When A Gargoyle Dreams (Gargoyles Book 5) Page 7

  As if sensing her near-distress he released her orb and settled on the bed next to her.

  His hand pressed against her stomach, stroking her skin. She could sense his pleasure as his huge hand covered the growing bump.

  “I can feel him moving,” he rumbled in satisfaction.

  “Or her,” Martha grumbled.

  “Or her,” he agreed peaceably.

  “Yeah, she or he is kicking the hell out of me.” She struggled to find a comfortable position, and didn’t object when he lifted her to put another pillow under her back. Every inch of her was sensitive or aching, and she took the opportunity to complain about it as often as possible.

  Martha looked at him. He was staring intently at her stomach, perhaps trying to stare directly into her stomach.

  “You wouldn’t be disappointed if it was a girl, right?”

  His red eyes darted to hers. “No,” he growled forcefully. “Of course not. I just believe it will be a boy.”

  “Well, we’ll see. But you know if it is a boy, we’ll have it call it after my dad – he made us promise.”

  He groaned. “I do not believe that Allen will make a good gargoyle name…”

  *

  Martha blinked awake, realizing the sun was setting. Her hand immediately sought her stomach, and on finding it flat as normal, she actually laughed in relief.

  That was some hell of a dream.

  She’d never even thought about having kids before, never mind dreamed of being pregnant. Pregnant with a strange creature’s baby, too, and what was that about promising her dad to name it after him?

  It was probably just her father’s books. She had been poring over them all day, barely able to tear herself away to go to the bathroom, and certainly not to eat.

  Her stomach gave a threatening rumble and picking up one of the journals she shuffled to the kitchen, not wanting to waste a second.

  His journals turned out to mostly be a written collection of his dreams. Not unlike her own doctor had asked her to do – which she had been neglecting to do and should probably make a start on. Though, her cheeks flamed in embarrassment as she thought about starting to describe the dream she just had.

  But knowing that her situation was somewhat similar to her father’s didn’t make her feel any better. Her father had never been diagnosed with a particular illness. What if the same thing was happening to her? Dr. White had tried to reassure her, but the thought made her insides twist in fear. Her father had been joyful, full of life for most of their time together, and suddenly that seemed to change.

  His writings were so detailed and peppered with inky sketches, and his dreams were not unlike hers.

  Like her, he dreamed of people he knew, amongst his dreams of winged monsters. Though, it appeared from his notes that he didn’t make out with one of them - unlike her. Probably a good thing.

  He described a few different monsters, including one that sounded remarkably like her own charcoal-colored nighttime visitor. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they both dreamed of the same creature. But why would they? How could they? Perhaps she really was just going mad.

  Martha pulled a bag of chips out and absently munched on a few.

  Her dad’s journals were just raising more questions. Could it be possible that her monster was real? But that would mean… when she had her accident, he really was there. She wasn’t sure if it would make more or less sense for him to have saved her after her accident, rather than believing she sleepwalked her way to the cabin. Because try as she might, she couldn’t remember a darn thing.

  Martha nibbled on her lip as she played it over and over in her head, seeing the deer, swerving, the pain as the airbag exploded in her face and then… not much until she woke up in the hospital with her mother hovering over her.

  She concentrated hard and froze, a chip halfway to her mouth as she saw her smoky monster pulling her to him, cradling her against his body.

  He wasn’t there… was he?

  No, because he wasn’t real. She was just crazy. Like her dad.

  Martha clenched her fists – crushing the chip she was holding. She was not crazy. She was fine. She just… had a great imagination, and to prove it she was going back to that darn cabin. There would be absolutely no trace of the monster, and hopefully, it would jog a few memories – and then everything in this cockamamie world might make sense again.

  Chapter Ten

  What in Excalibur was she doing?

  Drago hovered outside the cabin debating whether to go in or not. He had seen her return there in his dreams, and curiosity got the better of him. Sure enough, she was there. Why, he had no idea, but she looked better than the last time he saw her. From the peeks he managed to get through the window, her pale skin looked rosier, and she was managing to move around on her own without falling over – always a boon.

  It was lightly snowing, though nothing as bad as it had been two nights ago. Why would she come back? Why would she insist on putting herself in danger again? She could easily have suffered another accident on these treacherous roads. Why on earth did he care what happened to her?

  If something did happen to her, it would be one less duplicitous human female. That thought sat uneasily with him. If he truly did feel that, he would never have saved her the first time.

  Should he go in there? No, of course not! Yet he was not leaving. No matter what logic told him to do, his feet would not move, his wings would not flap. He would not turn around and go home because a part of him wanted to be here, wanted to be near her. He shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t want to have anything to do with a human woman, but he did.

  He was definitely losing his marbles. What little he had left.

  Well, he was here. Either he should leave, or he should get on with it and confront her. Perhaps she would know why he was dreaming of her.

  Maybe she was a witch, trying to enchant him, trying to entrap him. Yes, maybe that was it.

