Chapter 18
Gavrel
The stone responded to my hands like butter, shaping itself under my fingers in ways that would’ve taken human masons weeks to accomplish. I knelt in the back garden, creating a decorative border for the herb section that would complement Sammy’s work.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, focused on getting the curve of the stone exactly right.
It buzzed again. Then again.
With a sigh, I pulled it out, careful not to get grit on the screen. Mason’s name flashed across it, and I answered.
“Yes?”
“The seller accepted your offer,” Mason said. “Full asking price, cash, as-is. She wants to close in a month.” He named a date.
My wings spread wide, satisfaction flooding through me. “That soon?”
“She’s motivated. Her parents need the funds for care. I told her about your situation, and she’s willing to give you early access if you’ll sign a liability waiver.”
I could start preparing the house for my family right away.
“Send me the paperwork,” I said. “I’ll sign whatever she needs.”
“I’ll email it within the hour. Congratulations, Gavrel. It’s a solid property.”
After hanging up, I sat back on my heels, staring at the stone without really seeing it.
I owned a house. Not just any house, but the one that had lit up Sammy’s face while exploring. The one with the kitchen that made her cry and the garden she’d already redesigned in her mind.
My tail did a swish, scattering pebbles across the grass.
This was real. I’d put down actual roots in a country that wasn’t my birthplace, in a town I’d barely known about a short time ago.
For my mate.
The stone crumbled in my grip, reduced to powder from pressure I hadn’t realized I was applying. I forced my hand open, watching the bits drift away on the breeze.
The mating bond sat in my chest like a weight. Every instinct I possessed screamed to tell her, to explain that this house wasn’t just about having my own space. It was about building a nest for my mate, creating a home for the family that already existed in my heart.
But the timing never felt right. After Virginia’s meeting, she’d been emotionally wrung out. Last night when we’d lain together, she’d been vulnerable, seeking comfort. This morning she’d been focused on Corey’s upcoming visit with his grandmother.
When was I supposed to drop the information that biology had decided we were meant to be together? That gargoyles mated for life, and I’d soon recognized her as mine?
She’d think I was out of my mind. Or worse, she’d think I was like Dennis, making promises based on temporary attraction rather than genuine commitment.
Except the bond was permanent, eternal, and completely outside of my control.
I picked up another piece of stone, running my thumb along its surface. The texture connected me to my nature in a way that helped when emotions got overwhelming.
The back door opened. Sammy appeared, holding two glasses.
“Are you thirsty?” she said, walking over to join me. “I made lemonade. Even squeezed the lemons.”
I accepted the glass, our fingers brushing. The contact sent warmth through my chest.
She settled onto the grass beside me, studying my work. “This is beautiful. The curve follows the natural flow of the garden.”
“That’s the idea.”
“How do you know where to put everything? It seems instinctive.”
“Stone speaks to gargoyles. We understand how it wants to be shaped.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Not literally. But there’s a connection. A sense of rightness when things align properly.”
Like recognizing your mate, my instincts whispered. Like knowing with absolute certainty that this person is yours.
I took a long drink of lemonade to avoid saying something I’d regret.
“Are you alright?” she asked. “You seem tense.”
“Fine. Just focused on getting this right.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. We sat together, the afternoon sun warm on my wings.
My phone buzzed again. Mason’s email with the liability waiver for me to sign and access instructions came through in a text.
“Good news?” Sammy asked.
“My offer on the house was accepted.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s wonderful.”
The distance in her voice made my chest ache. She was already preparing for separation, for me moving out and away.
I wanted to tell her that I’d be here for breakfast every morning if she wanted. That the extra bedrooms were for Corey and any future children we might have.
But the words got stuck in my throat.
We had chicken and rice for dinner, and Corey dominated the conversation with stories about his day. Sammy laughed at his description of gym class, her shoulders relaxing.
I soaked it in, memorizing the sound of her laugh and the way Corey’s eyes brightened when he got excited.
“I need to head into town after dinner,” I said during a lull in the conversation. “I have a few things to take care of.”
“I see,” Sammy said, but did she?
After helping clean up, I headed out. The flight to the house took less time than driving would have, my wings carrying me over the darkening landscape.
The property sat empty, the overgrown yard even wilder in the evening light. I landed at the base of the front porch steps and collected the key from a fake rock in the overgrown garden. Mason had included its location in his email instructions.
Inside, the house felt different without Sammy here. Bigger. Emptier.
