Page 31

CHARLOTTE

Atlas freezes, staring directly at the box in my hands. I clutch the special rock closer and turn slightly away.

“How could you let this happen?” Atlas lashes out at Darius, picking up an empty canvas and tossing it at the other gargoyle, who switches from his more human appearance to his supernatural form in the blink of an eye.

Darius goes to catch the frame, and his claws shred the canvas. He grips the canvas and growls at the younger gargoyle. “Go to my office.”

“Fuck your office,” Atlas barks, a laugh of pure hysterics ripping from him. “Fuck you all. How could you allow this pest to come between us?”

“She isn’t a pest,” Marcus snarls, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me to his still-nude body.

“You know as well as we all do that she is our mate, Atlas. Even if you haven’t allowed yourself to recognize it.” Julius gives a sigh of frustration. “I am sick of this, hiding that we want her.”

“Mate?” I croak. “Like in those werewolf romance books?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Atlas hisses, spinning toward the door, whipping his tail and wings out in anger. “Of course you know what those supernaturals need, but gargoyles? Noooo, not us. We aren’t important to witches .”

I’m struck by the rage and hurt in his voice, the venom with which he calls me a witch .

I pull myself closer to Marcus and Julius, trying to weather the emotional whiplash as it rolls through me.

Both gargoyles holding me stroke my spine, trying to soothe me without being overt about it.

Tears fill my eyes, and I clutch the box with the orb thing to my chest. I want to keep it so badly, but if Atlas is this hurt, then maybe I should just let it go.

“What the fuck? I’m doing my best here!” I snap, voice thick with emotion.

Something in my core ignites—the magic inside me, I guess. My fingers pleasantly tingle where they touch the wood of the box, an acknowledgment of my already-formed connection.

“Atlas, you are being too harsh on her.” Darius suddenly loses his steam as he finds himself between his nest-mates.

The pale blue gargoyle’s jaw tenses and flexes, again and again, as he grinds his teeth. He can’t even tell which side is the right one now.

“I’m sorry it hurts you, but this belongs to me now,” I say, trying to sound confident. My hands tremble as I hold the box so tightly my knuckles go white, and my fingers won’t loosen, even when I try to force them.

“I’m done, with all of you.” Atlas’ voice is devoid of emotion, and his cool gray eyes go from looking at me to piercing right through.

He walks out of the art room, and I can hear his footsteps get farther and farther away.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask in a whisper, looking between the three remaining gargoyles who are frozen. “What the fuck just happened?” The pitch of my voice rises, and goose bumps break out all over my skin.

I flex my fingers and finally pull them free of the box as I set it in my lap. The weight of its importance fills me with excitement and dread that sinks into my stomach like lead.

“You look pale. Sit down by the fire, and I’ll make some tea,” Dara says as soon as she sees me standing on their doorstep.

I didn’t know where else to go. After Atlas stormed out, the rest of them dispersed, first to their own rooms and then to the four winds. Probably to search for the broodiest and most insufferable gargoyle of the lot.

“Thanks,” I mutter numbly as I step inside and take a seat by the fireplace.

Eloise comes into the living room with a yawn.

She’s wearing a flannel over a soft gray pajama set, and I’m jealous of the flicker of adoration in her eyes as she spots her wife.

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, having a silent conversation that all partners seem to be able to have after they’ve grown to love one another with their entire being.

I dip my head so I don’t have to watch the moment.

“Charlotte, it’s good to see you. How have your exercises been going?” Eloise asks as she takes a seat on the couch.

“Fine, I’m not any better or worse.” The words feel heavy on my tongue, but I force them out.

“Here you are,” Dara says softly, offering me a cup that I never saw her go to the kitchen to retrieve, but I take it anyway and swallow a mouthful of steaming liquid.

“One of those days,” Eloise sighs.

“You could say that.”

“Do you want to tell us about it?” Dara asks as she sits beside her wife, concern carving deep lines into her delicate features.

Eloise takes one of her wife’s hands and holds it on her lap.

“I think I broke them,” I whisper, not wanting to share the shame of what I caused with anyone.

I’m out of my depth, and there is no way I could go to Kennedy for advice like this.

“What do you mean?” Dara asks at the same time that Eloise says, “You need to speak up. We’re not that young anymore.”

“I broke them!” I snarl suddenly, the fragile thread of numbness snapping.

My body begins to shiver, and the dark tea in my mug ripples and pops, magic leaking from me like an old faucet.

“How did you break them? Gargoyles are damn near immortal beings. I’m sure they’re alright if it was just a chip,” Eloise says with a little laugh, though her expression tightens when she eyes my cup.

