Groaning, Baron locked his gaze with Conchlin’s. He saw his sated smile, his glittering green eyes, and feral smile. Beneath that, he saw naked need... the desire to be marked—claimed.
Baron’s teeth dropped before he could help himself, but as his balls pulled tight, he resisted the urge to lever over his mate and bite him. He gritted his teeth and growled as his orgasm swelled through him. His cock throbbed, spurting several streams of seed, splattering it over Conchlin’s thighs and groin.
Resting most of his weight on his left hand, Baron shuddered. He smiled blissfully at Conchlin, pleased to see an answering smile there. His stomach clenched when he watched his gargoyle reach down and skim his fingertips through Baron’s seed. Conchlin lifted his hand and licked the fluid from his digits, humming appreciatively.
Groaning gutturally, Baron bent and pressed a kiss to Conchlin’s hip. “Gods, you’re so fucking sexy.” Hell, his cock was still half-hard, and he’d already come twice. It made no sense.
Right. That’d be the pull to complete our mating.
Baron realized it’d only get stronger, too, which might give him the courage he needed to actually go through with allowing his mate to claim him.
Pushing that thought from his mind, Baron took his time cleaning his seed from Conchlin’s body with his tongue. Once finished with that, he kissed his gargoyle’s hips again, then climbed onto the bed. He claimed Conchlin’s mouth, thrusting his tongue between his lips.
Before Baron could thoroughly ravish Conchlin... again, he heard his gargoyle’s stomach growl. Breaking the kiss, Baron chuckled, grinning at his lover. He saw Conchlin’s sheepish expression and shook his head.
“Food,” Baron said, glancing toward the tray that, fortunately, lay undisturbed a bit further up the bed. His own stomach growled. “Food, then a shower. Hopefully, it’ll still be warm,” he said with a laugh.
Baron woke to the knowledge that there was someone in his room... and it wasn’t Conchlin. When he’d fallen asleep, his gargoyle had been sitting in bed with him, his back to the headboard. They’d been chatting, as they usually did late at night, until Baron had dozed off.
Never in his memory could Baron remember being so comfortable with someone that he’d be relaxed enough to doze off with them in the room.
He really liked it.
So where is my mate, and who’s in the room?
Cracking open his eyelids, Baron peered around. To his surprise, he spotted a yellowish orange gargoyle that he recognized. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered what the hell Kinsey could possibly want.
Baron hadn’t heard the male speak, but he knew he was Conchlin’s younger brother. His mate hadn’t had much to say about him. Evidently, they were a good fifty plus years apart. They didn’t have much of a relationship.
“What are you doing in here?” Baron decided the blunt approach would be best.
And one question at a time... so I can scent if he lies.
Kinsey crossed his arms over his chest, but his expression wasn’t belligerent or rude. Instead, his brow ridges were furrowed, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m the representative from our clutch that’s supposed to escort you to the First Rights to Mate challenge, but I came a bit early.”
That surprised Baron, but he did his best to hide it. “Oh? Why is that?”
After clearing his throat and glancing around the room for a few seconds, Kinsey focused on Baron again. “Are you and Conchlin really fated mates?”
“We are,” Baron replied immediately, his tone brooked no argument. Still, Kinsey didn’t appear convinced, so he decided to add, “If anything happens to Conchlin, I will hunt down and destroy each and every one of you. Understand me?”
Kinsey immediately dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgment. “I do. Uh—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I just wondered was all because”—he rubbed the back of his neck with one white-clawed hand—”it’s been over a hundred years since anyone in our clutch found a fated mate and your people claim to all be fated mates.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable as he mumbled, “I’d love a fated mate instead of having to woo some female into a fake mating just to sire a few kids.”
Baron couldn’t help gaping upon hearing that. “What? Who the hell is asking you to—” He cut himself off, realizing what a ridiculous question that was. “Either your father put you up to that or your chieftain?”
While Kinsey nodded, he didn’t specify. Maybe that meant both. Instead, he asked, “How come so many in this clutch are finding mates?” Kinsey glanced his way again, then shifted his gaze to the wall. “And what happened to you, anyway?”
