Page 51 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

She smiled at the familiar endearment, remembering when he’d first called her that, back when she was a trembling maiden in his arms, desperate for a gargoyle’s bite. How far they’d come since then. How much they’d survived.

“Close your eyes,” he urged as they swooped low over the clifftops. “Trust me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the landing. She needn’t have. He lit with his usual grace, easing her down until her bare feet brushed smooth stone.

“Can I open them?”

“Not yet.” He took her hands and guided her forward, his tail curling possessively around her waist as they walked. The scents hit her first. Lavender. Rosemary. The honey-sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine.

“Now,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes and gasped.

They were in the ruin of a temple, its broken columns casting long shadows in the moonlight. This place must have been where the gods were worshiped before they fell and their magic seeped into the earth. Now velveted with moss and missing its roof, it still held an otherworldly feel.

But that’s not what took her breath away.

The temple’s inner courtyard had been transformed into a lush garden.

A paradise of herbs and flowers that cascaded over broken benches and spilled from stone altars.

Moonflowers opened their ghostly petals to the night, while silver sage released its cleansing breath into the air.

Creeping thyme created soft carpets between flagstones underfoot, and there in the center grew a magnificent red-leafed plum tree, its branches heavy with fruit.

And there were many open beds with rich, black earth waiting to be planted, all sheltered from the winds by the crumbling, ancient walls.

“Do you like it?” His voice carried an unusual note of uncertainty as he searched her face.

“I know it cannot replace all the gardens that have been taken from you. Your family’s farm, the one I ruined, the rooftop at the apothecary, your balcony seedlings we left behind.

But I thought perhaps you would enjoy one that is only yours. One that can’t be taken away from you.”

She silenced him with a kiss, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the connection. When they finally pulled back, both were breathless.

“Oh, Brandt. It’s perfect. Better than anything I could dream.” Tears pricked her eyes as she turned in a slow circle, taking in every carefully tended plant, every thoughtfully swept pathway. “How did you do all this? When did you do this?”

“The plum tree was already here, and so were some of the creeping vines. I planted the seeds for the rest moons ago.” His clawed hand cupped her cheek.

“Just before the equinox. Every night after you fell asleep, I would fly here and tend them. I can’t say I am a born gardener, though.

The temple stones still hold traces of tael, enough to help things flourish despite my lack of skill. ”

She leaned into his touch, her heart so full it might burst. “You’ve kept this secret for moons ?”

“It’s been torture,” he admitted, his thumb stroking over her cheekbone.

“But I wanted it to be perfect for you. And I’ve found a surprising amount of comfort in it.

I’ve always used my strength to protect others.

I’ve destroyed things to keep the ones I guard safe.

But seedlings don’t need any more violence than pulling a weed here and there.

They need a shield from the sun and wind.

They need water. They needed care and attention from me, not destruction.

It has healed part of my guardian heart to create life rather than crush it. ”

“Speaking of creating things...” Idabel caught his hand and slowly guided it to her belly, pressing his palm against the soft curve there. “You planted more than one kind of seed this spring, my love.”

He went perfectly still, not even breathing. His granite gaze dropped to where his hand rested against her, and she watched a dozen emotions flicker across his stone features—confusion, realization, wonder, and finally, pure joy.

“You’re certain?” His voice came out rougher than usual, thick with emotion.

“Three moons certain. Mahault confirmed it last week.” She covered his hand with both of hers, holding him against her.

“I wanted to wait for the right moment to tell you, and when you brought me here tonight and gave me this beautiful gift you’ve been nurturing in secret, I could think of no better time. ”

He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to her belly with a reverence that made her tears overflow. “Another hatchling. Another perfect little son.”

“Or perhaps a daughter this time,” Idabel suggested, running her hands over his horns in the way that always soothed him. “A little sister to keep Lo?c busy.”

“Winds aid us,” he rumbled against her stomach, but she could hear the smile in his voice. His arms wrapped around her hips, holding her like she might fly away. “Lo?c will be insufferable. He’s been demanding a sibling since we came to the cliffs.”

She laughed, remembering their son’s recent campaign for a baby brother or sister, complete with arguments about how much help he would be in looking after the hatchling. “Well, now he’ll have to be careful what he wished for.”

Brandt rose slowly, his hands sliding up to frame her face. The loving ache in the bond, his fierce protection tempered with tenderness, still had the power to steal her breath. “I love you, Idabel. My mate. My poison and my cure. My everything.”

“I love you, too,” she said, words worn smooth by daily use but no less true. She pulled him down for another kiss, pouring all her joy into it. “Thank you for this treasure. Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for our family.”

“You gave me that,” he murmured against her lips. “Would you like to see more of your garden?”

“Show me everything,” she said eagerly, tugging him along the path. “Every plant, every stone you placed. I want to know all of it.”

He swept her up into his arms instead, making her squeal with surprised delight. “First, let me show you the bower I built in the eastern corner. You need to rest, especially now.”

“I’m pregnant, not an invalid,” she protested.

“Humor me, human.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply. “I stole you from our nest earlier. And I did not get enough of you in the sky. I want to hold you and arrange your hair and wrap you in my wings.”

As he carried her through her moonlit garden, past beds of feverfew and banks of ancient vining roses, Idabel thought about the journey that had brought them here.

The betrayal and pain, the war and separation, the long road back to trust. Every seed of doubt that had sprouted along the way had been ripped out by the roots, replaced with something stronger, something that could weather any storm.

Brandt settled them into a bower made from living willow branches that he’d deftly woven into a canopy. He arranged her carefully against his chest, his wing extending to shelter them from the wind. She gave in completely, finding the most comfortable position on his big body to rest her head.

His hand splayed possessively over her belly, as his purr rumbled through her, pleased and proud. “Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake.”

When dawn came, she would rise while Brandt turned to stone, caring for their family while he guarded their threshold. But they’d find each other again at dusk.