When the appointment was over Malin left the building, stepping out in the bright, morning sun with a suppressed hiss. Putting his darkened lenses back on, he got into his ground transport–a humiliation he gritted his teeth and bore—and drove downtown to his offices. What did the young humans say? ‘Another day another problem?’ Or something similar, but highly apt. He’d learned to enjoy his businesses, valued the life he’d crafted for himself outside of court.

He’d even grown to appreciate the humans in his employ. One could only hear about children, and leaky faucets, and sports competitions for so long without becoming sucked in. They wanted the same things Malin’s people wanted, for the most part.

When he arrived at his offices and stepped through the sliding glass doors into the lobby, he knew immediately something was off. He locked eyes with the uniformed man at the front desk immediately.

“What’s wrong, Benson?” he asked.

Benson remained stiff, narrow shoulders straight despite his advanced age. But Malin had hired the man because he’d been ex-military, and precise during his interview. Malin liked preciseness.

“There is no problem, sir,” he replied, perfectly correct. “You have guests upstairs.”

Malin’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t have any appointments, and anyone else would have been tossed out on their asses, so that meant….

“Gargoyles.”

“I would say so, sir. In human form. They were insistent.”

Malin tensed. “Did you resist?”

“No, sir. I did as you instructed during the protocol training, escorted them upstairs and put them in the waiting room with refreshments.” 

A bit of malice peeked through an otherwise neutral expression. Likely because the ‘waiting room’ was equipped with a lock from the outside, which could be activated at the desk. Just for these instances. It was designed to allow his employees a way to protect themselves without being aggressive. Contain a threat without the threat understanding it was being contained. Though, by now, whoever was waiting in that room probably had a damn good idea.

“Very good.”

Malin didn’t waste another moment, allowing his man to punch in the elevator code for him. At the top, the doors slid aside silently, revealing another small, lushly carpeted lobby with a young woman at the desk, a round, brown face surrounded by tight, dark curls. Her normal smile was gone, replaced by a pinched mouth and slightly flared nostrils. Malin’s office was down the hall, but the guests would be waiting in the locked room right beside the receptionist.

“Mr. Ioveanu,” she greeted.

He paused. “Did they give names, Bea?”

“They felt introductions were unnecessary, Mr. Ioveanu.”

He studied her—and knew he would ask his secretary to send Bea a small gift later. She hated rudeness, and he hated unhappy employees. “Where they polite?” She was a pretty young woman, and he knew what the males of his species tended to think about human woman. That they were available for the taking.

“As polite as one would expect from men with rocks for brains, Mr. Ioveanu.”

Malin winced.

She proceeded him down the hall and unlocked the door and Malin stepped in, senses fully alert. Three gargoyles rose, Kausar, Nikolau and Tomas, facing him with varying degrees of annoyance on their faces–but no anger. Bea’s agitation made sense. Malin glared at Nikolau, who raised a brow. Niko rarely came into the city, preferring the company of gargoyles. But when he did, he always managed to offend a human. Especially a human woman. He seemed alternately fascinated and repulsed by them.

“What did you say to her, Niko?” Malin asked, a hint of a growl in his voice. Niko was one of his oldest acquaintances—nearly a friend in the last few years—but Malin wouldn’t have the warrior insulting female staff.

Niko crossed his arms. “Nothing. You should ask her what she said to me.”

Kausar glanced between them both, then subtly inserted himself in Malin’s line of vision. “I’d heard about your locking door, boy,” his former sword master said. “Good call, there.”

Humor shone in dark eyes for a split second, before disappearing back behind an old warrior’s stoicism. His long hair was braided and bound at the neck, and he wore the vest and loose pants of his rank. The humans would think him a middle-aged man, albeit in excellent fighting condition. They would be right. But middle-aged for a gargoyle was several centuries longer than for a human.

Malin studied him. “Kausar, why are you here?”

“May I sit?”

“Of course.” Malin gestured, taking a seat himself, eyes sweeping over a tray of untouched refreshments: little shortbread cookies and small bottled waters and sodas. “How long have you been waiting?”

“The morning.”

Malin’s eyebrow rose. And they weren’t angry at being locked in? That, more than anything else, told him that whatever the warriors wanted, it was serious.

“I see. This isn’t a social call, then.” He rose. “Shall I order us a light meal? We can speak in my office.”

He ordered from his office after settling them onto a couch dragged in front of his desk. The cafeteria below sent up a platter of various sandwiches and sliced fruit. More cookies and tea in flowered mugs.

Niko rolled his eyes. “Human women. See?” He held up a tiny yellow cookie with pink frosting—and sprinkles. “They have no idea how to serve a warrior.”

