25. Graeme

25

GRAEME

T ime slows to a thick, viscous crawl as the stalker charges toward Ecco. The stalker's form undulates, twisting in the air like desert heat mirages made flesh, and they barrel closer.

Their arms elongate and fingers stretch out with feverish desperation to seize Ecco.

Ecco's scream slices into the air, piercing my heart like a knife.

Damn it all to hell . My senses are dulled from that blasted brunch, my reaction time just slightly sluggish from the beer I drank.

I should've known better than to let my guard down, even for a moment.

In that crystalline, stretched-out second before impact, every minute detail leaps out with shocking lucidity—the shimmer of Ecco's blue hair, the whoosh of the stalker's ragged breaths, the swirl of intermingling scents, sweet and foreign.

All thought leaves me as I push through my sluggish mind and move on pure reflex. I thrust out a wing, shoving Ecco to the side, out of harm's way.

She staggers and stumbles back against the wooden railing but I can't stop moving, pivoting toward the stalker and unfurling my wings more, making myself a solid wall between her and this faceless threat.

The stalker smashes into my stone-like torso with a slam that jars my bones.

I grab at the creature, ready to put an end to this once and for all. But their form seems to warp and stretch around me, blurring and blending against my edges in a stomach-churning defiance of physics.

My fingers close on empty air, wisps of smoke, nothing solid, nothing real. The stalker's form dissolves, dissipates through my grasp like a half-remembered fever dream.

The sickly sweet stench of something burnt lingers in the air, coating the inside of my nostrils, the back of my tongue. My stomach roils and I swallow against the urge to vomit right there on the stairwell.

Chest heaving, I stare at the empty space where the stalker stood just a heartbeat ago. It doesn't make sense.

None of this makes a single goddamn bit of sense.

"Graeme..." Ecco's voice trembles and cracks.

I whip my head toward her, drinking in the sight of her wide violet eyes—she's safe.

No thanks to me.

She's terrified . Of course she is. And it's my fault, all my fault. Some bodyguard I am.

I open my mouth but the words tangle on my tongue.

The wail of police sirens pierces the tense silence. Backup. Finally.

Hours later, once the police have left, I sit across from Ecco in a secluded corner of the inn's cafe, hands clenched around a mug of cold tea, staring into its murky depths as if it might hold the key to this whole mess.

My mind won't stop replaying it: the stalker's charge, Ecco's scream, that nauseating scent. I was too slow, too distracted.

Ecco could've been hurt or worse and it would've been on me.

The honey-sweet timbre of her voice jolts me out of the downward spiral of my thoughts. "Graeme? Are you okay?"

Ecco reaches across the table and rests her small hand on top of my much larger one. The heat of her palm seeps into my skin.

I look up and meet her gaze, swallowing hard against the ache in my chest. Ecco's face is ashen, her eyes haunted and ringed with shadow.

But her expression is one of concern. After everything she's been through, everything I put her through, she's worried about me ?

"I..." The word comes out a croak and I clear my throat roughly.

What can I even say? That I'm a failure? That I'm terrified I won't be able to protect her?

That the thought of losing her makes me unable to breathe?

I'm a gargoyle. I'm not supposed to feel fear, not supposed to feel anything . But with Ecco… I feel everything.

And I don't know how to make it stop.

"All that matters is that you are okay, Ecco." I meet her eyes briefly and then let my gaze drop to our hands, still too ashamed at my failure to look her in the face.

Ecco sucks in a shaky breath, her fingers tightening around mine.

"That definitely rattled me," she says. "It's unsettling to have a place that is so safe to me, like the Moonflower, violated by that… being, whatever it is."

She shudders before pinning me with her violet gaze once more. "But you've been rattled too, Graeme. You've been quieter than usual, won't even look at me. What's going on?"

Damn, she sees right through me. She's not going to let this go until I give her an explanation. And she deserves one, deserves to understand why I reacted the way I did today.

How I let her down.

I heave a sigh, the air heavy in my lungs. "Part of the reason I've always avoided relationships is that love has always seemed like a dangerous distraction to me."

Ecco flinches and I wince, realizing how that sounded. Like I'm saying she's a distraction, a liability. And maybe a small, stubborn part of me does feel that way.

