Chapter Sixteen
Redford woke to voices drifting through the cottage - deep rumbles punctuated by a higher, more melodic tone and underneath it all, the unmistakable fussing of an infant. It seemed the pack members Damon invited had arrived.
Pack – a weird word in Redford’s vocabulary.
After moving away from his clan and forging his own life, in a way he resonated with the hellhounds who did the same when they came to Earth.
But the hellhounds still had their pack links, connected in ways most people wouldn’t understand.
And now they are apparently including me, too.
The thought was swiftly followed by I should probably get dressed.
Redford found his jeans and T-shirt, pulling them on, and padding barefoot toward the kitchen. The new guest rooms worked perfectly, giving the visitors plenty of room. Considering Redford hadn’t even heard them arrive, that was clearly a blessing.
“I’m telling you, he’s teething early.” That was a voice Redford didn’t recognize, warm and frustrated in equal measures. “Gargoyle genetics, probably. Everything happens faster.”
“Hellhounds grow fast too – just look at Poppy. Or maybe he just wants attention.” Another unfamiliar voice, this one deeper, amused. “You’re spoiling him.”
“I do not…”
Redford turned the corner and stopped.
Two men were in his kitchen - well, Damon’s kitchen, though Redford was starting to think of it as theirs.
One was massive, built like Damon with that particular solid quality that apparently indicated hellhounds.
The other man was leaner, though still broad-shouldered, with sun-kissed wavy brown hair and the kind of elegant bone structure that made Redford’s gargoyle sit up and take notice.
There’s another gargoyle in our territory. Except it wasn’t just his territory, and the possessive rumble in Redford’s chest died before it could fully form. Clearly the man was Simon, Kolton’s mate, which made him pack.
“You must be Redford!” The blond hellhound - Kolton, it had to be with that shaggy streaked hair - crossed the kitchen in two strides, hand extended. “Finally. Damon’s been hiding you.”
“I have not.” Damon emerged from the hallway, freshly showered and grinning. “Red just likes to sleep in.”
“I can’t imagine why.” Kolton’s handshake was firm, his grin infectious. “Long nights keeping him up?”
“Kolton.” Simon’s voice carried the weight of a thousand similar admonishments. He shifted the fussing baby in his arms, then met Redford’s gaze. “Simon Teeg. It’s good to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Redford moved closer, drawn by the sight of Warner’s scrunched, unhappy face. The baby was beautiful with his wavy blond hair, Simon’s bone structure, and Kolton’s nose. “Did I hear you suggest he was teething?”
“We think so. He’s been miserable since yesterday.” Simon bounced Warner gently. “Nothing’s helping.”
“May I?”
Simon blinked, clearly surprised, but handed Warner over without hesitation, which made Redford feel instantly special. Most paranormals would never allow anyone near their children unless that person was trusted.
The baby settled against Redford’s chest, his chubby fist curling into his T-shirt. Redford adjusted his hold, supporting Warner’s head, and hummed low in his chest - a sound his gargoyle produced instinctively.
Warner’s fussing quieted and his dark eyes, still wet with tears, fixed on Redford’s face.
“How did you…?” Simon stared. “He’s been fussing for ages.”
“Gargoyle thing, maybe?” Redford kept humming, swaying slightly. “Stone resonance. It’s calming for them.”
“I’ve been a gargoyle his entire life,” Simon said dryly, though his lips twitched. “I never thought of humming for him.”
“You were too busy panicking.” Kolton wrapped an arm around Simon’s waist, tugging him close. “See? He’s fine. He just needed another gargoyle for a moment.”
Simon leaned into Kolton’s hold, and Redford could sense the bond between them. It was clearly stronger than the one he had with Damon, but Redford knew Simon and Kolton had been together a lot longer. A baby took a minimum of nine months from conception to egg stage to hatching.
Warner yawned, drool soaking into Redford’s T-shirt.
“Coffee?” Damon asked, already reaching for mugs. “Kolton, I know you take yours black. Simon?”
“Cream, no sugar.” Simon moved to help, and just like that, the kitchen became a flurry of too many cooks, although it seemed to work. Damon and Kolton argued about bacon versus sausage, while Simon quietly set out plates. Redford stayed out of the way, with Warner dozing against his shoulder.
Redford caught Damon’s gaze across the kitchen. His mate’s expression was soft, pleased in a way that rippled through their bond.
This, Damon sent. This is what I wanted you to see.
