Interview With a Gargoyle (16 page)

“So what will you do?” she asked, letting the glow of the small flame draw her gaze. “On your first day, once the curse is broken?”

“Are we assuming it will be?”

“We’ll find a way, right? We have to.”

“Okay, assuming we break the curse, I’m going to…sunbathe?” He shrugged. His shoulders remained a little hunched, and Mel wondered if this wasn’t the best vein for the conversation to take. “I used to think about it all the time. I had a list a mile long. I wanted to travel, maybe go skydiving, windsurfing, snorkeling. I think I’ve gone beyond missing those things now. I just want to watch the sun come up. I want a whole day—all twenty-four hours of it.”

“What about your family? Haven’t they wondered why they never see you during the day?”

“My parents have been gone for fifteen years, my grandfather for ten. I don’t have brothers or sisters… There’s really no one.”

Mel swallowed hard. She didn’t want to eat, but the physical act of shoveling food into her mouth gave her something to do besides radiate pity at the man across the table. He was completely alone and cut off from most of the world. Sitting here in the bustling restaurant, he seemed much less sinister than he had when she’d first encountered him at Gleason’s, less brooding than when he’d rescued her from the Ak’mir. She might have believed he was like anyone else—only perhaps better-looking than most—except she recalled what she’d seen in the basement room this morning. She’d seen what he hid from the world, and it made her heart ache for him. “Well, there’s no one asking hard questions, then, I suppose. You don’t have to lie to anyone.”

He raised a brow as if he’d never seen the upside of the situation before, dismal as it was. “That’s true. All my research into my bloodline shows families being torn apart by the curse. All the men seemed to have kept the secret from their wives and children. They receded from society, gained reputations for being crazy old hermits or eccentrics. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have anyone to disappoint.”

Mel set her fork down. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

He leaned forward a bit, and his eyes caught the candlelight and sparkled. “Good at what?”

“Ignoring white elephants. What kind of normal conversation can we have with the curse hanging over our heads?”

He laughed, and Mel liked that. The deep rumble made her skin tingle and humor lit his amber eyes. “Let me give it a shot. How did you get into the bakery business?”

“Are you sure you can handle the excitement of that story? It’s a doozy.”

“Try me.” He sipped his beer and nudged his own food around his plate.

“Well, I wanted to be a chef, but I’ve got a number of food allergies to things that are pretty common in most kitchens. It’s very limiting for a cook if you can’t taste your own food. I went into pastry decorating because I don’t have to taste-test as much. It’s more art than cooking.”

“Ah, that’s why you carry the allergy pen.”

She nodded. She’d forgotten he’d gone through her purse, more than once. “I haven’t had a reaction in about five years, so I’m doing pretty well.”

“Why do you work nights?”

“I don’t sleep much. Last night was unusual for me. I guess I was completely exhausted. During the day, there are too many…people around.”

“You don’t like people?” Blake glanced around the bustling restaurant.

“I like people. I just prefer to work when it’s quiet.”

“That’s no reason to hide away in the dark.”

“I don’t hide away. I’ve always been shy, and it’s just easier for me to function when I don’t have to interact with too many people.” She allowed herself a grin, hoping he’d accept her admission.

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying it.

Fortunately the arrival of their dinners cut off his response, and Mel dove into conversation about the food to distract him from any more personal questions. That worked well until dessert; then he pounced.

“Do you work at night to avoid dating?”

She blinked. “Wow. I thought you left Palmer’s crossbow at my place. That was a targeted shot.”

He looked flustered, and she liked that. She’d punched a small hole in his armor to match the one he’d just torn in hers.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t believe that you’re a social misfit.”

“All right, so I’m hiding out a little. There’s less pressure at night to be something spectacular. I can just exist, and that’s all I can handle right now.”

“Bad breakup?”

“Necessary divorce and too many prying eyes.” Mel tapped her chest. “I have a big family. Brothers and their wives, cousins, aunts, uncles dropping in to see if I’m okay, lining up with crowbars to pull me out of my shell and throw me back into the boiling pot of dating. I’m not ready.”

