Chapter 6 – Layla
Iwake up a few minutes after sunset to a note from Thorne letting me know he had to grab some things from his place. He’d told me there were three available units in my building, and he’ll be moving into one of them so he can stay close to me.
But not too close.
Whatever.
I understand. He has a job. No distractions. No bad ideas.
It’s not like I need a guard staying in my penthouse with me anyway. Millie never had that when she was queen. Thorne said it’s a precaution because of the unification plan.
I think he’s being overprotective.
But I kinda like it.
When he returns, I’ve already fed on a donor and dressed for the night.
“Ready to go?” I ask when I walk out of my bedroom and into the living area where Thorne is standing, looking out the window while talking on his phone.
He turns at my voice and stumbles over his words. I’m not even paying attention to what he’s saying, because all I care about is how his eyes rake over my body. How his tail whips back and forth behind him, his wings fluttering from their position against his back.
It’s amazing how gargoyle wings work. They’re known to have a ten-foot spread. Yet when Thorne’s are flush against his back, they seem so small, likely to stay out of the way when not in use.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Thorne says, ending his call. He stuffs the phone in his pants pocket.
“Ready to go?” I repeat, only this time the words come out breathy… a whisper.
Thorne stalks toward me, stopping just a foot away. I fight the urge to reach out for him.
“You look beautiful,” he says, checking me out again.
I’m wearing a black sleeveless blouse that has a dipped neckline, tucked into my white high waist trousers.
He lifts his hand, then stops after realizing what he’s doing.
“Don’t stop,” I beg.
He lifts it again to palm my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
It’s so warm. Burning, almost. I don’t think that has anything to do with me being undead with cold skin.
Gargoyles must run hotter. Thorne is like a furnace and all I want to do is hold him, cuddle with him.
He reminds me of when I was human, and I’d sit in front of the fireplace on a snowy night while reading a beautiful love story.
But before I can enjoy this moment, Thorne drops his hand and curses, turning away from me.
“I can’t. I want to, Gods do I want to, but I can’t. We can’t.”
He stands there, breathing roughly, trying to compose himself. After a few moments of silence, I say, “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Please.” He pivots enough to see me. “I’m the one who’s not strong enough. If I start, I won’t be able to stop.”
I’m not opposed to that. I don’t say the words out loud, though, because Thorne is doing everything he can to resist this pull between us.
He’s being good. He’s just trying to do his job.
I’m the one being naughty.
We leave the penthouse and head down to WOVE headquarters in Lower Manhattan to go over additional candidates to join my security team. Thorne sits in the front seat of the SUV, leaving two vampire guards in the back with me.
I sulk about it the entire drive.
When we get to the conference room, Thorne sits on the other side of the table, again distancing himself from me.
Oh, okay. He’s serious.
After an hour of going over portfolios, we chose our first round of candidates and called them all for interviews. Luckily, most of them were able to meet today, likely expecting our calls since the vampire elders and other supes have been planning this collaboration for months.
The first interview is with a young shifter named Daniel. He’s around fifty immortal years, but he appears no older than someone in their mid-twenties. He’s muscular throughout, but not nearly as beefy as Thorne.
I don’t think many supes could match Thorne’s physique.
Daniel is extremely flirty as we ask him questions. Well, Thorne is asking the questions, but Daniel looks at me when answering. He even gives me a few smile-filled winks, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. His blond hair falls in shaggy waves around his head.
He’s handsome, but I’m not attracted to him.
“Thank you for your interest,” Thorne says suddenly. “We’ll call if you’re selected.”
Daniel looks at me as if I’ll go against Thorne’s words. I shrug and wave to dismiss him.
“Thorne, he sounded great,” I say the moment the shifter is out the door.
“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
“And how did he look at me?”
“Like he wanted to fuck you.”
I roll my eyes. “He did not. He was a sweet guy. It was an innocent flirt.”
“Nothing is innocent when it comes to men,” he says, standing to toss Daniel’s file in the trash can sitting in the corner of the room.
I scoff and stand too. “You’re a man.”
“I’m a gargoyle.”
