When A Gargoyle Dreams (Gargoyles Book 5) Page 2

  Her cheeks blushed, and she became more confident as her fingers glided over his skin. “Incredible,” she breathed.

  He was not completely unused to female attention, but female gargoyles tended to be bold in what they wanted and would not waste their time smiling at him or stroking his wing. This creature was so unlike them, unlike anyone he had ever met.

  Drago recalled his father’s words, that nothing good could come from getting close to humans, and dismissed them immediately. Surely there was no harm in this?

  *

  Three months later

  “Drago, no kiss tonight?”

  The soft voice came to him through the fog, taunting, and tender.

  “We must be careful,” he grumbled, nostrils flaring as he tried to scent anyone else’s presence.

  Muriel placed a hand on his arm and fixed him with a look of entreaty. “Come to my room.”

  Drago rumbled. Her attentions at first had been amusing, little more than a mild distraction. But as the days and weeks passed, he found her fascination with him interesting.

  Female gargoyles had no interest in talking, in listening to him. Muriel was different. Her softness, her kindness wore him down.

  She came to him because she was lonely, trapped in a castle by her father, no friends, no purpose. At first, she had found him as a means of escapism, but their friendship had grown into something else. They had already enjoyed numerous kisses. The first instigated by her, jealous of the attentions she had witnessed her handmaiden enjoying from one of the guards. She wanted to know what it felt like; wanted to enjoy the experience too.

  He had not meant to allow things this far.

  After another month of living at the castle, the gargoyles had retreated to their home in the forest, though the number of patrols they ran was higher than ever.

  “You are here to protect me; you can protect me from inside the castle. Please, my love.”

  “Muriel, your father…”

  Though it was not her father he feared but his own. His father looked upon the humans as nothing more than selfish, cruel masters, who looked down on their kind, thought they were better in spite of all the pain and suffering they caused. His father would never see past his prejudices, but Muriel was different to the others.

  “Is gone for the night. Please.”

  Drago was reluctant to leave his post, but he wouldn’t deny her.

  “Just for a moment,” he agreed roughly.

  Muriel smiled and skipped away. He watched her go and smiled slightly. He was uneasy about their relationship, and not just because of the fear of the consequences. He was uneasy because deep down he did not feel it was right. Maybe it was wrong for gargoyles and humans to know each other in a carnal way, but though they were never meant to mate, he would not deny himself the pleasure she offered.

  He allowed her a few moments to reach her quarters and dove off the roof, landing on her balcony and stepping through the open doors. The next second, she was in his arms, kissing him. He walked them into her room and lay her down on her bed.

  As their embrace became more ardent, he told himself he should leave her, go before things went too far. If she were a gargoyle, they would already be coupling. But things were different for human females, more restricting and he should not take more than a few kisses from her.

  Muriel ran her hands down his chest. He could feel himself hardening. He wanted her. He couldn’t deny that. But he shouldn’t.

  Drago gently pushed away from her.

  “Don’t go,” she murmured clutching at his shoulders. Her lips were swollen and her eyes danced in wild delight.

  “I must.”

  “Please, I am ready. Please stay with me.”

  Drago closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

  *

  One month later

  Drago stroked his talons down Muriel’s back; she mewled in pleasure. They had been together half a dozen times since the first. He had been surprised that Muriel had not been innocent – a result of a dalliance with one of her father’s friends – but it had not mattered. He was not innocent either.

  Since then they had snatched what time they could together. Thankfully, her father paid her little attention, letting her do as she wished within the castle grounds.

  He pressed her onto her back and suckled at one of her small, pink breasts. She was softer and so much smaller than a female gargoyle. He found himself holding back with her in a way that was not wholly satisfying, unable to truly let himself go as he would with a female gargoyle. But he enjoyed their time together, preferring the sweet chatter he gained from Muriel to the dismissive grunts a female gargoyle would give him.

  Muriel clutched at his horns and let out a whine that soon descended into a scream as her bedroom door burst open. Lord Corin howled at the sight of Drago and Muriel together.

  “You monster!” he cried drawing his sword, waving it ineffectually as he weaved on his feet, undoubtedly the effects of too much mead. “Get away from my daughter!”

  At the sounds of Muriel’s screams and his wails, the room flooded with guards and gargoyles alike. Muriel pushed him away, and Drago lumbered off the bed as she frantically tried to cover her naked body.

  The human males looked horrified while the gargoyles looked no better. His father strode amongst them, his face a picture of fury. Drago could not meet his eyes. Though his reaction was much more restrained than Muriel’s father.

  Lord Corin hauled Muriel out of bed by her hair, dragging her across the floor. “You whore!” he snarled venomously.

  “Please, father!” she cried, weeping and struggling under his grip.

  Drago roared and tried to get to her. His father and two other gargoyles took hold of him. He struggled as Muriel blubbered.

  “Please, no, father!”

  Corin slapped his daughter across the face, again and again.

  “Leave her be!” roared Drago, struggling futilely.

  “My daughter, a whore for a gargoyle!” bellowed Corin.

