Page 18 of Protected By the Gargoyle
Oh my God, was it finally happening? She’d thought about it many times but shoved it away, telling herself they were better off as friends. That didn’t mean she didn’t think about it. How could she not with their deep connection?
And the way he looked with those intense hazel eyes and muscular body—who wouldn’t fantasize about being with him?
He pushed the comforter off her and moved up her body, hands touching, lips brushing. Her pulse raced. His caress felt magical, igniting fiery sensations as he slid his hand higher.
Then he positioned himself above her, his warm breath fanning her cheek. She blinked to adjust to the darkness. What was that poking out from the top of his head?
Horns. They curled. Had he come to her in gargoyle form?
She whispered, “Arto?”
“Not quite.” The low sinister voice wasn’t Arto’s. Eyes glowed before her—red, malevolent eyes.
She screamed and screamed and screamed.
Then she bolted upright. She was alone.
The demon was gone. What the hell just happened? She blinked. Was it real?
No, it had to have been a nightmare—one of those twisted ones when someone morphs into someone else. Of course that happened after what occurred today with that fear niggling at the back of her mind. She pulled the blanket up to her ears and remained frozen, eyes wide as she scoured the room for any movement. Her breath came in audible pants. Her heartbeat thrummed with a staccato rhythm in her ears.
A rap at her door startled her, and she turned toward it with a gasp.
Someone was there.
CHAPTER5
ARTO
“Janie, it’s me, Arto.”
When he’d heard Janie scream from inside her house, he shifted from stone form perched atop her roof and flew down. He knocked on her door and called to her.
“Arto?” Her voice came through the speaker from her security system that she accessed through her phone.
“Yes. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a nightmare.”
“Can I come in?”
Movement inside indicated she approached the door. She cracked the door ajar and glanced around and behind him, tension visible in her jawline. It was the wee hours of the morning and still dark out.
“It’s only me,” he assured her.
She opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him in. “What are you doing here?” She closed the door and locked it behind her.
“I heard you scream.” His gaze raked over her in a pair of pajamas, a black and white set with witch hats and cauldrons and other magical references. It read “Witch, please.” Her blonde hair was tousled, making him think of things he shouldn’t, especially not when she was afraid.
She followed his gaze down. “Oh yeah, these pajamas. They’re from Larissa.” She tipped her head. “What are you doing here?”
“I was on watch outside.”
She rubbed her sleepy eyes. “Don’t you need to be on patrol?”
“I talked to Roman. We agreed it was best that I was here.”
“Why?” She plopped on the sofa and pulled a pillow up to her chest. “Do you think…”
