Page 11 of When the Weaver Met the Gargoyle (Leafshire Cove Monsters #1)

Chapter 11

Laini

T he Harvest Party is tonight! After slipping on my most lacy undergarments—small silken shorts and a bralette—as well as my new dress and cloak, I slick some raspberry-infused gloss over my lips and look at myself in the mirror. I’m still me. Not amazingly pretty like Kaya, but I don’t look half bad. The embroidered wheat bundles and stars on my dress sparkle in the candlelight and the dark blue color of the dress’s and cloak’s fabric contrasts nicely with my light hair. I blow out the candles and head downstairs on shaky legs. It’s wild how excited I am, and my attitude has everything to do with a certain incredibly gorgeous and wonderful gargoyle.

I’m glad I hired one of Grumlin’s servers to deliver my tapestry to the party for the contest. It would have been difficult to haul the piece through the streets on a busy evening like this. The same fellow is bringing Rom and my food to the get-together, so we have checked all of the tradition boxes, so to speak. Everything is set and ready to go.

The sound of happy conversation sneaks through the crack under my front door as I pet Spark and feed him a bowl of cherries I had magically stored from springtime. He gobbles them down and licks my cheek before hopping to the floor. He stands at the door and eyes me expectantly, his fox tail wagging and his wings shuffling as if ready to fly.

“Do you want to come to the party too?”

The dragonfox scratches at the door with one taloned paw.

“I guess that means yes .”

There’s a knock. Spark jumps up and flies into my arms.

“It’s okay. It’s just Rom.”

I open the door to see him standing in the golden glow of the harvest moon. His cloak is on, and his hood is up, but I catch the flash of eyes and teeth, and after all the time we’ve spent together, I know he is smiling. I hope he likes the gargoyle I added to my tapestry. I want him to feel like he belongs in Leafshire Cove because he does.

“Hello! You look great,” I say.

Rom doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, tall and looming, in complete silence, with the town bustling around on the streets behind him.

“Rom, are you all right?”

Spark leaps into his arms, and he catches him neatly and lets out a huff.

“I, yes. I… You are a vision, Laini,” Rom finally says, his gruff voice making warmth pool between my thighs. “You’ll have to lead me to Rustion’s because I’ll be staring at you too much to maneuver through the night.”

I giggle and lock my door, joining him and Spark outside. The dragonfox suddenly lifts off and shoots toward the Lord Mayor’s manor.

“I suppose he knows where he’s going?” Rom asks, holding out his arm for me to take.

“He seems to. I’m sure we will see him getting into trouble while we’re there.”

Rom’s arm is bare, and his warm skin feels amazing through the soft fabric of my sleeve. Muscles and tendons show in corded lines along his forearm, and I force myself to stop doing my own staring. My curiosity rises, and I can’t help but ask a question that has been tickling me lately.

“Why is your skin sometimes very cool compared to mine and then just as warm or warmer? What makes it change? And why aren’t you cold?”

“Remember, gargoyles don’t feel the cold.”

“Right. I do think you told me that at some point between ale number three and four yesterday.”

He laughs low and full, and the sound is music to my ears. “So my body is generally cool in temperature. But when I feel strong emotions or am physically working hard, my flesh warms up.”

“Your arm is warm right now. I love it because it’s chillier than I thought it would be tonight.”

His head turns toward me, and his glowing gargoyle eyes seem to simmer. My heart pounds, and I clench my thighs. “You always heat me up, Laini. With just a look, I’m molten rock for you.”

I swallow around a sudden lump in my throat and bite my lip. I wish I knew something great to say, but I can’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t sound asinine.

Rom looks away, but his free hand lifts, then rests on my hand—the one looped over his forearm. He strokes my knuckles as we walk. If I’m this aroused by just walking beside him, how am I going to handle dancing with him in front of everyone? I’ll be a swoony mess.

“What’s funny?” he asks, a grin in his voice.

“Oh, nothing. I just… I’m really glad we’re doing this, but I’m amazed, honestly. I never thought I’d go to the Harvest Party, let alone be happy about it.”

“That makes two of us. It’s a new page for us, Laini. And I hope we can write an entire book of pleasant surprises.”

I lean into him and let happiness wash over me. This is happening. I’m with a male who is stunning and who has the soul of an angel. I’m going to show that I care about him in front of a crowd, and I don’t even care what they think. Am I risking embarrassment? Yes. But I trust Rom. Even if he ends up not wanting to continue our budding relationship, he won’t cause a scene to embarrass me on purpose. He would never do that, and I know it like I know Spark loves cherries.

“Well, we’re here,” Rom says quietly as we join the line to enter Rustion’s garden.

The round rock walls of his estate stretch to each side and oaks the size of ship masts tower over the property. Lanterns with soft pink, tangerine, and gold lights flicker in the trees’ branches. Laughter and the clinking of cups rise on the crisp night breeze.

“Smells divine,” Rom says. His stomach growls on cue, and we both laugh.

He’s right. The scents of freshly baked bread, savory meat dishes, and decadent chocolate float through the air. I inhale deeply as we step forward to take our turn walking through the faerie circle of mushrooms.

The mushrooms are knee-high and spotted with red and pink dots. They glow faintly yellow as we step into the ring. A sensation like feathers dusts over my scalp, down my arms, and then over my legs. I gasp and look at Rom, whose wide, bright eyes tell me he feels something odd too.

“Did we pass?” I ask him in a whisper.

The line behind us begins to whisper, too. Rustion’s butler—a goat shifter named Zemy—waves us forward, a stern look on his bearded face.

The mushrooms suddenly flash brightly, and heat sears its way from my toes to my nose. I cough, and Rom catches me as we stumble out of the ring. The scent of honey and spring flowers surrounds us, strange in this cold evening.

