Chapter Three
When was the last time I got laid? That was the only reason Damon could think of as to why he was staring at his bedroom ceiling, thinking about a man he’d only just met.
Yes, Redford was definitely Damon’s type, and yes, there were a lot of things Damon would love to do with those muscles he’d only glimpsed impressions of through layers of clothing.
But lying here mooning over a man when I’m supposed to be sleeping… It’s all my hound’s fault.
His hound was pacing beneath his skin – not a gentle “it’s time we went for a shift and a run” type of prowl, but a constant freaking pacing that had kept Damon awake for most of the night.
Sleep. Damon tried ordering the hound, but his second half just snarled right back.
Restless… Needing… Wanting…
“Wanting what,” Damon muttered in the darkness, but his hound was too busy pacing to answer.
It was tempting to translocate – disappear down to the Underworld and run until his legs felt like jelly.
But he doubted his hound would want to go that far.
Not with Redford Stone sleeping in that tiny caravan not two minutes’ walk away.
Knowing his luck, as Damon went to translocate, his hound would change direction, and they’d end up sitting on the end of Redford’s bed.
That would make a worse impression than he’d managed on their first meeting.
Rolling over, Damon punched at his pillow. He’d replayed that handshake a hundred times since morning. The electric jolt when their palms met, the way his hound had surged forward, almost forcing a shift right there in the driveway.
None of his hound’s behavior made sense.
His animal side was acting more like a randy wolf shifter who’d just met their mate than a respected hound.
Which was impossible. Damon had to keep reminding himself of that.
Hellhounds couldn’t scent their mates. That’s what the collar box was for, a gift that Lord Hades had given each of them when they left the Underworld.
Only a mate could open the box, and that was absolutely the only way for a hellhound to know for certain that a person was the one intended for them.
Which meant that the way his hound was acting around the likes of Redford Stone - as if he was the most important being on the planet - was just plain ridiculous.
“He’s attractive,” Damon said to the ceiling. “That’s all it is. We think he’s hot.”
His hound snorted. More like you do. And there could be more.
Damon refused to admit it – not without proof.
“We don’t even know what he is yet.” Although that wasn’t entirely true either.
Damon had caught the scent of stone dust and mountain air, of ancient rock warmed by centuries of the sun.
Combined with those dark eyes and gravelly voice, and Damon would bet his right arm that Redford was a gargoyle.
Much like Kolton’s mate, Simon, was. Although Damon got the idea that Redford was older than Simon, or maybe Damon felt that because the man looked tired.
But Simon definitely didn’t send his hound into a tizzy every time they’d visited, and apparently Kolton had been around Simon for a month before he found out who Simon was to him.
The light in the room slowly changed, the dark giving way to the gray signaling the sunrise, which meant Damon could finally give up on pretending to be asleep and drag himself out of bed.
The air in the cottage was decidedly chilly as he’d let the fire die out overnight. Too busy thinking about a certain pair of warm eyes, he grumbled quietly. Building the fire back up didn’t take long, then he made himself a pot of coffee – strong and black, just the way he liked it.
Cup in hand, Damon moved to the kitchen window. He could see the caravan clearly, sitting in the castle’s courtyard, a white box on wheels that looked far too small for a man of Redford’s size.
There were lights on already inside of it, and Damon wondered if Redford had slept any better than he had.
Probably not. His hound sounded smug.
Just stop it.
Go to him.
“No.” Damon’s grip tightened on his mug. “Redford doesn’t need protecting, and he definitely doesn’t need helping. He’s got a whole crew of contractors coming in today.”
But his hound was getting pushier, if that was possible. That’s not good enough. We need to be there.
“This is ridiculous.” Damon took a long drink of coffee, scolding his tongue in the process.
“You’re being ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous.
We met the man yesterday and shook his hand.
That’s it. That’s the entire extent of our relationship.
He’s not the first hot guy we’ve ever met, and he likely won’t be the last.”
The hound’s response was a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through Damon’s chest.
“Fine.” Damon set down his mug with a thunk. “I’ll go over there, but only because the castle is interesting and I’ve got nothing better to do today, not because you keep demanding it.”