  The gargoyles had many enemies. Even though they were generally unknown to the rest of the world, already, there were too many people trying to hurt them, trying to use them to their own advantage.

  That had to be it.

  Drago bunched his fists, his wings fluttering in stiff movements.

  She was trying to ensnare him with her wiles, trying to mess with his already addled mind. Trying to lure him like a siren to do as she pleased. Well, he would not stand for it. Never would he allow himself to be used by a human again.

  Angrily, he stomped over to the cabin, pulling the door open as he had done two nights before. It was only when he was inside glaring into the face of a very shocked blonde human that he realized this wasn’t a very good idea.

  He opened his mouth, but before a noise could get out, the screaming started.

  *

  Martha couldn’t deny it; she was a screamer. Not in a dirty way - usually during sex, the most any man had ever elicited from her was a moan or two – two at the most. Nope, she screamed at spiders, when someone shouted boo, at scary movies and once when she accidentally removed all her left eyelashes with an eyelash curler. So, when the living embodiment of her monster stormed through the door, it was a given that she was going to start screaming.

  After the owner of the cabin found her and took her to the hospital, her mother thanked him profusely and gave him a check to cover the damage she (or whoever it was – because that was now in doubt) caused to his door. They also exchanged info in case the amount wasn’t sufficient. Martha suspected it would be more than enough – her mother was overly generous, and the guy – who when all was said and done was decent – had tried to refuse, but her mother could be pushy when she wanted to be. But it meant that Martha had his contact details. She called him and told him she must have dropped an earring there on her impromptu visit. He offered to look for it, but she insisted she didn’t want to put him out, so he just told her where to find the spare key for the newly fixed lock – under the flowerpot.

  She had just made it into
the cabin and was starting to get a feel for it when her unexpected visitor stormed in.

  She’d been screaming for what felt like minutes when the uncomfortable looking creature strode over to her, grasping her arms and shaking her slightly.

  “Desist, woman.”

  Martha gulped and snapped her mouth shut. It was uncanny. He was exactly as she dreamed him. He was huge – larger than anyone she had ever met; his body broad and imbued with hard ridges and muscles. His hands were like dinner plates, easily encircling her arms. Martha was by no means short at five-foot-eleven, but he had to be at least a foot taller than her, and that didn’t even take into account the enormous wings framing his glorious body, and the large tail smacking against the floor. His face, currently disgruntled, was hard and angular, topped by two short horns. His eyes were red and fiery, his nose crooked like it had been broken repeatedly. His lips, on the other hand, were at odds with his other features; they were full, even soft looking and sensual. His head was closely shaved, the bristles of his black hair barely discernible against his smoke-colored skin. He had scars over his body and a couple on his face, though they did not detract one iota of his magnificence.

  Well, she had wanted answers...

  Time ticked by and neither of them said or did anything, merely stared at one another. His expression turned grimmer by the second while she was working her way up to hyperventilating. It appeared they were at an impasse.

  Martha didn’t know what to do or what to say. She was tempted to scream again, just for something to do, but it appeared he didn’t like that and she wasn’t keen to infuriate him.

  Who was he? What on earth was he? What in heaven was he doing there? She couldn’t get past the part where he was actually standing in front of her.

  His existence shouldn’t be that much of a shock to her. She had been dreaming about him for months now, but it still was.

  Her eyes dipped, and an unwanted blush started spreading over her cheeks as she recalled those dreams. All of them had involved intimacy of some kind between the two of them.

  Dear lord, was that why he had turned up?!

  Chapter Eleven

  Any thought that Drago had of the female using his dreams and her wiles to ensnare him went out the window when she opened her mouth and started caterwauling. Gargoyle females often possessed impressive roars, war cries that would have their enemies quaking in their boots and running home to their mothers. But no gargoyle female could possibly be a patch on the human before him.

  She smells better than I remember. The thought unbidden leaped at him, and he scowled.

  Fearing that her squall might attract unwanted attention, he tried to hush her. Grabbing her, telling her to quiet, worked. But rather than shocked, her expression became fearful and he didn’t like that. He could scent it too, rolling off her in waves and that just made him angrier.

  As if she had anything to fear from him. Human females were the ones to fear – not him!

  Slowly, he loosened his grip on her and took a few steps away from her. She didn’t look any less worried, though he couldn’t deny the loss of heat her body afforded disappointed him.

  She was just as he dreamed her. Tall, curvy, supple, with a flawless face surrounded by acres of golden hair. He didn’t know what humans considered beautiful, hell judging by his experience he had no idea what a gargoyle looked for in a mate, but he couldn’t deny her innate appeal. He found her very beautiful. From her cat-like blue eyes, highlighted by dark lashes, her pink cheeks, and her trembling dusky lips, he wouldn’t deny an attractiveness in the female that surely many a human had already seen.

  His muscles bunched as the thought of the female in the arms of a human male. For some reason, he didn’t like that idea at all.

