Page 50 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)
Idabel
A year later
I dabel hummed as she sorted herbs by candlelight on the wide ledge that served as both kitchen table and apothecary workshop.
Deeper in their dwelling were the sleeping nests, but the main rooms were open to the wild air of the southern cliffs.
She’d come to love the expansive view of the plains and mountains that were nothing like the ordered stones of Solvantis.
A year ago, the height made her dizzy, but now, it felt like home.
“Mama, watch!” Lo?c’s voice carried from the schooling ledge next door where two dozen fledglings practiced their maneuvers.
He executed a perfect spiral dive, wings catching the moonlight, before spreading them wide to ride a thermal back up to the roost. His instructor, a scarred old gargoyle whose wings were part feathered, part membrane, called out his approval, and several of the other young gargoyles hooted and cheered.
That was one of the things that had surprised Idabel the most about living in the cliffs.
Here, differences were celebrated. Lo?c’s mixed heritage made him interesting, not an abomination.
He had so many friends, he rarely spent time at home.
She missed her little boy sometimes, but she loved seeing him thrive.
“Idabel!” A voice called from the cave above theirs in a thickly accented version of the common tongue. “We need you!”
She grabbed her healing kit, already moving toward the ladder.
This was her life now, at the beck and call of her new community, but it was deeply satisfying to be of use.
This time, an injured gargoyle in the mason’s cave had torn her wing during the evening hunt, membranes shredded beyond what a limestone-paste repair could heal.
“This will only take a few minutes,” Idabel murmured soothingly to the young female as she spread a numbing salve over the wounds. The patient relaxed as it took effect and her pain diminished.
Idabel’s mentor mason, an ancient gargoyle named Mahault, watched approvingly as Idabel threaded a needle with silk and began to repair the wing.
“You see how she supports the membrane while stitching?” Mahault asked her two apprentices, who held the lanterns over Idabel’s work so she could see more clearly. “Human hands are small and deft, so she makes it look easy. You will have to practice before you attempt this on living flesh.”
“Is it true you saved Commander Brandt from wall-sickness?” one of the apprentices ventured, once she had finished and sent the patched-up patient on her way.
“He saved himself. But I brewed a tonic to speed things along, and the mate bond helped the most.” They pressed her for details, and she gave them readily.
She was used to endless questions about her mate.
The southern cliffs thrived on gossip, and Brandt’s reputation had grown to mythic proportions as the commander who’d returned from war six years late, killed a corrupt watchmate, and chosen love over position.
“I heard a moth say he fought a hundred goblins single-handed,” the other young apprentice added.
“Moths exaggerate, but I’m not sure he would tell you the tale differently.” Idabel shared an amused look with Mahault. Brandt was going to love hearing the latest rumor.
She’d become quite fond of moths, actually.
Lo?c kept a terrarium of his own now that he tended faithfully.
The moth network was the most reliable source of news from Solvantis, and Ghantal regularly sent the latest gossip for Lo?c to translate: Bardoux passed away.
Rikard recovered enough to assume his position as Nadir.
And the Zenith finally publicly claimed Ghantal as his mate and moved her into the highest tier, shocking everyone in the Tower.
Missives from her human friends arrived occasionally too. Hannalinde sent an embroidered tablecloth as a cave-warming gift. Betje’s apothecary was flourishing, by the accounts in her letters. I miss you , she wrote. I was sad when I Saw you were leaving, but I knew you’d find your place.
Her place. Yes, the cliffs were that. Not just physically, but spiritually, too.
Being back in the south again was a healing that went deeper than her medicines could reach.
She’d never have her siblings or her farm back, but she had the wide skies and fields of growing things that she’d missed so dearly.
Every gargoyle she saved, every wound she mended, helped balance the scales of her past. It didn’t erase the losses of her family and the Sixth Watch, but it gave her penance a purpose.
It turned her grief into something bearable.
She was back home and already in her nightdress when Brandt returned from patrol. When he landed beside her, the wind from his wings stirring the sorted herbs.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Go where?”
“You’ll see.” His grin held mischief she’d learned to both love and fear. “Lo?c is staying with friends tonight.”
