Chapter Eight
Theodore
“Arch,” I mutter quietly, given we’re in a room with other chimes, “We cut her before we even got here.”
His eyes are locked on the woman but he stands at attention, wings slightly open and back, hands clasped under them.
“Smell her. She’s ours.” He’s utterly convinced.
I step closer to him and inhale as my eyes take in the human. She has brown hair with a copper sheen to it, big golden eyes, curved hips. She’s tucked into the corner, looking down.
My eyes flutter closed as I see Ben step to her touch screen. She smells perfect. Ours. Like the forest after a thunderstorm, with a hint of electricity mixed with the fresh rain and fallen leaf scent.
Arch is right. She’s ours. I know it.
Ben’s voice cuts into my reverie. “Fern Williams. Thirty-six years old. County of residence: Bolten, New United States. Settlement: Sylrya. Occupation: small business owner.”
The woman has finally looked up. Arch snarls and I realize at once why.
Our human is injured. Anger quickly rises inside me, intense and overwhelming. I clench my fists, trying to calm myself. Three angry gargoyles is a sight to scare just about anyone shitless and I don’t want her to fear us.
But an odd look crosses her face and she stands smoothly, her heavy brown skirts flowing around her. She pulls her fine knit shawl tighter around herself and strides to the front of her cell.
She’s on the taller end of average height for a human woman, I’m pleased to see.
I’m not pleased to see the finger marks on her neck, nor the swollen, split lip and what looks like will become a wicked shiner.
“Oh sweetling, who did that to you?” I mutter, still trying to master my anger. To my shock, she answers.
I can’t hear her of course, but her mouth moves and her eyes blaze angrily. She finishes up her tirade with a rude gesture that can’t be mistaken.
Archibald laughs. Actually laughs, at the spark within our female.
“They can hear what we say,” Erik adds, rather unhelpfully.
Ben pulls us away from her cage. “She’s a poor choice. Her parents were known rebels.”
“Were?” Arch questions, eyes still on her.
“Not converted. Dead,” Ben says quietly. “I think she’ll be too headstrong for us to chance it. And that is on the slim assumption that she’s not a rebel herself.”
“Don’t care,” Arch mutters, stepping forward and activating the green light on her touch screen. She flips him off and turns to sit facing the wall. “She’s ours. I’ll settle for no one else.”