9. Dec

Chapter nine

Dec

(After this I'm going to look up the meanings of tarot cards)

M r. Simms' appointment with the groomer that comes to care for him once a month keeps him out from under foot for a couple of hours, and since he's occupied, and all my chores for the day are accomplished, I decide today is a good day to investigate the moving statuary. No one believes me that it keeps changing. Alex, the gardener, assures me that it is the same every day. Even when I showed her two pictures taken from one day to the next, she literally could not see a difference between them. It was the strangest thing.

Heading to the utility shed to grab a ladder, I glance up at the statuary overhead, comparing it to the picture I took yesterday. The little grotesques definitely do not look the same as they did yesterday. The larger ones are in the same position, but the horns are different. I can't see too many details from the ground, but the horns are definitely different.

Shaking my head at the strangeness, I finish the jog down to the shed, grab a telescoping ladder from the hooks on the outside wall, and carry it back to the side of the mansion where I won't be obstructing anyone's view and where I'm quickly available if someone comes to the door. Extending the ladder takes some creative handling. I'm not weak, but I'm also not a bruiser; I'm just an averagely strong man, and a forty foot long ladder is challenging for my arm strength and coordination.

With a few false starts but zero broken windows (whew!), I manage to get the ladder secure. As I climb, I take my time, because holy shit it's stupid to do this without someone to hold the ladder steady. What the hell was I thinking? I glance down and a shot of adrenaline puts me into high alert mode. Fear clenches in my gut, and I immediately look back up.

Shit, I'm an idiot. What am I doing?

Swallowing my fear, I take a deep breath and tell myself that everything is fine. People go up ladders all the time. I might have no business on a ladder, but I'm fine. I'm fine .

I never thought I'd have to overcome a fear of heights, but here we are. No, it's not the height. It's the fall. I'm very uncomfortable with a three story fall.

Do not look down

—again. Do not look down again .

Slowly I get my brain to make my muscles move and restart the climb up. It takes less time than it took me to panic to reach the top. I'm between a couple of the statues, and I now see that they're all grotesques, not a single gargoyle among them. That would have been cool to see in the rain. Oh well.

The little ones are pretty classically monstrous, about a foot and a half tall with pointed ears and stumpy muzzles with sharp teeth and fangs. Their wings are all folded around them, hiding everything but their clawed hands and feet. They're actually kind of cute with big eyes like baby Yoda.

"Hello there," I say and chuckle at myself. "I guess I'm talking to the statuary now. Well, I suppose if you're moving on your own, there's no reason you wouldn't be able to hear me. Not that I think statuary moves on its own."

I look up at one of the big statues, and catch my breath, clamping my mouth shut. It's clearly a gargoyle in the sense of the monsters that are depicted in entertainment and art. It's about four feet tall, crouched on bent legs with hybrid features that make it appear humanoid. The detail on it is amazing, but the most inexplicable part is that it looks exactly like Ethan.

"Why would anyone make you look like Ethan of all people? Not saying he's not worthy of being the face of statuary but—well, I guess it takes all types. Diverse tastes and all."

I shake my head, and very carefully climb onto the roof.

I blink, stunned. The entire roof is covered by statuary. There are four large statues and at least thirty of the smaller ones. I reach for one of the smaller ones and attempt to move it, but it's so heavy that I barely get it an inch off the ground before I have to put it down again. There's no way I could move the big ones.

"Who the hell is moving you?" I ask, walking through the garden of statues.

They're all different in the details—the artist is clearly talented. I walk to one of the other larger ones, unsurprised to see a familiar face. Greeley as a gargoyle is hot. The next one is Faulkes. The artist really captured his immensity and the devastating sadness that has corroded his child-like joy.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," I whisper to the statue, wishing I could say the words to the man himself. "You deserved better." As much as I applaud Arcan's organizational skills, breaking Faulkes' heart is unforgivable.

Patting the statue's head between his horns, I move on, looking at each of the little grotesques one by one.

I let out a very audible gasp when I reach the last of the larger statues and it looks exactly like Thoren.

"Fuck," I whisper, running a finger along the statue's cheek. "You look just like him. Jesus. Someone has a fucking crush on you. Look at you. Whoever made this has been way too close to your face." I scowl at the tiny scar above his eyebrow that is only visible when Thoren gets close enough, pressing on it with the tip of my finger.

"Not sure why I'm getting upset about a fucking scar," I grumble to myself, looking away from the face to take in the rest of the details.

The horns stand straight up in a conical shape with a spiral pattern. It looks like the artist gave the impression of fur, which I hadn't noticed on the other statues, and there's a design on the folded up wings, though it's not clear what the design is because it disappears into the folds of the wings. He's sitting on one foot with the knee of the other leg bent up and fortunately (maybe unfortunately) he's wearing a loincloth with beading on it in a similar pattern to what his pants usually have. The statue's naked upper body does things to me that I'm ashamed to say are a direct result of seeing Thoren's massive chest every day. His nipples are even pierced like they are in real life.

