Chapter 8
Winona
“It’s time to meet my son.” Lord Avandair announces in a booming voice the next morning.
Leading me down a hallway, his arm locked with mine, he describes his noble ancestors whose paintings decorate the white walls.
The way he treats me isn’t like a maid. I know we shared a magical, intimate moment as he introduced me to my body’s new marvelous ability, but I know that noblemen like him prefer to marry and stay with their kind. His dead wife was a gargoyle, too.
The nursery is grand, filled with precious toys made from gold and precious stones. It’s shiny, with jewels encrusted on the walls and ceiling, glittering in the moonlight.
At the center, there’s a crib made of silver. A baby slumbers on layers of thick white fur.
“His name is Grandor,” Lord Avandair says. “He’s seven months old. He cannot speak yet, but he’s intelligent. He’ll understand your intentions and needs without you having to voice them.”
He’s studying me with a strange emotion etched upon his stone face. It’s not disgust. It’s not joy. It’s like he’s nervous that I’ll judge his child, that I’ll somehow reject his gargoyle son for not being human.
It’s ridiculous.
Because my stomach is already fluttering with tenderness at the beautiful bundle of joy that’s lying in the crib. Grandor has a smile that could bring any lady to her knees. Full of small, glittering diamond teeth.
His cheeks are full and fat, his mouth open in bewilderment as he drinks me in with his marble-like black eyes. He makes a gurgling sound as I lean in over the edge of the crib, my locks caressing his naked body. He’s small, as tiny as a human toddler.
He’s sucking his fingers, tracking my moves with his eyes.
I had no idea what a gargoyle baby would look like, but he's a cute little creature. Even the papery, bat-shaped wings sprouting from his back add to his unique adorable beauty. It almost reminds me of a small puppy, except he has no fur, only smooth hard skin.
I squeal in delight.
“Papa!” he cries out.
Lord Avandair makes hissing, animalistic sounds.
The baby breaks into a rumble of laughter.
Seeing him laugh sends a flurry of warm emotions through my blood.
He must have been so alone in this big castle with no one.
The fact that he can still laugh and smile and be so cheerful speaks to his strong spirit, even as a child.
“I’m here, darling,” Lord Avandair replies, caressing his head. “And this is Winona. She will feed you and look after you starting tomorrow. Please be gentle with her.”
The baby makes growling sounds in response like he understood Lord Avandair’s words.
“May I touch him?” I ask Lord Avandair.
He answers me with a resolute nod. “But don’t touch his horns. Those are sensitive.”
I feel reassured having him next to me. I know I’ll have to look after the baby on my own starting tomorrow, but tonight, he’s here to show me how to handle this precious, adorable creature.
I reach my arms into the crib to trace the rounded curves of Grandor’s face. He smiles. His eyes twinkle with interest.
He reaches out with his small fingers and grabs mine, refusing to let go
“He thinks you belong to him,” Lord Avandair says. “It’s his way of telling you that he considers you his.”
“I’m glad he has taken to me. I was afraid he would cry.”
“He’s a child. He likes everyone as long as they have good intentions.”
“He can sense intentions?”
“Children have great intuition, Winona. Especially gargoyle children.”
Relief slackens my chest. “Thank goodness he likes me. I don’t know what I’d have done if he was scared of me. I’m new and I’m…human. “
“So?”
“I know gargoyles don’t think highly of humans.”
“That is not true,” he says. “They only dislike certain humans. Like your father. The ones who seem intent on treating us like monsters. Some people are determined to make others fearful of what they don’t like.”
There are decades of pain lodged in that statement. I used to think that Lord Avandair didn’t care what people thought of him. But perhaps, he grew frustrated fighting a losing battle to prove that he wasn’t the villain the townspeople were making him out to be.
When I was young, I never questioned the rumors and the truth about the evilness of gargoyles.
Even though I had personally never been hurt by a gargoyle.
Not had anybody else. The girls who went up to serve Lord Avandair never came back hurt or cheated out of their wages, but they continued to feed accusations that were born of nothing but malice.
They were terrified of gargoyles because they were told that’s what they had to be.
Thinking differently, and implying differently, would turn them into outcasts.
We had to judge monsters or we would be judged for being in cahoots with gargoyles.
“Back at the village, I used to believe it, too,” I admit. “I was terrified of coming here. I thought you’d…hurt me.”
Lord Avandair’s smile vanishes. “I have, Little Butterfly. I’ve hurt your body by forcing you to take me the other day.”
“No, I wanted that,” I confirm. “And it felt far too comforting to be called hurt.”
The passion behind my declaration eases the lines off Lord Avandair’s forehead. His jaw relaxes, smoothing away the worry marks around his lips.
“Do you want to try feeding him from your teats?” he inquires, lips quirking in interest. “You must be full.”
He cups my heavy teat with his hand. I know it’s heavy. It’s not as painful as it was yesterday but I definitely have more milk today because my tits are more massive. I suppose being milked by Lord Avandair’s hungry mouth signaled my organ to release more cream to satisfy his appetite.
“You’re right,” I say, picking up the baby gently from its crib. Grandor smiles happily when I cradle him in my arms. I lower the bodice of my gown, exposing my heavy, ivory breasts and swollen tips to the baby’s eyes.
He sniffs. He must smell my milk because he raises his head, trying to reach my udder.
I gently set his mouth against my hard bud.
Up close, I see there’s a white pallor coating his gray face.
