Page 33

CHARLOTTE

Atlas is never far from my mind. Three days into his tantrum, I’m more than sick of being alone.

I miss all my gargoyles, but the guilt eats away at me like acid.

He didn’t want me because of his deep-seated hatred for witches, and we should have been able to work that out together, but I got too excited by the possibility of orgies with four hot supernatural dudes to think clearly.

I’ve never been this physically interested in anyone before, and suddenly, creatures I would, in theory, run screaming from are just drawing me in deeper and deeper.

Burrowing into the pile of blankets I’ve amassed, I slide a hand out from under the pile and pull the plushies into the space one by one. Laying them all beside me, I sigh and curl the Atlas one into my arms. I can feel a steady heartbeat, strong and defiant against my chest.

“I know we haven’t gotten off on the right foot,” I murmur softly against the plushie’s gently pointed gray ear. “But we all miss you. Your nest-mates most of all, of course, but I do too. I haven’t gotten to know you at all, and I’m already halfway in love with you.”

Of course, the stuffed Atlas doesn’t respond, but I swear I can feel the heartbeat picking up against my own. I hold him tighter, hugging the absolute crap out of this tiny magic version of my soulmate.

The steadiness of his heartbeat and warmth radiating off all my tiny mates settles me right to sleep.

DARIUS

Out of everyone, I should have known better.

The oldest is supposed to be the wisest, but clearly I never got that memo.

The formation of this nest had been a fight from the very beginning.

Atlas never knew what to make of his place in our nest, and now he’s gone, and I finally have to confront the fact that I’ve failed him.

Julius and Marcus are good friends. But me?

I’ve always gotten along better when I have someone I can take under my wing both physically and metaphorically.

Atlas was the one who relied on me to know what to do in a split second, and I let him down when it came to the expanse of our future.

I was lax with our other nest-mates. Julius and Marcus took our affections for Charlotte too far, way too fast for Atlas to handle.

I’m supposed to be able to mediate my nest, but I’ve failed royally.

Giving a mate a nest’s heart is deeper than marriage, and Atlas knew that better than the others.

He always believed he had something to prove, so he became our encyclopedia.

When we all came together, it was Atlas who began crafting the heart of our nest and made sure it was absolutely perfect for our future mate, whoever they may be.

It was never a question of if he was good enough, but he made it seem that way.

The chip on his shoulder from being made always made him feel inferior to us, even if we didn’t see it that way. To us, he was always just one of us.

Sadness makes my stomach burn, so I do the only thing I can think of and pour myself another two fingers of scotch.

I take the short glass and swirl the dark liquid, drinking it in one pungent mouthful before setting the glass back down on the small chair beside my favorite seat in the more formal sitting room.

The fire crackles in my periphery, and I wonder if I can pay Eloise or Dara enough to track Atlas down for us. He hasn’t been spotted by any of our nearby allies, so the worry keeps mounting in my chest.

There seems to be no way to get to him until he chooses it, and it frustrates me to no end. He hasn’t even reached for the pool of magic that we share, or I would be able to follow that pull like a trail of breadcrumbs.

“Where in the world are you, youngling?” I muse aloud, tipping my head back and shutting my eyes.

“Please, don’t make me go back.” The youngling’s voice cracks as they tremble so hard I’m afraid they may crack a wing.

The tree they picked may be large, but the cavity they are hiding in is narrow and more than too small for them.

This tree is on the edge of the forest, closer to the small village nearby, and well used by the local children.

When some of them had come screaming about a monster, I knew I had to investigate.

The rains that are common in this part of the world pour down as I land.

I had ignored it, but it must have covered him from my notice on patrol.

I slowly lift my hand and extend it toward him with my palm up.

“You don’t have to go back. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to be,” I say coolly, my face impassive and unmoved by the situation that is actually tearing my heart from its place in my chest.

“I never wanted to be made,” the youngling sobs.

The tears rolling down their cheeks are an acrid green, the chemicals and magic that give them their life not yet settled enough not to seep out.

“I know, none of us ask for life, but we must take it.” I gently set my hand on their forearm and draw them from the shadowed nook of the great oak tree. “And we must use it for good.”

Their skin is dark, gray and black speckled. They’re a handsome youngling with long black hair still damp from being caught in the rain before finding shelter in this tree…and taking down one of its largest branches in the process.

“I do not know—” Their breathing is hard, the sharp planes of their face etched with fear. “I do not know how to do anything like that. Goodness is a concept unfamiliar to me.”

“Good can be taught. I find that the goodness you gather is more worthwhile than anything instilled in you,” I croon and draw the youngling farther out.

They are large but still a foot shorter than me.

Their eyes flick around quickly, trying to perceive a danger that is nowhere around.

The short horns on their head end in sharp points, and they tip their head toward the slightest creak and groan of nature as if they mean to gore whatever comes at us.

“What is your name? Do you prefer something different—” than what your maker gave you? The question dies on my tongue as the youngling looks at me with wide eyes.

“No, no name to call my own,” they murmur.

“That won’t do,” I say softly, with a shake of my head.

The youngling winces and curls in on themselves.