“Let me get my—”
She’d been going to say “boots,” but he was already lifting her, launching into the star-filled sky before she could protest. Her fingers dug into the dense, leathery hide of his shoulders and her legs banded around his waist as the ground fell away into a dizzying drop.
His huge wings beat a steady rhythm that vibrated through her body like an enormous heartbeat.
His cock, a rigid, demanding pressure against her stomach through the thin fabric of her shift, seemed to pulse in time with every powerful downstroke.
It was all too clear what he had in mind for their evening.
They climbed higher than usual, until the cliffs were distant smudges and the moon seemed close enough to touch.
His arms, corded with muscle, tightened around her, one hand splayed possessively against the small of her back. The other cupped the back of her head, holding her safe. “Do you trust me?” he asked against her ear.
“Always.”
A low, grinding rumble started deep in his chest, a gravelly purr. Her mate was happy. “Hold on tight,” he warned.
He didn’t slow his flight as he adjusted his grip. His claws hooked the hem of her dress, rucking it up. The damp night air kissed her thighs, her lower stomach, her bare sex. It was a shocking intimacy that made her gasp.
He shifted her weight effortlessly so his thick fingers found her wetness, stroking through her folds with a possessive skill that made her cry out. “So ready for me,” he growled, the words humming against her temple. “So ready to stretch on my cock and take my seed.”
He positioned himself, the broad, flared head of his cock pressing against her entrance.
The wind loosened her hair from its braid, whipping it around them as he began to push inside.
He entered her with a perfect, burning fullness that stole the air from her lungs, and she welcomed every aching, exquisite inch.
“Yes,” she moaned, her head falling back. “Please.”
He held her hips and bucked into her as much as the position allowed, the movement scrubbing her beaded nipples across his stony chest through the soft fabric of her nightdress. Her internal muscles clenched around him, tearing a raw sound from his throat.
His rhythm was made all the more intense by the fact that they were flying .
With each powerful downward thrust of his wings, he drove his cock deeper, the force of their motion amplifying every sensation.
She was being taken, thoroughly and completely, in mid-air.
His brutish satisfaction pulsed through the bond.
“I can feel you,” he rasped, his voice ragged. “Every wicked squeeze. You’re milking my cock, Idabel. You want it, don’t you? You want me to seed you.”
“Fallen gods, yes,” she sobbed, the pleasure a sharp, coiling thing in her gut. “I want everything. Give me everything.”
His hand slid from her hips to cup her ass, lifting her, angling her to take him even deeper. His mouth found hers and they kissed in desperate pants.
“I’m going to plant my seed so deep inside you,” he purred between kisses, his thrusts breathless and brutal. “I’m going to watch your belly swell with my child. I’m going to put another baby in you right here in the sky, so all of Tael-Nost knows you are mine.”
The filthy, raw promise was the final key.
Her climax sailed over her like a storm, fast and electric.
It locked her muscles and tore a ragged scream from her throat.
She convulsed around him, and the sensation triggered his release.
With a roar that got lost in the stars, he buried himself to the root.
And then she felt it. Her favorite part.
The thick, sudden swell at the base of his cock as his knot expanded inside her, locking them together.
A hot, pulsing flood filled her, wave after wave of his seed, branding her from the inside out.
At the same time, she felt the hot sweep of his pleasure through the bond like a thousand more sparkling stars dusted across her mind.
They rested there in the silent sky, knotted together, his warmth spilling into her, his wings outstretched, catching the air currents to hold them aloft. His forehead rested against hers, their harsh breaths mingling as the night wind carried them into a chilly bank of clouds.
Idabel snuggled closer, her body humming with the afterglow, hoping to borrow a little more of his warmth for herself.
“Are you cold?” His deep voice warmed her from the inside, though his arms already pulled her closer. “We have one more place to go.”
“You keep me warm enough,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Though I am curious where you’re taking me. You’ve been terribly mysterious tonight.”
His wings angled, a few strong beats sending them into a dive toward the clifftop. Over the roar of the wind in her ears, she could hear his laugh. “Always in a hurry, my little rabbit.”