Split at the Seams (39 page)

I opened my mouth to argue, but no sound came out. He had a point. I frowned—was I some kind of supernatural racist? I’d been accused of it before, where vampires were involved, but most vamps were deserving of scorn. They were bad people. I was willing to give chroniclers the benefit of the doubt now, because I’d learned that they chose undeath for scholarly purposes instead of “dude, it’s cool to live forever!” But shapeshifters were little more than animals.

Right?

“I’m not sure I can be down with the furry posse,” I admitted. “I wouldn’t trust my cats to be in charge of anything.”

“They’re people, not house cats.”

“Don’t start the ‘werewolves are people too’ argument. I won’t be able to take you seriously ever again.” I folded my arms across my chest.

“Do you trust me?”

That sounded like a trap. “Yes. Do you trust me?” There was a moment of hesitation, and I pointed at him. “Aha! I knew it. You think I’m going to run away and join Team Evil, don’t you?”

He looked irritated by my word choice, and he shook his head. “I don’t think you’d do it willingly.”

“But you think if Harrison went all Dracula and crooked his little finger and said ‘come here’ I’d jump in the car and drive downtown.”

A vein in Lex’s neck twitched and I was sure lasers were about to shoot from his eyes. He seemed to be considering his words carefully, which didn’t bode well. “I think you wouldn’t have a choice.”

“Of course I’d have a choice. There’s always a choice. I fought him off before. I can do it again if he tried anything.”

“You let him bite you.”

“I didn’t
let
him bite me. How many times do we have to go through this?”

“We’ll keep having this argument until I’m sure—”

“Sure of what? That I’m not going to leave?” I asked. I took his hesitation as a
yes
, and I resisted the urge to scream. “You’re the one with a history of walking out on this relationship.”

Lex jerked as though I’d slapped him, and I grimaced. Shit. I’d crossed the line into unfair territory.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he argued.

“You always had a choice; you just didn’t choose me, so don’t get all up on your high horse about this. I choose you. I love you. I married
you,
” I reminded him. To accentuate my point I jumped on him. Literally. Leapt on the man and wrapped my legs around his waist and held on for dear life. Luckily I didn’t knock him flat or throw his back out when he caught me. “Marriage may not mean much to half the couples in America, but it means something to me. I’m not leaving you. Not for him, not for anybody. Feel free to tell me the same thing. It wouldn’t hurt if you also mentioned that you feel you made the right choice in marrying me. I could stand to hear that a few more times.”

Lex smiled. “I love you. You know that.”

“I do. And I like hearing it. I’m not asking for diamonds or flowers, just a little verbal repetition.”

“I love you, Cat.”

I kissed him, and he shifted his grip on me. He carried me out of the room, and I squeaked and held on for dear life. He never seemed to have a problem carrying me, but I’m paranoid that one day my fat butt will hit critical mass and I’ll be too heavy to haul around.

I unwound myself when we reached the bedroom, and while he closed and locked the door, I stripped off my shirt. I toed off my shoes and reached for the button of my jeans, and Lex’s hands covered mine when he rejoined me.

“Let me,” he said.

How far into darkness will he go to reclaim the light?

Interview with a Gargoyle

© 2011 Jennifer Colgan

Melodie McConnell’s night shift couldn’t get any more bizarre. First, a commotion behind the bakery lands her in the arms of a slimy demon. Then she’s swept into hiding by a demon hunter…and discovers she’s been swallowed whole by a world she never knew existed.

In the decade since he inherited a centuries-old family curse, darkness has ruled Blake DeWitt’s life. By day he’s encased in the form of a hideous stone gargoyle. By night, desperation drives him to search for the Witch’s Cabochon, a gem with the power to permanently lift the curse.

He’s seconds away from claiming it when the dying demon transfers it to a human woman whose beautiful body is no match for its wild, darkly sexual power. And whose innocent attempts at seduction he finds hard to resist.

As the demons swarm closer, they find safety in each other’s arms. Until Blake discovers the only key to his freedom…and must face a soul-rending choice.

Warning: Take two parts demons, one part demon hunter, one part witch, and a heaping helping of sexy gargoyle. Spontaneous combustion may occur. At least you won’t need to wait for the oven timer to enjoy!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Interview with a Gargoyle:

“Run! Get out of here while you can.” Palmer’s strangled command stopped Melodie halfway around the front display counter. She skidded to a halt and glanced back over her shoulder. DeWitt had Palmer by the stretchy collar of his T-shirt and was lifting his linebacker body about a foot off the floor.

Ignoring Palmer’s gasping and his ineffectual kicks, DeWitt turned his predatory gaze on Mel. “I only want the jewel. Don’t make me hurt him to prove how desperate I am.”

And there went her escape plan. In a strange way, Palmer had saved her life, and weird as he was, she couldn’t let him suffer on her account. “Jewel? You’re looking for a jewel?” Why hadn’t he just said so in the first place?

“The Cabochon is a cursed jewel. It will bring you nothing but tragedy. Hand it over to me, and you’ll escape its curse.”

“Ah, okay. I think I know what you’re talking about. The Gogmar gave me something in the alley, right before he…died.”

Tortured eyes searched hers, and she had the distinct impression he could see into her soul. The oddly naked feeling made her shiver.

“It
gave
you the Cabochon?”

“It gave me a sapphire. Now, put Palmer down gently, and I’ll give it to you if you promise to leave us alone, okay?”

She made a “down boy” gesture with both hands.

“If you give me the Cabochon, I promise, you’ll never see me again.”

That seemed reasonable to Mel, but apparently not to Palmer, who still dangled in midair.

“Don’t do it, Melodie. He’s pure evil. He’ll kill us both if we give him what he wants.”

