Chapter 2
BAEZAL
It was her devastating cries that had finally awoken me.
The sound of her agony turned my stone prison into dust. The first thing I saw when at last my eyes could move was the tiny human woman huddled against the old church door. Fear made her muscles stiff. She had turned shockingly pale.
In contrast, I had never felt more alive.
There was a sensation brewing inside me. It was primal and all-consuming. Confusion was still present. As was the potent sadness that threw a cold bucket of water on me. Being cursed to remain a statue but watching the world change around you creates a distinct type of hopelessness.
I have many questions about this new world I find myself in. It has been nearly a century since I walked amongst the living. No longer the silent observer, I long to see many of the sights time had nearly stolen from my memory.
However, there were more urgent matters pressing me than a need to glimpse the sea.
How many of my kind remained? Where was the True Blessed Father who had cursed me all those years ago? My rational mind wants me to believe him dead, but with his ability to wield dark magic, I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard had managed to cheat death.
I should be punching through this rotten ceiling and setting out to fulfill my revenge.
Yet, the only moves I can seem to make are towards the tear-stained angel shaking against the door.
I hadn’t even realized I’d left the dais and was now close enough to touch her.
The scent of lavender and wildflowers fills my lungs.
I greedily inhale more of her, grateful that all my senses have returned so that I can fully appreciate her.
My sight is perfect. I can see every inch of her naked flesh. She tries to cover herself with her hands and the tresses of her long, mahogany hair. Her beauty is undeniable. A restlessness crowds my heart, urging me to take her in my arms and shield her from every present and unseen danger.
She is far too delicate; this world is unkind and would see her loveliness marred by its cruelty. The need to protect her is strong. I’ve never felt like this towards another before. An overwhelming sense of primal need nearly sends me to my knees before her.
I had presided over her kind for decades before I was cursed.
We were made as protectors, meant to serve as eternal guardians over the Sister of the One True Faith.
That was until the True Blessed Father had seen our protection as a slight against him and his rise to power.
We would’ve been the only force strong enough to stop him, but it was too late to act.
With one decree, he bound us into our stone prisons. Some managed to flee for a time, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Before this church was abandoned thirty years ago, word had come that no gargoyle remained amongst the living. Each one of my kind was entombed the way I had been.
That fateful day returns to me as does the True Blessed Father’s proclamation. The only way my kind had the chance of breaking from our stone prisons was if God saw fit to put our fate on our path. If we discovered our True Fate, we would be freed.
Whoever this human is, she’s important. She is the thing that saved me from eternal damnation, and I will do everything in my power to figure out why. Why has God entwined our fates in this way? Why is she here, of all places, and why is she naked?
The two figures who had left her here and stripped her—one an Elder Sister and one a Blessed Father—had reeked of cruelty. Most humans did.
The one at my feet did not. She smelled of sweetness. I hungrily inhale more of her scent, allowing it to settle into my blood. A delightful shiver runs through me.
Innocence shrouds her like a veil. All young Sisters have it—growing up in an isolated monastery tends to create a naivety.
However, inside her angelic body lies a soul filled with wickedness.
Not a perchance for evil, but of desire.
An inferno of lust roars within, in need of being carefully stoked.
Is that my fate then? To be the one to stoke her flames of passion.
Surely I cannot be that lucky. When I had roamed the land freely, I had had my share of enjoyment with mortal women.
Ones paid handsomely not to mind our physical differences.
My wings pull tight at the notion, and the woman whimpers.
I must be scaring this innocent creature.
That cannot truly be my fate, to bed a virgin sister?
While I would certainly enjoy it, the fear tainting her lovely scent tells me she would not.
I would never disregard her wants in the face of my own desire.
It is enough to just be close to her. She has freed me from my curse, and for that I will always be grateful.
There has to be more to this—I am certain of it.
Another whimper puffs from between her full pink lips.
Her dark eyes are wide as she stares up at me.
Long tendrils of damp hair cling to her chest. Raindrops collect in the hollow of her collarbone.
My mouth waters at the urge to drink from there.
I clench my muscles and snarl at myself to get a grip.
Opening my mouth, I find I cannot make a sound. The small human curls more in on herself, bracing as if she expects me to strike her. Whoever has harmed this fragile woman will pay for such atrocities. Swallowing against my dry throat, trying again.
When still no sound comes out, she flattens herself as far against the wall as she can.
As my silence persists, I grow impatient.
Snapping my wings back, my feet leave the ground, and I float back towards the dais.
She whimpers again, eyes snapping shut. I don’t like the scent of her fear.
Maybe this will help her see that I am not a threat.
Snatching up a discarded sheet covering one of the altar tables, I hold it out in front of me and approach slowly. The material is rough—not at all good enough to touch her perfect skin. Vowing to get her something warmer later, I pray she takes the covering. Hopefully, this will help her relax.
My steps are slow as I approach. The only sound is my claws clicking against the wooden floorboards. I try not to crowd her as I get closer. Blinking open her dark eyes, she stares up at me. She is far too pale for my liking. Extending the sheet towards her, she eyes it warily.
Raising a small hand, she takes the corner of the sheet in her trembling grasp. I let the material flutter to the ground and watch as she quickly wraps it around herself, covering her skin from neck to ankle. She snuggles into the fabric as if it were silk and not threadbare cotton.
Swallowing thickly, her eyes connect with mine. The scent of fear is slowly receding, though not disappearing altogether.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Her voice is a hymn—sweeter than any melody.
It is the sound of a chorus of angels reaching from the heavens and pulling me into their warm embrace.
The soft sound washes over me and settles into my heart, solidifying the fact that she is my fate.
She is meant to be mine—in whatever capacity she deems me worthy.