There is a sheen of sweat on his stone eyebrows, which are a darker color than the rest of his face.
He must not be taking well to the potions that Lord Avandair has been feeding him.
“Don’t you worry, I’m here for you now,” I tell him.
After scrutinizing me through moist eyes for a few moments, Grandor comprehends my intentions and latches onto my leaking breast quickly.
Then starts tugging for milk to let down with his mouth.
My cream sprays for him, every maternal instinct flaring to life as he demands more of my nourishing cream with eager sucks.
The way he smiles and flutters his wings with joy when my sweet milk gushes down his throat is a delight. I’ve never felt so appreciated and loved before. I instantly bonded with Grandor albeit in a different way than I did with Lord Avandair.
“You’re adorable.” I stroke his head which still has no hair, taking care to be gentle where his horns are growing. The baby waves his hands, trying to reach me. When I hug him, his chubby arms wrap around my neck, his tiny stone fingers sinking into me possessively.
“Ma…ma.” I exhale a startled breath when I realize what he just said.
“I’m only your nurse little one,” I inform him in a soft voice. But my heart’s still racing at what he just said.
“Mama!” he asserts, more vehemently this time. Then he keeps saying that word until he runs out of breath. “Mama, mama.”
“That’s enough!” Lord Avandair’s cold, commanding voice slices through the thick foggy air.
He strides closer, smelling of stone and musk. His hair is tousled. The sleepy, disheveled look only makes my body hunger for him more. He looks more approachable this way…more attainable.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t teach him to call me that. He started saying it on his own,” I hurriedly apologize.
“Easy, Little Butterfly. My son recognizes you as my mate. As the woman who will feed and nourish him as his mother for the rest of his life. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“He recognizes me?” I swallow, not believing what I’ve just heard.
“His instincts recognize you. He knows you’re his caregiver. He senses your maternal love.”
“Is that also a fated bond?”
“Aren’t the bonds between parents and children always fated?”
“But I’m not even his real mother.”
“You will be the mother he grows up with and comes to love and cherish as his own. Just like you will love him.”
I blink back the tears collecting in my eyes. Looking down and Grandor, I’m struck by Lord Avandair’s words. Can the happiness and exuberance I feel when I’m with him be more than simple adoration?
I know that if someone ever tried to hurt this child, I would protect him with my life.
He’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever witnessed. Full of life and charm. His weight in my arms fills me with satisfaction and purpose. I want to keep holding him forever, feeling his rough stone skin warming my own.
I shift him to my other breast when he has drained one. He’s a hungry child. He drinks until I’m fully empty.
I rock him in my arms. It doesn’t take long for the baby to fall asleep. Carefully, I deposit him
back in his crib.
“It’s time for you to rest, Little Butterfly.” Lord Avandair wraps his hand around the small of my back. It’s like I’m pressed against a wall. His strength is inhuman. But also comforting. Knowing he could protect me from everything in the big, bad world. “You’ll have to feed him again soon.”
“Yes, my lord.”
I don’t want to disappoint him. Lord Avandair’s both kind and charming, wealthy and generous. Besides, ever since I experienced that beautiful release at his hands, I’ve been captivated by him.
Not only that, I want Grandor to be happy. The electric tug that tore through me when he held my hand with his small fingers is inexplicable.
I don’t even want to leave him alone here. I want to be next to him.
“Can I stay here and watch over him?” I ask Lord Avandair.
He shakes his head. “Gargoyle children are territorial and their protective instincts haven’t been tempered yet. He will be anxious and angered if you stay in his territory. He’s still developing his sense of independence.”
“But he’s so tiny. What if something happens to him?”
“Nothing will happen to him while I’m here. That’s the way it is,” he replies, rubbing a finger along his jawline. “When I was a baby, I poked out my nanny’s eyes with my tail because she wouldn’t leave my room. I never meant to hurt her. I was only trying to protect what I thought was mine.”
“That protective instinct is both scary and beautiful,” I voice. “I wouldn’t want to be the maid who got her eyes poked out.”
The stony rasp of Lord Avandair’s laughter vibrates in the cold, pristine air of Slate Manor. “Then I suggest you follow my advice and leave Grandor alone.”
He strides ahead of me. I linger, watching the defenseless baby smell its surroundings.
“What about at night? What if he needs to feed during the night?” I inquire.
“He won’t. We gargoyles value our sleep–even as infants.”
There’s not a lot I knew about the gargoyle race before being brought to Slate Mansion.
But each new fact I learn is giving me a greater appreciation for these multifaceted monsters.
Everything humans think about them is a lie.
They’re not cunning, vindictive, and cruel. They’re noble, kind, and protective.
Dragging my feet along, I bob my head left and right, bewildered by the warren of hallways unfolding ahead. “Where are we going?”
“You need sleep,” he replies. “I kept you up all night with my cock inside you.”
I blush at the mention of last night’s events. They’re etched in my mind, a beautiful memory that I replay whenever I feel bored. I know I want to make more memories like that. With Lord Avandair. My sex has been squeezing hard, needing the emptiness filled ever since I fed Grandor.
Looking at him made me realize how much I long to have my tummy swollen with a baby. To nurse another little mouth on my breasts and be a nurturer. Grandor will be less lonely when he has a sibling to play with.
“Can we…do what we did last night again? I apologize if I sound too forward but I’m...wet. I need release.”
I never thought features carved from rock could soften as much as Lord Avandair’s do. “Then that’s what you’ll have.”