Page 14 of The Dragon's Stone Hearted Mate
“Yeah, Pinky moved. That’s what he does. Well, he tries to anyway,” Cutter shrugged. “Why else do you think he kept falling over?”
“But WHY is he moving?” Sherry said, failing to keep the squeak out of her voice.
“Uh…. Because of Morvan, I think. Now about that broom? I hate to say it but I’m a very schedule driven lion and I may have to kill more ghosts at dawn. That one was late tonight but I don’t know if I’ll get that lucky twice in a row. So, can I get something to clean the cabin with?”
Another grating creak sounded through Camp Air and the statue’s other arm stretched out in front of it, turning a peachy fleshy shade. Yep. Leave it to me to come to camp the very day a statue decided to turn into a man.
“Why are you two not freaking out?” Sherry asked, peeking out from behind my back and immediately ducking back.
“Because this is nothing,” Cutter shrugged. “I’ve seen scarier things than a pink rock gaining a soul.”
“Same. Absolutely the same and we’re in the Other World,” I said, squatting down for a closer look at the statue.
Sherry hopped back several big steps as the hand patted the toe of my boot as if feeling me out.
“You okay down there, buddy?” I asked because it felt rude to stare at someone without at least acknowledging them.
The grip tightened on my shoe as one of the knees bent and the tip of the statue’s tail swayed. I wasn’t sure I was the trigger to the statue’s metamorphosis the way Cutter claimed but yeah, this bloody statue was coming straight to life.
“A broom?” Cutter asked again. “I guess I’ll go look for it by myself.”
Sherry blinked, frozen in place.
“Don’t worry, Sherry. If this is the start of some cheesy summer camp movie, I’ll save you,” I shrugged and didn’t add that’s what I did for a living.
The statue lifted its head, its features surprisingly malleable. I met his dark eyed gaze and a second later was flat on my back in the grass with the statue turned horned man on top of me. The position wasn’t all that different from the one that Cutter used to pummel the ghost back into oblivion.
“MINE!” The statue cried out in a growl and bit my shoulder.
My fist drew back to punch him but I stopped when his scent wrapped around my head. What the actual fuck? Everything inside me hardened, starting with my dick. He smelled so good. So familiar. So bloody mine. A statue? My mate was a fucking statue? Was this some cosmic joke? I was out there watching my brother die on the streets of Moonscale London and my true-mate was stuck at some boo-hoo summer camp as a bloody statue?
“Do you want the head of the lynx?” The statue asked a few minutes later after he drained the clear magical fluid from the claiming gland that lived on my stomach. Every alpha and omega was born with one that only filled up with a magicalclear fluid once they smelled their true-mate. Scent was the most important sense for a shifter. We relied on it for everything, including recognizing mates we chose in the Other World either before life or between lives. Not everyone met their true-mate but those who did rarely complained about the process.
The clear magical fluid that my mate had lapped up from my claiming gland had shown him enough about my life to catch him up to speed. Well, theoretically catch him up to speed anyway. The magic had a mind of its own and decided what were the most important memories to share. Whether or not it hit its target was wildly up for debate.
“It’s complicated,” I frowned.
“I saw that but still....” he said. “If you want her head, I’ll take it.”
“They’ll be no taking of heads at Camp Air!” Sherry finally found her voice.
“That rabbit is annoying,” he whispered.
“I heard that!”
“Well, you have really big ears. So I’m not surprised,” he chuckled.
I almost told him to be nice but what was nice after being stone inside a stone for all those years.
“Found a broom and dustpan!” Cutter announced, returning up the path. “Hey, gargoyle man!”
“Hey, lion!” My mate called back to him.
“How did you know?” Sherry asked, following Cutter inside Cabin Three.
I didn’t hear his answer but figured it wasn’t any of my business anyway. Cutter had some sort of magic to him that attracted ghosts who attacked him. I figured anyone like that probably had their fair share of secrets and senses and it wasn’t my place to poke around and ask questions. Besides, as thereality of my mate straddled over me settled into my brain, I only really had one question I needed an answer to straight away.
“What’s your name?”
