Page 13 of The Gargoyle's Captive

Isavepeople. I don’t kill them.

I kiss Bram.

8

BRAM

There’s no hesitation in Grace as she takes my mouth. A part of me whispers that I should be taking charge, but I’m so fucking tired. Tired of fighting a losing battle that never seems to end. Tired of the constant reminders of all the ways I don’t measure up. Just... tired.

It feels good to have Grace’s hands in my hair, pulling just hard enough to hurt. For her mouth to move against mine, nipping my bottom lip to tease my mouth open. She’s tastes like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Then she sinks into me, pressing her whole body against mine. She’s such a little thing for someone so fierce. I could break her in half without even trying.

And yet I find myself sitting here passively while she dominates me with the single greatest kiss of my life. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to another person, let alone...

Grace yanks on my hair again, harder this time. “Have you changed your mind?” There’s a challenge in her tone, but she doesn’t otherwise move while she waits for my answer.

Have I?

A naive, foolish part of me wanted something different with the opportunity Azazel offered. Something real. To prove thatI’mnot the curse in action. I should have known better. It was always going to end like this.

A vicious fight instead of a delicate seduction.

“Have you?” I bite out.

She rises enough to study my face. A cutting smile pulls at her lips. Her energy is an overwhelming mix of bright pink and red, lust and anger driving her the same way it’s driving me. “No,” Grace says slowly. She shakes her head as if coming out of a trance. “But no babies.”

I might be able to provoke her into forgetting that rule, but part me still wants there to be some lines I don’t cross. “I’ll get you a birth control pendant tomorrow.”

She blinks. “A birth control pendant. That sounds...” Another shake of her head. “We’ll circle back to that.”

“Sure.” It’s difficult to think with her breasts pressed against my chest. So I don’t bother. I still can’t get enough of Grace’s fingers in my hair. I like it a lot. Especially when she wraps my hair around one fist and then moves her other hand up to trace a finger along one of my horns.

Her expression is still pure evil, but I find I don’t mind at all. “You’re getting your way, Bram. Me in your bed. You can’t fuck me tonight, but other than that... what are you going to do to me?”

The question should feel almost vulnerable, but it comes out the same way everything does from Grace. Like a challenge.

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I hook my hands under her ass and lift her mostly out of the water. She’s not quite passive in my hold, not with that imperious look in her dark eyes, but she allows me to maneuver her. Likely because I’ve essentially made a seat for her with my hands. A throne, even. She certainly has the energy of a queen.

Now, finally, I can look at her to my heart’s delight.

She’s well-formed, my vicious human. Long and lean, with strong muscles that stand out as she shifts restlessly. And scars. I hadn’t noticed before when she was wearing the purple dress, and she was more effectively covered with the other dress, but my Grace has scars all over her body. Some are faint and silvery and nearly entirely faded. Some are recent enough to be pink against her fair skin.

I trace a large one on her thigh with my thumb. “What happened here?”

“The same thing that happened everywhere else.” She says it in a bored tone. Not even her energy shifts.

Again, I feel a kinship with this woman. I know that tone. I’ve used it myself many times when recounting what happened to my family. Sometimes it’s easier to cut out emotions entirely than to deal with them every time a subject comes up.

I don’t ask her again. Really, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t bargain for her history. I bargained for her in my bed. That will have to be enough.

She’ll take control of this situation in a heartbeat. I can already see the calculation on her face as she shifts, her skin slick against my palms where I hold her aloft. There’s a part of me that desperately wants to let her do it. The moment when she dug her fingers into my hair and held my knife to my throat...

I’ve never felt more at peace.

I crave a repeat experience more than I crave the feeling of the wind buoying me in the air. Which is why I can never let her know how much I want it. Grace is a predator through and through. She wants to leave, and if she thinks she can dominate her way into doing it, she won’t hesitate. I’m not certain how I’d respond to such a thing, so I can’t allow us to get there.

“Spread your thighs.”

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