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Sure it does,” another gargoyle called, drawing attention to himself. He limped slowly down the hallway toward them, anger clouding his orangish-brown features. “Conchlin is part of our clutch. He’s family. We protect our own.”

  Baron peered down at Conchlin, taking in the surprise on the little gargoyle’s face. He seemed totally dumbstruck by all the support. His own curiosity getting the better of him, Baron glanced around at the assembled group.

  “So, champion, Grigoris?” Baron pressed. “What does that mean?”

  “Under the rules of engagement, if a winged warrior challenges someone clearly of lesser strength”—Grigoris glanced at Conchlin—”no offense.”

  Conchlin shrugged. “None taken. I’m not a warrior.”

  Grigoris nodded once. “Then the one challenged can request that a champion fight in his stead. That champion must volunteer of his own free will”—Grigoris grinned broadly as he turned his attention back to the pair, his expression once again turning feral—”which, of course, I do.” A low growl rumbled from him as he returned his narrow-eyed gaze to Festian. “I’d be more than happy to put this selfish, bully of a hatchling in his place.”

  “I-I... really?” Conchlin sounded shocked.

  Baron felt the same way. How come Chieftain Maelgwn didn’t know about this? Of course, the chieftain had needed an enforcer to explain what the challenge was.

  Evidently, Grigoris was older or had experience of something like that in the past. Baron was kind of curious to know which.

  Before Baron could think of a tactful way to ask, the red gargoyle commented, “And if something happens and Grigoris doesn’t end up available, I volunteer.” He grinned broadly at Baron and held out his hand. “I’m Kort. That’s my mate Mace.” He pointed toward the human waiting halfway down the hall. “I used to work with Conchlin in the kitchen.”

  Baron released Conchlin just long enough to shake the big, red gargoyle’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” he murmured absently, his mind reeling just as much as Conchlin’s at the show of support.

  “My name is Roman,” the orangish-brown gargoyle offered. “And I, too, would be honored to act as your champion.” His grin was malicious as he eyed Festian. “Even injured, I could take this young one. It’d be fun to show this hatchling how a real gargoyle fights.”

  “Wow, really?” Conchlin looked a little shell-shocked as he glanced around at the other gargoyles. “Th-Thank you.”

  Grigoris chuckled. “You’ll find that many will offer once they hear of this challenge.” He grinned broadly, his dark eyes twinkling. “And how they can be of assistance.”

  Baron couldn’t help but grin a little himself. Thinking back on his herd, he didn’t remember anyone other than Jayden who would help him out in such a way. He would have done it for his friend, too, and had... too bad he’d ended up in chains for his attempt.

  Dismissing those thoughts, Baron wrapped his arm around his clearly shell-shocked mate. He presse
d a kiss to Conchlin’s temple, then urged him backward a step. Immediately, Grigoris and Kort stepped in so Creasis and Festian couldn’t follow.

  Baron wasn’t certain they would have, but he appreciated it all the same. At that point, Festian appeared a little confused and a lot angry. There was no telling what the bastard could have attempted if Conchlin’s buddies hadn’t been there.

  Conchlin snapped out of it long enough to murmur, “Thank you. All of you.” He beamed at them before sobering a little. “Um, maybe, if you don’t mind, could you tell Chieftain Maelgwn about that champion stuff?”

  “Of course,” Grigoris replied, nodding. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Needing to get his mate to a safe place to process everything that had happened that evening, Baron again urged him down the hall.

  Chapter Ten

  When they reached the relative safety of Baron’s room in the infirmary, Conchlin let out a deep sigh. His head was spinning, and his emotions were all out of control. While gratefulness filled him at the actions of his clutch-mates, he also felt a wealth of sadness, heartache even, that his father would turn on him like this.

  Conchlin couldn’t say he was all that surprised about his brother, Festian. He’d always been a dick. His father had turned a blind eye toward Festian’s bullying ways, always fobbing it off as boys will be boys and they’re just kids playing.

  His mother had stopped it when she’d seen, but Festian had gotten good at not doing anything around her.

  “So where is mom, then?”

  Why hadn’t his mother warned him about his father and brothers’ impending visit?

  “What’s that now?” Baron asked.

  Conchlin realized he was standing beside Baron’s bed, staring vacantly at the wall... oh, and he must have wondered that question out loud. He was leaning against his mate’s torso and just standing there, wrapped up in his arms. Baron was nuzzling his neck again, which seemed to be a favorite activity of the shifter, and Conchlin couldn’t say he minded.