Page 27 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Feydin

W atching Dazy work alongside me in the garden, her face flushed with determination and hope, I felt something shift in my chest. She'd called herself my mate without hesitation, had embraced the permanence of what that meant between gargoyles.

The way she'd grinned when she said it, like she was claiming something precious, made my wings twitch with the urge to wrap them around her and never let go.

That evening, after she'd gone inside to shower, I found myself staring at my phone. There was one person who might have advice, someone who understood both the intensity of gargoyle bonds and the complexities of navigating relationships after years of solitude.

My brother.

We hadn't spoken since our argument two years ago. Pride and stubbornness had kept us apart, but watching Dazy fight for what mattered to her made me realize how foolish I'd been. Some things were more important than wounded feelings.

I dialed before I could lose my nerve.

“Feydin?” Gavrel's voice carried surprise and something that might have been relief. “Mon dieu, I was beginning to think you'd turned to stone permanently.”

“Hello, brother.” The words felt rusty in my throat. “I owe you an apology.”

“Non, we both said things we didn't mean. I should have called sooner myself.” His accent had thickened, the way it always did when he was emotional. “How are you? Still playing guardian to that crumbling estate?”

“Actually, that's why I'm calling. Things have changed.”

I told him about Dazy, about the legal challenge, about how completely my world had been transformed in such a short time. As I spoke, I found myself pacing the cottage, my tail lashing with nervous energy.

“She sounds magnificent,” Gavrel said when I finished. “And you sound different. Lighter.”

“She's my mate.”

“Ah.” Understanding filled his voice. “That explains it. The way you describe her, the careful attention to her needs. You're fully bonded.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To another gargoyle? Absolutely. You're practically vibrating with the need to provide for her.” He chuckled. “I remember what Papa told us about when he met Maman. He rebuilt half their first house just to see her smile.”

The memory made my chest tight. Our parents had been devoted to each other until the end. “Do you think I'm doing enough? I've been trying to show her through actions, but human courtship is different from ours.”

“Keep doing what you're doing. But Feydin, have you told her what she means to you? Not just that you love her, but how completely she's changed you?”

“I have, but…” I faltered. “I believe actions show more than words.”

“You’re right about that. If you feel you need to do more, then create something that speaks to the depth of your feelings. Something only you could make for her.”

We hung up after promises that he would visit Harmony Glen soon, that we would repair what had been broken between us. Leaving my cottage, I walked the estate grounds in the moonlight. Gavrel's advice echoed in my mind. Create something that spoke to the depth of my feelings.

I knew exactly what to do.

The estate had many forgotten spaces, rooms that hadn't been used in years. But there was one in particular that had always called to me: a small conservatory tucked away in the middle of the back part of the building, hidden from outside and accessible only through a secret door in the library. Helga had mentioned it a few times, saying it was her private retreat. I hadn’t gone there often.

It was past time I did.

I spent the next three days working in secret while Dazy focused on the outdoor gardens.

The space had been sealed off for so long that dust coated everything like a shroud, and cobwebs draped across the glass ceiling in intricate patterns that would have been beautiful if the whole room wasn’t so neglected.

But I could see the potential beneath the decay.

I started by cleaning, removing years of accumulated debris and washing the glass roof panels until they sparkled.

The room was small but perfectly proportioned, with curved walls.

Special shutters would open on the outer wall, revealing glass beneath.

Then she could view the back garden areas.

The glass ceiling would let her sit back on a chaise and view the stars.

Next came the real work. I flew to every nursery within fifty miles, gathering the most beautiful plants I could find.

Night-blooming cereus that would unfurl spectacular flowers once a year.

Herbs that would fill the air with perfume.

Delicate plants that thrived with lots of light. Orchids in every color imaginable.

But it wasn't enough to simply arrange the plants.

This needed to be a space that spoke to who Dazy was, what she loved.

I installed a small fountain in the center, its gentle bubbling creating peaceful background noise.

I built elevated planting beds from reclaimed stone, each one positioned to catch optimal light for its intended inhabitants.

Along one wall, I created a reading nook with cushions covered in soft fabric in her favorite colors. I'd noticed how she loved to curl up with her romance novels, and this would give her a place to do so surrounded by living beauty .

The finishing touch was the most important: a small plaque I'd had engraved, positioned where she would see it the moment she entered.

For Dazy, who brings things back to life—including me. F

I was putting the final touches on the space when my phone rang. Unknown number, but something made me answer.

