Page 85 of Howl for the Gargoyle

But in this moment, with this woman, I was calm and content in a way I hadn't been for most of my life.

"Although now that you mentioned it, I am starting to feel the height," she mumbled, huffing a nervous laugh.

I stroked her back, kissed her hair. "I won't let you fall," I said.

Hannah twisted, kissing my jaw and then finding my gaze, and my promise took on more weight, wanting to fill the gaps to all her fears, not just the height.

"I know," she said, smiling. I ducked my head to meet her lips with mine, catching her murmur. "I won't let you fall either."

Epilogue

RAFE

"Thank you so much, London, you've been incredible! We've got one last song for you tonight, and to be honest, it's a bit of a dumb dad joke my boyfriend suggested." There was an inexplicable cheer from the audience, and I grinned as Hannah glanced over her shoulder toward me in the wings of the stage, her eyes rolling lightly. "Yeah, I have a soft spot for those too. So here's a classic—"

Vic stepped up to my side. He was the orc stagehand for our touring partners, The Disasters, and he'd become a fan of Sorry, Darling and cheerfully lended his help whenever he could.

"I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand,

Walking through the streets of SoHo in the rain."

Vic barked the words of the verse out with Hannah, but he and the whole audience held their breath as she howled.

"Awoooo, werewolves of London!"

The crowd erupted and Hannah faltered, just for a moment, a husky laugh following seductively after her sharp howl.

It was the last night of the tour. Virgil Darwood had a chartered plane, and it was waiting to take us home in the morning. My mate was flushed and sweaty and giddy, bouncing across the stage with the microphone fisted in her grip. We'd just come off a full moon, and she'd still had the slightly stiff gait of bruised bones this morning, but all of that tension had unwound by the time she reached the stage. Ilsa, the lead singer of The Disasters, had watched the set and had said, in a perfect offhand, that Hannah had the kind of natural performance energy of her father. I hadn't mentioned that one to Hannah yet, not sure how she'd really take it, and I'd never seen Virgil perform, but I suspected Ilsa was probably right. Hannah held the audience in the palm of her hand from the moment the stage lights rose and she stared out at them from those vivid, hooded eyes.

And as soon as the stage lights went down and she'd taken her final deep breath of the cheering and turned toward the wings, she was all mine again.

I stretched my wings slightly, arms parted in invitation, and Hannah sighed as she took her place in my embrace, my cooler temperature a relief against her stage light flushed skin.

"You did it."

"I did it," she whispered back, tucking her chin over my shoulder.

I backed us carefully through the churning traffic of backstage activity as Vic and the others set up for The Disasters' set. I tucked us into a clear corner, and Hannah sagged against my chest, snuggling closer.

"So when's the next tour?" I asked, fighting my laugh as she growled into my throat. I had a tender spot there where she'd nearly chipped her tooth trying to mark me when we'd gotten a little rowdy and playful on the previous full moon.

"Don't let the others hear you," Hannah muttered, and over her shoulder I saw Mikey play wrestling with the other band's drummer, and Kiernan and Kelsey cheersing one another with frothing red cups.

The tour had gone smoothly. No, that was an understatement. It had been a huge success for Sorry Darling. Their first released single was already starting to chart, gaining them their own loyalty from the audiences at the start of the concerts. But Hannah had been right in guessing the insane hours and close quarters would challenge her as a werewolf. There hadn't been any blowups, just a few sharp words and some tense silences when the togetherness grew to be too much, but I knew she was exhausted, and I had elaborate plans for us to take some time in isolation together when we got back to Chicago.

"I know we should stay and watch and celebrate with the others," Hannah started, her voice barely audible beneath the bustle around us, "but do you think..."

"I was going to suggest we see if we can fly up and fuck on Big Ben—"

Hannah laughed and leaned back in my arms to share her huge smile with me. "London would send the sky patrol after us."

Paris certainly had. As it turned out, Notre Dame had its own gargoyle guards for just such a purpose, and while they'd been sympathetic with me, Hannah and I had probably narrowly avoided getting arrested.

"Then I guess we could just walk back to the hotel and fire up the jacuzzi jets," I said, shrugging.

Hannah sighed, her smile softening and her eyes sliding shut as she nodded. "Please."

We said our goodbyes for the night—we'd see everyone in the morning for a big tour breakfast at a restaurant we'd reserved—and then slid out of the backdoor of the venue, into the muggy summer air of London. Hannah paused on the top step, taking a deep breath, but her nose immediately wrinkled and I pulled her down and away from the dumpsters, out toward the busy streets. Our hotel was only a few blocks away, and we walked hand in hand in silence, letting the city flow around us.

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