“But that isn’t your fault. We can find your name together. Would you like to come and meet my friends?”

“Friends? Witches?” they ask in a distressed hiss.

“No, gargoyles, just like us.” I slowly tug them toward me, and they come, still trembling.

“Gargoyles, meet more gargoyles,” they murmur with a quick jerk of their head. I assume it’s affirmative. “I can do that.”

“Still haven’t picked a name?” Marcus asks, leaning over the chessboard that Julius and I are using to get closer to the gray youngling who has been studying our moves with careful eyes.

The youngling’s eyes shoot up and across to the gargoyle who is most unlike themselves in our nest.

“Not yet,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

He may not have chosen a name, but he has told us that he is a male like the rest of us and seeks a partner of the fairer sex, the same as we do.

“What about Onyx?” Marcus asks with a wide grin. “You’re not quite the right colors, but it’s cool, and your eyes are pretty close.”

The youngling shakes his head. “No, not quite right,” he says with a sigh. “But I can feel it. I’m close to figuring it out.”

“Take your time. Gods know, I wish I could have gone by a different name,” Julius says, though he doesn’t entirely mean it.

Julius did change his name when he joined us and dropped the one that belonged to his family.

“I have narrowed it down.” He gives a slight tip of his head. His hair is shorter now, almost to his shoulders and wavy.

He is a pretty one now that his features have settled and he is nourished.

“Care to share?” I ask, making a move that I know was unwise.

The corner of the youngling’s mouth kicks up as he winces. “Did you mean to do that?” he asks in a barely concealed whisper.

Julius laughs, putting me into checkmate. “Darius likes to let me win from time to time. It keeps up the morale.”

Marcus chuckles before joining Julius in a laugh that makes me flush with embarrassment. My eyes flick to the youngling as a smile captures his lips, and then he, too, is laughing at me.

“Atlas, it’s go time!” Marcus whoops as he leaps over the thick wooden railing of the grand front stairs.

He lands with a thump in the entryway, and I give him a withering look.

“Careful, this castle is ours now, and we need to take care of it.”

A shadow whizzes into the room, nearly knocking me over. The magic it brings into the room stalls my lungs, but I smile. Sparks of green, blue, and yellow fly off him as Atlas makes his stop beside Marcus. He’s grinning, no longer the uncomfortable youngling he was a few decades ago.

“Think you can keep up with me, old man?” Atlas snickers at Marcus, who gapes at him.

“I am not old! Darius is old!”

“Enough of this, both of you,” I say with a chuckle. “We have patrols to begin.”

A sudden knock thunders into the small space. Each of us stands at the ready as I stride toward the door and pull it open, appearing like a mortal. The man in the door is of middle age, with some graying at his temples and an air of displeasure so thick it could choke me.

“You have something of mine, and I would like it back.” His voice is gravelly from disuse, and I catch sight of his yellowing teeth.

He reeks of death.

“I have never seen you in my life. Who might you be?” I ask, trying to keep my temper.

My instincts instantly dislike this man, and the pinch in my gut tells me something is terribly wrong.

“Do not play coy with me, boy. Give it back to me, or I will make you regret it,” the old man snarls.

His teeth, now more exposed, show further signs of decay, a sign of prolonged use of the darkest magic.

My eyes widen, and I stumble a step back before someone is at my back, catching me.

“You have no power over any of us, and you have no power to make demands of the Colbéliard nest.” Atlas’ voice is sharp and cold, slicing like an obsidian knife.

The old witch’s eyes widen, and he grinds those vile teeth together. Magic, the same acid green I remember from that night beside the tree, rolls off him like mist from the loch.

“You worthless whelp, cost me more to put together than you were ever worth. If you will not be of use to me, then you deserve to return to dust.”

Atlas stiffens, and I stand more squarely in front of the younger gargoyle.

Putting myself between him and his maker, I tell the witch, “Atlas is one of us.”

CHARLOTTE

I startle awake sometime later, tossing the blankets off from over my head. The room is pitch black around me, the night having settled in while I was dozing.

Fear and adrenaline that don’t belong to me course through my veins as I come down from that dream. Anger. Disgust. Pure terror . The frightened youngling’s emotions— Atlas’ emotions.

“Those were not my dreams.” I scrub my hands over my face, trying to ignore the urge to rub that stink off my skin. “Gods, that guy smelled terrible.”

Atlas’ maker was one ugly son of a witch, who certainly was not kind or good.

Of course, he doesn’t like witches and seems to merely tolerate Eloise when she visits.

Even if I didn’t know I was a witch, he knew from the moment I stepped into their home and took it over before basically demanding that things go back to normal for them.

My own world might have been flipped by supernaturals, but Atlas’ world had been shoved into a blender and set to high by me.

Atlas was the one who really needed me the most. He pushed and pushed because he thought I would be the same as his abuser.

I did nothing to reassure him I was different.

Reaching for my plushies, I pull Darius, Marcus, and then Julius into my lap before taking Atlas and holding him to my chest. His heart beats but not as strongly as before, his warmth fading against my fingertips.

“Oh no.”