Butting Heads With A Gargoyle by Charlie Richards

Chapter Two

“Thank you for taking the time to share the warning with the Circle of Elders,” Elder Vermidian stated, although he knew that his words in no way expressed the depth of his feelings. Holding Chieftain Kinsey’s gaze, he added, “It’s been a long time since such formidable opposition has coordinated against us.” Shaking his head, Vermidian told the chieftain, “Word was spread to every clutch on record, and seven of them reported attacks of varying force.”

“Damn,” Chieftain Kinsey whispered. The large, yellowish-orange-hided gargoyle rubbed the back of his thick neck. “Seven?”

“Afraid so,” Vermidian confirmed. After a second, he added, “That does include the Falias clutch, but I figure you’ve already heard from them.”

Kinsey nodded. “I have.” Clearing his throat, he shifted a bit in his seat. “I may have contacted them before you.”

Vermidian couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped him. “Your brother and mother are part of that clutch, so it’s totally understandable.” Upon seeing the relieved expression on the gargoyle chieftain’s face, he added, “Again, thank you.”

When Vermidian had responded to a request for assistance in capturing a rogue gargoyle from the Aerasceatle’s clutch’s prior chieftain, he never would have imagined that the supposed rogue would end up being the new chieftain. He’d been shocked at the state of the clutch—smaller gargoyles subjugated as second-class labor. Unfortunately, Vermidian didn’t have any complaints from anyone in the clutch... until Kinsey had arrived.

Thanks be to the gods that the crimes against Kinsey were false.

“So hunters know where eight clutches are,” Second Destrawn grumbled, returning Vermidian’s thoughts to the issue at hand—the damn hunters. “Where the hell are they getting their information?”

Anonymity and secrecy had always been the foundation of every paranormals’ society, so for so many to be targeted at the same time—gargoyle, shifter, and vampire alike—Vermidian knew there had to be a serious breach somewhere.

But who could it be?

“The hunters are working with the priests,” Vermidian mused slowly. “They think they’re dealing with demons.”

Snorting, Enforcer Sethnos smirked. “They consider anything not human a demon.”

Kinsey crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope no one was hurt in any of the other clutches.”

Vermidian shook his head. “A few bumps and bruises and one gunshot wound,” he told the chieftain. Seeing Kinsey’s grimace, he added, “It could have been a lot worse.”

Kinsey nodded. “Have the prisoners said much?”

Wincing, Vermidian thought about the pair of human paranormal hunters that Kinsey had turned over to the elders’ enforcers. “Alexa immediately spilled her guts,” he told Kinsey and his people. “We had a vampire wipe her mind and settled her in a little town in Massachusetts.” Vermidian frowned as he thought about other prisoners that gargoyle clutches had turned over to the Circle of Elders. “Other captured humans have told what they know, too, in exchange for their lives.” Shaking his head, Vermidian grumbled, “But whenever we show up to investigate the places they tell us about, the facilities have been stripped and emptied.”

“Someone’s good at coordinating,” Destrawn pointed out. As Vermidian nodded his agreement, the second asked, “What about the other guy? Vynce Walsh?”

For the first time, Enforcer Phineas—one of a pair of the Circle Enforcers who had joined Vermidian on his trip—spoke up from behind him. “Vynce is proving to be quite resistant to our... techniques.”

Even a few broken bones hadn’t convinced him to talk.

Vermidian feared Vynce would choose death over sharing. “And sadly, he’s part of the slim population that is immune to a vampire’s mental manipulation abilities.”

That meant, even if Vynce did speak, they wouldn’t be able to wipe his knowledge of paranormals from his mind. They had no incentive to offer the man.

“You know, when the Maven coven ran into that problem, they enlisted the help of a demon,” Kinsey revealed. “Perhaps something similar could be done?”

Raising his eyebrow ridges in surprise, Vermidian asked, “How the hell did they contact a demon?” He’d never heard of demons aiding... anyone.

Demons lived on another dimensional plane. They worked in service to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. As far as Vermidian knew, a demon would be assigned a task, enter their realm, complete whatever their job was, and return to their own realm.

While by the human definition, they were paranormals, Vermidian had always considered them something other since they weren’t native to their dimension.

Am I wrong?

“Evidently, there are some demons affiliated with a couple of covens. They’ve bonded with vampires,” Destrawn told him. “A few of the horsemen have, too.”

“Damn, seriously?” Vermidian shook his head, not to deny, but in amazement. “Lucky them.”

How did the Circle of Elders miss this bit of information?

Sethnos leaned forward in his chair, holding his tumbler between his clawed hands. “On my way to this meeting, I heard that Second Ridger is here. He brought the extra cameras and other surveillance shit we had overnighted to the coven.”

“And he’s still here?” Kinsey questioned.

Nodding, Sethnos grinned broadly. “Guess he decided to wait for nightfall so he could talk to Praerna about his hashbrown casserole.”

