CHAPTER 5
Alain
“There you are.” Bunny doesn’t sound pleased to see me.
I look up from the book that I’m pretending to read in my library.
Mrs. Dumay, who’s escorting her, frowns deeper than normal.
My new fake-girlfriend must be annoying her.
It’s not hard to do. My housekeeper only tolerates me because I pay her—and because she’s Une Fille de La Mere (A Daughter of The Mother), the society that lives to serve those who live to serve Good.
That includes gargoyles, much to her general displeasure.
“Here I am, Bumps. I decided to while away the hour with a good book.”
“On what?” She squints at me as she approaches.
Of course, responding is difficult, what with her looking like a succubus in the raspberry velvet. She could be the she-demon Lilith herself, or even Ishtar. Instead, this particular wet dream is working for the good guys.
I need to remember that. No need to subdue her, more’s the pity. And she’s too young. It’s heart-breaking, really. Maybe I can date her when she turns fifty?
I hold up the book so the spine shows.
“How to Conquer a Slayer in Five Easy Steps!” She gasps. “Oh, you… you…”
“Asshole? Yes, you mentioned. I just thought, given that we’re living together and you have unlimited access to me, I should have some ammunition in my arsenal. Just in case you figure out how to destroy a gargoyle.”
She plucks the book from my fingers—because I let her—and throws it across the room, narrowly missing Mrs. Dumay, who’s scurrying away. “I’m not staying if you’re going to try to find ways to kill me.”
“Bumps.” I say her nickname slowly and let it roll off my tongue. “I don’t need to learn how to kill you. You’re human.” And therefore weak… but I don’t say that part out loud. “I was created to protect you, not destroy you.”
It’s amazing the way her skin flushes, the way she melts even as she electrifies with anger.
Right about now, I’m ready to fuck us both into coffins.
My fingers clench with the need to clasp around her hips and draw her into me.
I could suck upon one of those nipples just hidden by the low-cut neckline. Maybe both.
“You’re… an asshole.” But her voice cracks.
So cute, how she pretends to be invincible.
“An ancient asshole, made of stone. You’re young and so breakable that it makes me shudder to think what a monster could do to you.”
Like me, for instance, if she sat on my cock. I could definitely break her in a whole bunch of pleasurable ways.
No. Bad, Alain. Fake girlfriend. No stretching pussy.
Sometimes, I hate my better self.
“Then why are you researching ways to kill me?”
“I just picked up the book to mess with you,” I admit, centering my thoughts back on her and away from how much I want to do unspeakable things to her.
“Aren’t you a peach? But speaking of killing, how would a slayer go about killing a gargoyle? Just for information’s sake, of course.” She sends me an extra-sweet smile and bats her lashes like they’re trying to lift a plane off the runway.
With a sigh, I rise to my feet, towering over her. To her credit, she doesn’t back up, though a tremor sneaks over her limbs as if she has to consciously resist the movement. I extend my arm.
So absolutely adorable.
“Let me escort you to supper, Bumps. No killing at the table, agreed?”
She swallows hard before wrapping her hand around my arm. It’s progress of a different kind.
Once in the dining room, after I seat her caddy-corner to me at the immensely long table, she says, “When I went looking for my messenger bag, I ran into Mrs. Tightass at the bottom of the stairs. She wouldn’t let me near the doors.”
“A slayer like you couldn’t take her?” Mrs. Dumay is sixty, if she’s a day.
“I don’t go around slaying humans, you know. That’s against the rules. Am I your prisoner?”
“Good to know you care about rules, and no, you’re not a prisoner.
I insist upon knowing your whereabouts, but otherwise, you may come and go as you like, providing you remember the reason for this farce.
Plus,” I add, as I drop into my chair, “you should be aware that billionaire fake boyfriends are apt to be protective. Keep that in mind before you launch yourself towards more trouble.”
She shoots me a quick smile that has me wanting to fall to my knees, so I unfold my napkin to keep my hands busy and off her.
But when our knees brush, my cock pulses.
I am making such a mistake.
“If you’re interested in my Kind, there’s a book on gargoyles in the library,” I say after a few heartbeats, in a further fit of insanity.
Of course, she’s going to read it. Know thy enemy and all that.
My first course of action upon returning home was to leave it prominently displayed on the coffee table between the couches so that she’d find it.
Within, she’ll come across a paragraph that will tell her how to kill me.
I’m not sure why I’m giving her the knowledge. It just seems… fair… somehow.
