Page 6 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Brandt

T heir hunt had been an undeniable success.

Ghantal forgot about politics for a few hours in the thrill of the chase and brought down a deer.

They’d carried it back to the Tower and feasted until their bellies protested.

His full stomach made him too lazy to drag himself to the outer perch before the sun rose, so rather than facing the bustling, circular streets of Solvantis while he waited for the liberation of dusk, he’d roosted in the dining room and was now stuck staring at the wall all day.

His boredom was only broken when some keepers came to clean. The cloaked little humans buzzed around like wingless flies, collecting dust and bones. Though he’d lived longer in the Tower now than his upbringing in the cliffs, he would never get used to their service.

It was an honor, but it shamed him somehow to watch them collect his garbage and clean up his messes. He wished he could turn away. Close his eyes. But he couldn’t. He had to watch them crawl about, scrubbing away every stain on their knees.

It was a vile display. If his stomach hadn’t been stone, he would have lost its contents.

When they left, he vowed never to roost indoors again. Plenty of the towerborn left their outdoor perches empty or paid others to roost there in inclement weather, but he would not be that kind.

And he would not be the kind to leave his bones on the floor again, either.

He was dwelling in these sulky thoughts, counting down the minutes until the sun set and he could shake off his day-dust, when a key turned in the lock.

He groaned internally. The humans were back to torment him further. Perhaps they’d wash his feet this time to really drive it home.

But instead of the cloaked keepers he expected, a different figure slipped into the room, carrying a bucket. He recognized the long-haired female who smelled sharply of citrus and herbs.

She was the one whose illegal garden he’d confiscated. The one who claimed she wasn’t a thief, although the lie was obvious now that she was creeping around his dining room, opening drawers and pilfering silver spoons.

She glanced at him over her shoulder as she stowed them under the rags in her bucket. Then she stood on tiptoe to free the gilded cup he’d been awarded when he became a commander from its shelf.

Was she stupid or suicidal? The sun would set any minute now, and even if she escaped his quarters, she’d be locked in a tower of gargoyles twice her size with a bucket of stolen goods. Not to mention, he’d seen her every move. With his testimony, she’d lose both her hands and maybe her neck.

Unless she thought he wouldn’t turn her in. After all, he hadn’t when he caught her before. Maybe she believed he lacked morality…or worse, lacked loyalty to his kind. The assumption infuriated him.

He was a fool. Duped by those wide, brown eyes into thinking she was innocent as a calf, when she was a criminal at heart, one who thought to exploit his compassion because she didn’t even try to leave before the sun set.

The instant the last beam of light slipped behind the horizon, he burst out of the thin shell of stone that had formed during the day. Her neck was in his grasp in a second, her edible scent filling his senses.

“Devious little worm,” he snarled in her face, shaking her slightly in his anger. Her bucket clattered to the floor, loudly spilling its contents. “You think to steal from me ? After I showed you mercy ?”

She bared her tiny teeth and sank them into the only place she could reach: the meaty section between his thumb and forefinger. He nearly dropped her, not because it hurt—her teeth were too blunt to fully pierce his hide—but because he was so shocked that she was fighting back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, bewildered.

She glared up at him and bit him again. When he didn’t react, she gave a screech of frustration and kicked his shin. From the look on her face, it hurt her foot more than his leg.

“Enough,” he growled. “You are only making it worse for yourself.”

“Good!” she shot back, surprising him yet again. “Go ahead, bite me! You know you want to!” She sank her teeth into his hand a third time, this time sending a small twinge of pain up his arm.

He dropped her, wincing as he flexed his fingers.

The last thing he needed was to have his deployment delayed because he was stuck in a mason’s bed getting his tendon repaired.

The Sixth Watch would assign another commander to his wing and leave without him.

The thought pained him more than the bite.

The woman launched herself at him, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, but he blocked her easily, holding her at arm’s length while she flailed her limbs, tearing at him anywhere she could reach.

He herded her until her back was against the wall, where he pinned her in place for her own safety until he could figure out how to contain her enough to deliver her to the Nadir.

“Bite me!” she begged, her eyes welling with those pointless, corrosive human tears as she squirmed against his hold. “I stole from you. I attacked you. I deserve it!”

“What in Tael-Nost are you trying to accomplish here? Do you have a death wish?” He had heard of humans scaling the outside of the Tower to fling themselves off a high tier, but he’d never heard of one trying to provoke a gargoyle to anger.

“Let me tell you something, little human. Gargoyles don’t bite . ”

“You bite prey,” she insisted, her cheeks reddening.

At least she wasn’t crying anymore. She was still trying to get away, though, arching her back so her breasts pressed into the hollow of his palm.

It made him too conscious of her strange, soft body.

He didn’t like how it made him feel. “You bite goblins .”

“We kill or we don’t kill, nothing in between.

” There was one exception, although it didn’t concern her.

Gargoyles bit their mates to establish a mind bond.