Kinsey chuckled. “He asked for the recipe months ago. Haven’t their kitchens figured it out?”

“Evidently not,” Sethnos replied with a smirk.

Even Destrawn chuckled low in his throat.

Vermidian felt a measure of uncertainty upon scenting the trio’s sudden levity. “What’s up with this... hashbrown casserole?”

Grinning, Kinsey claimed, “Praerna adds some secret spice ingredient, and he won’t tell a soul what it is.” He rose to his feet as he urged, “Please, come to the dining hall. Let us give you a good meal before your flight home. Sethnos will track down Ridger for you, if you’d like to talk to him.”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea,” Vermidian told the chieftain, climbing to his feet. He rounded the comfortable chair and nodded at Enforcer Phineas, who stepped backward out of his way. “What about you guys?” Vermidian looked Enforcer Keefe’s way so the male knew he was including them both in his question. “Interested in a meal?”

Enforcer Keefe’s lips curved just a little at the corners. “Always.”

While Keefe was the serious one, Phineas always seemed a bit more laid-back. The pale-brown gargoyle slapped Keefe on his back, saying, “I heard your stomach growl a little while ago. Let’s go feed the monster.”

For that, Keefe cracked a smile. “I am hungry. Yes.”

Vermidian turned and focused on Kinsey. “That would be appreciated.”

Kinsey nodded before checking his phone. A smile creased his thick lips. Then he glanced Destrawn’s way. “Our mates will join us.”

With those words, Kinsey led the way out of the spacious—and remodeled—study. When Grecian had lorded over the clutch, the room had been decorated in dark earth tones, giving it a menacing presence. While Vermidian didn’t know if it was Kinsey or his human mate—Jimmy—but the room had been transformed by repainting the walls a pale green, and the furniture had been switched to something not only modern but extremely comfortable.

“This way, Elder,” Sethnos encouraged.

Destrawn was holding the study door open, and Sethnos beckoned, leading the way.

Vermidian followed the clutch’s head enforcer, knowing his own would fall into step behind him. Having at least a pair of Circle Enforcers with him while visiting a clutch was standard procedure. Even though Vermidian thought it gave off the impression that they didn’t trust their own people, he could admit—at least to himself—that he’d visited a number of clutches over the centuries that left him feeling grateful for their presence.

Sethnos moved toward the central staircase and headed downstairs. Turning right, he crossed the main hall and moved toward the back of the large mansion. The dining hall and kitchens were centrally located, essentially splitting the building in half. The rooms to the right side were all larger and nicely appointed with their own bathrooms, having been occupied by the larger gargoyles. The rooms to the left were small, had jack-and-jill bathrooms, and very little comforts.

From what Vermidian had learned, the left wings were in a state of reconstruction, which explained the occasional layer of dust on surfaces here and there.

As they drew closer to the dining hall, the sounds of cutlery and the rumble of voices reached Vermidian’s ears. He knew the clutch wasn’t very large—just over two-dozen members—but the noise seemed to make it much louder. Vermidian felt that was a good sign as to the health of the clutch—happy, boisterous members.

Just as Sethnos pulled open one of the double doors, a vampire and a human approached from the hall to the right.

Vermidian recognized the human as Jimmy, who rushed to Kinsey.

“Hey, handsome,” Jimmy greeted Kinsey, slipping into his arms.

Kinsey tucked Jimmy close and bent to press a kiss to his lips. “Hi, cutie,” the chieftain rumbled, clearly happy.

Jimmy beamed at him for a few seconds, then glanced around at everyone. “Um, hi.”

“It’s good to see you again, Jimmy,” Vermidian told him, sweeping his gaze over the obviously content human. “You’re looking well.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy replied, beaming at him. “It’s great to see you, too, especially under better circumstances.”

Vermidian nodded. “Indeed.” The last time he’d been there, it had been to arrest Kinsey, after all.

“Hey, Destrawn,” the vampire greeted, having approached at a slightly more sedate pace. He wrapped his arm around the massive, dark-green gargoyle’s neck. “Come here.”

Destrawn easily went with the movement, dipping his head and sealing his lips over the vampire’s.

Okay. That must be Sorbin, not Ridger.

Vermidian turned away from the displays, a flutter of longing warming his gut. At over thirteen hundred years old, he’d lived alone a long time. It wasn’t often Vermidian thought about what finding his mate would be like, but seeing the happily mated pairs at some clutches always brought those thoughts to the forefront.

Perhaps Sethnos thought the same way, for he drew Vermidian’s attention by saying, “It looks like Ridger is still sitting with Praerna.” Amusement filled his tone, and he smirked as he shook his head, his attention on something—or someone—across the room. “And if I don’t miss my guess, he’s trying to sweet-talk our gargoyle out of his secret ingredient.”