“It’s not funny! None of this is funny. All I’ve done is ruin their damn lives by coming here. They don’t deserve a mate like me,” I sob.

The sea of emotions in my chest quickly churns from anger and strife to sadness so all-consuming I want to let it drag me under. I set the roiling tea down on a small table and press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from flowing.

“Atlas, he took off. They haven’t been able to find him. They looked for hours,” I croak, voice cracking with emotion.

The tea hisses and spits like a cajoling crowd.

“How long has he been gone?” Eloise asks, leaning forward and releasing Dara’s hand. She waves a finger over the tea, and it settles in the mug.

Dara stands, muttering something to herself and sweeping out of the room.

“I think it’s been almost twenty-four hours now. I haven’t been able to sleep.” I wheeze, pressing my face harder into my hands. “I’m so fucking worried.”

“So one of them spilled the beans about being your mate and he took off. Atlas is sensitive with witches. You have to understand.” Eloise reaches over and pats my knee gently.

“He thinks I hate him!” I sob, finally unable to hold it back any longer. I lift my face, the hot tears and snot running like rivers down my face.

“Don’t you? The last time we spoke, it didn’t seem like you liked him very much at all.” Eloise shrugs lightly, her eyes watching my every movement intensely, like I’m going to snap and set her house on fire.

Who knows? Maybe I could actually do it with my magic, if only it did anything when I called to it.

Eloise stares with wide eyes at me as I whimper and sniffle, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.

“What am I going to do?” I croak, wiping my face on my sleeve for lack of something better.

“Do you want something stronger than tea?” she finally asks.

I laugh a little, the sound broken and small. “Yes, please.”

Eloise stands and goes over to a small cabinet. She bends down and begins looking through bottles. The soft clinking of glass and release of emotions finally begins to calm me a little. I lean back into the chair and shut my eyes, trying to keep my breath steady.

Atlas will be fine. He’s a strong, hard-headed jackass, but he isn’t stupid, and he’s old. Not as old as the others, but he’s built to be a defender. Built, not born like the rest of them.

Therein lies the problem with me and him.

A witch did horrible things to him that I will never understand, but all that hatred falls onto me; all witches must burn and suffer his anger because of one horrible asshole from his past. I wish I could find who made Atlas and rip them apart with my bare hands, or unleash the magic that roils inside me on them.

The thought alone makes it swell in my soul, like a storm you can sense due to the shift in ozone.

“Here.” Eloise presses a cool glass into my left hand, and I blink my eyes open.

The glass is filled nearly to the brim with a dark amber liquid. I bring it to my nose and instantly regret it as a strong alcoholic scent kicks me in the teeth.

I wince, and Eloise grins.

“That will more than make you feel better,” she says, returning to her seat on the couch.

“Thanks.” I raise the glass a bit before bringing it to my lips, shutting my eyes and taking a deep drink. I swallow and swallow even as it burns. All the way down, I can feel the liquor scorching until it reaches my stomach.

I cough when I finally stop guzzling the hard liquor. Half the glass is empty. “Better already.”

“Sure you are.” Eloise gives me a tight smile, and Dara finally comes back into the room.

In her arms are the strangest things I have ever seen. Plushies. Four different plushies—one yellow, one green, one blue, and one black. Gargoyles. They’re gargoyles, and they’re all dressed like the gargoyles they are modeled after. My gargoyles .

“Why the hell do you have those?” I give a startled squawk.

“Part of my magic is connected to the soul and, in turn, soulmates. It’s not an exact science because magic never is, but I had a feeling I would need to make these soon,” she says, coming over and setting them in my lap.

I involuntarily melt into the seat, whatever magic in them comforting me bone deep.

They’re about twelve inches tall and surprisingly heavy for their sizes. I lift up the Marcus plushie and nearly drop it when I feel his familiar warmth.

“These are magic stuffed toys. They are connected to your mates. You’ll be able to feel their heartbeats and their warmth,” Dara explains, her cheeks darkening slightly.

“She did it so you’d know that Atlas is alive. If the asshole goes cold or you can’t feel the heartbeat, then at least you know,” Eloise says, crossing her arms over her chest.

I gape at the plushies in my lap, sitting them up and looking into their adorable button eyes.

“They’re so cute.” I can’t help but gush over them, gently running a fingertip over the small details.

Each of their horns is different, like they are on the real-life version, and their expressions capture their personalities so well. Atlas is even wearing a little leather jacket and smirking like the jerk face he is.

“Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” Dara gives me a bright smile. “They are yours to keep. I can only ever make them once, but they should be as indestructible as your men.”

I pull them to my chest and give them the biggest squeeze. “I’ll take care of them, I promise.”

Just like I’ll take care of the real ones, if they let me.