14. Treasure
TREASURE
Soren stays through the last of my shift, crouched in his corner while the diner winds down around him. Lamar breaks down the cook station without a word, Devon works through the final rack of dishes, and I run my mop back over the floor, spot-cleaning the sticky patches by the counter.
That extra pass is what does it. Soren stands up with a grunt that rattles the sugar caddies. “Do you always work this hard?”
I smirk and keep mopping. “Since I was sixteen.”
He watches the mop go back and forth, and his hand comes up for the handle. Then he stops and studies his own claws, and I can see him doing the math. That mop handle would not survive the handoff.
“Down, killer.” I smile at the frustration sitting all over him while his claws drop back to his sides. “As a matter of fact, go wait for me outside so you don’t track up my floor.”
For a moment he just stands there. Then he walks past me on those impossibly quiet feet and squeezes himself out the front door, wings pulling in tight, filling the whole frame on his way through.
I lean on my mop and watch the door swing shut behind all of that.
The corner he spent the day in has no business fitting someone his size, and I still can’t tell you how he got through a locked diner door in the first place.
My gargoyle questions keep stacking up on the list, and tonight I finally get to start asking them.
I finish my floor and wheel the bucket to the back. Lamar keeps his back to me and scrubs at a grill that stopped needing it a while ago, so I let him sulk, dump my mop water, and rinse out the bucket. My apron comes off and rides my shoulder on the way to the punch clock.
Devon’s wiping down his station when I come back through, looking as worn down as my feet feel. “You’re doing great, Devon,” I tell him on my way past.
He smiles at me, tired as it is, and I mean what I said. The boy went from breaking a plate a night to keeping that machine fed all shift, and he’d never even seen a commercial dishwasher when he started.
I throw Lamar a wave on my way out anyway, because I was raised right. He doesn’t wave back, a whole grown man giving me the silent treatment over one little no. Shadow Suds can have him.
The night has cooled off, and the sidewalk is empty where I told a certain gargoyle to wait. I step off the curb pouting, already dreaming about my shower. Then I glance back at the diner. Soren is up on the roofline, and this time he’s not alone.
The gargoyle beside him is broader through the shoulders and chest, built even heavier than my Soren. I wave up at them, and two sets of wings spread against the night sky. They drop from the roof together, Soren landing light in front of me while the big one comes down careful behind me.
I turn around to face him. “You must be the brother.”
He folds one wing forward across his chest and bows his head over it. “Greetings, madam.”
“This is my brother, Sable,” Soren says. “I mentioned him last night.”
“I remember.” I give Sable a once-over, and he holds still for it, patient about being inspected. He’s all manners and posture, which is a funny thing to notice on someone wearing a loincloth.
Shy never lasts long around me. I pull the measuring tape out of my apron pocket, because a woman stays ready. “This is actually great. I’ve got both of you here.”
I crouch down and hook the tape at Sable’s clawed foot, stretching it up the long way to his waist. “Damn, y’all are big.”
Sable stiffens under the tape. “Brother,” he says over my head, “is your mate always this intrusive?”
I stand up with my number. “Excuse me? I’m not the one walking around with my whole ass on display.”
“She does not fear us in the least,” Sable tells his brother.
“No.” Soren stands a little taller saying it. “She beat me with a stick.”
Sable turns and takes a long look at me. “A stick.”
“He broke into my apartment,” I say, pointing the measuring tape at Soren. “That’s on him.”
“I would never allow it,” Soren says.
I turn to him. “Allow what now?”
“Your body on display.” His wings ruffle up behind him. “I will keep you covered.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes and wave him closer. “Come here. Lift me up so I can get your brother’s top measurements.”
He has me off the ground so fast I squeal. One big arm scoops under me, and Soren grins the whole time he’s holding me out toward his brother. Sable frowns at us both, but he holds his position for the tape.
“What is this for?” Sable asks.
“You two cannot keep walking around like this.” I stretch the tape across the span of his shoulders and keep the number in my head. Then I kick my feet, and Soren sets me down easy.
I wrap the tape around Sable’s waist next. “You both need clothes, and Soren’s just lucky enough to have a mate who knows how to sew.” I pull the tape free and fish my pen and notepad out of the apron hanging off my shoulder. “But I can’t make a thing without your measurements.”
Sable nods once, and I jot his numbers down while the brothers fall into their own conversation.
“We should go tonight,” Sable says. “See what condition the cabin is in and begin the repairs.”
I straighten up. “Hold on. You have land?”
“Yes,” Sable says. “In the mountains, beside the wolf territory.”
“And how are y’all planning to pay for all these repairs?” I ask, moving the tape down to start on Soren’s legs.
“We have treasures,” Sable says.
“Lots of treasures,” Soren finishes.
I smirk at the tape and let that one go.
Sable lifts me from the ground so I can reach the rest of Soren’s measurements, careful about it, like I might dent. “So you’re gonna leave me again,” I say around the tape, and I can’t keep the huff out of it.
Soren just watches me work. He’s in love with me, right out in the open on his face, and it makes me so nervous I nearly drop my pen.
Sable sets me down easy once I’ve got the last number, and I jot everything into the notepad. “You two are about the same size.” I glance at Sable. “You’re bigger.”
“So when am I gonna see you again?” I ask.
Soren answers by scooping me up off my feet again and pressing his forehead to mine.
There are no plump lips on that face for kissing, so I’m learning this is how my gargoyle does his embracing, and honestly, it works for me.
Way up off the ground with my eyes closed, held by something that could crush a car, and nothing in my whole traveling life has ever held me this safe.
“I will come to you before sunrise,” he says, low. “Allow me to prepare a proper home for you.”
The diner door swings, and he sets me down quick. Lamar makes it to his truck in record time. Devon stops dead on the sidewalk, taking in the two gargoyles in the parking lot with his whole face wide open. “Wow,” he says.
Soren keeps his eyes pinned on that truck while the engine turns over and Lamar speeds out of the lot. I peek up at my gargoyle. Ohhh, he really, really does not like Lamar.
I tap his massive arm, and he looks back down at me. “Well. Go on, if you have to.”
He brings one claw up and draws it soft down my cheek. “Please go home and rest.”
I sigh, nod, and make myself walk to my car. I climb in, start the engine, and give the two of them one more glance before I pull out of the lot.
Rest is a cute idea. What I’m really going to do is put my dinner in the oven and soak my feet while it bakes, and I am not going to sleep until he comes back, hell no.
It sounds crazy even inside my own head, but it hurts to be away from him.
Is this what being fated is supposed to feel like? Because if so, I freaking hate it.
An hour or two at the Singer, now that I’ve got his numbers, and my gargoyle will have some pants by sunrise. The whole town can stop getting a free show, because that’s my ass, and it’s for my view only.
Then my own thoughts catch up to me at the red light, and I grip the steering wheel. What the hell is wrong with me?