Page 25 of Howl for the Gargoyle

But the money was there. An undeniable privilege. A safety net to catch me in this freefall moment.

Ray ground out his cigarette on the concrete ledge of the diner and then pocketed the waste. I'd never seen him drop a cigarette to the ground once in all the months and meetings.

"Hey kiddo," he greeted—another grandfatherly detail that made my chest ache. He was younger than my father, but I couldn't shake the familiarity, the sense that Ray was the indulgent elderly figure in my life who would spoil me with peppermint candies and forgive me for all my worst behavior. "How's it going?"

I blamed that familiarity on why I burst suddenly into tears on the sidewalk in front of the investigator in charge of my case, in front of the rush hour traffic and the bus full of commuters, and the diner with its dinner rush crowd.

"Shit," Ray sighed.

And then heavy arms pulled me into a comfortingly rounded stomach and a steady chest and the scent of stale cigarettes and peppermint candies.

I cried like a child on the corner of the street, in front of a window full of gawking college students, until the world blended into a dreary collection of colors. Ray hugged me tightly, offering only a brief grunt of discomfort, and waited for me to go through the passing storm of emotion. No one had held me like this since I was a little girl, and a small part of me was strangely delighted by this horrible and uncomfortable moment. There was nothing like a good hug, especially one offered with an unconditional resolve while you wept. I didn't want it to end, didn't want the inevitable awkwardness that came afterwards, and I suspected a lesser man would've rushed me.

Not Ray.

He waited until I settled, until the embarrassment forced me to pull reluctantly away. His arms squeezed once more, a reassurance, and then he slid to my side, one arm still over my shoulder.

"Come on, we need some good soup."

Ray led the way as I kept my head ducked, aware my face was probably a swollen red mess and that anyone who hadn't watched me break down through the window would be able to tell I'd just been crying. But we were given a corner booth, and Ray set me down gently into my seat, my back to the room.

He sat across from me, the menu open even though Ray always ordered the same thing from here—a heavy bowl of chili that best replicated the meat he really craved and that I refused to eat. He waited in a silence that made me squirm, flipping through the pages, waiting for me to speak. Detectives were patient, and I held out until after we'd ordered our usuals.

"The label is threatening to cancel the record release if I won't go on tour," I said.

Ray scowled but didn't speak, and the quiet worked its usual magic over me, the past hour spilling out. I didn't tell him everything, about my fears of my own cravings, certainly not about my current attempts to curb or sate the pre-full moon hormones. I didn't tell him about my father or my money, or my history with Kiernan. I didn't have to—Ray was good at inferring and drawing conclusions. I just talked until our food showed up, falling silent on a simple truth.

"My band is going to fall apart, and it'll be because I can't control myself."

Ray leaned forward and started to eat his chili. My cheeks heated, and I shifted on the torn and taped back together vinyl bench seat, scooting forward and following suit, eating my vegan reuben.

"Your introduction to our kind was to meet the absolute worst of us," Ray said, resting his spoon back in his bowl, his elbows on the tabletop and chin in his hands. "It's going to take you time to realize that doesn't mean you are the worst of us too. If you keep fighting against your werewolf, you'll never really get to know yourself."

I wanted to flinch back against the words, even as gentle a chastisement as it was, but I was too weary to move at all. So I watched Ray return to his chili instead.

"I'll keep looking for the one responsible," he said, head nodding once, as if making the promise to himself too.

CHAPTER 9

Rafe

I twisted the pepper grinder, my gaze scanning the apartment once more. I wasn't sure if Hannah had requested a more open layout for us this time or if MSA had adjusted for my wings, but the lack of clutter in this new space was a relief. Especially considering my wings wouldn't stop fidgeting, stretching and flapping, hooks searching for a grip. I rolled my shoulders, settling them back into a tidy fold, and then tapped my finger against the skillet. I hissed at the heat, the butter sizzling up around my impervious digit, and then retreated, sucking on my fingertip and lifting the filets I'd been preparing, resting them in the pan.

The apartment door beeped at the same moment the sizzle and pop of the skillet intensified, and I stumbled back, a sudden burst of electric energy rushing through me. Hannah's footsteps were softer than mine as I jogged out of the kitchen and toward the entrance hall.

Recently, in the month since I'd last seen her, I'd wondered if I was recalling her correctly. Had she really been that tall? That lithe? All muscle and sinew and the hard amber stare above sharp cheekbones? But my memory had been vividly accurate.

She's fucking sexy, I decided. We paused on opposite ends of the hall. She was in a dress this time, tied shut with a single bow at her hip, and I knew immediately that it would take two string tugs to strip her. Her jacket was already off, one arm raised to hang it on a hook. Her jaw was clenched, dark circles underneath glowing eyes.

"Fast," she bit out, and I didn't bother fighting my grin, even as she growled.

Her bag dropped to the floor as I reached her, her free hand already at her hip, black silk whispering as it sagged open. I found the other tie, staring down briefly to appreciate the sight of her. Her stomach was already tensing, thighs braced wide, and she hadn't bothered with lingerie of any kind. The dark curls hiding her pussy were a little damp already.

"Raph—" she started in a snarl.

I hunched, and she gasped as my cooler mouth clasped one pert nipple, fingers delving between her legs. The snarl turned into a cracked moan, and I pulled away from her breast to watch her as I stroked inside of her slick opening, stretching and teasing her. Her brow was furrowed, jaw still tight with frustration, but she panted as I pressed in deeper.

I grunted, somehow surprised as her own hands found me, gripped me through loose pants. Our feet tripped and guided us to the door, the closest place to rest against, and Hannah let out a soft whine as I started to fuck my fingers into her in earnest. Her hips rolled into my hand, brow untangling slightly. Up close, her eyes looked a little bloodshot, and her lips were slightly chapped and bitten, like she’d been chewing on them. Something was wrong. No. Something had been wrong. It was a bad moon coming, or a bad month, and she needed…

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