Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

MORGAN

I t's a demon.

A demon has come for me straight from Hell.

"N-no," I choke out. "I-I don't want—I was good. You can't take me."

I'm not dead yet—and I'm definitely not ready to be dragged down to the fiery pits. Maybe I didn't go to church every Sunday, and maybe I dodged Mrs. Rowell one time too many when she tried to get me to look at the photos of her many, many cats, but surely that doesn't mean I'm facing eternal torture?

Then I remember the lustful thoughts I had about my Marine Biology professor in college, even though he was a married man, and realize that yep, this is it. Not to mention the collection of filthy, explicit romances taking up way too much space on my e-reader.

The demon cocks its horned head to the side, shadows hiding its face. "What?"

I clear my throat. "If you're here to take me to Hell, I would like to ask you to reconsider. As you can see, I'm not dead yet, and, uh, I have someplace else to be."

A choked laugh comes from the creature. Then it steps closer, and in the last light of the day, I make out a gray-skinned, rough-hewn face, a broad, muscled chest—naked, even in these freezing conditions—and wide, leathery wings.

Bat wings.

My heart skips a beat, and a tiny sprout of hope springs to life in my chest as my panic recedes slightly. The creature is not dragging me into a brimstone-filled fiery pit, which is definitely helping my nerves.

"I'm not a demon, human," he says, for it is a he , at least I think so, with a male physique and a deep, rumbling voice.

"You're not?" I squeak.

He puts his hands on his hips and stares down at me. "No. I am a gargoyle."

His English is lightly accented, maybe German or one of the other European languages I can't speak. The low timbre of his voice is calming, though, as if meeting an injured woman in the forest is completely normal for him.

And maybe it is. Maybe gargoyles prey on unsuspecting hikers, then do unspeakable things to them in that tower.

Because I'm sure now that this is the source of all the local legends.

"Don't be afraid," he says. "I won't hurt you."

"That's what they all say," I grumble, but I study him all the same, my professional curiosity flaring to life.

I did work on a bat conservation project, and this guy has massive bat wings. They're growing out of his back, though, and he has a pair of arms, unlike bats. They don't have front legs, or rather, their arms have evolved into wings, with membranes connecting their bones.

Of course, my mind is spouting bat facts as a coping mechanism. I should be screaming for help, and instead, I'm admiring the stunning lines of this creature's humerus, which must be longer than my femur, judging by his wingspan.

I try to pull myself up, but my leg is killing me. Staying in one place for so long has been a mistake. I'm getting chilled, especially because I sweated through my base layers earlier.

"Who says what?" the gargoyle asks, now visibly confused.

I groan and drop back to my hands and knees. "Serial killers. I'm easy prey. Please don't take advantage of me."

The gargoyle crouches next to me, though he's still much larger, his head above my eye level.

"I promise not to hurt you," he repeats. "But if you remain here, you might die. You humans are so fragile. I saw you limping. You won't make it out of the forest on your own."

My chest tightens at the realization that he's right. I need his help, even though I don't know if I can trust him.

Slowly, the gargoyle extends his hand, palm up, a clear offer of assistance. I hate that I put myself in this situation—that I have to accept it or die, that putting myself in a potentially even more dangerous situation is my only choice.

I grimace, then hold my finger up. "Just a moment."

I tug off my glove and try my phone again. It's a double test—first to see if the network is up, and second to make sure he won't try to knock my phone away or steal it from me to prevent me from calling for help. He doesn't, but the call doesn't go through either, so I guess I'm stuck here for the moment.

Gingerly, I put my hand in his much larger one. His fingers close around mine, warm and leathery. A jolt of awareness goes through me at the contact—he's so much larger than me, and stronger, he could crush me easily.

But he holds my hand like it's precious, even though his dark, thick eyebrows draw together in a frown.

"You're freezing," he barks.

I look down at myself, as if to say, duh. I've been crawling through snow, of course I'm freezing.

But he's already moving, standing to his full height. "I will take you to our roost. Get you warm first. Then I will fly you to your human house."

Oh .

Maybe he won't try to kill me after all?

"Okay." I grasp his hand a little tighter and lift myself onto my knees. "That-that sounds good."

I try to stand again, but my ankle won't have it. I sway to the side, but the gargoyle is there, catching me by my shoulders. He's quick, much quicker than I would have guessed given his size. Now that I'm mostly upright, he towers over me, my eyes level with his very naked chest. His only item of clothing is a pair of leather pants that do little to hide his amazing shape.

Realizing I'm staring at his crotch, I jerk my head up and smash the top of my head into his chin—because he has leaned closer and is clearly sniffing me.