“None of your goddamned business,” Baron muttered.
It suddenly occurred to Baron that the sheet was at the foot of the bed and his stitched body was on clear display. He awkwardly reached down, grabbed it, and yanked it up to his waist. As a shifter, nudity didn’t normally bother him, but few had the audacity to question another’s injuries, either. Maybe it was a brothers’ thing. Hell if he knew, since he didn’t have any.
“And how the hell should I know? I barely know anyone.” Baron let out an unamused snort as a hypothesis popped into his head—one based on his very limited interaction with gargoyles. “Maybe it’s because of how the clutch is run. Fate may be more apt to help those who care for their fellow, uh, paranormals.” Seeing Kinsey’s confusion, he added, “You know, instead of trying to control and manipulate everyone around them so you can gain a little power?”
Kinsey’s brow ridges were furrowed, and he stared at the wall. There was a vacant expression in his eyes. He even rubbed the back of his neck with one white-clawed hand.
Before the big gargoyle decided on a response, if he was going to reply at all, the door to Baron’s room opened. He peered toward the doorway and spotted Enforcer Sapian. The golden-colored gargoyle’s eyes narrowed.
“Everything okay here?” Sapian asked, striding closer, glancing between them. “Problem?”
Baron grunted and eased onto his side. “No problem.” He eyed Kinsey, wondering what the big man was thinking, since he suddenly sported a sort of guilty expression. “We were just talking about the differences between your clutch and his own.”
Sapian nodded. “Okay then. You slept through the day, did you know? It’s about time for the First Rights to Mate fight.” Baron couldn’t contain his surprise, and Sapian must have realized it, for he added, “Heard you spent most of your time in bed recovering these last few days.” He rested his hands on his hips and grinned widely as he sniffed exaggeratedly. “Between the trip to the salon and the activities that have been going on in here”—he winked—”it seems you wore yourself right out.”
Snorting, Baron shook his head. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had teased him. Smirking at the huge, grinning male, he found he couldn’t even drum up any irritation. After all, the teasing wasn’t done maliciously.
“Guess I did,” Baron replied. Kinsey’s discomfort suddenly made sense. Most brothers didn’t want to think about a sibling having sex... or so he’d heard. Then the rest of what Sapian had said registered. “The fight? Where is it taking place?”
Before even getting a response, Baron began sliding from the bed. He cast about for his sweat-shorts, finding them folded and placed on the chair near the bed. That must have been Conchlin’s doing, Baron thought fondly.
“A makeshift arena was created in a clearing in the woods,” Sapian told him. “Get cleaned up. I’ll escort you.”
Baron nodded, and holding his sweat-shorts in hand, he headed into the bathroom. As he washed up and pissed, he wondered where Conchlin was. He felt a burning need to track his mate down and hold him, reassure him that everything would be okay.
It wasn’t a feeling he’d ever had before.
I sorta like it though.
“Got some more clothes for ya,” Sapian called through the door. “You can’t go outside in just those shorts.”
&nb
sp; Baron dried his hands and crossed to the door. Opening it, he stared at the pile of fabric. There was a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, socks, and sneakers.
“I don’t think I can wear all that right now.” Baron hated admitting that, but his back hurt just thinking about how badly everything would rub his healing wounds.
Sapian opened his mouth to counter, then seemed to think better of it. “It’s winter,” he told him. “You could shift. I hear things embedded in your skin, like piercings and stitches, stick with you, er, shift with you?” His brow ridges furrowed, his confusion evident, then he met Baron’s gaze and grinned widely. “You know what I mean.”
Baron couldn’t help but return the male’s smile. He was just so open and... happy. “I’d prefer that, actually.” It’d be nice to let his stallion stretch his legs, even if it was just to take a short walk.
Nodding, Sapian handed over the sweatpants. “I’ll put the rest in the nightstand for another time then,” he told him, dropping the sneakers on the floor near the door.
