Page 23 of Moist!

chapter eleven

Days turn into weeks, then months as I slowly learn more about the gargoyles I'm fated to.

Atlas still gets grumpy and hides himself away, though not as much anymore.

Often I find Ronan's dark eyes tracking me, searching for signs of sickness.

Or maybe he's wondering if I'll change my mind.

Saxon spends his days shadowing me as if I'll disappear if I'm out of his sight.

Most nights I end up in his arms with him clinging to me.

Once again, they're gathered in the kitchen while I cook. Their low conversation flows over me as I stir the stew. They've been doing this more lately. Every time I glance their way, they cut off their mumblings.

“How long?” I finally say. It's a question I've been putting off since I got my memories back.

“You're the one cooking, little bird,” Ronan calls.

I pull in a deep breath and set down the spoon before turning to face them. “No. I mean, how long do we get a reprieve before I meet an untimely demise?”

Ronan ducks his head, per usual. Saxon just gives me a sad smile. I didn't expect them to be open and honest with me. With anything else, they'll tell me the truth, but not in this. Which is why I focus on Atlas. Out of all of them, he'll be the one to give it to me straight.

“Shortest time was three months,” he says, a blank mask slipping over his features.

“And the longest?”

He stares at me and his wings droop. “Nine. Nine months.”

I shake my head, searching my past memories to contradict his words. “I've been here…no. There was that one time in like seventeen?—”

“You caught yellow fever nine months after we met,” he murmurs.

“That doesn't seem like a long enough time to”—I swallow hard—“to fall in love.”

Atlas shrugs and glances away. I doubt I'll get more of an explanation out of him. He probably doesn't understand it any more than I do.

Saxon leans his elbows on his knees. “It was easier when the world was smaller.

Things like magic and the mythical were more accepted.

Your previous families searched for us sometimes.

They passed down the prophecy, if you will, from generation to generation.

I wouldn't be surprised if your parents in this life know about it.”

“Not surprising they didn't do shit with it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

“No, it's not,” Saxon snarls. “And they haven't changed one bit since you left.”

He never went into detail when he snuck out one night.

Merely said I shouldn't worry about it and I made the right decision to leave.

I didn't care, anyway. If they didn't want me when I was a kid, they certainly wouldn't want me now.

I'm better off here than anywhere else. I wouldn't choose anyone over these three.

“How long has it been since I showed up?” I ask softly.

Atlas still won't meet my gaze. He's said his piece and I won't get anything more.

A strip of moonlight peeking through a hole high above us reflects off the smooth rocks embedded in the walls.

It's like being surrounded by twinkling diamonds.

Saxon drops his head and his wings slump behind him, the claws on each tip winking in the shadows.

“Today is nine months.” Ronan finally breaks the silence while despair rests heavily in his purple eyes.

My hands drop and I grip the counter. “Is it exactly nine months, usually?”

“That's what the prophecy says. You'll leave us on this day, by choice or force. Any plans on finding an exit, little bird?”

“Nope. Seems weird it's nine months exactly, but then again, so is being fated to three gargoyles by the universe.

Throw in the whole past lives thing and I doubt anyone would believe my story out there.

Better to stay down here and hide from the world, don't you think?” I smile, but none of them respond. “Do we have a time?”

“The moon is at its zenith,” Saxon whispers.

“Explains why you guys are so mopey today. And why you woke me up with your cock, Atlas.” A shiver rolls down my spine at the memory. “I think you three need to let it go and get used to having me around.”

“Hazel,” Atlas groans, and I point at the ceiling.

“Moon's past its zenith. Oh, and the soup is done. Who's hungry?”

Atlas launches off his stool, knocking it over in the process.

He races for the door, probably to check whether or not I'm telling the truth.

I've gotten pretty good at telling the time based on the way the sun or the moon slants through the rooms. It's after midnight and on its way toward the horizon. He'll be back soon enough.

Ronan and Saxon rush me and sandwich me between them.

Saxon's wing hits my hand and sends the spoon flying.

I laugh as their words jumble together. I don't know how long we stand there when Atlas prowls through the door once more.

He pushes his way to me and gathers me up in his arms, then throws me over his shoulder.

As he hauls me off to the bedrooms with Ronan and Saxon trailing behind, my heart overflows.

No matter what happened in my past lives, I'm here to stay this time.

They love me—all the versions of me. Over and over, I've loved them.

I don't know what the future holds, but I can't wait to finally live it—with them.