“Mr. Budiere? This is Judge Harrison's clerk. I'm calling to inform you that a court date has been set for the Winterbourne Estate case. Two weeks from today, nine AM.”

Two weeks. My stomach dropped as I thanked the clerk and hung up. Two weeks to find the evidence we needed, to build a case strong enough to overcome Rebecca's documentation.

Two weeks to prove that Dazy deserved to keep the home we were building together.

I stared around the conservatory, at the labor of love I'd created for my mate. If we lost the case, would she be able to enjoy this space? Would we have time to make the memories I'd imagined, lazy afternoons reading together, quiet evenings watching the stars through the glass ceiling?

The uncertainty made my chest ache, but I pushed the worry aside. Whatever happened, I wanted Dazy to know how completely she'd changed my world. This room would tell her that, even if I couldn't find the words.

The next morning, I waited until she went outside to work in the front gardens, then spent an hour arranging the final details. Fresh flowers in small vases. A bottle of her favorite wine chilling in an ice bucket. The romance novel she'd been reading placed carefully on the cushioned reading nook.

When everything was perfect, I found her kneeling beside a flower bed, her hands dirty and her hair escaping its braid in the way that always made me want to smooth it back into place.

“Dazy.”

She looked up, and the smile that spread across her face sent warmth rushing through my chest. “You look like you're up to something.”

“Would you come with me? There's something I want to show you.”

“More surprises? You're going to spoil me.”

The idea that she might grow tired of my gestures made my wings twitch. “Is that bad?”

Her laugh rang out across the garden. “No, you sweet gargoyle. It's wonderful.”

Sweet again. I was beginning to understand that when Dazy called me sweet, it wasn't diminutive at all. It meant I was precious. Someone she treasured.

I led her inside to the library, stopping before the bookshelf that concealed the hidden door. “Close your eyes.”

“Feydin, what did you do?”

“Trust me.”

She closed her eyes, and I pressed the mechanism that opened the concealed entrance. The door swung open silently, revealing the conservatory beyond .

“You can look now.”

Her eyes opened, and for a moment, she didn't move. Didn't speak. Didn't even breathe, as far as I could tell. She stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the space I'd created for her.

Had I miscalculated? Was it too overwhelming? Women were different from gargoyle females. Perhaps grand gestures weren't appreciated the same way.

“Dazy?” My voice came out rough with worry. “Do you… Is it acceptable?”

She turned to look at me, and I was alarmed to see tears streaming down her cheeks. I'd made her cry. Again. This was becoming a disturbing pattern.

“I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “I can change it. Remove things. Make it less?—”

“Stop.” She pressed her fingertips to my lips, silencing me. “This…”

I remained locked in place, afraid that any movement might make things worse. Her tears continued to fall, and my heart felt like it was being crushed in a press.

“You renovated this for me,” she whispered.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“This whole room. Every plant, every detail.” Her voice broke. “The reading nook with the exact cushions in the colors I love the most. The fountain because I mentioned loving the sound of water. Even the specific orchids I stopped to admire at the nursery last week.”

Had she noticed that? I'd thought I'd been subtle when I'd memorized her preferences.

“You've been watching me,” she said. “Learning what makes me happy. And then you created a space that's perfect.”

“You're crying,” I pointed out helplessly. “Perfect things shouldn't make you cry.”

She laughed through her tears. “Happy tears, remember? These are very, very happy tears.”

“Ah. Yes. Happy tears.” I still didn't fully understand the concept, but if Dazy said she was happy, I would accept it.

She stepped into the conservatory, moving slowly through the space I'd created. She touched the fountain, breathed in the scent of the herbs, ran her fingers over the soft cushions.

When she reached the plaque, she read it out loud. More tears fell, but her smile was radiant. “You really believe that I brought you back to life?”

“I know it.” The words came easily now, my certainty overwhelming my awkwardness. “I was stone, Dazy. Not just my body, but everything inside me. Until you arrived and made me remember what it felt like to want something. To hope for something.”

She moved toward me, and I opened my arms to catch her when she launched herself at me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms around my neck, and she kissed me with an intensity that made my wings snap out.

“I love you,” she said against my lips. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?”

“Because I've never felt anything this big before. You make me feel like I could do anything, be anything, as long as you're with me.”

The fierce joy in her voice, the way she clung to me like I was something amazing, was everything I'd dreamed of and more. My mate understood what she meant to me, and miraculously, impossibly, she felt the same way.

“Always,” I promised her. “Whatever happens, wherever we go. Always.”