Taking the sweatpants, Baron carefully tugged them on as he watched Sapian put word to deed. He noticed Kinsey still stood by the sideboard, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. Cocking his head as he straightened, Baron wondered what that guy’s problem was... so he asked.
“What’s your issue, Kinsey?” Baron demanded. “You got a problem with dick?”
Kinsey swiftly shook his head. “Just a problem with seein’ my brother’s mate’s dick swingin’ in the wind,” he muttered awkwardly.
Baron growled low in his throat. “I am not Festian’s mate, and I never will be.”
“Uh—” Kinsey’s head snapped up, and he finally met Baron’s gaze. “Oh, I was actually referring to Conchlin.”
“Oh.”
Baron’s ire instantly eased. It occurred to him that throughout their conversation, Kinsey had never said one derogatory thing about Conchlin.
Huh.
Before he could question Kinsey on that, Sapian turned away from the nightstand. “Okay, then.” He waved his hand and indicated that Baron should precede him from the room.
As they headed through the estate, Baron couldn’t help but notice that Sapian stayed, at least in part, between Baron and Kinsey at all times. It grated just a little on his nerves. He’d been an enforcer most of his life. He could take care of himself.
Baron tried to remind himself that he was injured, and Sapian was just doing his job.
When they reached the back door, Sapian opened it, then stood back so Baron could again precede him. Baron stepped out onto the back deck, which had been cleared of snow. All around him, however, the white stuff seemed to glitter in the gibbous moon high overhead.
Baron inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the crisp, cool air. His stallion moved restlessly in his mind, and he was on the same page. Crossing to a damp-looking lawn chair, he quickly stripped his sweats, draped them over the back, then initiated his shift.
His limbs lengthened and thickened, his back elongated, and his head reshaped. Fur sprouted on his skin, beating out the chill in the air. His tail and mane grew, and his hands and feet hardened into hooves as he settled on all fours.
Baron shook out his fur, and the movement reminded him of his injuries. Even in equine form, he had to be careful. He walked to the edge of the deck, and with exaggerated slowness, he jumped down the couple of steps.
“Nice looking stallion there, Baron,” Sapian commented, coming up beside him. “This way.”
The trek through the woods was reasonably short. He enjoyed it anyway since it’d been weeks since he’d had the opportunity to allow his stallion out. While Baron walked, he saw that Kinsey was flanking Sapian’s other side, but he kept casting side-eyed glances Baron’s way.
Huh. Wonder if he’s ever seen a shifter change before.
Baron no longer had a mouth to ask, but he’d bet not.
The trees gave way to reveal a large meadow where dozens of gargoyles were gathered. Ignoring everyone, Baron crossed to Conchlin, who stood with his arms wrapped around himself. He realized he might have made a mistake about shifting instead of donning the clothes, even if they would have irritated him.
Since it was too late—unless he wanted to freeze standing nude in the snow, and shifters didn’t run that hot—Baron rested his head over Conchlin’s shoulder and nuzzled him with his huge head.
Conchlin grinned and wrapped his arms around his neck. “You’re stunning!” he whispered into Baron’s horsey ear. “So gorgeous. I can’t wait to run with you.”
Baron nickered and nuzzled Conchlin some more. They stood like that until Chieftain Maelgwn called the group to order.
Things happened swiftly after that. Festian still wanted to go through with the challenge, even when Grigoris was named Conchlin’s champion and would be fighting in his place. The opponents were told it would be a fight to submission, but Baron could see the feral light in Festian’s eyes and knew the male was out for blood... maybe because of how easily Grigoris had pushed him around in the hallway the evening before.
Personally, Baron thought the gargoyle should have learned some humility from that.
When the fight started and the gargoyles leaped into action, Baron finally understood why Sapian had stayed between him and Kinsey. Gargoyles slashed viciously with the claws on both hands and feet. They used their wings to extend their leaps and aid in maneuverability.
In short, a gargoyle in action was a whirling, vicious opponent.
Baron had an odd desire to have the chance to spar with one of them... maybe Sapian.
Need to know how to protect my mate from his own.
