Page 5 of Reptile Dysfunction (Harmony Glen #11)

Chapter Four

S loane

The bourbon warms my throat as Thaddeus tells me things that would give my father an aneurysm. His deep voice fills the unique space of his water tower home, and I find myself caught between work-driven fascination and a more dangerous personal interest.

“We weren’t thugs,” he says, pacing the curved wall with a predator’s grace.

“More like… preventive maintenance. If a human teenager was getting too close to monster territory, they’d have an unexplained feeling of dread.

If someone was asking too many questions, they’d suddenly decide their curiosity wasn’t worth pursuing. ”

“Using your intimidation ability?” I’m recording, but I also take notes—part backup, part distraction from my urge to touch one of his snakes, which are swaying in an almost hypnotic pattern as he speaks.

“Among other things.” He pauses by one of the round steampunk-style windows, his impressive frame silhouetted against the twilight sky.

“Each monster species had its own methods. And all Gorgons’ powers aren’t alike.

I have the ability to affect people’s fight-or-flight response. Made me an uncanny fit for the job.”

He pauses, studying my face with those intense molten topaz eyes. “But that’s not my only ability. Some Gorgons also have what you might call truth compulsion—direct eye contact makes it nearly impossible for someone to lie. Useful for interrogations and threat assessment.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?” I ask, suddenly hyperaware of how his gaze seems to pierce straight through me.

His lips curve in what might be a smile.

“Not intentionally. The ability requires deliberate activation—my eyes shift to a deeper amber and there’s a…

pressure… that most people can feel. Like being wrapped in warm honey that demands honesty.

” He looks away, breaking the intensity.

“I’ve learned to control it. Most of the time. ”

“Most of the time?”

“Strong emotions can trigger it accidentally. Anger. Fear.” His voice drops lower. “Other… intense feelings.” His eyes flash amber for just a moment, pupils narrowing to vertical slits before returning to normal.

That look along with his words makes my pulse flutter. I clear my throat and focus on my notebook. “So, intimidation and truth compulsion. A formidable combination for an enforcer.”

“It was effective,” he agrees, moving back to his original position by the window.

He pauses for a moment, looking out at the silvery shimmer rippling on the lake. It gives me a moment to take him in.

The moonlight casts dramatic shadows across his muscled frame, highlighting the tribal snake tattoo that winds down his left arm like ancient runes.

At about six-foot-four, he towers over most humans, but it’s not just his height that commands attention.

There’s a raw power in the way he moves, a predatory grace that his worn leather jacket and faded jeans can’t disguise.

His snakes create an ever-shifting crown of sparkly scales, some dark as obsidian, others gleaming with hints of emerald, jade, and copper.

They frame a face that’s all sharp angles and masculine beauty—strong jaw darkened by perpetual stubble, high cheekbones, and those intense coppery eyes that seem to see right through my practiced facade.

He’s nothing like the polished men my father prefers for me, and that makes him all the more magnetic.

“FYI, I didn’t just use my ability with humans.

Curiosity and bad judgment go both ways.

There were many times my powers helped me keep my fellow Others from wandering where they had no business.

I was particularly effective because I can control the level of fear.

Just enough to deter, not enough to cause panic. ”

“And if deterrence didn’t work?”

His eyes meet mine, flashing that fascinating amber. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.” The word comes out breathier than intended.

He moves closer, and suddenly the temperature in the room seems to spike. “There were ways to make people forget. Others of what you call monsters handled that part. My job was making sure it rarely came to that.”

One of his snakes—a particularly bold one with an iridescent sheen—stretches toward me. Before I can stop myself, I reach up toward it.

“Careful,” Thad warns, but he doesn’t pull away. “They’re not always friendly to strangers.”

The snake flicks its tongue against my fingers, then butts its head against my palm like a curious cat. Several others follow suit, creating a gentle swaying frame around Thad’s face.

“You have some co-conspirators already,” he mutters, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.

“I’m not the enemy, you know.” I spear him with a serious look. “They’re beautiful,” I say honestly. The scales feel like warm silk against my skin. “Do they have names?”

“They’re part of me, not pets.” But his expression softens slightly. “Though some have… distinct personalities. And I might have named this one Sterling.”

The iridescent one currently nuzzling my palm seems to approve of the name, giving a pleased little hiss.