After all, it would take little effort for me to crush her bones into dust. She should have some hope of doing me in.
“Oh.” She blinks those lashes again, rocking my world. “You’d trust me with that?”
“No better way to make someone trustworthy than to offer her a way to earn that trust.”
More lash blinking. “Right? Well, okay. I’ll, um, read the book. But back to why I wanted to go out. I left my purse in the car.”
Here’s the tricky part. “You didn’t. I have it.”
“What, you’re stealing from me? You’re suddenly in need of the pennies that line the bottom of the bag?”
“I needed to check for weapons that could be used against my staff. You’re enchanting, Bumps, but I’m not a fool.”
I expect rage. I expect her to lash out, get to her feet, and storm from the room.
Instead, she nods. “I can respect that, but if my lipstick and cell phone aren’t considered weapons of mass destruction, can I have them back, please?”
“Not the phone.”
She narrows her eyes again. “I need to call Morrie, my tutelary. He’ll be worried about me.”
“I’ve already called your inept mentor. I found his number saved in your phone—no lock, by the way—and took the liberty of explaining our predicament.
He argued, of course. Said it wasn’t natural for a slayer and a gargoyle to ‘shack up together,’ though he did seem quite keen to keep you out of prison.
He’d caught the news, you see. You’re prominently featured, and looking absolutely breathtaking, I might add.
I’ve asked Jean-Luc to save the emissions. ”
“What, so you can wank off to them?”
“More like so I can moon over a wonderful memory after you’ve gone.”
My words serve to discombobulate her. She blushes, sinks back, and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she says, “I’m guessing dinner with the President is off if I’ve gone viral.”
“I’m sure Secret Service will ensure that your meal arrives pre-cut.”
Before she can say more, supper is served, sharp knives and all.
We while away a couple hours over surf and turf. The minutes pass too quickly. With each course, she grows more voluble, and soon, we’re laughing together like old friends. Turns out, we have a lot in common.
“I can’t believe you know Teddy. You know that face he makes, right when he’s about to say something he’s going to regret?” She snickers, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“Yes, like this.” I purse my lips and stick out my chin, closing my eyes to half-mast while sucking in my cheeks.
“Yes! I swear, those two weeks he stayed with my parents felt like a lifetime.”
Odd, though, how the four weeks she’ll spend with me already feel too short.
“I told you I knew slayers.”
“But you didn’t say that you nearly died from his halitosis.”
“Didn’t I? Perhaps he thinks bad breath a sure way to slay a gargoyle.”
And even though our humor is a bit childish and mean, we just continue laughing and egging each other on. It’s honestly the best couple hours I’ve ever spent.
After supper, I carry her into her room and place her on her bed. She groans and clasps her hands over her swollen belly.
“I’m never eating again,” she whines.
“I told you that those Canelés de Bordeaux are more filling than they look.”
“But they were so good.”
“Maybe the first seven,” I allow. She scoffed down the treats like they were made of air. In her defense, they are easy to eat. Hard to bake, though, at least, that’s what Mrs. Carmichael, my cook, tells me. “Can I get you anything for your tummy?”
She opens her lovely blue eyes. “Next time, warn me harder.”
I hope there’s going to be a next time. She’s loosened up so much with me that the laughter has settled into my soul. Bunny is funny, irreverent, and exactly what I’ve most needed ever since losing my place in the world.
She pats the bed beside her. “Can you stay a bit? If you tell me about your life, it might help me ignore my aching belly.”
I’m about to decline, and for good reason: my cock has been hard as stone since I first set eyes on her. Now, with her short dress barely covering her lacey underpants, it’s all I can do to remain a gentleman.
“Please?”
And those eyes—that pout—I can’t imagine a being who could resist her.
With a sigh, I round the bed and lay myself flat, head on another pillow, before I roll to my side. Under my jacket, my wings are scrunched. Some of those in my employ know what I am, but many don’t. I take pains to hide myself even while at home.
“What haven’t I told you that you wish to know?” My fingers move to play with a strand of her golden hair that’s come loose from what she tells me is a “messy bun.”
She rolls to her side to face me. “About how you were created. What your purpose is. Why you weren’t in the fire that destroyed Notre Dame. Why you’re funny but reserved at the same time. Why you…” But suddenly, that red flush brightens her face again.
“Why I, what?” I press, sensing the last is the most important question.
She licks her beautiful lips, nearly killing me by hard-cock in the process. “I don’t…”
“Come on, Bumps. There’s nothing you can ask that will change how I feel about you.”