Zemy raises his hands and gestures for us to enter the party area. “A wonderful blessing from the old faeries for you two! I haven’t seen it light up and perfume the air in several years. Enjoy yourselves. And Mistress Weaver,” he says to me as I gape and try to process what he is telling us, “your entry to the tapestry contest is stunning. I’m betting on you.”

“There’s gambling based around the tapestries?” I ask, gripping Rom’s arm because how is any of this real?

Zemy nods. “Aye. Always a bet somewhere during the Harvest Party.”

Nisa, Rustion’s wife, flits down from a tree and lands beside Zemy. “I hope you two have a lovely time.”

The strain in her voice and the worry pulling at her eyes tell me she is concerned about her son ruining our evening.

“Thanks so much,” I say.

We leave them and the mushrooms behind, and then we enter the gentle chaos of the festivities. Below pink, orange, and gold banners, chairs are lined up near a table absolutely stuffed with towering chocolate cakes, steaming plates of roast and vegetables, and countless dishes of colorful treats. Bonfires snap and crackle on the outskirts of the party. Under the lantern-lit oaks, three large circles of folk are dancing the Oak Tree Reel, a common one in this area. Leo’s friend, Tam, is dancing with a human I don’t know, his blue hand in her fair one. I look away from that arsehead to the next group, only to see Tully dancing with Grumlin.

“I didn’t know they were together,” Rom says.

I laugh and shake my head. “They’re on again, off again. She claims the wizard hasn’t lost all of his magic in the bedroom.”

Rom grins. “Are you still angry with her?”

“Yep.”

“Then I am, too.”

The song ends, and another begins, the music swelling and leaping through the air like invisible faeries.

“Do you know this reel?” I ask Rom.

He releases me to snatch two cups from a passing server’s tray. He hands one to me. It’s spiced and warmed mead, and I savor a big gulp. Rom seems to be downing his in one go.

I touch his arm. “Are you nervous? We don’t have to dance.”

“I am a bit, yes,” he says. “But we will dance, may the Dark Mountain save you. I haven’t danced a reel since I was a youngling.”

“This one is easy. See how they simply go one foot in front and then the other? After that, they’ll just face outward and do the same. Once the music shifts, the circles messily break into two smaller rings, and everyone generally just acts ridiculous. Nothing fancy here in Leafshire Cove.”

“I suppose it’s time to get this party going then,” he says, handing his cup to another server.

This server is a tall, muscular faerie I’ve seen working at the art house now and then. I pass my cup on to the faeries as well and hold a hand out to Rom. He unties his cloak.

“You’re ready to show off, huh?” I grin up at him.

His jaw tenses, but he attempts a smile. “I’m not, but now is as good a time as any. Are you ready for the attention?”

“I am.” I take a slow breath to try to calm my racing heart.

He slips his hood off, and his black horns seem to drink in the light from the moon and the lanterns. His earrings—the ring near the tip of his pointed ear and the larger loop near the bottom—wink light back at me. And then he is draping his cloak over one of the many chairs lined up…

He stands, gives me a smile that makes my body melt, and he expands his wings a fraction. Breathtaking. He is a myth come to life, full of banked power, tall as hell, and sexier than anyone I’ve ever laid my eyes on. He takes my hand. Sparks of heat travel from his fingers into mine, and I take a steadying breath, walking toward the dancing. I keep my cloak on because the night is too chilly for me; I’m no gargoyle.

We spin into the first circle and stand side by side to join in on the steps. Tully catches my eye across the ring. I hadn’t realized she was right here. She blinks dramatically at Rom and acts like she’s drooling as her black-booted feet move in quick rhythm. I chuckle and focus on Rom.

He glances at what the others are doing now and mimics them by pulling me close. He smells so good—all mysterious spices and the sky after a rainstorm. His wings flare slightly, blocking us from prying eyes on one side. His grip on my fingers is firm but gentle, and his other hand slides around my waist, his talons pressing lightly into the small of my back. I swallow as warmth builds between my thighs. His eyes are half-lidded, and he grins down at me, a dimple on his cheek.

I want him to kiss me even though we are basically in front of the entire town. I find I don’t care what they think right now. My affection for Rom makes anything else seem unimportant.

He spins me under one arm, his talons grazing along my hips and the tops of my buttocks. Shivers gallop down my legs. His eyes glow with what I think might be approval.

“You are just so very lovely, Laini,” he says in a quiet growl that has my toes curling. “Like a flower.”

“Thank you.” My voice is stupidly breathy for just a dance.

His wings stretch to cover us a little more, although I know he can see over them easily. Both his hands come to rest on my hips, and he dances close. I smooth my palms down his flat stomach, savoring the feel of his muscles and the way his waist narrows. He makes a little humming sound and eases his head closer to mine. He sets his lips on my ear, and I shiver with the way his warm breath dusts down my neck. My core throbs with want.

“Have I ever told you that your scent reminds me of early summer roses? I adore that scent.”

Happiness takes flight in my heart, and I feel giddy, lightheaded with the possibility of us. “Probably just my soap.”

“Whatever it is, it’s entrancing.”

I can’t stop smiling as he whirls me away in the way all the couples are doing. We link arms with the others and step forward and back, then side to side with alternating right and left feet leading. Most everyone is laughing and conversing, but others stare at Rom and whisper as they dance. The greengrocer’s wife is goggling at his wings. Greta, the butcher’s nearly grown daughter, is practically drooling over Rom, her green goblin cheeks turning dark pink. The whispering and gawking make the dancing less smooth, folk tripping occasionally as they go off the beat of the music.

The song ends, and everyone crowds around Rom.