Chapter 3

ANA

Quinn shook his head, his eyes pleading. "I swear," he said, his words thick with anguish, "I haven't changed you."

They stared at each other, the silence heavy and suffocating. The only sound was her ragged breaths; the only movement was his tail swishing behind him.

He broke the hush, his voice low. "I see you're as lost as I am." He looked at her with his head tilted, a hint of sympathy and curiosity in his eyes. "How about a meal to ease your turmoil?"

She looked at him, her eyes still fixed on his claws, his tail, his wings. Panic clenched her throat. Was he going to feed her or feed on her? Was he going to kill her or keep her? "Am I… am I the food?" she whispered.

His eyes widened, shock evident on his face.

"You're not the meal. I wouldn't harm you, I swear." He moved a step away, his eyes begging her to trust him. "Let me get you some clothing so you can feel more comfortable."

A prickle of self-consciousness danced down her spine as his gaze drifted down to her torn clothes. She sat down and tugged the blanket higher, heat creeping up her neck. Exposed, vulnerable, defeated, she sank back on the bed. She needed something to wear, something to cover her better than her rags. She sighed.

Yet, as she took a deep breath, she inhaled his heady fragrance. The air hummed with his scent, drawing her in again and enveloping her in a warm embrace. A strange comfort lingered in its depths, a primal reassurance that felt like a drug.

Her gaze drifted upward, tracing the clean line of his jaw to his straight nose. A slow smile played on his lips, a hint of something unspoken lurking in the corners. The glint in his gaze, the same mesmerizing blue as a sunlit glacier, held her captive for a beat too long.

A delicious blend of fear and fascination ran down her spine. His presence, both familiar and monstrous, pulsed with a feral energy. The line between man and monster blurred, the sharp edges of his wings and claws softened by the shadows and the vulnerability that peeked through his guarded gaze.

She couldn't tear her eyes away. This creature, born of legend, awakened a flicker of desire that defied logic and reason. Her stomach clenched, and liquid warmth pooled between her legs. He was an anomaly, a riddle she longed to solve, a forbidden fruit dangling just out of reach. She caught a glimpse of something both beautiful and dangerous that shimmered in the shadows, waiting to be claimed.

He tilted his head. A mane of sun-kissed blond that tumbled from beneath the shade of his wings. His eyebrow, a slightly darker color than his hair, arched in a questioning manner.

Even though he had unique… accessories… this gargoyle still resembled a man. She peeked at his muscular torso; the fine line of curly blond hair trailed down his six-pack and into his supple leather pants with a distinct bulge.

Did he look like a man under that fabric?

With each inhale, her stomach tightened, and a wave of desire washed over her. Why was she so attracted to such a strange creature? Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips as she looked up at him.

With a swish of his tail, he sniffed the air. She met his gaze.

"Your eyes… they're silver." She gasped and tightened her grip on her blanket, feeling a mix of fear and intrigue.

"As are yours," he replied, his voice low and husky. "It happens when we're excited." He closed the distance again, maintaining his gaze on her mouth. His grin took on a more sensual tone, billowing the flame of desire within her. He unclasped the band from his chest, and his sword dropped to the floor with a hard thud. "There are also more enjoyable pursuits that we enjoy during our excitement."

"Stay back!" She held out her shaking hands. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm not interested in fooling around with you." Her body disagreed.

"Your scent tells me otherwise." His eyes grazed her and only stopped when they got to her pert nipples showing through her shirt. "Accept my assurance that there shall be no fooling around." His nostrils flared, inhaling like a starved hunter finding the scent of prey. Then, a faint sigh escaped his lips, not one of weariness, but one of pure, almost predatory satisfaction. It sent a shiver down her spine.

Every muscle in his body seemed to coil with focused tension as he drank in the air, his eyes squeezed shut. The pleasure on his face wasn't coarse or lecherous but oddly intimate, like a connoisseur savoring a vintage wine.

With a smile, Quinn's eyes snapped open. "My instincts say that I'm your mate." He moved closer to her on the bed.

"Mate?" Her heart hammered in her chest. As she retreated, her back met the headboard with a soft thud. The folds of her wings pressed unevenly against the solid barrier, creating a sensation of ridges and grooves.

"I know, with a certainty guided by instinct older than reason itself, that you're my mate." He crawled toward her, the mattress giving below his weight. "The primal language of my soul whispers it as clear as the wind howling in a storm. You're my counterpart, and you draw me by unseen threads woven into the fabric of my being."

With deliberate precision, he placed his hands on either side of her, firmly trapping her between him and the headboard. He stared at her lips with obvious hunger that her body longed to satisfy.

"Your eyes glow with desire," he said. "The moment I first caught a whiff, a primal emotion surged from within me. I yearn to claim you, to mark you with my scent, to make you mine forever."

His fragrance continued to waft around. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the exquisite vanilla and spice, and she relaxed a bit. No one should smell that delicious. A dangerous warmth spread from her lonely heart to the pulsing place between her legs.

Opening her eyes wide, she gasped and retreated, hitting the headboard and breaking whatever sexual trance she was in. This felt too familiar, like a dozen sleazy encounters at dive bars condensed into this one moment.