Chapter Twelve
Conchlin loved the embrace of his horse shifter. The way Baron draped his neck over his shoulder and held him tucked close to his massive chest was like no hug he’d ever received. It warmed him, probably because the shifter’s furry body gave off heat like nothing he’d ever experienced.
If Conchlin wasn’t watching Grigoris fight for his chance to keep his mate, he’d probably be basking. He instead practically clung to Baron for support. He couldn’t believe the ferocity of the battle.
Grigoris danced out of the way of Festian’s strike, his huge black wings making him light on his feet. He ducked under Festian’s next attack, ducking and spinning. Stretching out his wings, he slashed his appendages toward Festian as if they were blades.
Festian leaped backward, but not swiftly enough. Red lines appeared on his torso, one darker than the other as blood welled between two gashes, one evidently deeper than the other. Festian hissed, his expression feral as he glared at Grigoris.
“That was just a taste, hatchling,” Grigoris taunted. He grinned widely and continued to jeer, “Next will be your thighs. Sure you want to come at me again? Just surrender. Submit. Admit your foolish folly.”
It suddenly hit Conchlin that Grigoris was enjoying himself.
Huh. Glad I can give him some amusement.
Festian obviously wasn’t amused. With a beat of his wings and a kick off the ground, he flew into the air. His trajectory was easy to see, even for Conchlin. His brother intended to come down on Grigoris’s head and shoulders.
If Festian had managed to succeed, he would have flayed Grigoris’s face and torso. He didn’t even come close.
Grigoris leaped forward in a majestic roll that he ended in a crouch. He pivoted on the toes of his right foot, staying low, and slashed out with his left foot. His toe claws hit right where he’d claimed earlier, across Festian’s thighs as he turned to face Grigoris.
Festian roared and leaped for him again, his attack uncoordinated.
Taking advantage, Grigoris grabbed both of Festian’s outstretched arms and used the gargoyle’s momentum to send him flying over his head, flipping him to the ground. Grigoris was instantly up, and with his grip still on Festian’s right arm, he forced his opponent to roll to his stomach with his hand behind his back.
&n
bsp; Grigoris landed his knee in the middle of Festian’s back. Placing the claws of his free hand at the back of the dark orange gargoyle’s neck, he pinned him. Festian attempted a brief struggle, but he quickly stilled.
Trickles of blood dripped down the male’s hide at his neck, telling everyone just how deep Grigoris’s claws were sinking into him.
“Do you yield?” Grigoris asked.
Festian remained stubbornly silent.
“Well?”
More blood dripped down Festian’s neck, and he finally growled, “I yield.”
Grigoris waited a couple of heart beats, then eased his grip and rose. He stepped backward, away from his downed opponent. Chieftain Maelgwn and another gargoyle, a huge dark purple gargoyle that had been introduced as Elder Bodb, entered the ring. Maelgwn clapped Grigoris on the shoulder and smiled at him, and the gray gargoyle dipped his head in acknowledgment of the silent praise.
As Elder Bodb began offering his congratulations to Grigoris, Festian rose to his feet. He glanced once at the trio, then turned a hateful gaze on Conchlin. Curling his lip, he took two running steps toward him, then spread his wings and lunged, his claws outstretched.
Festian flew through the air at him, roaring, “You don’t deserve a mate!”
Conchlin gasped, his mind reeling. He stumbled backward, trying to get clear of his attacking brother.
Baron pivoted on his front hooves, hunched his shoulders, and kicked out with his back legs. His rear hooves slammed into the chest of the attacking gargoyle. Festian grunted and began flying backward again, but caught himself with a few wingbeats.
A second later, Sapian, Vane, and Einan all grabbed Festian and drew him back to the ground. It only took a brief tussle for the enforcers to subdue the still snarling and hissing gargoyle. Festian roared and bucked, but he couldn’t escape his captors.
“Get him out of here,” Chieftain Maelgwn roared.
“Go with them, Ssimeas,” Elder Bodb ordered, referring to a hulking, medium blue gargoyle. “We will take custody of him, too.”
Comforting his Restless Stallion Page 10
