Page 18

ATLAS

“Where has the pest gone to?” I ask Julius as he steps into Darius’ office.

“I think she went to visit with Eloise. I believe being a witch is something of a surprise to her.” He plops down in one of the chairs we dragged in to make for a more comfortable command room.

“Enough talk of Charlotte.” Darius scowls, loosing a sigh before he stands from behind his desk. “Now that we are able to, I believe it best if we begin taking over our old duties,” our alpha begins.

Marcus sits across from him, looking dejected but energized. He’s been hung up on the pest for one reason or another, and it’s making him lose focus. I kick the side of his leg gently and jerk my chin toward our leader as he drones on and on about our old schedules versus the proposed new ones.

I find myself hardly able to listen. He’s something like a gnat buzzing lazily at the corner of my consciousness.

The extra magic in the castle has been affecting me more since the pest arrived.

Little zaps of it along my skin like playful pinches, whispers of it like a soft song while I shower, and, most annoyingly, pleased little purrs when I go to my room—all causing distractions.

I have trouble pulling the magic back once I’ve begun to wield it, so Darius, as alpha arse, has been keeping it from me.

It isn’t my fault the witch is a bad influence .

“Atlas, do you think you’re ready for full rotations on your own?” Darius has his arms crossed over his chest, a neutral expression on his face.

I can instantly tell he doesn’t think I’m ready.

“I’ll join him. It’s best not to deviate too much from what worked best before,” Julius says before I have the chance to answer.

I bite my cheek to keep the growl in. I want to do this on my own. To show them that after nearly two hundred years of training, I’m able to. They should know by now that they can trust me. As a member of their nest, they should be able to rely on me the same way I can rely on them.

“Whatever,” I huff, crossing my arms and kicking my feet up on the edge of our alpha’s large desk. My feet slam on the desk, and dirt from my shoes flakes off onto all his oh-so-important paperwork.

“Then that’s settled. I’ll make up a new schedule, and we’ll begin rounds tomorrow,” Darius says, shoving my boots off his desk and eyeing the paperwork covered in dark specks.

“Tomorrow!” Marcus leaps up from his chair, wings snapping out and bristling. “We can’t, it’s too soon, Charlotte is?—”

“The witch has nothing to do with this,” Darius says with a shake of his head.

Marcus flicks his eyes to Julius and juts his bottom lip out, clearly looking for help. However, the older gargoyle is smart enough not to offer.

“It’s already settled, Marcus. There have been some disturbances in Germany again.

I need you to go and take a look at those since you know the area.

Neutralize the situation as quickly as possible.

Julius and Atlas will head out on patrols as well, keeping to Ireland and Scotland.

I’ll keep my eyes and ears out for anything else, as well as monitoring our sites.

” He gestures to his laptop like it’s the be-all and end-all of everything.

For him, it is. He’s the numbers man, the one in charge of everything.

What he says goes, no matter how bullshit it is.

Julius and I should be going to Germany, and Marcus should be doing the patrols of Ireland, but no.

Because I’m a part of the group, we need to stay close to home base where Darius can more easily tamp down my magic.

I scoff, standing quickly and pulling on the leather jacket I had thrown over the back of the seat.

“I’m going out. I want a stiff drink and someone warm against me,” I say brashly, not bothering to look at the faces of my nest-mates.

Gargoyles are pack creatures, meant to stay together and often meant to share their lover with one another. There is one mate per nest, but with no mate in sight for the hundreds of years we’ve been together, we’re OK with the separate dalliances as long as we make good on our duties.

Marcus makes a soft sound of distress as I pass him on the way out of the overly cramped office.

“Something to say, buttercup?” I ask, pausing in the doorframe.

“You should stay in tonight. Julius is going to make dinner, and we’re going to eat with Charlotte.” He says it as if there is something to tempt me.

The pest makes me want to rip the castle apart brick by brick, to tear out my insides just to show them to her. It’s a volatile feeling I can’t stand for more than a few brief minutes.

“No. Anything else?”

“I guess not,” Marcus sighs.

“Be careful, Atlas. I want you to go all the way down. No horns, wings, or tail tonight.” Darius pulls at the magic shared between all of us, drawing hard on the stuff I’m supposed to be in command of. It gets all twisted up as Darius forces my body to follow his command.