"Whoa, big guy," I yelp, reeling back. "No funny business."

"I am sorry," he growls, though he doesn't drop me. "Did I hurt you?"

I rub my head through my knit hat and hood. "I'm fine."

He hesitates for a moment, then asks, "Can I pick you up? It will hurt less and get us there much faster."

I want to protest. There's no way this is safe. But staying out here isn't an option either, and I don't want to die. Even though going along with this strange man's—gargoyle's—plan might be dangerous, it's safer than remaining out here alone.

"Yeah," I say finally. "Thanks. But please watch out for my leg. I sprained my left ankle. Might be broken, I don't know yet."

The gargoyle hums. "We will get you to a hospital soon."

I cringe at the thought of medical bills that might be added to my mountain of student loans. Being made redundant didn't do much good for my credit score. "Maybe it's just a bad sprain. I hope."

He narrows his eyes in suspicion, staring at me for a moment. Then he bends at the waist and picks me up in a quick swoop, and suddenly, I'm in his arms, cradled against his naked chest.

My mind registers the warmth of his skin, but my body reacts first, softening and relaxing. His scent reminds me of wood fires and coziness, and some primitive part of my brain must equate that with safety. I breathe in through my nose, then realize I'm behaving just as oddly as he was a minute ago.

Mortified, I lift my gaze to find him watching me with a small smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth. It's not a full smile, more an acknowledgment that he indeed saw me sniffing him.

Damn it .

"Er, thank you," I say. "I hope I'm not too heavy."

He shakes his head, his horns now barely visible in the darkness. "You're not." His grip on me tightens, and he adds, "Hold on, human."

Then he spreads his huge wings and launches us into the air.

"Eep!"

I let out a yelp and clutch his naked shoulders, legs flailing out. It's a stupid thing to do, both because I could fall and because my ankle jolts with pain once more. I whimper and scrunch my eyes closed, turning my face into the gargoyle's chest.

"I'm sorry." His voice rumbles against my ear. "I should have warned you."

I don't dare open my eyes, not that I would see much. I'm being pelted with snowflakes, my half-frozen cheeks stinging with the sensation. "I thought we'd walk."

Another thump of his strong wings. "The only entrance to the tower is from the top. There is no door on the ground level."

This new tidbit of information has me looking up at him. "So there's no exit?"

"No," he confirms. "But you only need to say the word, and Emmerich or I will fly you out immediately. You will not be caught in there."

"Who's Emmerich?" I demand.

But the gargoyle remains completely calm as he answers, "My roost mate. You will meet him soon. He will not hurt you either."

My mind is at war with my body. I'm clearly entering a strange situation with two supernatural creatures, so I should be shouting for help and ordering him to take me to town. At the same time, I've never been more relaxed. Maybe this is the gargoyles' way of luring in their prey. Do they secrete a chemical that calms their unsuspecting victims? There are countless cases from the animal kingdom to support my theory.

My analytical brain buzzes with the questions, already planning on interrogating them. Yet no matter how hard I try to rouse myself and fight this cozy sensation, I can't bring myself to do it. In truth, this gargoyle hasn't done anything untoward yet. And even if I tried to escape, I'd have nowhere to go. Not to mention he's much stronger than me—and currently flying me forty feet above the ground.

In the darkness, the old tower materializes, the roof covered in snow. The gargoyle lands on a small platform with surprising agility, barely jostling me in his arms. Then he's striding toward a wooden door that leads to a spiral staircase going down.

What registers first is the warmth—or perhaps the absence of the chill wind that had whipped at us outside. The gargoyle descends the steps slowly, and I peer downstairs, curious despite myself. This is what I came here to explore, after all, even if I imagined a different chain of events to get in here.

At the bottom of the stairs, another door awaits, with a sliver of yellow light coming from underneath it. The gargoyle moves me carefully in his arms and lifts the latch, then dips his head so his horns don't brush the lintel.

We enter a large space that must span almost the entire diameter of the tower. The outer wall is rounded, confirming my theory. The windows, which seemed abandoned from the outside, are actually paned with glass, the shutters closed for the night, but it's the open fireplace and the fire blazing within that captures my attention.

I let out a low moan at the thought of getting warm. Until this point, I hadn't allowed myself to think about how cold I was—I was too focused on the pain. But now a shiver goes through me, and my eyes prick with tears at the knowledge of just how close I'd come to meeting my end out there.

"Klaus?"

A male voice jerks my attention to the right. There's an armchair by the fire, a large one I hadn't even noticed because I was so intent on the heat of the flames. But in that armchair is another gargoyle, a paperback book dangling from his hand, staring at us in shock.