Page 5

Chapter 5

A Bit of Good Trouble

Maggie

“ I ’ll try and think of it that way when I look in the mirror,” she said, still chuckling.

The gargoyle’s innocent appreciation of her freckles was oddly charming.

He was right. Cows were lovely creatures in their own way.

It was no insult to be compared to one.

Her body was strong and useful.

Her spotted skin showed her love of the outdoors and her dislike of large bonnets.

What was wrong with that?

Nothing at all.

She’d been carrying around that insult for too long, and it was time to let it go.

A strange lightness came over her, and with it a wave of gratitude.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

A harsh tumble of his own language came out of him, a sound she couldn’t replicate.

Then he repeated it again, compressing it into more human syllables.

“Evrard.”

“Evrard. Thank you.” She wanted to return the favor and send him off on his adventure feeling a little bit better about himself.

Her hand went to the knife at her hip, drawing it.

“If you like, I can help with your moss. I promise, I have a steady hand and a sharp blade.”

He glanced behind him at the gate, and she followed his gaze.

The fog had come in, obscuring the sleepy village beyond the stone walls.

The lantern’s glow revealed little, save a damp wreath of mist. They were alone.

He jerked a nod, sinking to his knees and drawing his wings close to his body so they wouldn’t get in her way.

She circled behind him to find the best angle of attack, a little short of breath at finding herself in such close proximity to a gargoyle.

It was one thing to see him perched on a wall or circling above, occasionally blotting out the moon.

It was something quite different to stand close enough to smell his earthy, warm scent and hear his breath draw in and out.

He was so much larger than she’d realized.

A thick, sweeping tail curved behind him.

She had to straddle it to step near enough to work.

He was so broad, his shoulders impossibly wide to support his impressive wings.

Cords of muscle braced his powerful neck.

She started there, at the base of his skull, flicking the edge of her blade over the clinging moss in much the same way that she shaved her father’s chin.

The gargoyle’s skin was different, though, textured and tough and less willing to give up its growth.

It took more pressure to scrape away the moss than Maggie expected, but she quickly adapted.

As the offending plants began to crumble and flake away, a low sound ground out of Evrard’s chest. At first she pulled back, thinking it was a growl.

But when he gave an irritated twitch of one wing, a clear direction to continue, she realized what he sounded like: a deeper, more resonant version of her kitten.

“You’re purring!” she exclaimed.

She had to curl her fingers against the impulse to stroke him and draw more of the noise.

“Happy,” he grunted, sounding embarrassed.

“I’m glad. You deserve it.”

He snorted.

“Deserve nothing.”

The gargoyle might be right about cows, but he was wrong about that.

He deserved to be cared for.

At the very least, he deserved Brinehelm’s gratitude for his long and faithful service.

She’d never seen him thanked.

Villagers mostly ignored Evrard as though he were part of the stone walls that surrounded the village.

Many residents had little cause to notice their silent, watchful guard.

Worse, perhaps, were the ones who did.

The ones who climbed the vines in the noonday sun to paint a crooked mustache across his day-frozen face or balance a pumpkin on his head.

Maggie had once chased off a couple of rascals pitching apple cores at him during his morning slumber.

A small abuse, perhaps, but he deserved a little more gratitude from those he protected.

Evrard’s purr deepened as she continued to work her way around his head with her knife.

Technique mastered, she cleaned every speck of growth from his scalp and forehead before tackling his long, pointed ears.

She’d need to take extra precautions to avoid nicking them as she wheedled scraps of moss and lichen from their complex whorls.

She moved around to his side so she had a better view.

Leaning into him to reach his ear, her breasts pressed against his shoulder, and she felt his arm curve around her waist, supporting her precarious posture.

She relaxed into his hold, trusting his strength.

It was an intimate embrace.

Maggie was no shy virgin, but even she was flustered by the feel of him holding her up so easily.

He was merely being practical, but his casual, competent help reminded her how lonely it sometimes was to be self-reliant.

And the hard, masculine flex of his arm against her ribcage quickened her pulse, sending the thump of her heart straight between her legs.

His sculpted nostrils flared.

Could he smell her?

Mortified, she took a steadying breath and fixed her attention on the delicate work, scraping her blade along the outer edge of his ear.

Carefully, she navigated a ragged scar that marred its smooth curve.

The ear flicked out of her grasp, and she had to pause to avoid skewering it on the knife’s sharp point.

“Hold still, please. I don’t want to cut you.”

“Tiny knife tickles.” His tail thumped the earth to underline his agitation, and his purr grew ragged and uneven.

She grinned to herself.

A big, naughty kitten, he was.

“You must bear it. I’ll be quick as an arrow.”

He obliged, his arm tightening around her slightly as he braced against the sensation.

She finished evicting the moss as quickly as she could, then switched to his other ear.

This side was more awkward to reach due to her right-handedness, and his ear more ticklish.

He kept jerking away from her, angling his neck and holding her at arm’s length so she couldn’t reach.

Her breath huffed out in frustration.

“You can’t go to Solvantis with one mossy ear. What will they think of you?”

Evrard snorted in what sounded like amusement.

“Moss not nice? Not wise?” he asked, throwing her earlier compliments back at her.

So the stoic gargoyle had a sense of humor!

What a pleasant surprise.

“You’ll look half-wise, which is the worst kind,” she retorted.

“Wise enough to get yourself in trouble but not wise enough to get out. Sound familiar?” To drive home the point that he was currently in just such a situation, she tapped lightly across his collarbone with the flat of her blade.

He roared a laugh like a small avalanche, holding her hips with both hands to keep her steady while his big body shook with mirth.

“Trouble maybe good.”

With his fingers nearly spanning her backside, and his claws digging in slightly in a fair facsimile of possessive desire, Maggie couldn’t disagree.

She might be in a bit of good trouble herself.

Her cheeks heated even as she rapped him with her blade a second time.

“Bend this way so I can finish.”

He acquiesced, tilting his head so the offending ear could be de-mossed, though a huge, fanged grin remained across his face.

She hadn’t even known he could smile.

It completely transformed his countenance from its usual grim expression.

He looked…alive. No one could mistake him for part of the wall now.

It did something to her insides, seeing him like that.

Turned her guts as soft as an oyster.

If he wanted to, he could lean forward and slurp her up in one go.

She flicked away the last offending bit of moss and sheathed her knife.

Impulsively, she pushed up on tiptoe to plant a brisk kiss his cheek, drawing back just as quickly.

“There you are. All done.”

He didn’t let go of her waist. “Are we?” he rumbled.