Chapter One

She was late. Again.

With a sigh, Iliona Graham crossed the road at a run, weaving between other pedestrians on the crossing, and turned left up the street. It was just after five, and the walkways were thronged with people headed to dinner, other evening entertainment, or home. Totally the wrong time of day to count on getting halfway across the city in any sort of reasonable time. She mentally kicked herself in the ass and hurried on. Turning the corner, she smiled as the sign for her destination, Frankie’s Coffee Shop, came into view. Just after a quarter past and she was nearly there. Cool. Evie, the friend she was meeting, was well used to her tardiness. Her cell pinged, and a quick glance confirmed that yes, Evie was aware she would be late.

Ordered. Hurry or ur coffee will get cold.

That threat was enough to make Iliona speed up her steps. There were fewer things she hated more than cold coffee. Well, murder and mayhem—both of which she came across daily in her work—but other than that. Cold coffee was just . . . ewwww.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see a mother struggling to get a stroller up the deep steps in front of a bank. The poor thing was tiny, the huge stroller laden with shopping bags. Not the fun kind either, Iliona’s eye instantly assessed, but groceries from one of the local budget supermarket chains.

“Here, let me give you a hand,” she called out as she jogged over. Evie could wait a few seconds longer. She grabbed the foot strap at the front of the stroller and easily lifted it as the mother hauled it backward up the steps. Peeking at the baby—a bundle of winter clothes with two bright silver eyes above a pacifier—Iliona smiled and was rewarded with a gummy grin from behind the pacifier in return.

“Thank you. Thank you so much!” the young woman said, lines of strain and weariness on her face. But those lines weren’t what caught Iliona’s attention. Instead her gaze flicked to the silver ring around the woman’s pupils and the exotic cast to her features. Fae of some kind for sure. No wonder she’d been struggling alone.

Paranormals had been out of the closet, so to speak, for well over ten years, but there was still an undercurrent of fear and mistrust. Even though there were all sorts of laws about discrimination, it made little difference. People paid lip service to the laws and kept to themselves, quick to blame the group they hated for all their troubles. Racism . . . sexual discrimination . . . speciesism had just joined the end of the list.

That was until they needed the help of a paranormal. Then it was all “they wanted to be included in society, so they have an obligation to help.” It made Iliona sick.

“Really, I don’t know how I’d have gotten it up here by myself,” the girl carried on, offering a small smile.

“No worries at all.” Iliona flicked a quick glance up at the building facade. “Once you’re done in there, ask for Gregori, the janitor. He’ll help you back down with the stroller.”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes flared with hope for a second. “Is he . . . like me?”

“A paranormal?” Iliona went with the safe, generic term for those of the nonhuman persuasion. She had no idea exactly what type of fae the girl was, and to use the wrong term would at best be rude. At worst, the girl could react badly to being mis-labelled. “No, but he’s para-friendly. A werewolf saved his daughter a few years ago.”

“Oh . . . oh, good. Well, thank you twice then.” Looking incredibly relieved, the girl turned the stroller and waved over her shoulder as she headed into the bank. With a nod and a wave back, Iliona continued down the street toward the coffee shop, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

It took her less than two minutes to reach her destination and fight through the small group of chattering women at the door. Scanning the café quickly, she spotted Evie at one of their normal tables near the window. The big window on one side made the flesh at the back of Iliona’s neck crawl, but knowing her need to see the room at all times, Evie always made sure she had a seat with a good view.

“I am so sorry.” Iliona started apologizing before she got anywhere near the table.

At the sound of her voice, Evie looked up from the papers she’d been reading and smiled. A taller than average blonde, she was slender and so beautiful it made Iliona’s teeth ache. Fresh from the office, she wore an immaculate dress suit and heels, her hair perfectly coiffed into a French twist at the back of her head. Small pearl earrings matched understated makeup in a classy sense of style Iliona had always tried but failed to emulate.