“Still love him?”

“No.” That was the first easy question he’d asked. “Still hurting, maybe. Still hibernating.”

“Don’t hibernate too long. The world might not be there when you want to come back to it.”

Mel found his advice easier to digest than the food. She’d always assumed the day would come when she’d convert back to a more “normal” life—sleeping at night like the rest of the world, awake during the day to care for a husband and children. She realized now, if she let too much time go by, that conversion would never happen. Now, maybe she’d already lost the chance to reinvent her life. This curse had stripped her of those opportunities the same way it had stripped them from Blake.

It was nearly ten, and the gibbous moon lit the night, competing with the streetlights to dispel the shadows. The ride back to Melodie’s apartment from the mall had been uneventful, and at the moment, Blake sensed nothing more sinister in the dark than the constant tingle that accompanied the Cabochon. Melodie’s keys jingled as she attempted to fit them in the lock of her front door.

“You should come back to my place tonight,” he said.

He wondered if, without the cursed gem inside her, he’d be so drawn to Melodie McConnell. If she wasn’t the key to his freedom, would she seem so beautiful? In this light, her skin was translucent. Golden highlights shimmered in her dark hair, and her eyes danced with mischief.

She smiled and tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind one ear. “Calypso went to all that trouble to ward my apartment.”

A lame excuse. He could shoot that right down. “But on the other side of the wards, you’re still alone. At my place, you could practice your social skills, prepare for the end of hibernation.”

She smirked and turned the doorknob. “Are you trying to drag me out of my shell too?”

“I’ve got a crowbar in my garage. We could give it a try.”

She laughed and bumped her hip against the heavy storm door. It popped open, and the faint scent of ozone drifted out. She wrinkled her nose. “I should have picked up some air freshener at the mall. Why don’t you come in for a minute and we can talk about—”

Her scream pierced the quiet evening like a blade. A crackle of blue energy threw her back from the threshold, then raced around the half-open door frame like an electrical charge.

Her body hit him, and together they tumbled backward down the steps, landing in a heap on the cement walkway.

Blake recovered first and sat up, cradling Melodie in his arms. A burn, black and smoldering, marred the length of her forearm. The acrid scent of scorched flesh had replaced the sharp odor of the ward spell.

Pain clouded her eyes. “No…no. This can’t be.”

“Was that the ward?” He climbed to his feet, still shaken. His heart pounded from the shock, transferred through her body into his. Mindful of her wound, he helped her up, and she huddled against him.

“I can’t get into my own apartment because I’m a demon.” Despair tinged her words.

“No, it has to be something else.” Blake drew in a sharp breath at the sight of her injury. Wisps of smoke rose from the blackened, puckered flesh. “We need to get you to a hospital. Come on—you can sit in front of me on my bike so you don’t have to bend your arm around me.”

“No. I’m all right. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

Blake stared. Was she in shock? Half of the skin on her arm was singed to a crisp, and she’d been thrown down a flight of stairs to boot. While he watched, she brushed at the ashes that clung to her flesh. Like an old scab, the burn flaked away, leaving only fresh pink skin. Within moments, the wound was completely gone.

She raised a brow. “They can keep me out, but they can’t hurt me.”

Her voice didn’t sound quite right.

“I guess you’re coming to my place.” Somehow, he wasn’t as confident about that alternative now as he’d been a few minutes ago.

She smiled, but there was none of the sweet flirtiness he’d seen earlier in the evening. Her expression was more of a dark affirmation. “Let’s go, then.”

“Do you want me to get anything for you, from inside?”

She looked down at herself, then walked her fingers up his chest from his abdomen to the hollow of his throat. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

An unfamiliar scent drifted on the evening breeze, and Melodie’s head snapped to one side, following it like a predator. The shadows along the edges of the empty street seemed to lengthen and darken.

“We’d better get moving. I think your minions might be closing in.”

She responded with a shrug and swept a feral glance around the silent neighborhood. “They won’t hurt me.”

