Chapter 30
Tristan
It hadn’t been a persona at all.
Tristan stopped at a darkened corner in the city and put his hand against the rough wall. He naturally blended into stone, like any gargoyle, but now his nightmare magic, as everyone thought of it, wrapped shadows around him. Even gargoyles would be hard pressed to notice him.
He smiled and thought about laughing.
Sebastian had told Jessie to put on a persona, like Elliot Graves. But that wasn’t Jessie’s style. She didn’t have personas. What he’d given her was a shock of confidence. Was a reminder of her purpose.
More, though, he’d helped her connect the dots that Tristan himself should’ve put together. Ultimately, she’d gotten Evan this post. She deserved more status than him, because all he’d really done was show up.
She hadn’t said that. She didn’t even care about the semantics.
She had wanted him to understand why she’d stepped in at all.
To realize that she had handled, in good faith, what other gargoyles should’ve done long before then.
She’d paved the way, not because of the desire for the cairn or money or prestige, but to do what was right.
She hadn’t gotten any recognition from the gargoyle community because she didn’t boast about what she’d done, nor would she.
It was clear she didn’t care about the status issue or about having status at all.
She’d do it again, and she’d do it the same way.
It wasn’t about her; it was about the people who needed her.
This time, it had been that woman. Next time, maybe someone else. Maybe Evan.
Tristan had watched Evan’s face—his entire body—gradually shift as that concept sank in. As he realized she was above him on the moral high ground, and she wouldn’t, not ever, let her cairn suffer. She would give everything she had, without complaint, to ensure the happiness of her people.
Sebastian, of all people, pointed out that she’d gone out of her way for a total stranger.
It had helped Evan, sure, but the main goal had been to help a faceless woman who never could’ve given Jessie a leg up.
He’d solidified that Jessie had done it out of duty to her people.
Her people—the gargoyles. And he’d said it in such an arrogant, flippant, dismissive way that it didn’t seem like he was advocating for her; rather, that he pitied her soft nature and gargoyles in general.
It had worked like an absolute charm. Patty was a genius for including that weird mage, and that mage was a genius in a social setting. In his persona, at any rate—he really shouldn’t be taken into public any other time.
Still suppressing his laughter, Tristan walked on. He’d been let free for the night. He had to pick up his mate, as promised.
Shivers worked through his body as he wound his way along the dark streets. Mate. Forever—a concept that had always terrified him.
Not anymore.
His homes had always been temporary. Always. It was safer that way. For him. His brand of nightmare didn’t usually have a happy ending. He’d evaded death ten times over and expected it to catch up with him eventually.
Except…that’s not how Jessie’s team worked.
It wasn’t one person against many. It was one army against the world, and that army protected their own.
Even Brochan/Sue had stopped caring where Tristan had come from.
It was enough that Tristan wanted to do right by them, and that he was learning to trust them to have his back. Learning to trust at all, maybe.
The past didn’t matter, not for any of them. Not even for the new shifter who clung to Aurora like driftwood out at sea and looked at all of them like strangely colorful and possibly poisonous bugs. What mattered was trusting each other. Was supporting each other. Was believing in each other.
He might never have a mate. Natasha could get tired of their game at any moment. She could have anyone in the world she wanted, and she might rightly decide he wasn’t good enough. But he did have a forever, and it was with Jessie and Austin’s team.
Laughter announced the bar before he’d turned the corner.
Light spilled onto the street. Clouds covered the night sky, and a chill arrested the air.
A couple cars parked along the main drag, but as with most cairns Tristan had been in, most of these gargoyles would fly home or walk.
The ladies would get flown or they’d take the free taxi provided by the city. The taxi never had much to do.
He hadn’t changed his clothes, wanting to get to Natasha as quickly as possible. He straightened his tie and his shoulders as he neared the glow of the open door. All the other businesses in the area were closed, shop faces as dark as the doorways.
The two people outside noticed him and paused in their conversation, sucking on the end of a cigarette to pass the moment.