She dropped into the seat opposite, feeling slightly grubby in her plain T-shirt, black jeans, and leather jacket. Hell, thanks to an early callout, she was slightly grubby. Rooting around in abandoned and derelict buildings would do that, and she hadn’t even caught her mark. She’d found his hideaway, complete with sleeping bag, but the man himself—or wolf actually—was long gone. As was any hope of her collecting any of the bounty on his head.

“Rough day?” Evie slid a large coffee and a muffin over the table.

“You could say that, yeah.” Iliona groaned as she picked up the mug and buried her nose in it. That first sip as the caffeine wormed its way down to her belly and touched her soul was like . . . heaven. Swallowing a second time, she side-eyed the muffin and then her friend.

“You know I can’t eat that. It’ll go right to my hips.”

Evie snorted, an inelegant sound totally at odds with her appearance, and tucked her papers away in her briefcase. “When did you last eat, Illy?” she asked. “Lunch? I’ll bet not . . . more like breakfast.”

Iliona wrinkled her nose as she thought. After taking another sip of coffee, she put the mug down. “Breakfast, yeah. Didn’t get time for lunch.”

“Eat the muffin then, or your blood sugar will drop,” her friend ordered firmly, shoving the plate a little nearer as she cast a glance down at Iliona’s figure. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’re stunning. I’d kill for curves like yours. But no matter how much I stuff myself, I still look like a frigging boy.”

“No, you damn well do not!” Iliona looked longingly at the muffin again, and her stomach growled in approval. Now that she’d been reminded she hadn’t eaten, she was starving.

“Screw the diet.” She grabbed the plate, broke the top off the muffin, and bit into it. Gooey, chocolaty goodness burst onto her tongue like ambrosia from the gods themselves, and she groaned in appreciation. “The muffins here are always so good.”

“Why do you think I come here?” Evie winked, quickly looking down at the table when a cell buzzed. But the screen on her phone, next to her coffee, was blank.

“Mine then,” Iliona said, stuffing the rest of the muffin top into her mouth and flipped her cell over. One look at the name on the screen brought all the guilt about eating the muffin back, and she shoved the cell deeper into her pocket.

“Was that Kenneth? Don’t you dare,” Evie ordered as Iliona made to push the plate away. “I always said he was no good for you. Is he still bothering you?”

“Yeah,” Iliona admitted with a sigh as she plucked another section of the muffin free and ate more slowly.

She and Kenneth had been split up for over six months. They’d broken up after she’d set up her personal protection and security business and he’d decided that the fact she was employing paranormals didn’t jibe with his personal beliefs. Since most of those revolved around him being the center of the universe and a woman’s place being in the home, she’d kicked him out on his ear and gotten on with her life. Or tried to. It was a little difficult when he kept calling and texting.

“Don’t you dare let him make you feel guilty, for anything,” Evie spat with venom.

Evie had never liked Kenneth, even before Iliona had started seeing him. They were both lawyers, and she was familiar with him from the court circuit. She had always said he gave her a funny feeling. Iliona had thought she was just being dramatic, that Kenneth was a nice guy when you got to know him. He had been, at first. Then the comments about her appearance and weight had started to creep in. And every argument they’d had, he’d somehow twisted around until it was all her fault.

It had taken an extended assignment abroad, tracking down a runaway werewolf pack princess with some old army buddies, to make her see sense. She hadn’t missed Kenneth. At all. In fact, she’d been relieved to be away from him and sorry to go home. So within hours of getting back, she’d packed all her stuff from their apartment, told him it was over, and moved out. But still, comments about her figure hurt, and she felt guilty for eating the muffin when she still had a little belly no number of sit-ups would ever eradicate.

“Not feeling guilty. Promise,” Iliona said, pushing cake crumbs around and then reaching for her coffee again. She didn’t need the rest. Not when she had a delightful meal for one ready to shove in the microwave when she got home. Appealing. Not.

“Good. You shouldn’t.” Evie took a sip of her coffee and looked at Iliona over the rim. “Don’t let him or anyone else make you feel guilty for anything. Life’s too short. I don’t say it enough, but I’m proud of you . . . you’ve built your business from nothing, and it’s a success even though everyone and his dog said you’d fail.”

