Page 2 of Stolen by the Gargoyle (Gargoyles of the Underworld #1)
I stared at the human woman that I stole to be my wife.
She prattled on, muttering to herself as she carved a pathway on the floor by walking back and forth. She would occasionally stop and look at me, expectant in that gaze, before she muttered under her breath and resumed her incessant pacing.
The babbling slipped from her tongue in a long string of anxiousness. It made me tilt my head to the side and regard her with far more curiosity than I had before.
I understood every word, despite her imagining the contrary. Even when she groaned and began spitting obscenities in Spanish, her accent thick and delicious, like a frothy drink meant to be savored on the tongue.
The more frantic her pacing grew, the more rapidly I could hear the beating of her heart.
It pelted against her chest, an echo in my curved ears that began to worry me with its rhythm.
I counted out the beats in sixty second intervals, wondering to myself if it was normal for human hearts to pound at nearly two hundred beats.
It sounded like a fragile thing, and my own emotions rumbled through me like flickering flames when my wife began to cry.
I stood to my full height, startling her.
She yelped, her big dark eyes widening as she took in my stature.
My wings flared, and I spread them out so she would look her fill.
I prided myself in my size and the way the soft, bioluminescent lights of the tunnel reflected off my skin.
I was not the tallest of my brethren, but I was sculpted from a thick mass of muscle needed to crush the very bones from my enemies with merely a squeeze of my thighs.
She seemed to appreciate my form, the same way I appreciated hers.
There were no words in all the demonic languages and beyond that were adequate enough to describe her.
She appeared to be molded and shaped from tiger’s eye, all smooth brown skin with dark golden and mahogany undertones.
Her body dipped and curved, appearing pillowy and fluffy and soft.
My claws wanted to press into her flesh like it had earlier, feel the teasing hint of voluptuous flesh she boasted over every single inch.
I wanted to lay her down on the nest I built for her and worship at the altar of her flesh. I wanted those sighs and screams like gospel a lowly demon like me was never meant to hear.
I wanted to be inside her.
I wanted to make her my wife .
But she would not stop speaking to let me say this. She would not let me squeeze my words in between the edges of her own and clear the misunderstanding she so obviously thought this was.
“A bat-filled cave. I don’t even like bats.”
It was, in fact, not a bat-filled cave.
Those were demons scuttling across the ceiling.
“Where even are we?”
The Underworld, my home, and now it would be hers as well.
Before I could deign to answer, she was already asking a new question.
“Who even are you?”
Your husband.
“ What even are you?” She stared at me. “Scratch that, I know what you are. Why did you take me? Why me , of all people?”
Because she was the one . The one I’d crawled out of the depths of hell to find.
The one I risked the wrath of the Lord of the Dead to claim.
Mine. Mine . From the moment I burst free from the confines of fire and torment into the human world, I had set flight on top of cathedrals.
I’d remained hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting.
And then she’d appeared.
Dolores Villanueva.
I’d followed her in the dark, something feral in me awakening at the slightest scent that teased her skin.
I’d seen her.
I knew I had to have her.
And so I took her for myself.
This human woman who did not even know my name, but knew my tongue and the pleasure I could wring from her soft, supple body.
Soon, she would know more of me. She would know my cock.
She would know that my stone heart beat for her and no other.
She would know that I would choose her in every lifetime because she had been made for me .
Nazzar. First General of the Underworld. Demon commander of the Lord of the Dead’s legions of hell.
She would know it all.
Know that my brothers and I crawled from despair to find our perfect human. That we would complete the mating ritual that would bind us together. I would feed her and wrap her in my furs and protect her for the rest of our days.
If only she would let me speak.
“This is ridiculous, you know. I don’t care how well you give orgasms.” She gave a very brief pause to draw in a breath, though I noted the way her eyes went to me. To my mouth.
Was she thinking about what we had done earlier? Was she as crazed with the need for more as I was?
When I’d taken her, she had worn far too much clothing for my liking. After laying her among her new nest, I’d stripped her of the blue pants that covered her thick legs and the softer, patterned undergarments so I could feast between her thighs like a beast starved for affection.
Judging from the enthusiastic way she met the thrusts of my tongue, I knew she’d enjoyed it. My tongue darted out to slide against my fangs at the reminder, the action causing her eyes to flash with what could only be need.
Enough of this prattle.
I reached for the cloth that covered me. I would divest myself of it and make her my wife. Now.
Dolores’ eyes widened as she saw me reach for the strings holding the cloth together.
“No!” she cried out, slapping her palms against her eyes but peeking from between the spaces of her fingers. The curly spirals of her hair bounced as she jumped back a step. “I don’t want to see all that!”
Her heart sped up.
She was lying to me. But I did not move to tear the cloth from myself again, sure she would soon beg me regardless.
“You know what, I think it’d be better if I just left, Mr. Gargoyle,” she said suddenly, throwing her hands up. “I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here so I’m just gonna…” She started walking away.
My wings rustled with agitation and finally, finally she was silent enough for me to speak.
“No,” I growled.
The word made her freeze in her tracks. She turned to me, plump mouth gaping open. “What did you say?” Her voice was like a flutter of soft wind.
“No,” I repeated. “I will not let you go.”