Page 3 of Stone Cold

He was desperate to get to me, to my connections. I knew he wanted an in with my brothers. They had found their mates. I wasn’t sure why, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with the annual All Hallows Eve party coming up. Families could come visit afterwards. After listening to others, it seemed that everyone was either going in costume, or dressed in full masquerade regalia.

Two of the few nice humans I met during my many trips to the library, Coco and Freya, had talked about going or not going. Coco was going dressed as Tour Guide Barbie from that one Disney movie so I decided to go as Workout Barbie. I could pull it off. My mom had once described my curves as a slightly more voluptuous Marilyn Monroe. I had a bit more ass, and my breasts were slightly larger, fuller, and anything skin tight on me looked provocative. It was mostly a curse because most Fae men couldn’t resist, but society at large had told them I was an embarrassment to be with. The perfect Fae woman was tall, thin, delicate. So, I was still untouched.

I would use the images I had in my mind of what an ideal partner would look like, or what he would do to me. Then there was the cold man who would invade my senses, taking over my dreams, who would growl at my every moan and mewl. I started dreaming of him shortly before coming here, and they only intensified after arriving.

In my dreams, he would never say anything, but he would show me everything, every emotion, every thought, in his stunning onyx eyes, glittering like they possessed galaxies in them. And his touch. My gods his touch! He was talented with those fingers! With that mouth! He was tender, loving, gentle. He was a block of ice, cooling the fire within me that felt never ending. It was in those moments, those nights when he would visit me that I would sleep like I hadn’t seen the inside of my eyelids for decades. I never wanted to wake up from those shared moments. I wanted tolivein those moments, when he made me feel beautiful, seen, worshipped.

In this morning’s dream, he had written a message to me, tapping the notepad once before kissing my head, just as everything started getting fuzzy and I knew I was about to wake up, about to be forced back into reality. Sitting here in Professor Tomlin’s psych class, I pulled my books out, somewhat lost in the lust of my dream. I flipped open my notebook, my jaw hitting the floor. I couldn’t believe it, not when I saw it, and had it sitting on my desk in front of me.

My notepad.

At the top of my ramblings, scratched in sloppy english.

“You are always more beautiful than a sunrise, more awe-inspiring than the vast seas, and each day you become even more so.”

He was real.

My stone cold man.

Three

Burchard’s POV

The weeks flew by, and mercifully, each night lasted a little longer as the daylight faded earlier and earlier the further into autumn we went. It was the best part about the seasons changing. I was still sneaking into her room every night, hiding from her, spending my time awake watching her, cataloging every detail of her face, her hands, the way she slept so soundly, the ways her snores sounded like a lullaby I’d hear when the sun rose. I hid high in the rafters, like a perverted stalker, my eyes fixated on her every movement as she performed her nightly routine, studied, or pleasured herself.

Those were my favorite times.

When her hand would dip under the covers, eventually throwing them off of her completely, unwittingly bearing herself to me. As her moans and mewls grew louder throughout each night until she reached the crescendo. I pleasured myself, hidden in the darkness, edging myself while she was awake. Only holding back my climax until she was asleep, twisted up, laying naked in her sheets. I would let it drip all over her and her sheets.

Once I had finished, I would listen to the others report to me what happened around the castle, but mainly what had happened to her throughout the day. It was difficult because I couldn’t be there to protect her during those days. Daylight had never been more my enemy than it was now that I was falling for this woman. I was so pathetic and desperate for more of her that I had to settle for infiltrating her dreams. That was the only way I could think to semi-kind-of communicate with her. I was doing my best to completely surround her. I wanted to be on her mind every minute of the day, even when she slept.

She was going to be mine, one way or another. I had already decided I could claim her for as long as she would have me.

In her dreams tonight, she had wanted to talk, to tell me all the things she never said out loud in our real life interactions. Though, to be fair, those were just her talking to a statue I didn’t think she fully knew was alive, and those conversations were not about anything specific, just whatever came to her mind. Some days she’d tell me about her dreams and goals, other days were about her mother, who she was, and how much she missed her. In most of her dreams, though, we didn’t talk until after I had thoroughly teased and pleasured her, and those talks were just about what she wanted to try the next time she dreamed of me. I looked forward to the nights more and more, as my favorite part was when I got to watch her come undone beneath me, on my fingers, on my mouth, when she pulled my face flush with her dripping center, my tongue buried inside of her.

When she smiled at me tonight, it was different from how she looked at me every other night when she was hungry for me like I was hungry for her. I watched as she brushed her hair behind her ear, smiling at me, looking at me with those stunning blue pools, asking questions I wanted to answer right away. But even in this dreamland, when I opened my mouth to answer her, no sound came out.

It seemed the same rules applied here, in her dreams, as they did in the real world. I hated that I couldn’t communicate with her verbally. If it wasn’t a full moon yet, I couldn’t talk to anyone other than the other gargoyles, and they just gave reports of what they saw, or play what they witnessed through our telepathic connection.

“I know we’ve been seeing each other in my dreams a lot, but I was wondering if you had a name?” I was determined to be more than just a listening ear for her.

“I guess I could always give you a name if you don’t have one, seeing as it’s my dream. What about Stony?”

I stepped up to her, taking her hand in mine. It was so much smaller than my massive marble one, so tiny, so warm and perfect. I gently dragged my claw across the palm of her hand, spelling out my name. I liked that she thought of a nickname for me, but I wanted to hear my name on her voice. To hear how it sounded.

B-U-R-C-H-A-R-D

“Burchard? That’s your name?” Her voice, soft and curious, filled me with a different, gentle kind of fluttering that I had never felt before. Something that filled me with a light feeling I had never experienced. It was odd, but welcome.

I gave her a small, slightly toothy, smile, loving the way she said my name. I nodded as she looked up at me, her wings out and shining in the moonlight. Annette had said she only let them out in her dreams, and with those she felt comfortable with. They sparkled like millions of black diamonds that had been crushed and used to make each wing sparkle, sewn together with the finest silk, making them look so delicate. I wanted to touch them, but those were sacred, not to be touched and saved for their mate. From everything I read they were basically an automatic orgasm if someone played with them, touched them, stroked them.

Annette stood before me, looking every bit the fairy princess she was, minus the crown, but was still everything I’d ever thought of or imagined when I pictured what a fairy would look like. As I looked at her, I tried to picture if there could be more…quickly shaking my head, I couldn’t do that to her. Chain her down to someone hunk of stone she would only get to be with half the time.

Literally.

Meeting her father when he took over for his human mate as interim head of The Society when she passed, he was…different. You could tell he was Fae, it was obvious in his physical looks, but he was also, part, something else. Something dark covered his spirit.

The whispers of parents and those who passed through these halls throughout the years that I had been here told me it was a bloody battle when he took over the throne thirty years ago. It was whispered that his mother was a consort and not the legitimate Queen, even though she was his father’s fated mate. It was a horrible tale of what happened all too often with arranged marriages and power plays. The fated mate eventually came along and there was no way to deny the pull of the bond, the want and need to be with one’s mate. From everything I’d read, it was undeniable, impossible to sever, unless both parties accepted the rejections.