"Hold on, we just met! Why would you think I'll jump into your bed?" She glanced at his muscular arms encasing her.

"You're already in bed, but if it pleases you, I can claim you on the floor." He scented the air, and his chest rumbled.

"That isn't what I meant. You don't even know my name." Her breath hitched.

His dashing, roguish smile sent a chill up her body. "May I have your name, my lady?"

"No."

"But you said—" His eyes widened.

"I'm not mating with you. I don't even know you," she exclaimed. She tried to kick him in the balls, but the tension from his weight on the blanket prevented her.

She shifted her hand to his muscular torso and applied a slight pressure, trying to push him off her. She gasped. The contact sent a current of electricity jumping between them.

Quinn's piercing silver gaze pulled her in. A wave of pure heat, hunger, and lust consumed her. She closed her eyes in an attempt to control her emotions.

"You must feel it, too. I see your desire." He leaned in, sniffing her neck. "I smell your lust." He licked her skin.

Her breath hitched, and she jerked away.

"What?" Warmth rushed to her cheeks. How could he? She shook her head. "I don't understand what I feel." She massaged her temples. "I'm so confused right now. I just need to figure this out."

She tried to inch down to escape under his arm, but the movement only pressed her flush against the hard planes of his chest, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of her shirt.

A low, carnal rumble erupted out of the gargoyle's chest.

Her body shook but her nipples pebbled against his chest. She gritted her teeth, determined not to reveal her weakness.

Still pinning her within his arms, he spread his wings. A membrane of skin extended between ribs, which ended in sharp, scary claws. The sight served as a stark reminder that he wasn't human. She was alone with a creature she barely understood. No doubt he was probably strong enough to do whatever he wanted to her. The realization sent a surge of terror coursing through her veins.

"Please, you offered clothes, I will take them." It wasn't much of a demand, more a plea to slow the whirlwind of emotions that were making her dizzy. She held up her hand, hoping to keep him at bay.

Quinn nodded and crawled off the bed. Then, with deliberate steps that echoed her own disquiet, he moved to the door. His voice, low and rough, rasped through the opening as he spoke with the guard. When he turned back, his gaze swept over her, taking in every flinch, every tremor.

A flicker of something she couldn't decipher—regret?—crossed his face. "I have summoned your handmaiden."

"My handmaiden?"

"Aye, to help you… settle in." His stare drifted away, then snagged back on her face, uncertainty dimming the silver intensity. "Perhaps I… advanced too quickly; my apologies," he muttered, the apology sounding more for himself than her.

Ana sighed. She didn't really need or want a handmaiden.

Or maybe she did.

She pushed the immediate reaction aside, realizing she had to focus on her new body.

Quinn moved closer to her and offered his hand, his eyes gentle. "Allow me to assist you," he said, his voice soft. "Our world mirrors yours, albeit we embrace a life unadorned—here, magic reigns, often at odds with technology, though it does occasionally work." He arched an eyebrow. "You claim to have been human, and as a gargoyle, you should know, apart from the physical changes, you will possess greater strength and heightened senses."

He sounded genuine in his desire to help, but she couldn't bring herself to trust him.

"How did this happen to me?"

He stared into her eyes. "I don't know."

She sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress. She ran her hands over her flesh, a physiotherapist examining a strange case. Her familiar shape was upgraded, replaced by a frame built for flight. Muscles she didn't recognize moved and tensed. They were hers, she acknowledged, beneath the same skin she'd always had, but they felt foreign, filled with a wild, untamed power.

She slid off the bed, holding the blanket to her chest, then tied it around her like a dress. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she dismissed his offer of assistance. She wobbled on her longer legs. His hand touched her arm, his grip steady but gentle. Jerking away, she pushed him back. She didn't want his help, his touch. She wanted to be alone and to focus on her new body.

Her feet, once petite, were now too big for her shoes. She possessed wings, ready to soar and edged with talons, and a tail, long and sinuous, swayed in sync with her racing thoughts. She paused, wondering. What else had changed about her? Did she still have a vagina … she did still have a chest?

She glanced down at what she thought were still boobs. She felt her breasts just to be sure. Yep, still soft and pliant, just as she remembered. Although Quinn, with his nose scrunched and head tilted, was looking at her oddly, like she had lost her mind.

Inhaling a deep breath, she began testing, learning her new body. She stretched out her tail, testing its counterweight. Her first step was a slow exploration, a dance of rediscovery. For a moment, she wobbled, her old center of gravity thrown askew. With fierce determination, she found her stride. This awkward gait, this alien flow of power, was a challenge met with the practiced grace of a therapist who thrived on untangling the complexities of movement. Taking more steps, her stability grew. She could walk, she could move. She could survive.

Quinn watched from the side. He smiled when she caught his gaze.

She worked out her foreign muscles, extending her vast and leathery wings, a promise of freedom tainted by the icy grip of panic. Acrophobia, a familiar serpent, coiled in her gut, hissing warnings of plummeting skies and shattered bones.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. The door creaked open, and an unseen figure shrouded in shadow appeared at the entrance.