Chapter 16

"Sounds fine to me. And no, we don't eat gravel or sand, or anything like that." He stretched then clambered to his feet before reaching out a hand to help Katie off the lounge. They gathered her basket and his clothing then turned off the hot tub and the lights before descending the staircase.

Once they reached the kitchen, Katie drew her loose cotton robe out of her basket and slipped it over her head while Damien pulled on a pair of supple black leather pants. He set the matching heavy boots and bomber jacket aside while she turned to the refrigerator.

"Do you have a motorcycle?" The thought of him riding a big powerful bike was unexpectedly exciting. In the bright light of the kitchen he was even more handsome. He stood easily over six and a half feet tall, with thick-lashed gray eyes and silky straight black hair that fell loose to his shoulders. His face was a sculptor's masterpiece, all sharp angles and long lines. The smooth planes of his chest and abs were positively mouthwatering and it took a great deal of effort to make herself look away.

"Oui." Without another word he moved around the counter and almost automatically began to help her assemble the sandwiches. Their motions fell into an instant, easy harmony.

"Will you take me riding?" Katie finished slicing the homemade bread and began to coat the slices with butter.

"As soon as we get you a helmet." He topped the slices of bread with thick slabs of cheddar and provolone.

His instinctive protectiveness made her smile. "Do gargoyles need helmets?"

He shrugged in a manner that was almost more French than his faint accent. The mayor had told her he was from Montreal. "Need? Probably not. Even in human form, we're much tougher than the average person. But I wear one when I ride. Getting your skull caved in still hurts, even if it doesn't kill you."

"You said you can turn into stone, but you sure feel like flesh and blood to me." She transferred the first two sandwiches to a heavy cast iron griddle, then placed a plastic container of leftover tomato basil soup into the microwave.

"It's a rest state." Damien uncorked the bottle of white wine she'd handed him and poured two glasses. "If we're injured, we can turn to stone and our bodies repair themselves."

"That's cool. Can you show me sometime, or do you have to be hurt to do it?" She didn't like that idea, not at all.

"Entering the stoneshape is voluntary, but my body won't let me change back until it is fully healed. So I'd rather not demonstrate tonight. As tired as I am, it would probably be a while and I'd much rather recuperate by curling up next to you."

Katie flipped the sandwiches and smiled. "I think I like that idea better too."

Later that night, Damien smiled in the darkness. Sleeping next to Katie was possibly the second best sensation in the world. Fucking her was without a doubt number one.

Damien knew he needed to be out of her sight before dawn, so he'd set the alarm on his cell phone to give him a half-hour leeway. If their relationship went any further, he'd have to let her see him by daylight eventually, but no way was he ready for that after only one night. She'd told him the other room on this floor was the bedroom intended for him. He figured he could hide out there until nightfall.

Even after the near-silent buzz had wakened him though, he couldn't bring himself to move. There was something so seductive about lying on silky cotton sheets with Katie warm and soft in his arms, her bright auburn head pillowed on his chest. They'd made love twice more last night after leaving the roof, once in the kitchen and once more here in her bed. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair. Moss and earth and spice.

Damien must have dozed off again, because when he opened his eyes, the first pale rays of dawn were filtering through the slats in the blinds. To horror, he felt his body beginning to change.

He tried to slip quietly from the bed but Katie's long lithe limbs were twined around his own. She stirred, sitting up and blinking as he rushed to disentangle himself.

"Damien, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, cherie. I just - need to use the bathroom."

"Hmm. Then you're heading the wrong direction. Nice wings, by the way."

Merde! He'd turned his back to her trying to flee the room. "I need to go."

"Damien. Relax." She moved up behind him and circled his waist with her arms, rubbing her soft cheek on the leathery surface of his demonic wings. He wondered if she'd also spotted the long tail that he tucked forward between his ankles. Since she hadn't run screaming yet, probably not. "So this is why you travel at night."

"Yeah." He knew his voice was deeper and huskier in this form. Hell's teeth, she was dropping butterfly kisses on the pointed tips of his wings. "It tends to frighten the tollbooth workers on the turnpike."

"I'll bet." Her gentle chuckle was a benediction, warm and curious but completely lacking the fear or disgust he'd expected. "So this happens every morning?"

"Sunrise to sunset." Oh, fuck! Now her busy hands had found his tail and were exploring it. She traced her fingers along the coiled muscle down to the barbed tip. This was probably not the time for him to mention that when he was in demon shape, his tail was an erogenous zone. Of course, he'd never had a chance to prove that except by himself. He'd never fucked another gargoyle and he'd never let a human woman see him like this.

"Turn around, Damien."

"No." He knew the front was even more horrific than the back. Even some of his own kind found him painful to look at.