“That one’s particularly shameless,” Thad says. “Like someone else I know who shows up at public pools in designer shoes.”

Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Not likely.” His eyes crinkle at the corners in a way that nearly makes me lose focus. “It was a bold choice. I respect bold choices.”

“Like living in a converted water tower?”

“Like asking questions no one in Harmony Glen wants answered.”

The moment stretches between us, charged with something that has nothing to do with interviews or articles. My hand is still raised to his snakes, and he’s standing close enough that I can smell soap and leather and something spicier underneath.

My phone buzzes, shattering the moment. Thad steps back as I check the screen.

Dad: Where are you? Bradley stopped by for an after-dinner drink.

Irritation spikes through me. “Unbelievable.”

“Problem?”

“Just my father’s continuing attempts to orchestrate my social life.”

I type a quick response: Working on the story. Don’t wait up.

“Is your father playing matchmaker?” There’s an edge to Thad’s voice that makes his snakes rise slightly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Bradley Harrington the Third,” I confirm with an eye roll. “Pillar of the community, according to my father. Walking cure for insomnia, according to me.”

A few snakes make a sound suspiciously like snickering.

“You should go,” Thad says, though his snakes suggest otherwise, swaying toward me like they hope I’ll stay. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m not done with my questions.”

“The enforcer story or the personal inquisition?”

“Both.” I stand, moving deliberately into his space. “Unless you’re trying to intimidate me into leaving?”

His eyes darken. “That ability doesn’t seem to work on you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re still here.” His voice drops lower. “Most humans have the sense to run when a Gorgon’s eyes change color.”

“Maybe I don’t have any sense.”

“Or maybe…” He reaches up, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to touch my face. Instead, he plucks my pen from behind my ear where I’d forgotten I’d stuck it. “Maybe you’re just a journalist who doesn’t know when to quit.”

The pen dangles between us like a challenge. When I take it, our fingers brush, and static electricity crackles between us—or maybe that’s just my imagination.

“One more question,” I say.

“Make it count.”

“Why does your brother get all the good press? He’s a Gorgon too. He must have been part of the enforcer system.”

Something flickers across Thad’s face—pride mixed with old pain. “Sebastian’s different. His abilities were never meant to intimidate. He creates sanctuaries, safe spaces. Makes people feel protected instead of afraid.”

“And you?”

“That’s two questions.” He steps back, creating a safe distance between us. “Time to go, Whitaker. Before your father sends a search party.”

“I’m not finished with this story.”

“No,” he agrees, and his snakes do that pleased swaying thing again. “I don’t suppose you are.”

The ride home is an exercise in self-control.

The motorcycle requires me to press against his back, my arms wrapped around a torso that feels like it was carved from warm marble.

Every turn brings us closer together, and my treacherous brain catalogs each point of contact.

My nipples peak in desire, although I spend far too much effort convincing myself it’s due to the cool breeze.

He walks me to the gate, ever the gentleman despite his intimidating appearance. In the moonlight, his snakes appear almost silvery, and the iridescent one gives me what I swear is a hopeful look.

“Thanks for the interview,” I say, aiming for composed and probably missing by a mile.

“You’re welcome.” He reaches for the helmet I’d forgotten I was still holding. “And Sloane?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t believe everything you’re about to write about me. I’m not nearly as dangerous as I pretend to be.”

With that, he swings onto his motorcycle and roars off into the night, leaving me to wonder exactly when this story stopped being just about Revelation Day and started being about something far more dangerous.

Inside, I find a note from my mother propped on my laptop: Hope the interview went well. Dad’s disappointed you missed Bradley, but I told him good journalism waits for no man. Even ones he handpicks. - Love, Mom

Grinning, I open my laptop and navigate to HarmonyUncensored.com. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I consider my first post.

Five years ago, monsters revealed themselves to the world. But some stories remained hidden. Until now.

The words flow easily after that, painting a picture of secret protectors and necessary shadows, of a Gorgon who used fear to keep both humans and monsters safe. I write about enforcer culture without naming names, about the complex morality of maintaining secrets through intimidation.

I write about strength and purpose and the cost of losing both.

And if I also write about caramel-hued eyes and silk-scaled snakes and the way motorcycle vibrations feel through leather jackets—well, that part’s just for me.

For now.