He met their eyes and catalogued the hostility there.
Niamh had done a good day’s work. Today Jessie had unequivocally won over a cairn leader, and tomorrow she’d win over the whole cairn.
He peeled back his magic and ensured he postured like an alpha shifter, straight and broad and menacing. Shifters were great for their body mechanics. No words needed.
The gargoyles tensed and lowered their gazes. They didn’t want his brand of trouble.
Pity.
Music blared from inside the establishment. Light covered all the surfaces. Three bartenders hustled behind the bar, slinging drinks and chatting up patrons. Bodies writhed on the dance floor, moved and jostled around tables, and pushed against the bar.
A small bubble opened around Tristan as he entered the space. Men frowned and tried to stand their ground but ultimately shrunk to the sides. Women preened and smiled or simply got out of the way. He shoved through, wondering if any of them would be brave enough to challenge him.
Ah, but these weren’t shifters, and challenging wasn’t the gargoyle way. Shoving through was a tough guy act and a way for women and men to rub up against each other.
He ignored them all, including the sickly feeling of strangers trailing their fingers against his wings. That was an intimate feeling, not meant for a situation like this. He only wanted one woman with that sort of access.
His crew sat in the corner, Niamh and Phil at the bar, and the rest of them at the tables behind them.
John stood at the mouth of the little alcove where everyone hung out, a hostile expression on his face and his hand out in front of him.
As Tristan neared, he saw Natasha sway and hit John’s outstretched arm.
His arm flexed, keeping her there until she swayed away.
He didn’t lower his hand. Apparently, he was her bumper.
Tristan nodded at him. “How goes it?”
John lowered his hand and stepped back, nonverbally letting Tristan take over the post.
Tristan furrowed his brow.
“You’re doing the fake mating thing to ward away women, right?” John asked, as stoic as Austin would be in this setting. He did allow a little of his confusion to show in his expression, though. Or was it questioning? Either way, it wasn’t Sue’s or Aurora’s level of blank.
Tristan apparently answered without realizing it.
John nodded. “She’s had a lot of women interested in her. We’ve—well, Phil—has stopped the fights, and repeatedly disarmed Nessa, but the garhettes?” He read the affirmative again and nodded. “They’ve been a nuisance. You’ve made Nessa a target.”
Tristan stepped closer as Natasha swayed again. He reached out to catch her, but Jasper grabbed her from the other side. The two of them nearly fell into the wall behind him.
“Garhettes almost never have weapons,” Tristan said, grinning as Natasha threw her head back and laughed at something Jasper said. She was so carefree in her amusement. He loved it. “They don’t train to fight. Or didn’t, before Jessie. Natasha would kill them before they knew the danger.”
“Yes. And despite Phil taking away a dozen weapons so far tonight, Nat…” John paused. “Nessa, right?”
“For you, yes.”
John nodded as though that made perfect sense. And to a shifter, it did. Claims with them were sacrosanct.
“Nessa somehow keeps finding or stealing or…” He shrugged.
“She seems unarmed until she suddenly has a weapon. Niamh is plying her with drinks.” His disapproval was plain.
“Nessa isn’t safe for these garhettes. And while the garhettes are challenging and deserve the outcome, I’ve been repeatedly told that Nessa should not, in fact, kill them. For some reason.”
Tristan grinned at the shifter, and then outright laughed.
“You’re in for a real rough ride, alpha.” He slipped by the man and grabbed a seat from the bar, pulling it back to sit next to John. “I don’t know your story—“
John grabbed the last remaining empty bar chair. A gargoyle saw it moving and turned, ready to fight about it. John stared the gargoyle down.
Though half his age, bulkier, and taller, the gargoyle barely blinked before spinning and finding something else to occupy his focus. He did not want to mess with the crazy-eyed shifter.
That made two of them. Tristan loved to rile up shifters, and enjoyed getting challenged, though it so rarely happened, but John was one man he would mind his manners with. This shifter might just ring his bell. It was a humbling reality.