Read Online Stone's Kiss by Lisa Blackwood - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lisa Blackwood
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announced her grandmother’s departure, Lillian started shedding clothing as she crossed the floor.
The satin nightgown still a cold presence against her skin, she crawled across the bed and scrambled under the covers. Her eyes were already closed by the time her head hit the pillow. Before sleep claimed her, a worried thought flashed across her mind: where had her gargoyle gone?
****
Hearing was the first sense to awaken. A soft, slow whooshing teased the edge of her hearing, rhythmic like the ocean, almost like a purr. The soothing noise had a steady thump as its counter beat. Delicious warmth radiated throughout her body. A part of her mind wanted to embrace sleep, but other senses were sharpening. She inhaled a deep breath. Air perfumed with the scents of home baking filled her lungs—her grandmother’s pancakes and sausages if she was not mistaken. Her stomach growled, waking her farther. Still she didn’t open her eyes—there was something dancing at the edge of her consciousness, something she didn’t want to acknowledge or remember. She squeezed her eyes tight and wiggled closer to the heat, determined to recapture the mindless obviation of sleep. Another scent crawled across her senses and seeped into her mind like a drug, one reminiscent of wild places and the pleasant musky warmth of a purely male being—the scent of gargoyle.
She froze. Memories of the last day wouldn’t be denied and came crashing down upon her peaceful world. Muscles taunt with tension, she cautiously opened her eyes—to an expanse of dark skin stretched over a defined, muscular chest. A heavy weight slung across her shoulders prevented her from sitting up, and something else with the grace of a two–by–four, held her lower legs imprisoned. Five minutes worth of wiggling, and the gargoyle’s arm was down almost to her waist. Being careful not to shake the bed, she sat up.
The two–by–four turned out to be his tail. There was an eight–foot gargoyle occupying her bed. Tramping down rising panic, she did a quick survey of the bedroom. Her robe lay on the other side of the room, tossed over the back of her reading chair next to the antique oak dresser. With a new goal firmly in her sights, she held the panic at bay a little longer.
After several more minutes of slow cautious wiggling, she was out from under the gargoyle’s wings. A few more deep calming breaths, and she inched off the bed in slow motion. Her bare feet touched the floor. Her new bedmate hadn’t so much as stirred a talon. Fear made her breath shallow and rapid. She bolted for the robe in a mad dash. In under ten seconds flat she had the robe clutched in one hand and she’d reversed course for the door.
She reached the old walnut door, a gate to sanctuary, the way to freedom. But she did not turn the knob. Poised, frozen between moments, unable to decide which way to go.
Whatever was on the other side of the door was just as much the unknown as the big beastie sleeping in her bed. Worse perhaps. The gargoyle had never lied to her, which was more than she could say about her family. For years they had hidden all this from her. Magic. Of all things, magic existed.
She needed answers. Perhaps then the chaos of the last day would order into something resembling a normal life.
Ten feet away, sleeping soundly in her bed, was someone fully capable of answering her questions. All she had to do was confront him.
Determination flowing in her blood, she spun around and faced the bed. The great, lumpy mound under the comforter was still there; the whole mass rising and falling in the slow, relaxed rhythm of sleep. God … how long had she slept next to the big eight–foot monster, with his massive talons that could have torn her apart. She swallowed hard.
Indecision held her rooted in place for several more seconds. Then curiosity and that strange, fierce need to be near him reared its head and overruled wisdom. Instead of running away, she slid one foot ahead of
The satin nightgown still a cold presence against her skin, she crawled across the bed and scrambled under the covers. Her eyes were already closed by the time her head hit the pillow. Before sleep claimed her, a worried thought flashed across her mind: where had her gargoyle gone?
****
Hearing was the first sense to awaken. A soft, slow whooshing teased the edge of her hearing, rhythmic like the ocean, almost like a purr. The soothing noise had a steady thump as its counter beat. Delicious warmth radiated throughout her body. A part of her mind wanted to embrace sleep, but other senses were sharpening. She inhaled a deep breath. Air perfumed with the scents of home baking filled her lungs—her grandmother’s pancakes and sausages if she was not mistaken. Her stomach growled, waking her farther. Still she didn’t open her eyes—there was something dancing at the edge of her consciousness, something she didn’t want to acknowledge or remember. She squeezed her eyes tight and wiggled closer to the heat, determined to recapture the mindless obviation of sleep. Another scent crawled across her senses and seeped into her mind like a drug, one reminiscent of wild places and the pleasant musky warmth of a purely male being—the scent of gargoyle.
She froze. Memories of the last day wouldn’t be denied and came crashing down upon her peaceful world. Muscles taunt with tension, she cautiously opened her eyes—to an expanse of dark skin stretched over a defined, muscular chest. A heavy weight slung across her shoulders prevented her from sitting up, and something else with the grace of a two–by–four, held her lower legs imprisoned. Five minutes worth of wiggling, and the gargoyle’s arm was down almost to her waist. Being careful not to shake the bed, she sat up.
The two–by–four turned out to be his tail. There was an eight–foot gargoyle occupying her bed. Tramping down rising panic, she did a quick survey of the bedroom. Her robe lay on the other side of the room, tossed over the back of her reading chair next to the antique oak dresser. With a new goal firmly in her sights, she held the panic at bay a little longer.
After several more minutes of slow cautious wiggling, she was out from under the gargoyle’s wings. A few more deep calming breaths, and she inched off the bed in slow motion. Her bare feet touched the floor. Her new bedmate hadn’t so much as stirred a talon. Fear made her breath shallow and rapid. She bolted for the robe in a mad dash. In under ten seconds flat she had the robe clutched in one hand and she’d reversed course for the door.
She reached the old walnut door, a gate to sanctuary, the way to freedom. But she did not turn the knob. Poised, frozen between moments, unable to decide which way to go.
Whatever was on the other side of the door was just as much the unknown as the big beastie sleeping in her bed. Worse perhaps. The gargoyle had never lied to her, which was more than she could say about her family. For years they had hidden all this from her. Magic. Of all things, magic existed.
She needed answers. Perhaps then the chaos of the last day would order into something resembling a normal life.
Ten feet away, sleeping soundly in her bed, was someone fully capable of answering her questions. All she had to do was confront him.
Determination flowing in her blood, she spun around and faced the bed. The great, lumpy mound under the comforter was still there; the whole mass rising and falling in the slow, relaxed rhythm of sleep. God … how long had she slept next to the big eight–foot monster, with his massive talons that could have torn her apart. She swallowed hard.
Indecision held her rooted in place for several more seconds. Then curiosity and that strange, fierce need to be near him reared its head and overruled wisdom. Instead of running away, she slid one foot ahead of
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