  “Father, it’s not my fault…”

  Drago struggled against his fellow gargoyles. The human soldiers surrounded them, uneasy, unsure what to do.

  “Please,” whimpered Muriel her face bruised and miserable, “he forced me!”

  Drago stilled, dumbfounded. The pleasure of release he had found with Muriel still thrumming through his body even as she recited those vile words.

  Corin’s face was incandescent with rage as he screamed at his guards to seize Drago. Everyone rushed him at once – humans and gargoyles alike. Too shocked to fight back, everything went black as he was knocked out.

  Her words echoed through his mind.

  *

  Six months later

  The guard on duty tossed him a piece of meat through the bars. The surly bastard then proceeded to urinate on it.

  Drago didn’t even look up. It was one of their favorite past times. That and taunting him with jibes and stabbing him.

  He was sentenced to life imprisonment. Lord Corin wanted him dead, but he listened to his advisors on that, fearing that Drago’s father would withdraw his gargoyles entirely if his son was dead. This way, Corin felt appeased, and he had the opportunity to torture Drago to his heart’s content, and Drago’s father didn’t entirely lose his son. Not that the latter meant much. After finding him in Muriel’s bedroom, his father could barely look at him.

  Drago protested his innocence, but the humans certainly did not believe him. Some of the gargoyles may have – his father did – but he blamed Drago for willingly bedding a human. His father had no sympathy for him. He thought Drago deserved his fate for betraying them. The last words his father said to him was that he had made his bed with a human and now he must lie in it.

  The human chuckled as he finished and tucked himself away. No point in getting upset about the human and his need to whip out his manhood at every available moment. The human male had so little to get upset over. Drago snorted hollowly.


  Six months and that joke was very much starting to get old.

  He heard the soft patter of her footsteps before she tentatively whispered, “Drago?”

  Drago lowered his head, fixating on the stone ground. After she accused him of forcing her, he had waited in vain for a reprieve, waited for her to say she was lying, waited for his freedom. Now he knew the truth, it was never coming. Muriel would take that to her grave rather than admit she willingly coupled with a gargoyle.

  “Please, Drago. I do not have long. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  Drago raised his head, glaring at Muriel through hooded eyes. She looked thinner, and her eyes sunken. But she was certainly better off than him.

  “I am to be married, and I am leaving tonight. My father managed to find a man willing to take me, even though I…” She swallowed. “Even though I am not innocent.”

  “You lied,” he rasped.

  Muriel bit her lip; her eyes welled with tears. “I am sorry. I was scared. I fear my father would have killed me if he knew the truth. I had to tell him you forced me. I had no other choice.”

  Drago lowered his head again. The rage inside him ebbed to a dull roar. What was the point? He was destined to live out his life in pain and humiliation. Nothing could save him now. Wasting what little energy he had in snarling at Muriel would do him no good.

  “Get out.”

  “Perhaps… perhaps my father will change his mind one day. Perhaps he will tire of his punishing you.” She did not sound convinced.

  Drago didn’t answer.

  “Maybe he will feel that you have been punished enough.”

  Drago didn’t answer.

  “I am sorry this happened, but I am sure you will be okay. You are strong.”

  Drago’s only answer was a snort.

  “Goodbye, Drago.”

  Her footsteps disappeared into the sounds of the night.

  Humans. He would curse every single one of them until his dying breath, which unfortunately for him, would not be for a very long time.

  He was stuck there forever, with only his hatred to keep him company.

  *

  Ten years later

  Something was happening. Even he could sense it. The castle had been quiet for a while. Most of the soldiers were gone, probably fighting another of their human wars. Pathetic.

  Lord Corin was still at home. His son was waging war for him. The Lord was old now, with little of his fire left. Not that he had much after the business with Muriel.

  But as Corin ran into the dungeon followed by a number of other men, even Drago briefly flickered with interested surprise - though only for a shade of a second. If Drago cared about anything, he might actually be curious. The years had not been kind, and neither had his jailers.

  His nights were filled with torture and hatred, and his days were spent dreaming of it. He no longer reacted to anything they did and said. He doubted he could even feel real pain. He already felt dull and hollow. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure if he was alive.

  They peered at him anxiously, like they were expecting him to grow an extra horn.

  “You are speaking nonsense,” scolded Corin.

  “No,” stammered a red-faced youth, “I saw her. A purple gargoyle and she turned to stone in front of my eyes despite the nighttime.”

  Drago’s ears perked up. No, the boy must be mistaken.

  “Get up, beast,” commanded Corin.

  Drago snarled but didn’t move. Even if he wanted to, he was in pain. The guards had been particularly brutal the previous night. Most of the guards had left to fight, and those who stayed behind were the older, lazier guards who had survived their many years by being conniving and cruel.

  “See? It’s alive. Speak beast,” Corin ordered.

  Drago remained silent. He hadn’t spoken in two years. What was the point? They didn’t visit him to talk. They visited him to torment him, to torture him for his supposed transgressions and because they were callous and enjoyed it.

  He snorted and rolled to his feet. Even if he didn’t wish to speak, perhaps he might get a rise out of the shaky guard. But as Drago tried to stand, he felt a tingling in his skin, the one he usually only felt when about to turn to stone, about to sleep.