It let them share feelings and find each other anywhere.

But the mating bite was a sacred act, not merely hunger or violence.

Certainly not one he’d share with a human, no matter how delectable she smelled or soft she was.

“If you want to die, you’ll have to find another way, but I doubt you’ll have much opportunity in the Nadir’s gaol. ”

The perplexing little human’s olive skin paled to an unhealthy grayish color. He didn’t understand how she was so fearful and so brave all at once. “Please, don’t turn me in. They’ll take my hands. You might as well kill me outright.”

“You should have considered that before you stole from me,” he hissed, fury rising in him.

He’d devoted his life to solving human problems and now she gave him even more.

“I do not want you to lose your cursed little hands, but you are the one who thrust the responsibility upon me. Your mutilation will weigh on me forever , but what choice do I have? You have given me none.”

She let out a shuddering breath and slumped against the wall, ceasing her struggles.

“I’m sorry. I was being stupid. I was angry at you for ruining my garden and wanted to get you in trouble, so I was trying to provoke you enough to bite me.

But I wasn’t really stealing. I wouldn’t have taken them.

You still have all your spoons right there.

” She nodded toward the mess on the floor, like it was proof of innocence rather than guilt.

“Brandt?” came Ghantal’s croaky, just-woken voice, seconds before the door to her chambers opened.

Instinctively, he thrust the little female behind the heavy tapestry wall-hanging and stepped in front of it to hide her from view.

His mother appeared, rubbing her eyes and stretching her wings. “Is there trouble? I heard a noise.”

“No trouble. I was just counting the cutlery and dropped some. Go back to sleep,” he added more gently. “Rest until you have to dress for whatever skyball you’re attending tonight. The hunt took a lot out of you, and you’ll want to dance.”

“It’s a Fledging feast,” she corrected, yawning. “But you’re right, there will be dancing.” She retreated to her nest, the heavy oak door thudding shut behind her.

“Why did you hide me from your mate?” came a smothered little voice.

He extracted the human from the dusty tapestry. A few strands of her dark hair had loosened from the long plait down her back to curl appealingly around her hairline.

Why had he hidden her? He supposed because he didn’t know what to do with her and needed more time to process what she’d said.

Her apology had seemed genuine, and her logic, though self-interested, was irrefutable.

She hadn’t stolen anything, at least not yet.

Surely the intent to steal was not worthy of the same punishment as theft itself?

“That was my mother,” he said, avoiding the question because he didn’t have the answer.

“Good thing she didn’t wonder why you were counting spoons like a miserly old butler.”

“Good thing she didn’t smell you. She might have eaten you for her waking meal.”

“Smell me!? What do I smell like?” She sniffed the sleeve of her grubby chemise and wrinkled her nose at what she found there.

The corner of Brandt’s mouth twitched. “What is your name, human?”

“Well it’s not ‘breakfast,’” she joked. Ah, so she was feeling brave again. “It’s Idabel.”

He turned her name-word over on his tongue. It sounded like a flower. No wonder she loved growing things. “Idabel, what am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go with a stern warning?” she asked hopefully.

Then, seeming to remember the mess around them, she dropped to her knees and began hurriedly gathering up the spoons.

Every movement sent wafts of her lemony scent toward him so dizzying that he had to take a step back.

“I’m so sorry about all this. I don’t know what I was thinking. ”

He did. He’d been powerless, once. “You were thinking you wanted to punish me. You wanted me to feel pain equal to yours by having something stripped away. You attempted to balance the scales yourself because you had no other recourse.”

“You are too generous in your assessment of me.” Idabel rose, polishing the spoons on her apron before placing them back into the drawer.

She picked up her bucket and scooped the rags into it, then turned to face him, head bowed and fingers curled into her palms. “I understand you’ll have to tell the keepers I was here after dusk, but please don’t turn me in to the Nadir.

I’ll lose my keys and the roof over my head, but at least I won’t lose my hands. ”

Lose her home? His lip curled in disgust. She was already a refugee if she lived in Maiden Hall.

He was loathe to take something so precious from her again.

As he stared down at the top of her head, he focused on the narrow stripe of skin where her hair parted.

Such delicate details these humans had. He did not usually spend so much time looking at them.

“I won’t turn you in if you promise I’ll never see your face again,” he said gruffly.

Her head tipped back to reveal eyes that were watery with tears. Winds aid him, not again.

“Betje was right about you,” she whispered, sounding awed.

“Who’s Betje?” he snapped, suddenly irritated at being observed with such wide, perceptive eyes. “Never mind, I don’t care. It’s getting late, and we have to get you out of here somehow.”

She jangled the keyring on her belt. “I know my way through the Tower. If I stay away from the main passages, I’ll be fine.”

He frowned at her naivete. “The Sixth Watch is mustering. The place is crawling with twice the gargoyles as usual. Even the side passages won’t be safe.” He paused, contemplating the balcony. “How do you feel about heights?”

Her brows lifted. “Heights?”