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T wo minutes later, I was back in the arms of the gargoyle king and being flown to the war room through his palace. He even told me a bit about each room we passed through, pride easy to detect in his tone. This was his home, and what a home it was!

What had looked on the outside like a mid-sized pink castle plucked out of a fairy tale book, was astonishing on the inside.

I had expected a mostly plain interior fitting of the facade’s medieval style, and everything to be made of clouds shaped like furniture, but no.

Think tables and China Cabinets of solid dark-red wood with intricate carvings, wall-sized paintings and tapestries, and lush, handwoven carpets.

The ceilings weren’t plain either; their pink cloudy surface was morphed into various shapes to decorate the corners: animals, human figures, gargoyles carrying the weight of the ceiling on their wings… Beautiful.

Everything was adapted to accommodate the physical specifics of Gargoyles.

From the chairs being bigger but with smaller backrests, to the ceilings being higher and the rooms having two wide-framed doors one on top of the other.

Several gargoyles, dressed in white loincloths and carrying food trays, flew through those upper doors while we were using the standard ones.

The art on the walls was also relevant to the palace residents. Depicted were gargoyles in flight hunting deer, or doing battle in the sky, or having a feast. There was also a painting of a gargoyle posing with a bunch of scantily clad human women.

Welcome to the Renaissance period, gargoyle style.

We reached our destination some six or seven rooms later–this palace was way bigger than it looked from the outside.

Another surprise awaited me here, because I had not pictured the war room so…

cozy. Sure, the vast canvases adorning the long walls depicted battle scenes, but nothing else in here screamed, let’s plan bloodshed .

The ceiling was as pink as cotton candy, with brighter areas here and there that bathed the windowless room in soft light.

Candles were placed on the massive rectangular table in the center of the room.

The individual tablecloths matched the blue color of the cushions on the chairs of dark-red wood.

To say that my scientific curiosity was piqued would be an understatement. I was in contact with a culture that probably just a handful of humans knew existed! I itched to touch and explore everything, especially since the warriors hadn’t arrived yet.

Alas, the feast laid out on the table brought me back to reality. I was starving.

The second Xaniban placed me on my feet, I ran to the food. Even if I had eaten today, I would still be unable to tear my eyes from the incredible sight.

“You’ve got real meat! Oh God, strawberries! Holy crap, is that chocolate cake?!”

I reached for the mouth-watering pastry–

I was pulled back by a tail around my waist until my back was pressed against Xaniban’s chest.

I wanted to scream bloody murder.

Xaniban’s lips ghosted over the edge of my ear. “Not yet. My warriors start eating first.”

I groaned, though that tradition sounded honorable. “They’ll never know a single strawberry is missing,” I insisted, eyes glued on the glass bowl overflowing with the big, ripe fruit.

I would eat strawberries even if they were half-rotten. Months of canned food would do that to you.

“ I will know,” he underscored, his warm breath against my skin tugging at a different kind of hunger deep inside me. “We must show restraint. I can, so can you.” The last words were a whisper, followed by a nip at my earlobe.

I gasped, an electric zing shooting straight to my core. Dammit. How could he piss me off one minute and turn me on the next?

Xaniban walked past me, his tail slipping away, the smile on his face suggesting the restraint he spoke of was not just food-related. He pulled the chair at the head of the table.

“Come, sit. My brethren will be here any second, then no one will go hungry.”

Forget about being turned-on. Tears stung at the back of my eyes as his words brought me back to reality at a dizzying speed. To the world below, where my community would go hungry.

When Carson and I had left the bunker this morning, another party had gone out in search of food.

We were getting low on the military food reserves, and the risk of going outside was unavoidable.

I had no way of knowing whether that group had survived the supply run, or whether they had found anything to eat.

Yet here I was, marveling at this magical place and grumbling that I had to wait a few minutes before stuffing myself.

Not only that, but amid the mind-blowing events of the last hour, I had forgotten about the meds.

The bag was no longer tucked in my belt.

It must have fallen off during the flight up here, and I hadn’t even noticed.

I was an utter failure.

“Please, do not be sad,” Xaniban spoke with concern from his chair. “Come, let me comfort you while we wait.” He patted his toned thigh.

I blinked. Did he seriously expect me to sit there?

Before I could give him a piece of my mind, feet appeared through the ceiling. I dashed to his side before the gargoyles coming down could land on me.

Clearly, the ceiling didn’t simply look like a cloud: it was one. A cloud that was both a ceiling and a door. God, this place.

“Sit, my brethren,” Xaniban addressed the newly arrived gargoyles, each of whom had gone down on one knee upon landing. “I should be bowing to your courage and skill in battle, not the other way around.”

I took in the newcomers. All were dressed in brown loincloths and looked impressively built, except for one who was almost twice as big and wide as the rest. He had some trouble fitting in a chair as everyone took their respective seats.

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. I stiffened. I saw only curiosity in their dark gazes, but I would have to be a fool not to feel intimidated as the focus of twelve warriors’ attention.

An arm snaked around my waist. I yelped in surprise as I was tugged back and deposited on its owner’s lap.

“Relax, it’s me,” Xaniban murmured while his tail was replacing his arm around my midsection in a secure hold. “We must all be seated for the dinner to begin.”

This was absurd. He kept manhandling me, and now I was supposed to be his lap girl? I knew that his kind’s attitudes and customs were different than mine, but–

I sighed inwardly. Protesting would do me no good.

As much as I was fuming inside, I had to suck it up.