  There was just something about her that made him want to hold her close and protect her. To throw her over his shoulder and fly her far away from everyone and everything that might harm her.

  It was a very primal instinct and one he did not like at all.

  *

  Martha rubbed her arms, the heat of his touch still lingering, burning in a pleasant way. He hadn’t hurt her, but judging by the size of him, he could have. No, he was gentleness itself, just as he must have been when he pulled her from the car and undressed her… Oh, my!

  Maybe if she wanted answers, she should take the plunge. The way he was glowering at her didn’t indicate that he was ready to chat.

  Martha opened her mouth and let out a small squeak. He grunted and flicked his tail. She was immediately reminded of Timber – her often-grumpy cat also flicked his tail in that way when impatient to be fed, or for her to turn the TV on. Timber loved watching reruns of Frasier for some reason. Perhaps because of the dog.

  She cleared her throat and tried again, her voice finally coming out low and reedy.

  “What are you?”

  The male snorted. “A gargoyle.”

  His voice seemed to boom and echo through the small room. In particular, it certainly resonated through her body, and not in a bad way.

  She waited for him to explain, but nothing else was forthcoming.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, “that explains nothing.” She laughed nervously, and he continued to stare, nothing bending in his hard expression to show he was either annoyed or amused by her. He gave away nothing in his face, though his tail was certainly lively.

  “What are you doing here?” she tried again.

  “What are you?” he countered, and in those words, she almost detected a hint of disapproval, as if she shouldn’t be there at all.

  Martha fiddled with a button on her coat. “I came to try and remember, I was in an accident close to here, but I can’t remember what happened.”

  His nostrils flared slightly in… what? Recognition? He already knew.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” she commented, watching his face for the tiniest of movement.

  She got nothing.

  “You were there, weren’t you?”

  He didn’t say anything. Didn’t agree, but he didn’t deny it. She now knew for definite that she hadn’t been dreaming. She had an accident, and he had rescued her, bringing her to the cabin and warming her. Without him, she probably would have just passed out in the snow and froze to death. Hells bells, he saved her life!

  “You saved me, why didn’t you… why didn’t you wait for me to wake?”

  “You were out of danger; there was no reason to stay.”

  How did he know she was in danger? Was he out for a night stroll in the snow and happened to come across her crashed car? But, she had been dreaming of him for months now – how could that be just a coincidence?

  “Did you just happen to see me crash?”

  He remained silent. It was like communicating with a particularly uncooperative brick wall.

  Even if he had come across her by accidence, it didn’t explain why he was here now either. He didn’t seem to want to provide any answers.

  “I… thank you.”

  He looked startled as she changed tack from her questions. “What?”

  “Thank you for saving me that night,” she blurted in a rush, her cheeks heating. She should have said that when she first realized what he had done for her – it was completely bad manners not to say thank you. If her mother could see her now… she’d probably scream and pass out.

  “If you hadn’t, I would have frozen to death in my car. You… you saved my life.”

  He looked at her with wide red eyes for a few moments before grunting almost in embarrassment. His tail started flicking more violently.

  “I came back because I thought it might jog my memory – why did you come back?”

  *

  A question he had been asking himself since the moment he left the mansion.

  He watched her wary expression and growled. She inhaled sharply, and her eyes flared, but the fear she had initially shown did not return. Nor did she start screaming again which was a mercy to his ears.

  “Wh
y are you here?” she asked again.

  “I am not sure,” he admitted, leery of exposing any weakness to a human.

  He knew what brought him here – one of his damn dreams, but he couldn’t identify the reason that really propelled him. Logically he could say it was because he wanted answers about what was happening to him, but if that was the truth, wouldn’t he be asking her questions rather than just gawping at her like a youngling?

  She chewed on her bottom lip, sending a silent rumble through his body.

  “Did you… did you dream about me too?” she asked quietly, hesitantly. “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

  It was his turn to be shocked. He hadn’t known what to make of his dreams. At first thinking it was just his warped imagination, and then her own design to trap him. But could it be that she was dreaming of him too? That there was some connection between them?

  “I can’t explain it – there is no rational explanation!” She laughed without humor and verging on hysterically. She looked at him almost pleadingly. “Do you know why I would dream of you because I honestly have no clue! A few months ago all of a sudden you started popping up in my dreams and I have no idea why.”

  She was desperate, scared – but not of him – and he felt a need to comfort her, to take her in his arms and soothe her. But he wouldn’t be so easily swayed. No matter how much she appealed to him, he couldn’t allow himself to be sucked in by another human. He sensed she was telling the truth about the situation, but his judgment of humans was beyond laughable.

  “You should forget your dreams,” he said gruffly. “Forget you ever saw me.”

  She looked crestfallen. “But…”

  “Forget!” he roared flexing his wings.

  Before she could leap away in fright, he grasped her arms again. His anger quickly dissipated under the unerring stare of two big blue eyes and Drago let out a shuddering breath.