But it's not her fault. It's mine.

"Let me explain," I barrel on before she can interject. "You know that my parents died when I was young. They were bodyguards, too. And they were so in love, so wrapped up in each other, that sometimes it felt like they forgot they had a son."

I swallow hard against the bitter tang of old resentment.

"When I was seven, my parents were on an assignment. Guarding some VIP with major threats against them. They took it seriously but… but not seriously enough."

My voice cracks and I duck my head, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

"They missed the signs of a bomb," I continue. "One of the few things that can kill a gargoyle. Because they were too wrapped up in each other."

Ecco sucks in a sharp breath and I can't look at her, can't bear to see the pity in her eyes.

"They paid for that mistake with their lives," I say. "And I… I did the same damn thing today, Ecco. I got distracted by you, by us, and I let my guard down. The stalker almost got to you because of me . You almost got hurt because of me. "

There it is, the ugly truth laid bare.

I risked the most precious thing in my world because I was too weak to keep my head in the game.

Too weak to resist the beauty of her smile, her touch.

I'm torn between the burning need to hold her close and never let go and the icy certainty that I'll only end up hurting her in the end. That my love will be the death of her, just like it was for my parents.

Ecco's fingers tighten around mine. My eyes flick up to meet hers and the passion I see there steals my breath.

"Okay," she says softly. "This is not on you, Graeme. I was the one who took us out to brunch. I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I know I haven't been taking this seriously enough, and that's been making your job harder. I'll be more cautious from now on, I promise."

She leans in, her face mere inches from mine, and the whole world narrows down to the intention blazing in her violet eyes.

"Until the stalker is caught, I'll follow your lead, Graeme. Your plans, your rules."

I swallow hard, my heart swelling with both gratitude and terror. She's putting her life in my hands, trusting me to keep her safe when I've already failed her once. The weight of that responsibility settles on my shoulders like a mountain, but I'll gladly carry it for her.

"Good," I rasp out, my voice scraped raw with emotion. "Because if anything happens to you, Ecco..."

The words lodge in my throat, too painful to voice. I can't even finish the thought, can't let myself imagine a world without her vibrant light in it.

She nods, her eyes shimmering with a quiet strength that takes my breath away. And in that moment, it hits me like a thunderbolt—the undeniable truth that's been slowly taking root in my heart since the day we met.

I'm falling in love with her.

No, that's not right.

I'm already in love with her, so deep and true that it's like she's carved out a space inside my very soul. My body hums with the certainty of it, like a tuning fork struck against my ribcage.

This gorgeous, maddening siren is the love of my life.

Our hands stay locked together as we sit in the hushed quiet of the cafe, the rest of the world fading away. Our pulses seem to sync, our hearts beating out a promise that neither of us is quite ready to put into words.

Not yet. But soon.

"We'll find the stalker," I vow, my mind already racing through the scant clues we've gathered. "And I won't let them lay a finger on you, Ecco. I'd die before I let that happen."

Her breath hitches, but she nods, her jaw set with that stubborn attitude I've come to adore.

Ecco and I spend a few minutes going over the stalker's appearances, hoping that talking it through aloud might help uncover a missed clue. A nagging thought tugs at the edges of my mind. There's something about the stalker's scent specifically that's been bothering me.

"I can't seem to get that out of my nose," I say slowly, my voice low and pensive. "That smell. It's so familiar, but I can't quite place it."

Ecco leans forward. "Describe it to me. I don't have the enhanced senses that you do—I've barely caught a hint of it."

I take a deep breath, my eyes drifting shut as I try to isolate the different notes of the scent.

"It's sweet," I say finally. "Like spun sugar, the kind you find at a carnival or a fair. But there's something else too," I continue, my brow furrowing as I try to put my finger on it. "Something that cuts through the sweetness, as if the sugar is melting, or burning."

My eyes snap open, locking with Ecco's. "Melting candles," I say, my voice low and urgent. "It's spun sugar mixed with melting wax, like a hundred birthday candles burning down and down."

Ecco's eyes widen, her hand flying to her mouth as a gasp escapes her lips. The color drains from her face.

"Wait," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think I know who the stalker is."