Page 11 of Howl for the Gargoyle

My lips twitched, and my shoulders softened. I hefted my bag higher and tapped the card to the door handle before I could talk myself out of it.

Beep.

A sudden inhale.

The door opened silently, and I paused on the threshold. The walls were eggplant purple, and the fat glossy leaves of a happy rubber plant stretched around a corner. The room ahead glittered with pretty decorative objects, and broad windows showcased Chicago's bright blue and orange evening sparkle. There was even a promising glimpse of a massive round cushion or stool of some sort, and then—

"Hello."

Gargoyle. Handsome gargoyle. The figure standing before me was as tall as I was—no, taller, I realized as he approached. He had dark curls, nearly hiding a pair of small horns above his temples, and a large, ever-so-slightly crooked nose. His eyes were dark and his lips were full and his shoulders were broad. And a pair of purple-black wings, darker than the shade of the walls, hid the rest of the apartment from me.

The distinct Adam's apple in his incredibly defined throat bobbed, and my mouth watered. I didn't know what to expect from a gargoyle, and I'm not sure I would've known the difference between him like this—with warm tan skin and a stretching smile—and a demon or imp or some other winged species.

Except that he was so remarkably beautiful. Not perfectly so, which was better, but with artistic details. As if he had been carved out of stone by a thoughtful hand, one who wanted beauty in character and vice versa.

"I—"

I was saved by whatever might've come out of my mouth when he reached me, a large hand outstretched toward my shoulder.

"Can I help with that?"

He was clean shaven, skin so flawless I was jealous for a moment. I hadn't recovered from my surprise, still busy studying him, and his fingers hooked under the strap of my bag. My hand snapped up, grabbing his wrist, and we froze for a moment, gazes locked. His skin was cool to the touch, smooth, and incredibly firm. My fingers squeezed, but there wasn't any give, and I turned my head to see it for myself.

"Sor—" He started to pull away, but my grip was enough to hold him in place.

"Thank you," I said, shrugging out of the bag and releasing his wrist. The bag dropped for a moment, the awkward exchange leaving us both off-balance it seemed, but then it was caught, the leather twisting around his hands.

"Heavy," he noted, eyebrows bouncing. "Did you bring toys?"

Could I have? "Wine," I answered, covering for the drop of my jaw.

The gargoyle helped himself to flipping open the bag. Impertinent, I thought. The wine bottle stuck out of the top, and he didn't dig further, pulling it free and reading the label. His lips curved, and his eyes flicked to their corners, glancing at me. "Better than the stuff the agency leaves for us. I'll show you around. I've been…investigating."

I blinked as he turned around, those massive gray wings folded against his back. The skin was leathery, spines darker, and there were sharp hooks at the top of the bent joint. They were the most non-human part of him, and I was fascinated by the sight of them. Were they as inflexible as his skin? Cool like stone?

I followed after a beat of staring, a little too absorbed in him to take in the space. He paused by a door and set my bag inside, and I watched his forearm flex, muscles and veins so clearly defined they were like outlines, a sketch filled in with muted colors.

"Investigating? You haven't been here before?" I asked, peeking inside of the room. It was the bedroom, the mattress huge and elegant and promising. But the ceiling was mirrored with antique glass, and I flinched and turned away.

The gargoyle laughed. "No. Well, to this building, yes, but not a suite like this. They really decked it out for us. To be honest, I'm a little nervous."

My eyebrows rose higher. "Nervous?"

He flashed me a grin, temporarily halting my steps. The living room of the apartment was open and wide, full of art and plants, one of which was a fern that was brushing against this man's wings.

"Lots of trinkets," he said, nodding toward a side table where a glass vase and a brass statue sat next to one another. "I know the agency doesn't mind if we break things, but they're usually more careful about the potential for us to get…rowdy."

I was standing next to a huge round platform of a stool that rose and curved and fell like waves. It was big enough for me to spread out across and share. That was almost certainly the intention behind an otherwise ridiculous piece of furniture. All around me were fine details and little works of art and vibrant greenery. The room was spacious, but designed and decorated to feel decadent and informal.

The gargoyle waggled his eyebrows and then his wings spread, briefly and not even to their full breadth. He slapped into a plant with one wing and knocked against a painting with the other.

I let out a strange sound, a laugh and a sigh and something like panic in the mix. "I see," I said, and I did. If I was pushing this gargoyle around like I had with the man at the gym, we'd make a mess of this place. My muscles started to tighten again, worry setting back in, and I forced myself to speak, to find a distraction. "What's your name?"

"Raphael," he answered, wings rustling as he started to turn. One hand was clutched around the neck of the wine bottle, and he waved it between us. "Now? Or after?"

After...? Oh.

He trailed into the next room, and I paused, sliding out of my coat, draping it over a vintage chair that was clearly meant for style more than a function we could offer it.

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