I moved through the rooms, taking notes on my phone. The kitchen needed new appliances, updated countertops, and better lighting. The bathrooms required complete renovation. The master bedroom’s French doors stuck, and many windows needed replacing.
But the bones were solid. It had a good stone foundation that sang to my soul. Strong walls. Plenty of space.
In what would be Corey’s room, I came to a stop. The blue paint had faded and was peeling in places. The carpet was worn and stained. I’d rip all that up. Paint.
I pictured him here, his Legos spread across a wooden floor. His books on proper shelves. A desk for homework, positioned to catch light from the window.
My tail swayed behind me, my satisfaction building.
I started a new list. Paint colors Corey might like. Furniture that would grow with him. Storage cabinets for his projects and collections.
The protective instinct that had been humming since I met him roared to life. This would be his room. His space. Safe and comfortable and exactly what he needed.
In the master bedroom, I stood at the French doors, looking out at the overgrown garden. Sammy had stood here too, imagining sunrise coffee and quiet mornings.
I’d give that to her. Fix these doors so they opened smoothly. Clear the view. Help her plant the flowers she’d mentioned.
The weight in my chest grew heavier. I was preparing a home for my mate without telling her that’s what I was doing. Building a nest while pretending it was a house for myself.
The deception made my wings itch.
Hours passed. I threw myself into physical work, moving furniture the previous owners had left, ripping up carpet, pulling down curtains that had gone musty.
I’d have a dumpster delivered tomorrow, but since the weather was supposed to remain clear for the next few days, I put everything out on the front lawn.
My gargoyle strength made quick work of tasks that would’ve taken humans days. I hauled a broken dresser to the lawn one-handed, my tail helping balance the weight.
Sweat dampened my shirt despite the cool evening air. Grime coated my hands and arms. My wings ached from being folded too long in tight spaces.
But the physical exertion gave my restless energy an outlet that wasn’t pacing or overthinking.
In what could be an office or craft room, I stopped. I could create the reading nook she’d mentioned wanting, a space just for her, with good light and comfort.
I measured the windows and calculated how much natural light the room got at different times of day. Made notes about built-in bookshelves and a wide, cushioned window seat.
My phone showed it was past midnight. I should head back, get some sleep.
But I moved to the kitchen instead, making more notes.
The cabinets could be refinished rather than replaced, though I’d need to strip off the old paint first. The floor needed work, but the subflooring appeared solid.
The pantry had good bones. It just needed better shelving and a fresh coat of paint.
I could pick up materials tomorrow before coming here again.
It was so easy to see Sammy in the kitchen. The living room.
The bedroom.
Cooking breakfast while morning light poured through windows I’d replace. Laughing at something Corey said. Looking at me with that soft expression she got when she was happy.
That’s when I realized that home wasn’t the building. It was them.
I’d been so focused on preparing the physical space that I’d lost sight of what mattered. Sammy didn’t need a perfect house. She needed honesty. Trust. A partner who didn’t keep secrets even with good intentions.
But how did I explain the mating bond without sounding completely unhinged?
Hi, remember how we met just shy of two weeks ago? Well, gargoyle biology decided you’re my fated mate, and I’ve suspected this since the moment we met. Surprise.
She’d run. Or worse, she’d think I was using it as an excuse, a way to lock her down into something she may not want at this point in her life.
I pressed my palms against the kitchen counter, feeling the cool laminate beneath my hands.
Gargoyles mated for life. Once we recognized our mate, that was it. Permanent. Eternal. No take-backs. But humans didn’t work that way. They needed time, proof, and a gradual building of trust.
I could give her that. Would give her that, for as long as she needed.
The house could be my proof. Not words or promises, but tangible evidence that I was building a future with her in it.
I’d tell her about the bond eventually. When she was ready to hear it. When she trusted that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Until then, I’d show her through actions.
Turning, I studied the room. Tomorrow I’d bring cleaning supplies and start making the space actually livable. By the time the house was mine, it might be ready for me to move in.
Building something permanent felt right. I was creating a space for my family even if they didn’t know that’s what it was yet.
I’d tell her soon.
I walked through the house one more time, trailing my hand along walls that would soon be painted.
The gargoyle part of me purred. I’d claimed this space, marked it as belonging to my family.
I locked up and launched into the night sky, my wings catching the cool air. The manor appeared in the distance.
Home for now.
The house would be too, eventually.
When I’d made it perfect. When Sammy was ready.
I’d wait. I could be patient when it mattered.
And this mattered more than anything.