Whatever helps you sleep at night.
“I didn’t sleep at all last night, and that’s part of the problem. You wouldn’t let me.” Regardless, Damon showered quickly and dressed in warm jeans and a thermal shirt, layering a flannel button-up on top.
The morning air bit his face when he stepped outside, but it felt good. He breathed deep, filling his lungs with the scent of damp earth. And beneath it all, stone and mountain air. Damon’s hound perked up immediately. There, can you smell it?
“I’m ignoring you now,” Damon muttered. But his feet carried him toward the castle anyway, his hound practically dragging him along like an overexcited puppy, which was pathetic. He was being absolutely pathetic. Please don’t let my packmates find out about this.
The caravan door opened just as Damon approached the courtyard. Redford came out, ducking through the doorway and straightening to his full height.
He wore dark jeans and a gray Henley that stretched across his broad chest. And when his gaze landed on Damon, something flickered across his expression. Pleasure, definitely, but maybe more? Hades’ garden, I’m imagining expressions now.
“Morning,” Redford called.
“Morning.” Damon’s voice came out rougher than planned, and he quickly cleared his throat. “I thought I’d come and have another look at the castle, see what kind of a disaster you’re dealing with. That’s if I’m not going to be in the way.”
“No, that’s good. I think it’s pretty bad, to be honest, but that’s just my opinion.”
“Hmm.” Damon gestured toward the castle’s crumbling walls. “I can see that. Most of the roof’s gone, and the walls that are still standing probably shouldn’t be. I’d be shocked if you had a single room here with working utilities.”
“The architect mentioned something about that yesterday.” Redford ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “He said it could take months of work before the place is even marginally habitable.”
“Months sounds optimistic.” Part of the castle’s charm was the way it seemed to be quietly melting into the hillside.
Redford chuckled. “That’s what I was afraid of.” But he didn’t sound particularly discouraged. If anything, he seemed settled, like he’d made his peace with the size of the task he had ahead of him.
Before Damon could stop himself, the words tumbled out.
“I could help with the renovations, I mean. I’ve got a bit of experience with restoration work.
” That was only partially true. He did help out occasionally with a couple of his packmates’ places when they were doing renovations on their new properties, but it had been a while since he’d picked up a hammer.
But then Damon considered that building work relied a lot on common sense, like anything else, and Redford’s face lighting up the way it did made Damon’s offer to help all the more worth it. “You’d do that?”
“I’ve got the time.” Damon shrugged, aiming for a casual approach and not sure if it was working.
“I’ve always been curious about the castle.
I’ve lived in its shadow for three years, but I’ve never really explored inside.
Somehow it seemed to be the wrong thing to do, even though nobody was there. ”
“Well, then I’d be grateful for the help. Fair warning though, I’m no expert. I inherited this place five years ago, but I’ve never visited before. I have no idea what I’m getting into.”
That makes two of us. “Then this should be fun.”
And to Damon’s surprise, it mostly was. They spent the morning assessing the damage together, picking their way through rubble strewn halls and rooms open to the sky.
The contractors arrived mid-morning, a crew of five humans this time, who looked horrified by the castle’s condition.
The architect showed up shortly afterward with rolled plans and a very long list of “This has to be addressed first,” concerns.
Damon found himself working alongside Redford, clearing debris from what had once been the great hall, quietly pleased his strength was coming in handy.
He could shift stones that took two contractors to move, as a rule, although he was careful not to display anything too obviously paranormal.
He didn’t want the contractors looking at him sideways and getting weird ideas.
Redford noticed. Damon caught him staring more than once, his dark eyes tracking the way Damon hefted a massive piece of fallen stone, and Damon was fairly sure it was an appreciative look that flickered across the gargoyle’s face.
Damon’s hound preened, of course he did, even though it was Damon’s muscles getting the workout. He likes our strength. That’s good.
“Just stop it,” Damon muttered.
“Stop what?” Redford straightened from examining a collapsed section of wall.
Oops. “Nothing, nothing at all. Just talking to myself.”