Following where Sethnos indicated, Vermidian moved into the room. He spotted a handsome man with shaggy, ear-length blond hair leaning toward a small pale-purple-hided gargoyle—Praerna. A grin curved the vampire’s lips, revealing his fangs, and he nudged the gargoyle while saying something probably cajoling.

So that’s Ridger. Huh. I wouldn’t mind him flirting with me like that.

Gods, what an odd thought.

Vermidian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been instantly attracted to another—male or female.

Praerna peered at Ridger through his lashes even as he nibbled his bottom lip and shook his head.

“Let’s go rescue Praerna,” Sethnos rumbled, amusement lacing his tone. “What do you say?”

Nodding, Vermidian followed Sethnos around the tables. All the while, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the vampire. He admired the male’s muscular frame, roguish features, and confident air.

“You sure there isn’t anything I can do to convince you, Praerna,” Vermidian heard Ridger say as he drew closer. “There must be something.”

Praerna looked so uncertain, as if he were dying to give in, but then in a soft voice, he said, “Sorry, Second Ridger. It’s a family recipe.” As if wanting to ease Ridger’s disappointed look, Praerna added, “My mother passed it on to me, and I promised not to tell, but I’d be happy to whip up a large dishful for you to take home.”

Ridger straightened. “Hmm... a dish just for myself.” He licked his lips as he placed his hand over his chest. “You know the way to my heart, sweet gargoyle.”

Unable to help himself, Vermidian growled low in his throat. When Sethnos jerked his focus to him, he quickly cut the sound off on a cough. After swallowing hard, Vermidian inhaled a deep breath, hoping to clear whatever oddness he was feeling.

Except, something tickled his nostrils... something... delicious—masculine and earthy with a hint of iron.

Like a flash of lightning, Vermidian’s instant attraction suddenly made sense.

“You’re my mate,” Vermidian declared, staring down at Ridger. Holding out his hand, he asked, “Second Ridger, of the Maven coven, isn’t it?”

Ridger stared at him in obvious shock for one heartbeat, then two. Finally, he snapped his mouth shut and took Vermidian’s hand. The first touch of the vampire’s slightly calloused palm against his own caused goose bumps to form on the thick hide of his arm.

Wow! So this is what it feels like to touch my mate.

“Yes, I’m Second Ridger,” the vampire began slowly as he rose from his seat.

To Vermidian’s pleasure, Ridger didn’t release his hand.

Narrowing his gorgeous, light-brown eyes—which were starting to darken as the scent of arousal began to perfume the air—Ridger stated, “Ridger Carruthers. I thought I’d met all the gargoyles in the Aerasceatle clutch. Who are you?”

Right. Mating hormones are muddling my brain.

Vermidian moved closer, closing the distance between them. “I’m Elder Vermidian,” he revealed, lifting Ridger’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I have truly been blessed by Fate to have stopped here during the short window of your visit. I wish to know everything about you.”

Ridger licked his lips, then one fang.

The move caused arousal to sing through Vermidian’s veins, and he desperately wanted to retrace the path of Ridger’s tongue with his own.

“An elder,” Ridger murmured, staring at him steadily. “That is... impressive.”

Not wanting Ridger’s focus to get hung up on his job, Vermidian smiled at his vampire. “I’m just a gargoyle, one who wishes to get to know his mate.” Easing even closer, Vermidian rested his free hand on Ridger’s neck. “We will eat and get to know each other. Then I’ll cradle you in my arms and fly us to my home in Ohio. My remote mountain lodge will be perfect for us to spend weeks in seclusion getting to know every detail of each other’s lives.”

To Vermidian’s surprise, Ridger took a slow step backward, pulling free of his hold. He even twisted his hand, forcing him to release him. His jaw clenched once, twice, before he shook his head.

“No, Vermidian,” Ridger stated gruffly. “That won’t work at all. I won’t be going with you.”

Vermidian felt his jaw sag open in shock. His heart began pounding in his chest as disbelief flooded him. He could barely comprehend the words he’d just heard.

“But you’re a vampire,” Vermidian murmured, working through what was happening. After thirteen hundred years of waiting, is my mate truly refusing me? “But you’re a vampire,” he repeated inanely, unable to help his frown. “Don’t you lose the ability to drink blood from others once you meet your beloved?”

Ridger nodded once. He swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed. “And you’re a gargoyle, so aren’t you supposed to want to please your mate?”

Opening his mouth, Vermidian intended to explain that pleasing his vampire was exactly what he’d intended.

Then Vermidian recalled two important facts—Ridger was the second of his coven, and the coven had been attacked a few short months before.

Right.

Vermidian could have smacked himself upside the head at his foolishness.

Must be the hormones.

Deciding on a course of action, uncomfortable though Vermidian guessed it would be, he declared, “Ah, of course.” He reached for Ridger again, closing the distance when the vampire once again tried to step away from him. Wrapping his arms around Ridger, he tugged him close and declared, “My apologies for my assumption. We’ll live at your coven, instead.”