Those two words have bound us together, whether she realizes it or not. I will do anything for her—she will never have cause to feel afraid again. I will honor and protect her until the world around us crumbles into dust.
Silence stretches, and she grows apprehensive again. I lick my dry lips, still feeling remnants of stone clinging to my dry skin. I must speak before I lose this first opportunity to earn her trust.
“Ba…Ba…”
I press a claw into my chest, hoping she understands. Her dark brows lower as her full lips twist downward.
“Bad?” she offers.
I huff, shaking my head. My wings flap behind me in irritation.
“Ba…Bae…Baezal.”
Pointing at myself again, her eyes travel up the plains of my chest back towards my face.
“Baezal,” she repeats, and pleasure tickles the base of my spine. “Your name?”
I nod.
Untucking her hand from the sheet, she holds it against her own chest. Her brown eyes sparkle in the dim light.
“Willow.”
The word washes over me.
“Willow,” I say back. The word is sweeter than wine. “Beau—beautiful.”
Color blooms high on her cheeks, and though it seems impossible, she is even lovelier than before.
Ducking her head, dark hair falls forward and covers her face.
I want to reach out and tip her chin up, but that would be unwise.
Her fear is beginning to leave her, and I don’t want it to come rearing back.
“Thank you, again, Baezal.” She holds up a corner of the sheet. “I’m—I’m sorry about how I reacted. I’ve just never seen a—a—”
“Gargoyle?” The hoarseness of my voice is beginning to lessen.
“Yes. I’ve only heard the stories of how, um, dangerous you can be.”
I would laugh at the absurdity of her statement, but that seems unwise.
Given our history, if there is anyone to fear here, I should be scared of her.
Still, her words give me pause. Admitting to me that she has been taught to fear me is a step in the right direction.
I at least hope it is. In time, she will see she has nothing to be afraid of.
“Do you believe these stories?”
Willow bites her lip. Emotions flit through her dark eyes so quickly I can hardly keep track. With a sigh, she rises from the floor, tucking the sheet around her. Have ankles ever been described as beautiful before? Willow’s certainly are. She’s been handcrafted by angels into perfection.
“Honestly,” she says. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”
Taking a small step towards me, her head barely reaches the center of my chest. She cranes her neck back all the way to keep our gazes locked.
“Father Knoll has remanded me here to sit in humble prayer to repent for what I’ve done.” Her words give me pause, but I don’t dare interrupt her. “He will return for me in three days, or at least so he says. I wouldn’t be too shocked if he left me here to die.”
“Never,” I growl. “I will protect you—keep you safe. It’s my job.”
Willow blinks at me, stunned at my declaration. Silence stretches between us for a moment before a small smile curves her lips. My first smile from Willow, I will do everything I can to earn more of them while she is in my care.
The sound of her stomach growling echoes throughout the church. My gaze turns sharp as Willow looks away.
“Is there a place I could lie down?”
With only a terse nod, I lead her towards the door behind the altar.
There is a short staircase that tapers down to where the former Father used to reside.
The air is dank, and I make sure to light the torches along the wall as we pass to scare off any small rodents who have made their homes down here.
The room is in poor shape once we reach it.
The stone doorframe is crumbling—the door hangs from two old iron hinges.
Pushing it open, it makes a loud creak before coming to rest against the wall.
The bed—more like a cot—has seen better days, but the sheets and pillows are new.
I’m glad I had the foresight to use my magic to ready this area before leading Willow down here.
She’s been through enough today, watching a gargoyle use magic might just throw her over the edge.
Stepping into the room, she surveys the bare walls. Sitting down on the mattress’s edge, it creaks but holds her weight. I linger in the doorway, afraid to leave her but knowing I must. She looks unsure as her gaze finally reconnects with mine.
“I wouldn’t mind getting some rest,” she says. “Alone. If that’s alright.”
I nod, but make no moves to leave. Her eyes trail along my body, lingering on my claws and the wings along my back. Under her stare, I feel naked even if I’m dressed in a simple pair of cotton pants.
“Are you going to kill me?”
The question is asked so quietly I barely hear it. My blood freezes into ice as I rear back. Gripping the doorframe to keep from stumbling, I shake my head quickly.
“No. Never.”
Willow nods as if mulling over my words. After a moment, her shoulders slump.
“I want to believe you.”
My heart seems to stop beating for a moment. Willow laughs softly, but there is no humor in it. Shaking her head, a sad smile dances on her lips.
“Even if you’re lying, there’s nothing I could do to stop you.”
Gliding like a wraith along the stone floors, the edge of her sheet brushes me as she takes the door in her hand.
It groans shut on its worn hinges, and the latch catches.
I stand there for a moment, unsure what to do with myself.
A draft comes and opens the door just a fraction as I hear Willow settle onto the bed.
She’s just inside there—on the other side of the door. Hungry, alone, and afraid, I wish I could offer her comfort, and I wish she would accept it. What I desire more than anything is to make her feel safe and cared for.
It all makes sense to me now. I was not awoken from my curse to be her lover—though if she asked me to bed her this instant, I would be unable to resist. No, my purpose in her life is more important than an evening of pleasure.
I have been tasked with protecting her. Just as I had watched over monasteries full of Sisters for decades, she is my true purpose—in need of my singular attention and focus.
My fate is to uphold the vow made at my creation. To protect and serve those most vulnerable. She is a Sister who has clearly been neglected by the One True Faith. We have both been harmed by the cruelty masquerading as pious devotion.
The only way we can truly break free of it is together—our fates woven as one that will lead us to true salvation. My future is tied to the woman lying on the threadbare cot.
I will do everything I can to provide for her, and that starts now. I have a lot of work to do to prove myself a worthy protector.
Dealing with her rumbling stomach will be the perfect place to start.