  His limbs felt heavy. He was changing, but it wasn’t daybreak. The gasps and shouts of the men around him faded into nothing as he slept, and Drago hoped this was the end for him.

  *

  Many, many, many years later

  Drago howled as they lashed at him with the whip. Corin watched with bored disinterest as his guards enjoyed seeing how much suffering he could take, seeing how much he could bleed.

  He snarled and thrashed against the chains, all to no avail.

  “Hush, now,” murmured a soft voice.

  He shook almost violently, stilling only when a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re safe,” continued the voice.

  The dungeon melted away until he found himself in an almost unbearably floral bedroom. He was lying on a bed; clearly not one made for him, given that his feet hung over the edge, but it was soft and comfortable and also contained the owner of the pretty voice.

  He looked up to see her – the soft blonde human who shone like an angel. She smiled sadly, her full pink lips pulling into a tight smile while her blue eyes shimmered with concern.

  “You are here,” he rasped.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised as she leaned down to press her lips to his.

  Drago roared as the sun disappeared and the magic was lifted. Cold stone turned to warm skin, and he was awake again. He panted slightly looking around him, half expecting her to be there. But she wasn’t, he saw only the mindful looks of his fellow clan mates.

  Of course, she wasn’t there. She only visited him in his dreams, like a beacon of light amongst all the horrific memories that usually taunted him in sleep.

  Part of him was disappointed to wake, to cut short his time with her, but it was silly. She only lived in his dreams – his dream female. Martha.

  Chapter One

  One week before Christmas

  Martha stared out of the window at the snow softly fluttering to earth. The whole garden was covered in it, making it beautiful and picturesque, but Martha was too anxious to notice. She shivered, folding her arms and then sighing as two larger, warmer arms surrounded her body. She leaned against the huge, hard yet welcoming body pressing against her back.

  “What are you thinking?” he murmured into her ear, his breath tickling her ear.

  “Nothing,” she breathed, just wanting to enjoy the moments they could snatch together. She smoothed her hand up his arm.

  He grunted, and she heard a thud as his tail whipped against the floor. Something he did when he was impatient.

  “My father,” she admitted knowing that he would not rest until she told him of her worries.

  He let out a softer grunt.

  “I am sorry, my angel, you should not…”

  Her eyes prickled with tears. Even after losing him nineteen years ago, she still mourned her father as if it happened yesterday. “I know, but my dreams…”

  His arms tightened around her, and she felt his mouth on her shoulder, the soft tingling scrape of his razor sharp teeth on her flesh. She shuddered and pushed her ass against his swelling manhood. He felt huge and insistent against her. Her sex slickened in desire.

  The fear and anxiety for her father dissipated and lust took over.

  He let out a soft snarl on feeling the press of her flesh and tore the thin nightgown away. One enormous hand cupped her mound while his other clasped one of her breasts.

  Martha moaned in need, her body tingling from his roughly sensual overtures. A thick, finger pushed into her sex, and she clutched at the arm, locking her against his chest

  “Please, please,” she cried as he stroked her.

  A sharp elbow dug into her ribs and she let out a resounding ‘ow’. A loud hissing noise was followed by a
knifelike, ‘be quiet’.

  Martha blinked awake to find herself being glared at by her… her… She wasn’t sure what to call him. Phillip was technically her boyfriend, but that word seemed both childish and an overstatement for him.

  She remembered where she was - at a tedious dinner banquet with Phillip. His firm was throwing it, patting themselves on the back for the wonderful year they had endured. Profits were up thirty percent. Though, in order to get there, they had conveniently forgot that they had fired ten percent of their lower level employees and simply dumped the excess work on the remaining lower level people. That didn’t affect Phillip. Naturally, he was ruthless enough to make sure he never got fired.

  Martha tried to make herself as small as possible and shrunk into her seat, hiding behind a glass of wine and pretending she didn’t see the disgruntled looks from Phillip. He wasn’t going to be happy at her for falling asleep, and it wasn’t the first time she had done so at one of his work functions. In her defense, they were all incredibly tedious.

  Phillip wasn’t exactly a bad man; it was just that he wasn’t exactly a good man either. They had dated and seemed to be happy a year ago. She had even thought he would pop the question, but she had mixed feelings on that. Martha had been engaged before – three times. She had no problem dating, and she seemed able to find men who wanted to marry her, but there was always something missing. Of course, she let them down easy, never let it get as far as setting a wedding date, but she always ended her engagements because she felt that something else should have been there. As much as she had enjoyed the company of her fiancés and loved them at the time, their relationships ultimately felt hollow to her, and she couldn’t envision any future with them. It just felt wrong.

  With Phillip, however, their relationship ended when she visited him at his office and found him giving more than dictation to his secretary.

  He’d chased after her, plied her with gifts and flowers as apologies. He said he only made use of his secretary’s mouth when stressed about an upcoming meeting. He said that was all it was – it wasn’t erotic, it was just a mechanical need for release, and his secretary understood that.