I grip the doorframe harder as a feeling of weakness seeps into my muscles. My smoky complexion quickly turns to that of my human form. The rich tawny color of my skin is pleasant enough, but it never feels like me, especially when I don’t make the shift myself.

“Fuck,” I hiss, chin dropping toward my chest as I catch my breath. The ache will last the rest of the night. “Did you have to do it like that?”

“It’s the only way I know you will actually listen to me.”

Colbéliard is incredibly small and feels even more so when I step into one of the three taverns in town and recognize everyone. They surely don’t know who I am. The spells we cast keep any of them from remembering us when we venture out.

Striding to the bar, I keep my head down. My normally well-managed hair falls into my face in soft curls and waves. I push it behind my ears, attempting to keep the movement casual. I don’t like being this soft all over. It’s never felt entirely right.

I take a seat at an empty spot toward the end of the long bar.

Sticking to shadows and speaking to as few people as possible helps the magic do its work without disrupting much.

But it doesn’t stop the feeling of being watched.

While they don’t outright remember us, mortals often feel like they recognize us, and it’s confusing to them when they don’t know their brains are repeatedly beaten like scrambled eggs when we want to go out for something as simple as a Guinness.

“What can I get you?” the young bartender asks, sliding over to where I am.

He looks familiar, like someone’s kid, but I can’t place him.

“Just a pint of Guinness.”

“Sure, nothing to eat? We got some fresh meat from the butcher and the?—”

“No, kid, fuck off after you give me the pint,” I bite out, and his whole body slightly jerks back.

“Got it, a pint and no conversation,” he huffs and walks over to the tap, where he begins to fill my glass. “What an arsehole,” he whispers under his breath, and I roll my eyes.

After waiting for it to settle, he tops it off and brings me my drink without attempting more conversation, and I pass him my money. I take the first sip when someone decides to take the seat next to mine.

“How are things going?” Eloise asks, leaning away from me, her eyes taking me in from head to toe.

I squirm a little in my seat. This witch is powerful. It explains how she got to be as old as she is, but she makes me uneasy. Almost as uneasy as the pest does.

“We aren’t friends. Stop trying to speak to me like one.”

She scoffs. “Fine, child, cut your bullshit.”

“My bullshit is my best quality,” I drawl, taking another sip.

“Charmer, you are. You feel like shit,” she says, waving her hand in my direction.

Her magic presses against mine, poking and prodding it, and it sets my teeth on edge.

“Mind your magic,” I hiss, not bothering to respond to the blatant callout.

“What happened to you? When you were first brought to town, you were strong. Now you seem much more like a shadow than a valiant protector,” she says as she assesses me.

“Nothing happened. My magic is fine, if only limited because of my alpha,” I grunt.

“No, there is something else going on.” Eloise presses, pushing her magic harder against mine, trying to find a weak point.

“Stop it now before I make you.” I bare my teeth.

There’s another sharp poke before the prodding stops.

“Is it Charlotte?”

“Why the hell would it be that pest?” I question, lips curling into a sneer.

“She’s of unknown magical origin when it comes to bloodline. This might be affecting you more greatly than the others. For as long as I have known you all, you’ll never tell them about something that is bothering you unless someone kicks your ass to do so.”

“And is this my ass kicking?” I ask with a scoff.

“No, this is the precursor to your ass kicking. Don’t make me go to your alpha myself. This situation could be dangerous for all of you if you can’t keep your magic under control around her.”

“I’m never around her, and I’m going to keep it that way,” I say.

Something in the back of my mind tells me I’m going to make a liar of myself.

Eloise gives me a long, hard look, her eyes seeming to glow slightly in the dim bar lighting.

“Sometimes fate has other plans,” the old witch says before she pats the bar top and steps away.

She joins a group of older townsfolk with a smile on her face. Their chatter gets lost in the general noise of the bar.

I settle into my seat and sip at my Guinness, enjoying the rich flavor on my tongue.

What does Charlotte taste like?

I jerk in my seat, squashing the thought as quickly as it emerges. I’m here to get away from the pest, to get her off my mind.

“Did you see that hot little feek who moved into the old castle?”