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“Tell me everything you know about it and where it was last seen.” He looks up at me with an irritated expression. I clear my throat. “Please.”

“To understand, we need to visit the library,” he responds. “Are you capable,” he starts.

“I’m fucking fine!” I insist.

“And fucking stubborn,” Myerdoth adds as he shakes his head. “If you pass out, I’m going to leave you where you drop.”

“Fine.”

We weave through the streets and I’m beyond grateful to have Myerdoth beside me. I couldn’t make this trek alone. When I feel as if I can’t move another inch, Myerdoth announces we’ve arrived.

We make our way to the large library and find a table near the back. Books float from one shelf to the next as mages use spells to replicate texts destroyed in the raids and small fae creatures organize the tomes.

I sit across from Myerdoth and the gargoyle watches the mages with distrust.

“The witch who created us wrote all of her spells in a black, leather journal with the symbol of strength and honor upon its cover.” He traces the symbol onto a scrap of paper. The scratch of the quill causes chill bumps to bloom on my skin. He passes the scrap of paper to me and I study the strange drawing.

“Watch by day, protect by night. Only we can defeat darkness,”he starts.

“With darkness,”I finish as I look up at him. “I’ve known the oath all my life. It was from the grimoire?”

“Yes. The oath had been ingrained into us from the start. We are natural protectors, the gargoyle race.”

“Then you were there from the beginning?”

“I was.”

“Tell me the story of the witch you mentioned earlier,” I say. “Please.”

Myerdoth’s lips part slightly into the only semblance of a smile I’ve ever seen from him. “She gave us life and allowed us freedom, butIchose to staywith her. As her first creation, there was an incredible bond between us.”

I hold up a hand. “Wait a second,” I start and then take a pause. “Are you telling me, you werethe first gargoyle?”

He nods as I try to decide if he’s full of shit, delusional or just completely insane.

“I see the doubt in your eyes,” Myerdoth continues as he extends his forearm and unties a brown leather cuff that covers his skin. Beneath the cuff is a glowing red rune—and it’s in the exact shape of the picture he scribbled on the piece of paper.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The mark,” Myerdoth answers. “That shows I was the first of my kind.”

“What does it do?”

“Protects me,” he answers with a shrug. “I can’t be killed unless the mark is destroyed,” he continues as he covers the rune with the heavy leather cuff once more.

“Hence why you keep it covered?”

“Hence why I keep it covered. In times of war, I cover the leather with metal armor.”

I nod as my thoughts return to the witch and the story of the grimoire. “This woman created you and allowed you freedom, yet you chose to stay with her.”

“I did.”

“You loved her?”

“She was my mate,” Myerdoth reveals with a quick nod. “We only have one in all our lifetimes.”

“Is that true?” I ask, surprised to hear it.