“And gargoyles don’t do bad things?”
“We do.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, but if you say no to potential guards just because they smile or flirt with me, then we’ll have no one to hire.”
He ignores my concern and cracks the door open to call for the next candidate.
A griffin named Erebos walks in on all fours, his tail whipping back and forth. Thorne moves the chairs out of the way for him to sit, perched at the table like a lion gazing out over his pride.
His eagle head rotates nearly 360 degrees as he scans the room. His talons tap on the linoleum floor and his beak snaps open and shut. All actions of a guard surveying his surroundings and assessing those in his presence.
Thorne sits taller, his face filled with pride.
I can tell he already likes this one, but I tune out the interview because Erebos is rather boring, nearly as serious and broody as Thorne.
He doesn’t flirt with me, in fact, he doesn’t even address me other than the original greeting.
He’s far more interested in engaging Thorne with warrior speak.
At least, that’s what I called it because after answering questions pertaining to the security role, Thorne and Erebos compared war stories for at least ten minutes.
We made it through two more candidates with no flirty issues when a werewolf walks in.
The man, whose name is Carigan, is about 200 years in age, but appears no older than forty.
He has short black hair and brown eyes and medium brown skin.
He’s tall, about six three, if I were to guess, and massive.
Not muscular like Thorne. The were is wide and soft, reminding me of a wrestler.
He’s intimidating but sweet and smiles nonstop. It’s infectious, and I find myself smiling back.
Which only pisses Thorne off, garnering a growl.
Fuck, I love when Thorne growls. It’s so animalistic and possessive. My nipples are already hardening, thinking about all the other wonderful sounds he makes, especially the ones when I had his cock in my mouth.
Thorne stills, Carigan’s nostrils flair, and I swear I hear a muffled howl.
Werewolves can’t change at will like shifters, but their inner monster is still sentient between full moons. It still craves.
Thorne has Carigan by the throat and against the wall within seconds. He bares his fangs, his claws digging into the were’s skin.
“Thorne, release him immediately,” I command, my own fangs out.
“I’m sorry, man,” Carigan wheezes, Thorne’s grip on his neck nearly crushing his vocal box. “I didn’t mean to… um… to smell her.”
“Let him go, Thorne. That’s an order!”
Thorne hesitates, only for a second, before he releases the poor supe.
“I apologize, Carigan. We’ll… call you.”
If he’ll even want to be part of the team after Thorne tried to kill him, which I have no doubt would have happened if I hadn’t stopped him.
When Carigan leaves, I walk to where Thorne stands. Anger radiates from his body, his clawed hand opening and closing into fists.
“You can’t do that, Thorne!” I say, shoving at his chest. He stumbles back at the force. “You could have killed him and—”
Thorne cuts off my words by grabbing my hips and lifting me onto the conference room table. He clutches my head in his hands and descends on me with a rough but passionate kiss. His plump lips work my mouth eagerly until it opens, allowing his tongue to slip through.
I whimper as Thorne grinds his bulge into my cloth-covered pussy. I bury my hands into his hair, which he has up in a knot at the top of his head. I tug at the strands, and he growls against my lips.
“Please,” I moan as he moves his lips to my chin and down my neck.
He lays me back on the table to continue moving his greedy mouth down my chest and stomach. I part my legs, ready for him to tear these pants off my body. To bury his head in my sex. To taste me and fuck me with his tongue.
But a knock at the door snaps Thorne out of this shot of lust.
“Fuck,” he groans against my fupa.
I’m about to tell him to ignore whoever is outside the door but the knob turns, and we scramble to right ourselves before it opens fully.
The next candidate—who definitely notices our disheveled appearances and our swollen lips—walks in.
“Is this a perk of the job?” the fae warrior smirks.
“Absolutely fucking not,” Thorne says with a huff before marching out of the room.
I smile at the woman with pale skin, silver eyes, and stark white hair. She’s wearing a black tank top and faux leather pants—clothes that barely contain her short yet muscular body.
“He’ll be back. He just needs a moment.”
“I’m sure he does.”