“Why should they?” Malin snapped, avoiding Niko’s eyes. Bea had a rather vindictive sense of humor. “No wonder you’re still single.”

Kausar snorted, while Tomas laughed quietly, the youngest of them having little to say–ever. Malin noticed that Niko’s disgust didn’t stop him from devouring a half-plate of cookies, though.

“We heard your sister is making progress with the research.”

“She isn’t my sister,” Malin replied, shortly. “We share neither a father nor a mother.”

Niko looked at him. “Interesting attitude to take, considering. Does that mean she’s no longer under your protection?”

Malin inhaled sharply, half rising before Kausar put a hand on his thigh. “Niko didn’t mean anything by that. He’s just stupid.”

“If he goes around saying things like that, he’ll make her a target.” Niko leaned back in the couch, crossing his arms. “I already have to block warriors from doing stupid shit when Geza isn’t paying attention. Petru was about to follow her home from the palace the other night. But if you don’t want me to bother—”

“What?”

Niko watched closely, then shook his head. “Damnit, Malin. You can’t—”

“I can’t what?”

“That girl would die for you,” Kausar said, glancing warningly at Niko. “You think an old warrior doesn’t recognize that kind of spirit in a warrior? We’re trained to recognize it.”

“I don’t want to talk about Surah.” He put his cup of coffee down on his desk, wishing for something...stronger. But no, that was Surah's weakness, not his.

“Alright.” Kausar shifted in his seat, running a tongue over his teeth. “I’m a plain speaker, son, so I won’t waste your time.”

Malin stared at the only man allowed to call him son. Switched his gaze to Niko and Tomas, the former who turned his head to stare him down, the latter who stared at the mug clasped in his hands.

“We want you to take back the throne.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Kausar’s eyes narrowed, then he grinned. “You heard me, Prince. You’re just stalling for time.”

Time he needed. The words ignited a ruthlessly ignored desire in him. A desire on par with his craving for the man he couldn’t have. The desire of a born Prince to rule, a gargoyle warrior trained by the elite to prove his worth.

“Geza’s weak,” Niko said.

Kausar’s face set. “His habits are distasteful to those of us who respect discipline. He’s allowing his advisors more and more unchecked authority to make decisions that should be vetted by the assembly.”

Malin’s thoughts raced, though he let nothing show on his face. “Who is we?”

“I’m not going to give you names just yet,” Kausar said. “The three of us–we were chosen to represent the faction. Figured you were less likely to tell me to go to hell than anyone else.” He paused. “Besides Surah. We haven’t been able to get to her.”

“And you won’t,” Malin said, rising, restless. “Leave her out of your politics. She wants nothing to do with it.”

Kausar watched him pace. “You think she’ll be able to remain neutral? Sister to one Prince, doctor and…friend to another?”

The look Malin leveled on his old teacher was cold. “Leave her out of it.”

The weapons master lowered his head briefly. “Heard. What say you, Malin?”

“Have you forgotten my weakness?” His arm swept in a dramatic half circle. “The whole reason why I am here and not in my rightful place?”

“The way we figure, either Surah will fix you and it won’t matter any longer–or she won’t, and you’ll have our muscle to make up for the lack.” Kausar’s expression was grave. “We don’t need the body of a warrior on the throne. We need his mind, and his heart. We can do the rest.”

“And Geza?”

“You know our way.”

He did. Rule, or die. Malin had gotten a pass because he was defective. It would kill Surah. She loved the boy Prince, though it was hard for an outsider to see under all that broody, sardonic, scientist angst.

“I’ll think about it.” He wasn’t ready to kill Geza–not yet. He loved the boy Prince as well, in his own way.

Kausar rose, his men with him. “We’re ready to move. Don’t think too long, eh?”

But his weapons master lingered after the others left. “You talk to Surah yet?” His look was meaningful.

Malin stilled, suppressing the urge to squirm…he was a former ruling Prince of a gargoyle Host, damnit. “The matter is in progress.”

“Huh. That doesn’t sound good. I can put in a good word for you.”

“Go, Kausar.”

* * *

“You’re not hungry?” Malin asked, voice pitched low.

Surah looked up from the steak and gorgonzola salad. The sun beat down over head, an unusual brightness for this time of the year, and was only aiding in her foul mood. She wanted the rain and the shade. She wanted the night.

“The sun,” she said shortly.

His look was considering. “It bothers you more and more as you grow older.” He smiled, a little ironic. “I become more human, while you become more gargoyle.”