Iliona hid her smile of pleasure behind her mug and then shrugged. “Paranormals are just people like us. There are good ones, and there are bad ones. But in my experience, most are trustworthy and just want a chance. I want to give it to them.”

Evie nodded. Then her grin turned a tad sly, and she gave a little head jerk toward the back of the shop. “Speaking of paranormals . . . what do we think of hottie over there? I’m thinking wolf or bear . . . something growly with the stamina to keep a lady happy allll night long.”

“Shhhh! Most paras have great hearing!” Iliona gasped, but her mock outrage didn’t stop her gaze from following the direction of her friend’s. Her eyes widened a little as she caught sight of whom Evie meant. There was a dark-haired man at the back of the shop, sweeping up between the battered but clean little wooden tables. Man only just covered it. Mountain was more like it. He had shoulders as broad as a barn, and the well-washed gray T-shirt with “Frankie’s Coffee Shop” emblazoned on the back clung lovingly to muscles that looked like they’d been carved from stone. Instantly, everything female in her sat up and took notice. Her ovaries may even have whimpered a little.

“Oh . . . my. He is fine,” she breathed, coffee mug halfway to her lips again. He must be new. She’d never seen him before, and a man like that she would have remembered.

Evie grinned. “Isn’t he just? Now you know why I go three subway stops out of my way to get coffee every morning . . .”

Iliona’s eyes widened. “That’s why you come here? You dirty girl you!”

Evie was still chuckling as her phone rang. “Too right I do. I need to get going . . . catch you next Thursday for lunch?”

“Looking forward to it! Now go, so I can ogle all by myself!” Iliona chuckled, waving the taller blonde off, her heels clipping on the floor as she spoke into her cell.

Iliona returned her attention to the back of the shop, but the nameless hottie had disappeared into the back. Her coffee finished, she waited around for a minute or so to see if he’d reappear, but he didn’t.

Sighing, she cleared the cups and plates back on the tray to make it easier for the staff to clean up and left the coffee shop to head home. Aside from her tasty ding-meal for one, she had some reading and payroll to do. Since some of their operatives had no use for money, other arrangements had to be made.

Then there was always checking up on what Stone, one of their more . . . colorful . . . operatives, had been up to. There were usually at least a couple of complaints about him each month. If he wasn’t one of the Paranormal Protection Agency’s most successful operatives, she’d have given him the boot a long time ago.

No rest for the wicked . . . or the boss of a security agency with nonhuman staff on its payroll.

Humans were funny creatures.

No matter how many years had passed since his creation, Calcite was sure he’d never work them out. Like right now. Frankie’s Coffee Shop was filled to bursting, every seat and table taken, yet half of the occupants weren’t even talking to each other. Instead, they stared at their phones, ignoring everything apart from whatever was on their screens. Several had let their lattes go cold as they snapped away, tweaking angles and settings until they had the perfect shot to post to Coffeegram or whatever it was.

Cal sighed, grabbed the broom from behind the counter, and started to sweep. He’d rather drink the damn stuff while it was hot than take a picture. After all, what good was a photo of a coffee? It didn’t keep a body warm or fill his belly. Plus . . . cold coffee? Totally gross. But it wasn’t the cold coffee that bothered him the most. It was the lack of conversation. Humans didn’t realize how easy they had it. They could just lift their heads and open their mouths to connect with the person opposite. Not like they were locked in stone, longing to say something to someone, anyone, and not able to.

For years, that had been his existence. A gargoyle, he’d been created to protect his village. Bound in stone, his perch on the side of a tiny little church, he’d been locked in place until the little mountain village had been threatened. Only then did the enchantment that held him relax, allowing him the freedom of movement to deal with whatever threatened those under his protection.

And deal with it he had. Along with his “brother,” Granite, who had sat on the other side of the church spire, they’d been ruthless in discharging their duty. They’d reveled in being released and being able to walk among the humans, if only for a little while before they were recalled and locked back into place. For years and years . . . waiting for the next threat and their chance at life.

