overfilled the teacup and flooded its saucer. A pool of steaming tea spread across the walnut table. “Sorry,” she mumbled and snatched some napkins to sop up the mess.
Kayla looked at Lillian with a superior expression on her face. “You don’t know much about your gargoyle.” She smiled coyly, and continued to whisper in a conspirator voice, “Regret saying I can have him? I’m inclined to hold you to your word. Actually, this should work nicely. Vivian said he takes commands from you, yes?” She paused, her smile becoming a grin. “If that is true, your word is his law.”
What if Kayla was right? A cold, unreasoning rage built within Lillian. Her words, uttered in a moment’s thoughtlessness, might have more weight than she intended. And whatever happened because of her senseless words, it was her fault. No, she would not let the gargoyle get caught in some political game thought up by some oversexed tree spirit. She tightened her grip on the teapot. With a great deal of will, she banished the thought of flinging it at Kayla.
While Gran and Sable, trailed by Russet, went forward to meet the gargoyle, Lillian leaned closer to Kayla. “It doesn’t matter what I say or think. Gregory is a living creature with the same rights as the rest of us. He’s free to do whatever he wants, and it’s none of our business. Nothing I have said in the past or will say in the future will change that. If you try to use this to circumvent his free will, I will hunt you down and do nasty, nasty things to that pretty face of yours. Then I’ll knit myself some gloves out of your shiny tresses.”
Kayla paled, and came to her feet. She held her position, facing Lillian for a whole five seconds, then bolted for the safety of the other dryads. Lillian grimaced at the back of the retreating woman. Looking farther, she met the coffee–dark eyes of the gargoyle. His flashed with humor.
Oh shit, he’d heard.
“Darling,” Gran said, disrupting Lillian’s thoughts, “Now that we’ve told you all we can about your kind, I think Gregory wants to tell you a little about your history.”
Gran’s shit–eating grin, told Lillian her grandmother’s sharp ears had picked up on the little bit of drama. Lillian envied her grandmother’s ability to multitask. It was criminal. The gargoyle didn’t give her long to worry about what everyone had overheard. He gestured for them to take a seat.
Lillian sat and noted a problem. There weren’t enough chairs. Before she could go retrieve one, the human–form gargoyle walked to her side and stood at her right shoulder. His one hand rested on the arm of the wingback chair. Up close, it was hard to miss a few anomalies. His nails were a proper human length, but it looked like they’d been painted with black nail polish, and their shape was off—too pointed, both at the tips and the nail base. He flexed his hand, and the nails lengthen a half inch. When he relaxed his hand, the nails returned to their original length.
Oh boy.
His little demonstration let her know he was aware of being studied. Since she’d been found out, she studied him frankly, following the hand up the wrist to the smooth, hairless arm. Ah, that’s what caused the slight hint of foreignness that had nagged at the back of her mind when she’d first looked upon him. Like his gargoyle form, the only hair was on his head, and his skin had a slight sheen to it like a faint oil had been smoothed over it. Wide, dark eyes fringed with a generous amount of lashes looked back. They were his only soft feature. A strong jaw and nose, combine with a wide forehead gave him a rugged looked. Certainly not pretty–boy handsome, but still striking—if a woman could actually tear her eyes away from his perfectly proportioned body to take note of the face. Damn, but he was built like a master sculptor had a hand in his shaping.
Brushing back a few strands of his hair, she tucked them behind his pointed ears. He smiled, his lips
Kayla looked at Lillian with a superior expression on her face. “You don’t know much about your gargoyle.” She smiled coyly, and continued to whisper in a conspirator voice, “Regret saying I can have him? I’m inclined to hold you to your word. Actually, this should work nicely. Vivian said he takes commands from you, yes?” She paused, her smile becoming a grin. “If that is true, your word is his law.”
What if Kayla was right? A cold, unreasoning rage built within Lillian. Her words, uttered in a moment’s thoughtlessness, might have more weight than she intended. And whatever happened because of her senseless words, it was her fault. No, she would not let the gargoyle get caught in some political game thought up by some oversexed tree spirit. She tightened her grip on the teapot. With a great deal of will, she banished the thought of flinging it at Kayla.
While Gran and Sable, trailed by Russet, went forward to meet the gargoyle, Lillian leaned closer to Kayla. “It doesn’t matter what I say or think. Gregory is a living creature with the same rights as the rest of us. He’s free to do whatever he wants, and it’s none of our business. Nothing I have said in the past or will say in the future will change that. If you try to use this to circumvent his free will, I will hunt you down and do nasty, nasty things to that pretty face of yours. Then I’ll knit myself some gloves out of your shiny tresses.”
Kayla paled, and came to her feet. She held her position, facing Lillian for a whole five seconds, then bolted for the safety of the other dryads. Lillian grimaced at the back of the retreating woman. Looking farther, she met the coffee–dark eyes of the gargoyle. His flashed with humor.
Oh shit, he’d heard.
“Darling,” Gran said, disrupting Lillian’s thoughts, “Now that we’ve told you all we can about your kind, I think Gregory wants to tell you a little about your history.”
Gran’s shit–eating grin, told Lillian her grandmother’s sharp ears had picked up on the little bit of drama. Lillian envied her grandmother’s ability to multitask. It was criminal. The gargoyle didn’t give her long to worry about what everyone had overheard. He gestured for them to take a seat.
Lillian sat and noted a problem. There weren’t enough chairs. Before she could go retrieve one, the human–form gargoyle walked to her side and stood at her right shoulder. His one hand rested on the arm of the wingback chair. Up close, it was hard to miss a few anomalies. His nails were a proper human length, but it looked like they’d been painted with black nail polish, and their shape was off—too pointed, both at the tips and the nail base. He flexed his hand, and the nails lengthen a half inch. When he relaxed his hand, the nails returned to their original length.
Oh boy.
His little demonstration let her know he was aware of being studied. Since she’d been found out, she studied him frankly, following the hand up the wrist to the smooth, hairless arm. Ah, that’s what caused the slight hint of foreignness that had nagged at the back of her mind when she’d first looked upon him. Like his gargoyle form, the only hair was on his head, and his skin had a slight sheen to it like a faint oil had been smoothed over it. Wide, dark eyes fringed with a generous amount of lashes looked back. They were his only soft feature. A strong jaw and nose, combine with a wide forehead gave him a rugged looked. Certainly not pretty–boy handsome, but still striking—if a woman could actually tear her eyes away from his perfectly proportioned body to take note of the face. Damn, but he was built like a master sculptor had a hand in his shaping.
Brushing back a few strands of his hair, she tucked them behind his pointed ears. He smiled, his lips
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