I was in the war room, and not in the gargoyle king’s harem.

A small victory that could turn into a big one provided I learned things of importance for my community’s survival. I might not be a complete failure then.

“This is Sue,” Xaniban announced as soon as I relaxed against him. Finally, I had a name. “She’s here to offer her own report on the events of today.”

“Sue was on the battlefield,” a warrior spoke.

I recognized the gargoyle from the stairwell by his distinctively short black hair. Everyone else was digging the long hair style.

Xaniban nodded. “Yes, Fixgor. And not just that: Sue fought our enemy and saved my life.”

Impressed looks were directed my way, followed by flaps of wings and respectful nods at me.

I was astonished. The overconfident king publicly admitted he had needed saving and had been rescued by a woman. And he sounded proud as he said it. As if I weren’t just a female brought here to warm his bed. Had I been wrong to assume Gargoyles considered women inferior?

With the reason for my presence in the war room explained, the warriors finally began eating.

I expected a toast to the fallen, but the glasses on the table appeared to be filled with water, and the guests simply dug in.

Battles and their consequences had to be a regular occurrence for these guys. Just another day at the office.

I turned carefully to Xaniban, since our faces were close enough to brush, and gave him a questioning look.

A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Help yourself to whichever dish you desire.”

Ha. That would be every single one. The moment he moved us closer to the table so I could reach the food, I started building a mountain in the glass plate provided. Cheeses, salads, cured meat, fruit, freshly-baked bread–you named it, they had it, I tried it.

It was one explosion of tastes after another in my mouth. Maybe it was my diet since apocalypse one, or maybe the food was simply phenomenal, but I couldn’t hold back. Happy little noises escaped my lips after each bite.

I was moaning around a mouthful of cake when I realized all eyes were on me. Smiles played on the warriors’ faces, some more fangy than others due to tooth size differences. I mean, that extra large gargoyle’s canines were so long they couldn’t fit in his mouth.

“Sorry, everyone,” I mumbled. “I haven’t eaten today, apart from several rusks in the morning. And your… homecloud food is delicious.”

Xaniban hummed appreciatively. “No more malnourishment for you.” He rubbed my belly with his large clawed hand. “I will keep you well fed.”

I cleared my throat. I should not be enjoying the warmth of his touch at all, yet when he left his hand there, I did not try to remove it. “Why aren’t you eating?”

I had only now noticed he hadn’t touched the food, while his warriors and I were almost done with dinner.

He flashed me one of his lopsided smiles. “Watching you eat is fulfilling enough.”

My brows shot up. Here I was, gulping down food like a walrus, and Xaniban found that pleasing to the eye? “Don’t be absurd. Eat.” I handed him what remained of my cake.

Instead of taking the piece, he cupped my hand. Then guided it slowly to his lips and ate the dessert off my fingers. The tips of his forked tongue skimmed my fingertips. His eyes remained locked on mine throughout.

“Um…”

“My female is both territorial and overprotective of me, brethren! Have I not been blessed by the Gods today, twice even?”

A chorus of wing flapping.

I tucked my hand against my chest. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to lick the crumbs of cake off my fingers, one by one. He had already misinterpreted enough of my gestures as it was, believing I was signaling interest.

I was not interested. I did not want to snuggle in his lap and let his body heat seep into me.

I did not crave more of his scorching kisses and arousing touches.

His manhandling tendencies got my heart racing with indignation, nothing else.

I wanted to get to know him better, but only so I could get back home and not empty-handed. No other reason.

I hid a contented smile behind my second dessert when Xaniban began eating. He deftly used his claws to help himself to cured meat and cheese.

I wished there was more cake for him, but I had inhaled the last piece. And I was pretty sure the others had left it for me on purpose. Thoughtful gargoyles.

No longer distracted by the food with my belly full, I studied the paintings in the war room to learn more about my hosts.

The one to my left depicted gargoyles descending from the darkening sky with their swords drown.

Underneath was a small army of cloaked figures marching along a meadow.

The hoods of everyone but the mounted leader’s were pulled down, leaving their faces in shadow.

The horse rider had his hood drawn to reveal overly pale skin, reddish eyes, and two rows of pointed teeth bared at the incoming enemy.

I did a double take. “Is that Dracula?” I blurted out.

The vividly painted face of the vampire bore an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of Vlad Tepes I used to have on a fridge magnet. It was a souvenir from a trip to Romania years ago, so I’d spent a lot of time rummaging through my fridge under the piercing gaze of the Impaler.

“Do not worry.” Xaniban patted my thigh. “He is no longer among the living. My uncle took his head years ago, putting an end to the spread of his blood curse beyond the monsters he had already created. Whoever leads the remaining cursed is not as cunning.”

“So vamps existed as far back as the 15th century? I knew it! You Gargoyles existed at the time, too, didn’t you?” Then the meaning of his last words sunk in. “Wait, you mean Dracula was alive until years ago?”

My hypothesis was correct, then! The creatures behind the second apocalypse had been here for a long time. They just knew how to hide from humans very well.

When I took in the painting to my right, I realized the same applied to the monsters who had caused the first apocalypse.

Because what the gargoyles were fighting in this work of art was a group of Black Death victims. They were rising from a pile of corpses against the backdrop of a freshly built Notre - Dame de Paris.

And leading this small army of the dead was a rider whose plague doctor’s mask was lifted to reveal a familiar face.

Ignore the long hair and bushy beard, and you had Agent 007.