Shuddering, he tucked away the dark memories and moved between the tables. They’d been free for years, since what had remained of their village, mostly abandoned and derelict, had finally been wiped from existence by a landslide from the rocky slopes above. He and Gran had almost been destroyed with it, but they had managed to claw their way free of the dirt and rocks at the last minute.

He murmured his apologies as he wielded the brush with expertise, making sure not to miss all the nooks and crannies where the dirt brought in on the customers’ shoes liked to hide. He hated dirt with a passion and waged a one-gargoyle war against it in the café.

“Excuse me,” he murmured again, making sure to stay out the way of Holly, one of the young waitresses, as she negotiated the crowded café with a tray of empties piled high. The young guy on the end table was unfortunately not so considerate. Attention firmly on the phone in his hand, he stood up abruptly and turned, crashing into Holly and her full tray. She squeaked, trying to stop the descent of every item on the tray to the floor, but it was too late. The crockery hit the floor with a horrendous crash, the cutlery dancing away over the tiles with metallic pings.

“Oh my God I’m so so sorry.” Holly went as pale as a sheet, backing up as the guy rounded on her.

“What the hell . . . Watch where you’re going. You almost got shit all over my cell!” he ranted, fury on his face as he scrubbed his all-precious phone screen over his jacket sleeve. “Don’t you know how much these things cost?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there . . .” the waitress whispered, bending to try to pick everything up all at the same time but getting nowhere. Her distress was palpable, sharp and acrid to Cal’s sensitive sense of smell. After propping his brush in the corner out of the way, he stepped forward quickly, clearing his throat to catch the guy’s attention.

“Hey, buddy,” he rumbled. “It was an accident, and she apologized.” He managed to keep “and it was your fault anyway” to himself. Just. The customer was always right, even when he was an ignorant dick.

The guy spun around, sneer already curling his lips, and then stopped dead when he spotted Cal. Looking up, he snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “No problem, man. Just a little accident. No harm done,” he said quickly and then made his escape, skirting the mess on the floor and disappearing out of the door like all the hounds of hell were on his heels.

Cal ignored him, crouching to help Holly load the broken plates onto the tray.

“I’m in so much trouble,” she whispered, her skin so pale with fright Cal reached out a hand in case she was about to join the sticky mess on the floor. She flicked a glance up at him, despair in her eyes. “I can’t lose this job, Cal. I can’t.”

“What happened here?” a voice boomed behind them, and Holly squeaked in fright, somehow managing to go a shade even paler than white. It was Frankie, the coffee shop owner, who really, really disliked breakages.

“My fault, boss,” Cal rumbled, winking at Holly before looking over his shoulder to catch Frankie’s eyes. “Too many plates and missed a customer standing up. Crashed into him. He was a little one, and you know how I miss the smaller humans . . .”

Just like that, the annoyed look on the petite woman’s face disappeared, probably because of what Cal had said more than because he’d uttered more words than he usually used in a month. He was a para, and there were rules about how para workers were treated. Antidiscrimination laws and all that.

“Yeah . . . well, try to be more careful in the future. Holly, finish up there, and then it’s time for your break, I think? Before Cal’s shift ends.”

“I got this,” he rumbled, knowing she wanted to escape Frankie’s all-too-perceptive gaze as quickly as possible. “You go.”

“No problem, boss. Thank you,” Holly whispered to him, grabbing the escaped cutlery before she got to her feet and disappeared into the kitchen.

Cal continued clearing up, moving some chairs to block the messy area before carrying the broken plates into the kitchen. After grabbing a mop and a bucket, he headed back to clean up. The journey took him through the main part of the coffee shop, and that was when he spotted her. Sitting in one of the corners, with her back to the wall, was his pretty little human.

Deliberately slowing his walk, he checked her out on the way past. Like normal, she was with a friend, but the tall blonde in the fancy clothes didn’t hold his attention at all. Instead, all his focus was on her companion. Small and curvy with dark hair that flowed over her shoulders, she always wore a leather jacket and jeans, usually with a shirt beneath. Combat boots completed the look. It was a casual, no-nonsense look that suited her . . . and the gun she had in a holster under her arm. She was good, moving so it was always concealed, but his sense of smell told him it was there. The smell of gun oil was unmistakable. He had no clue what her name was, or even where she worked, but she fascinated him.