Pack, you mean?
My family.
Warner stirred, making small snuffling sounds. Redford adjusted his hold, surprised by how natural it felt holding him. He’d never spent time around children. His clan never encouraged men near the few babies that were born, and his FBI work certainly hadn’t involved little ones.
“You’re a natural.” Simon appeared at his elbow, two mugs of coffee in hand. He offered one to Redford, then gestured toward the living room. “Want to sit before he gets too comfortable?”
They settled on the couch, Simon leaving careful space between them. Warner remained asleep against Redford’s chest, his breathing deep and even.
“Damon mentioned you were raised in a clan,” Simon said quietly. “France, Medieval period perhaps?”
“Italy, Renaissance.” Redford sipped his coffee. “Similar experience to yours though, I imagine. Insular. Secretive. Oh, and that belief that the clan was everything.”
“Until it wasn’t.” Simon’s gaze fixed on the wall across from them. “I left mine and never looked back.”
“I stayed until they scattered.” Redford watched Warner sleep.
“That was about two, three centuries ago. Everyone wanted different things - some wanted to hide completely, others wanted to integrate with humans and other paranormals. My parents... they’d been bonded for over a thousand years before they succumbed to the stone.
Guess that’s what happens when a bond is formed without the help of the Fates. One of those expected matings.”
“My parents were the same, although I don’t know what happened to them. I was abandoned in the nursery from birth and was raised by the clan as a whole. If they succumbed to the stone, no one bothered to tell me about it, and truthfully, I wouldn’t have cared.”
“I’m sorry.” Redford never expected to feel empathy for another gargoyle, but Simon was cut from a caring cloth, and clearly whatever happened in his clan had impacted him in a major way.
“As I say, we were never...close.” Simon took a long drink of coffee.
“That’s why what I have with Kolton means so much to me.
We have Warner and are proving, one day at a time, that gargoyles don’t have to live by the old ways.
In fact, they’re happier when they don’t.
Building something different, you know?”
“Fated bonds are definitely the gift that keeps on giving.” Redford checked Warner, who was now fast asleep, clearly happy with his shoulder as a pillow.
“You’re probably right.” Simon met his gaze. “But now we’ve done the ‘how much are we different and how much do we have in common chat,’ and got that out of the way, Damon said you found documents about how the castle used to be a sanctuary.”
“We did, including records of a witch named Beatrice MacKenzie who warded the east tower.” Redford paused. “She keyed the wards to gargoyles and hellhounds specifically if her quote can be believed - stone in their bones, fire in their blood.”
Simon’s breath caught. “Other gargoyles were here, really?”
“Apparently, centuries ago, although thinking about it, I wonder how my uncle got his hands on this place. I would ask him, but…” Redford shrugged. “More clan history, but yes, gargoyles were here before, helping build a sanctuary to help other paranormals of all types escape persecution.”
“I’d love to see it.” Simon’s intensity matched Redford’s own. “The tower, the wards, and everything.”
“After breakfast,” Damon called from the kitchen. “The contractors aren’t in at the moment, because the east tower isn’t safe, so we can show you whatever you want.”
Kolton appeared, carrying plates loaded with food. “Eat first, tour later. Those are the rules.”
Simon rolled his eyes but accepted his plate. “He’s very bossy.”
“You love it,” Kolton shot back.
“For some reason, yes, I do.”
They ate in the living room, Warner still sleeping against Redford’s chest and Redford eating his eggs one-handed.
The conversation flowed easily - Kolton asking about the cottage’s expansion, Damon explaining how he used his magic, Simon describing their home on the edge of some little village that was apparently inhabited by deer shifters, and the wildlife sanctuary they’d built there.
“…and then the grizzly decided our front porch was a good place for a nap,” Kolton was saying. “Simon had to convince her to move.”
“I asked nicely.” Simon’s tone suggested asking had involved more than words. “You can’t blame her. She was pregnant and tired, and besides, the porch was shaded.”
“You built her a den.” Kolton grinned. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
“She needed somewhere safe.”
Redford found himself smiling. Damon’s version of family was a lot more relaxed and comfortable than anything he’d experienced before.
Warner woke as they finished eating, his face scrunching in preparation for tears. But when Redford resumed humming, the baby settled again, just watching him with curious eyes.
“Seriously, how are you doing that?” Kolton demanded, getting up to get Warner a bottle.
“I have no idea.” Redford kept humming. “Instinct, maybe?”