"They really do know your body, don't they? Weird how they got the nipple angles right." I touch the nipple of the statue, tracing over the stone impression of barbells, but I drop my hand, uncomfortable now that I've touched him. "I'm not doing this. I'm not perving on a statue," I chastise myself, turning around so I stop looking at the thing.

"Alright. Let's find out what the fuck is going on up here." I clap my hands to rally myself to the task again, and I start looking around for evidence of whoever the artist is and how they're moving the statues.

I don't see any scratch marks, so I assume the statues are being moved on wheels or possibly carried. The roof access door is a surprise; I didn't realize the mansion had roof access, though I suppose if the family has designated the roof for work, I wouldn't have access to their work areas.

"How did you get up here?"

I startle at the voice coming from behind me and spin on my toes, wide-eyed at the sight of Thoren in... a... loin... cloth.

"Holy shit." As soon as the words escape, I clamp my hands over my mouth.

Thoren smirks, running his hand down his body from his chesticles to his cum gutters.

My throat dries up like the savannah before the monsoon season, while my cock decides it's fucking mating season. Holy fucking shit he's so...

No. No?

...No, no for sure. I'm not lusting after Maxime's nephew.

"Dec."

I startle again, realize I'm staring at the peek of pubic hair above the line of the loincloth, and jerk my eyes back up to his stupid-handsome face. My cheeks flush with the heat of embarrassment as I recall touching the statue like I want to touch the man.

"What?" I rasp, cough and try again. "I mean, what can I do for you?"

Thoren's wicked grin makes a reappearance. "Why are you on the roof? You don't have access to the roof."

I gesture to the roof access door. "Yes, I just realized that." A thought hits me and exits my mouth before I even think about it. "Are you the artist?" I gesture to the statuary all around. "Are you the one who keeps moving the grotesques?"

Thoren glances around. The corner of his mouth creeps up into a half smile and he shakes his head. "Pretty sure it's a group effort."

That brings my brain function back to normal and I frown. "Why would Maxime tell me I'm imagining things if he knows you all are moving the statuary?" I huff, shoving my fists onto my hips and turning in a slow circle to look at the statues.

"No idea," Thoren replies. "Come on, I'll take you back down to the house. No more roof access for you. This is private for the family only."

Thoren grabs my arm above the elbow, gently directing me to the exit. My body does not heat up at the touch, and my dick definitely doesn't chub up. Nope. That's not what's happening right now, currently, in my body. That would be ridiculous.

He inputs a code and the door unlatches, then he and I walk down a half flight of steps to the elevator. Another code and we enter the elevator. He presses the button for the first floor, and the doors shut. The elevator is so small I can smell him, and he smells like that frickin orange grove again. It's crazy. How does he always smell so damn good? And why did he pick something so very nostalgic for me?

The silence between us feels heavy and tense, and I nearly choke on it before I finally give in and ask, "Am I in trouble?"

Before Thoren can answer, the door opens, and instead he gestures for me to exit.

I do, taking a few steps out of the elevator before turning to face him. "I'm sorry, I was just concerned since no one seemed to even notice the statuary moving."

Thoren raises an eyebrow and horniness immediately replaces worry. "You're not in trouble unless you want to be," he says, and I swear it's an offer that makes my ass clench and tingle at the same time.

Lots of people like a smack or two during sexy fun times. I might minimize my butt as much as possible while I'm working, but in the context of the bedroom, I love it when my lovers play with it in all sorts of ways.

"Uhhh." I stall out trying to remember what I'm supposed to say, and trying to blink away the fog of lust. "No?"

That's the right answer, right?

"You sure?" he asks, looking me over from head to toe like he sees something he might enjoy eating.

"Um. No?" I need to stop looking at Thoren in nothing but a loincloth. Who even owns loincloths these days? I want to be eaten so bad—no! Bad Dec! I do not want to be eaten by Thoren. "I mean, yes?" Right?

I turn away, taking a calming breath and making an attempt to stop whatever is happening with my dick and ass. "Ok, thank you. I need to..."

I trail off as a card slides across the floor past my feet.

"Mind picking that up?"

Thoren's presence behind me suddenly feels a whole lot more tempting than it was when I was looking at him. How is that even possible?

My body and mind war for a moment about doing the right thing or doing the sexy thing. My body obviously wins, and I give in to my own damn nature. I peek over my shoulder, eyes locking on that massive chest again. "Sure."

I take the two steps I need to, arch my back, and bend to pick the card up.

Ace of Cups again.