He took another look at her over his shoulder as he disappeared into the L part of the shop to finish cleaning the floor. He’d gotten away with claiming the broken crockery, but if a customer hurt themselves and decided to sue the shop, Frankie would be more than pissed. And it wasn’t just his job on the line then, but also his brother Gran, who worked the morning shift.

The area cleaned, he worked his way back through the shop, making sure to stick around by the main counter with his brush while Frankie served. Not for any other reason but it gave him a perfect line of sight to watch the object of his interest. She was talking to her friend, the one Cal had mentally tagged “lawyer lady.” He had no clue whether she really was, but she sure dressed like one, and with a host of legal offices a couple of blocks over, it was a good bet.

His little human, though . . . she was not a lawyer. The gun said police or something of the like—not many people carried unless they had a reason to—but he didn’t think so. She didn’t move like a cop, and he’d seen plenty in his time. If anything, he could see her as a soldier, rifle in hand. At that thought, the protective side of his nature brought a snarl to his lips, one he quickly squashed. She was so tiny and delicate. She should be protected, not the one doing the protecting.

“Cal?” Frankie called from the kitchen. “Bins need taking out, hon. Could you handle that for me?”

“No worries, boss. On it,” he called back, casting another quick glance at the two women. His heart stuttered right there in his chest as he caught his mystery woman looking right at him, speculation and interest in her eyes. She looked away instantly, her lips curving as she brought her mug up to her lips, but he’d caught the look. Pleasure spread through him as he made his way into the kitchen and started to empty the bins.

She’d looked at him like a woman looks at a man, awareness in her dark eyes, and even the memory sent heat through his blood straight to his cock. Every cell in his body came alive, desire and need surging through him as every instinct he had urged him to turn around, walk through the café, and kiss her like his life depended on it. Closing his eyes, he grabbed the front of his now too-tight jeans and eased his stiff cock into a more comfortable position. It was a good thing he was alone in here. Hiding a boner was hard enough, but when your physiology was stone-based most of the time . . . to say he was as hard as a rock was a damn understatement. Which reminded him that she was human and he wasn’t. What kind of human, especially a pretty lady like that, would want something out of a nightmare like him? As soon as she found out what he was, that interest would disappear faster than he could say the word. It always did.

Getting his primal urges under control, he easily hefted the two big bags of trash and headed into the back alleyway. Crowded in on all sides by high-rise buildings, it was always dark with shadows back here. He stomped over to the dumpster. Dropping the bags in, he slammed the lid shut and turned to head back. Holly was still sitting on the steps outside, coat on and her arms wrapped around herself.

After dropping next to her, he nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey, girl . . . you okay? That wasn’t your fault, you know? That guy was a total jerk.”

“Thanks. And for the cover-up. I really appreciate it.” She smiled up at him, patting his arm. For some reason, Holly was one of the humans he had no trouble talking to, the words not drying up like they did when he was faced with anyone else.

“No worries. You’d do the same for me.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I would. But the guy would’ve just bounced off you and hit the floor instead of the plates.” She pinched his arm. “You’re built like a mountain . . . oh, errr . . .” Suddenly her cheeks flushed as she belatedly remembered that he was, in fact, a gargoyle and sometimes was actually made of rock, the main constituent of mountains.

He chuckled and patted her hand where it had stilled on his arm. “I am. You’re quite right. Not that I’d let many people say that to my face. But you’re my favorite squishable.”

“Squishable?” she asked, a half grin on her lips.

“Humans.” He wagged his eyebrows. “We call you guys squishables.”

That did it. A giggle burst from her lips, and the worried look faded from her eyes. “No way . . . really? Why?”

“Because you are?” He winked as he levered himself up and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you back inside before Frankie yawps about us all going over our breaks again.”