She stabbed a cherry tomato, trying not to take his words personally. She’d chosen the rooftop cafe for lunch because she knew he hated to be on ground if he could help it. And with the clear glass floors giving them a view of the city at least six stories down, a gargoyle felt right at home. As if he was in air. “Damnit, Malin, I’m working as fast as I can. We’ll find a cure. It’s just a matter of—”

He reached across the table, touched the back of her hand with his finger. “That’s not what I meant. I know you’re working—and even if nothing comes of it, I’m grateful.” She opened her mouth to speak, and he shook his head. “No, Surah. You are not responsible to cure a condition that has plagued my line for a millennia. You don’t have to prove your worth to me.” He held her eyes, oddly intense.

Surah paused. “I’ll figure this thing out, or I’ll die trying.”

Malin’s expression hardened, a fleeting look she’d seen him pin on males while contemplating death. “No. You will not die trying. You have a year, Surah, and then we end this.”

She threw down her fork, furious. “You’re giving me a deadline? You bastard.”

He grimaced, muttering something. Humans glanced over when she raised her voice. She wasn’t speaking English, and the only way a human could tell a gargoyle in daylight was by their tongue–or if one happened to run into a gargoyle fist, for some reason.

“That’s not what I meant.” His mouth firmed. “I don’t want you wasting your life on this. I want you to live. To find happiness. I want to live. And if I have to live as a human–it is still life.”

“But Malin….” she struggled, words ashen in her chest. “How are you going to have any quality of life as a human? Status, garlings….”

“I don’t care about status in the court.” He reached out, grabbed her wrist, leaning forward. “Surah, no one can take my line from me. I am Ioveanu. I will always be Ioveanu. And…there is a female who I think will mother garlings for me.”

“But…a noblewoman?” What woman of high rank would mate him when he was bound to the land? Even his riches wouldn’t be enough of a carrot. A common woman, yes–but Geza would never allow it. She became aware Malin hadn’t let go of her hand, hadn’t lowered his eyes from hers. The quality of his silence…changed.

“There’s a female of worth I have known for a long time,” he said, voice quiet. “Of good family, noble character. A strong warrior, and beautiful. Who won’t hold the defect of my line against me.”

Surah tried to smile, heart beginning to work overtime. She knew he would feel the increase in her pulse. “She sounds great. Is she rich, too?”

His brow rose. “I would suppose so. I’m certain her brother will dower her well.”

“Dowries are antiquated, anyway.”

She lowered her eyes, but his free hand reached out, lifted her chin. “Malin…”

“I know it is a strange thing to consider. But…will you allow me to court you, Surah?” Humor flashed across his face. “We aren’t actually related, you know.”

“I…Malin.”

“You love me.”

She froze. “Oh, really?”

His smile was wry. “I know you. I know you love me. If you consider this strange thing I am asking, maybe you can come to love me in a different way.”

“At least I know you wouldn’t beat me,” she muttered.

His expression darkened. “Kausar said Geza is trying to marry you off.” His teeth snapped.

Surah sniffed. “He can try. Is this what this is about? You trying to protect me by throwing yourself on the sacrificial matrimonial altar?”

His eyes flared. “No. I want you.” His hand tightened around her wrist, his thumb caressed her bottom lip. The look he turned on seared her soul, sparked the constant low thrum of desire. She watched as his pupils dilated, the beat in his neck thumping–likely in reaction to her. She knew he must scent her desire.

“So,” he purred. “Perhaps you’ve already considered the idea. If I had known….”

She licked her lips, swallowing, then took a sip of water. “Geza will throw a fit.”

“When doesn’t he? May I kiss you?”

“What?” she squeaked.

His smile was all rogue, all predator. The brother was gone, shredded by the male. Malin leaned forward slowly, teasing her. A murmur of voices, the light touch of a breeze on her neck, the bonk of passing horns of airtrans. Everything froze and faded to the background.

The kiss was chaste, just a gentle brush of his lips on hers, a quick nip of his teeth. But when his mouth moved over to her ear, and he whispered.…

The words he whispered were not chaste at all.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Geza roared through the phone.

“What?” She wished people would stop calling her at work.

“I’m looking at the fucking local tabloid, The Stone Lover. That magazine for humans who—”

“I know what it is.”

“Well, what the hell are you and Malin doing kissing?”

Oh. Well. She wasn’t ready to confront her brother yet. “Don’t be stupid. It’s probably photoshopped. We had lunch, but we weren’t kissing. In public? Me and Malin?” She snorted, glad he couldn’t see her face or hear her rapid heartbeat. “Come on, Geza. Really?”

“Huh. Ok, well, Petru wanted me to set up some courting time with you.”

“No, thanks.”

“Surah, you know you’re too old to be running around unmated?”

“Where is your mate, little brother?”

“I am your Prince.”

“You are an ass.”

She disconnected. Grimaced, and messaged Malin.