Page 38 of The Gargoyle's Captive

We don’t stop for a very, very long time.

I lie in Bram’s arms as the sweat cools on our bodies. It seems to take a lot longer than I would expect for my heart to ease back to a more normal pace. Maybe it never will. I rub my nose against Bram’s chest and smile as he pulls me closer. This is what happiness feels like. I don’t have an urge to be somewhere else, a pressure building and telling me that I’m not doing enough. I just... am. And that’s perfect. That’s all he expects of me.

I press a soft kiss to his pec. “My favorite color is purple. I don’t own much of it because it’s not practical; it stands out too much, draws the eye, which is exactly why it’s something a hunter shouldn’t wear. But I love it in all its frivolousness.”

Bram trails his fingers down my spine. “I like pink.” When I lift my head in surprise, he smiles. “Not hot pink. A deep rouge.”

Understanding dawns in a slow wave. Hot pink is lust. But the color he’s describing? That’s love. I haven’t had cause to see it much in my life. My grandparents didn’t love me. They saw me as a tool to be used, an extension of their legacy. My parents did, but all too often that emotion was cast over in favor of other, harsher ones. “It’s a beautiful color.” It’s one that... I’m seeing right now. I don’t know how to process that. He hasn’t said the words, but does he need to when I can see the truth written on his aura?

Do I when he can see the truth on mine?

“Yes, it is.”

A truth I’ve kept close bubbles up inside me. “I’m part gargoyle. Or at least one of my ancestors was. I can read your energy just like you can read mine. I know what that color means.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He smooths my hair back. “I have no desire to hide anything from you, either. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just ask.”

There are so many things I want to know, but again I think back to his throwaway comment in his office about all the things we don’t know about each other. “Will you tell me your family members’ names? And more about them?”

Bram sucks in a harsh breath. “Yes, of course. Rae was one of the twins. They had just turned twenty-two. Practically a baby. They really loved sculpting and pottery. They were very good at it. Felix was the other twin, and he was the best hunter I’ve ever seen. He could also make anyone laugh with his ridiculous jokes.” He trails off, and I almost cut in to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this if he doesn’t want to, but he continues speaking before I get a chance. “Amelia was only a year younger than me. She was a gigantic pain in my ass. Anything I did, she was quick to prove she could do better—and shecoulddo it better. I don’t know if she actually wanted to be ruler of this territory, but she likely would’ve been better at that too. She was smart and ambitious, and if she was a little asshole sometimes, I think that’s just how siblings are.”

My heart breaks for him. I don’t know what it says about me that even in the midst of wishing he hadn’t gone through such devastating loss, a part of me is still jealous that he had those relationships to begin with. I’m an only child. My mother was a hunter, and her pregnancy with me was not an easy one. She decided that the cost was too high, even if it meant I was the one who would have to worry about continuing the family legacy. When I was younger, I loved that I had my parents’ sole attention. It was only as I grew older that the true cost and loneliness set in. I don’t know how much of it is being an only child and the family legacy placed on me.

Bram keeps touching me, little strokes that are meant for comfort, though I don’t know if he’s comforting me or himself. “My father was Arthur. People say my mother was the great love of his life, but I don’t think it’s the truth. I don’t know if he was even capable of love. He was always remote with us. I don’t know if he was a bad man, but I don’t think he was a good one. He claimed he brought the human in to increase the power in our territory, but I saw how he was with her. It was obsession, plain and simple. Selfish desire.”

“The decision on whether to have children—and who to have them with—shouldn’t be made because of power or family legacy. It should be made because you want a child and a family.” The words feel ripped from my chest. Our histories are not the same, and neither are our circumstances, but I know all too well the hurt I’ve experienced being seen as a gear in the machine instead of a person in and of myself.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t. Even if he had been telling the truth about his motivation, it’s still shitty of him. We don’t have to live our lives like they did.” Bram’s heart is a steady beat against my cheek. “Will you tell me about your parents?”

It’s the absolute least I can do. “My father’s name was Gerald. He married into the family, but he took up hunting as if it were in his blood. Or at least that’s what my mother used to say. He was killed by a werewolf when I was fourteen. The werewolf was terrorizing a small town, stealing the women from their beds. Dad cut off his head, but he dealt a mortal blow before Dad was able to finish him off.” Killing that werewolf was an undeniably necessary thing to do. The human police were only half right when they thought they had a serial killer on their hands. Even if they’d managed to corner the culprit, he would’ve torn through them like wet tissue paper. Because werewolves have superior healing and ridiculously fast reflexes, the only way to be sure they are really dead is to decapitate them. Last I checked, cops weren’t running around with swords and cutting off heads.

“I’m sorry.”

I smile even though my eyes are burning. “We keep saying that to each other, over and over, for our pains that words won’t fix.”

“Sometimes there’s nothing else to say.”

He’s right. Words might not change anything about our past, but words are all we have right now. I take a deep breath. “My mother grew up the same as me. Trained from birth to kill. Except not really the same as me at all. My father was a balancing force. He didn’t have the old prejudices my grandfather did. He wouldn’t go on a hunt unless it was proven that the monster he was hunting had harmed a human. When my mother married him, she adopted that policy as well. But when he died, things went a little strange. My grandfather only lived another year after my father, though it was disease that got him rather than violence. Ironic, that. But my mother started searching for something, some kind of answer to a question that I still don’t know. She was driven to the point of obsession. She disappeared the year I turned twenty. I’ve been searching for answers for five years, but I’ve never been able to find outwhy. That’s why I came here.” I exhale shakily. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. My mother’s name was Barbara.”

Bram freezes. It’s as if he’s turned to stone next to me, his arms no longer a comforting embrace but instead a cage. “What did you say?”

The movies and storybooks like to pretend that when something terrible happens, it happens in slow motion. Life is rarely that kind. Understanding, when it comes, happens in an instant. Pieces click together, and I wonder why I never saw it before. Why did I never question the details of his history, Azazel’s hesitance, Ramanu’s careful handling of us? I should have.

When Bram speaks, I already know the words before they reach the air between us. “Barbara was the name of the human who killed my family.”

23

BRAM

Idon’t shove Grace away from me, even though every instinct I have is demanding I put space between us. Instead, I gently nudge her aside and climb out of the bed. It’s still not enough distance between us.

I should’ve put the pieces together earlier. I knew Grace said she saved people, but so many times saving oneperson means killing another. That’s the truth lay in the margins of her silence. Which means her mother did the same thing; her mother, who made a demon bargain some time ago and was never seen again. How likely would it be that her missing mother and the human who killed my family weren’t connected? The odds that they were are astronomical. And yet I never questioned it.

Maybe because I didn’t want to.

“I need to go. I need to think.”

“Bram, wait!” To her credit, she doesn’t leave the bed or try to approach me. She also doesn’t clutch the sheet to her naked chest or pretend to be anything other than what she is. A predator. The way she watches me... if I attacked her now, she would meet me, violence for violence. She wouldn’t hesitate. Grace swallows visibly. I can barely think clearly enough to process the riot of color in her energy. “Can we please just talk about this?”

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