“Oh, please.” DeWitt dropped Palmer then, totally ignoring the “gently” part of Mel’s request. “Get over yourself,
demon hunter
. There’s nothing
pure
about me.”

Clutching his chest, from which DeWitt had likely ripped a handful of hair, Palmer slithered away along the floor. With a lot more bravado than she felt, Mel inched back into the kitchen and put herself between DeWitt and Marty, who still sat grinning like a fool on the very edge of the center workstation.

“Okay. Nice and easy,” she said, holding up her hands like this was an old-fashioned stickup. Since it appeared the only weapon DeWitt possessed was Palmer’s sword, she probably could have made a break for it, but she really was more than willing to part with whatever it was Creature Boy had given her.

“It’s in my pocket.” She reached slowly for the gem that the Gogmar had pressed into her hand. DeWitt’s tawny gaze followed her movements, skeptical but anxious.

Judging by his expression, Mel held all the power. He wanted the cursed jewel just as badly as she wanted to get rid of it. When her cold fingers scraped the crumb-dusted bottom seam of her apron pocket, her heart shriveled a little. With a reassuring smile for DeWitt, she felt to the left, then to the right. Nothing.

She held open her pocket and glanced inside. There was nothing there but a few shards of antler and a little ball of bright green lint. “Um…”

DeWitt’s accusatory glare made her spine tingle. “You lied to me, lass.” The timbre of his voice brought to mind the windswept hillsides of Scotland and the icy depths of a cold hell. He was not amused.

“I
did
have it. I swear. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the alley. It’s probably still out there under the…ooze.”

DeWitt wasn’t buying it. His ire wilted her. Under his alluring golden gaze, she
felt
guilty.

“I swear, I don’t have it.”

“Yes, you do.” The accusation hung in the sweet-scented air of the kitchen for a second; then DeWitt lunged for her.

Melodie ducked out from under his two-handed grasp, leaving Marty to take the fall for her, and fall was exactly what he did.

Two handfuls of chocolate-fondant-coated coconut sponge cake went flying.

Mel dove, and just as she hit the floor, Palmer jumped up. He grabbed the naked stainless-steel handle of the double boiler and flung caramelized sugar and boiling water at DeWitt.

The pots clattered to the floor, colliding with what was left of Marty. Melodie yelped. DeWitt roared and clutched the hot goo now plastering his T-shirt to his chest. Before she could decide who needed her help more, Palmer grabbed her hand and dragged her out the front door of the shop.

“Oh my God! I can’t believe you did that.” Mel struggled to keep her arm attached to her shoulder as Palmer pulled her along the darkened street toward a bright blue Jeep Wrangler parked on the corner.

“He would have killed you. I appreciate you buying time, but it’s a bad idea to lie to Blake DeWitt.”

“Well, if he was evil before, he’s going to be a little more evil now with third-degree sugar burns all over his front. And I wasn’t lying. The Gogmar did give me a jewel, a big one, right before you skewered him.”

Palmer yanked open the passenger door of the Jeep and literally shoved Mel inside. She had a split second to recall all her mother’s warnings about never getting into a car with a stranger before she settled in and pulled the seat belt across her chest. Palmer threw his empty scabbard in the backseat and slid behind the wheel with a backward glance at Gleason’s front door.

A second later, the engine roared, and the vehicle lurched into the empty street. “So you’ve still got the Cabochon?” he asked.

Mel grabbed the dashboard as the Jeep careened around a corner and took the straightaway of Garden Street at a cool sixty miles per hour. “No. Like I said, I must have dropped it in the alley. DeWitt will probably find it, and then we won’t have to worry about him, right? Who the hell is he anyway, and why are you so scared of him?”

Her dubious savior gave her a sour glance. “I’m not scared of him, though anyone who knows of him probably should be. He’s cursed. Seriously cursed. And rumor has it he can transfer his curse to someone else through the Cabochon. Oh shit, he’s following us.”

The rumble of DeWitt’s Harley tickled the hairs on the back of Mel’s neck, and she turned in the seat to look out the Jeep’s back window. A single headlight glared back at her. “How fast can this thing go?”

Palmer grinned wickedly and stomped on the gas pedal. “Just watch—and hang on!”

Each breath Blake took stretched the burned skin of his chest, sending sparks of energy along every nerve ending in his body. He wanted to crawl away and nurse these temporary wounds, but the misery of his injuries paled next to the prospect of spending the rest of his life in thrall to the Witch Hunter’s curse.

Instead of giving in to it, he ignored the pain, just as he’d trained himself over the past decade to ignore all the other hardships of this unwanted existence.

This young woman had the Cabochon, his only ticket back to the land of the fully alive, and all he had to do was take it from her. The chance to finally end the curse was worth a little discomfort. Or a lot.

As he leaned into the next turn in hot pursuit of Van Houten’s Wrangler, he pictured her face. Waves of chestnut hair framed unblemished porcelain skin. Eyes the color of rich chocolate had assessed him as a threat. More than his burns did, it pained him to recall the terror in her expression when he’d reached for her. Thanks to Van Houten, she probably believed he was nothing more than a soulless monster, and she’d run from him, making his task all the more difficult when it didn’t need to be.

The Wrangler increased speed, and Blake cursed. He’d burned up most of a tank of gas following the Gogmar, and now he was riding on fumes. He couldn’t afford to be stranded in the open at dawn, so, reluctantly, he veered off when his prey took a sharp turn around the corner of the Sure-Shop.

He might have to suspend his search, but it wasn’t over by a long shot. The woman obviously worked at the bakery. That meant he could locate her again when he had more time to convince her to cooperate.

With his nerves on fire and his tortured skin aching, he gave up the chase.

Temporarily.

Split at the Seams

Yolanda Sfetsos

All it takes is one broken stitch for everything to come apart at the seams.

Sierra Fox, Book 2