Blake grabbed his helmet and handed her his spare. “Right now,
you’re
not the one I’m worried about.”

The shock of stumbling into the witch’s barrier had rattled Melodie’s nerves, jangled her bones a bit and woken a part of her that had slept for too long.

Pain had morphed quickly to exhilaration when she watched her body heal. Exhilaration became lust when Blake DeWitt put his hands on her.

Clinging to his motorcycle, they fled the shadows around her apartment. He was right. The Fremlings were watching, mobilizing, preparing to do her bidding. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone do her bidding for a change? She’d spent too many years doing what was expected of her, playing by the rules, staying invisible to avoid confrontations.

Now the captive part of her psyche screamed for release from the self-constructed cage. The energy of the ward had done more than repelled her. She’d absorbed some of it. Power soaked through her skin, tickled her nerve endings and heightened her senses. Right now, the thrum of the V-twin engine between her legs drowned out every other sensation except the feel of taut leather under her hands.

Blake drove hell-bent for election toward his place. Was it fear of the demons that kept his gloved hand on the accelerator or desire to get her alone in his domain again? Last night he’d refused her advances, but something told her tonight would be different—she’d just have to convince him she was in complete control of her actions.

She’d have to play coy.

When they reached his house, he guided the bike straight into the garage and led her inside through the inner door. No wards here, nothing to keep the Fremlings out except her will.

She sensed them swarming just out of sight, a miniature army at her disposal. What would she have them do for her?

She strolled through DeWitt’s house on his heels, making note of her surroundings—the doors and windows, the nooks and crannies where the deepest shadows hid. If she couldn’t get into her own home, this one might do. Surely once the sun rose, the witch hunter would have no say in who or what came and went.

He led her directly to the bedroom but stopped her at the threshold. She put herself in his personal space, drank in his scent now mixed with the smoky aroma of the autumn evening and the faint scent of ionized air. “What’s wrong?”

“I just want to make sure I know who you are. That shock from the ward spell jazzed you up a bit.”

She feigned innocence, not easy considering her current mood was anything but. “It was seeing that burn heal. It’s an incredible feeling. I wonder if it’s any type of wound or only magical ones.” She sidled closer and gazed up into his eyes.

“I’ll look into it. The Cabochon protects itself, apparently better than I’d ever imagined.”

“So I might be invincible.” It wasn’t a question, and somewhere deep down, she knew the truth. Nothing could hurt her.

“You might be, but let’s not try to find out just yet.”

“Okay.” She grinned. “What do you propose we do, then?”

“Well, I’ve got work to do. I figured you might want to get some sleep.” His gaze challenged hers. This was a test, and she wanted desperately to pass.

“That’s a good idea.” She aimed her lips at his and went up on her toes to deliver a quick, chaste brush against the corner of his mouth.

It might have worked to convince him she was sincere, but rather than let the moment pass, he snaked an arm around her and drew her in. His lips found hers again and came down hard, unyielding. His tongue darted inside, first tentative, then demanding, searching.

She held back from clawing his clothes off, let him explore while she surged against him, backing him into the bedroom door frame.

He was all muscle and male power, and she became a taste of feminine surrender even though she wanted so much more. Something inside her drew up tight, flexed, ready to uncoil into a lash of undeniable lust.

This was good. Very, very good.

Until he dropped her.

With just slightly less force than the ward spell had repelled her, Blake DeWitt pushed Melodie away, breaking their kiss and severing their physical connection.

His eyes bore into hers, his expression a mixture of accusation and regret. “Who are you?”

She swiped the back of her hand across her moistened lips, felt him there, tasted him. “Whoever I am, I’m apparently not good enough for you, am I?”

“You’re not Melodie McConnell right now. I can tell by the way you taste.”

“Oh? Do you know how Melodie tastes? You’ve never kissed her.”

“That’s right, I haven’t, but I’m sure she doesn’t taste like a demon.”

Mel laughed. How absurd. “Oh, and how do you know what a demon tastes like?”

“Because I’ve kissed one before.”

Chapter Sixteen