Chapter 11 – Medusa
MEDUSA
Byron won’t touch me. He won’t go anywhere near me, and his rejection hurts on a level that’s absolutely bat-shit stupid. I’ve lived a thousand lives. I’ve had a million moments of heartache. And some moments that were really, really bad.
I shouldn’t care that he’s rejecting me now, that he regrets our night together.
But it still hurts.
When it’s time for us to go, Byron reshackles my wrists, and I’m shocked that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have tried to make a break for it. I shouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near me with these things.
But they’ve fucked all my logic out of me.
“Where are you taking me now?”
“I’m not taking you anywhere!” He snarls at me, clenching that fucking ugly artifact more tightly.
I open my mouth to ask him what the plan is then, when he shoves me toward Harold. “You take her!”
His words are more a blow to me than his touch. Was being with me really that bad?
I don’t care! I tell myself. If he thinks I want to be anywhere near his dumb ass, then he’s as stupid as he looks.
Harold, on the other hand, is being strangely shy. When I lift my arms and put them around his neck, he avoids my gaze and places his hands lightly on my waist.
“Are you ready?” he asks, too softly.
“It’s not like I have a choice,” I tell him.
His brilliant blue eyes lift to meet mine, and I’m lost. For his massive size, this Harold really is a gentle giant. The way he looks at me, as if I’m some pretty girl he has a crush on, warms my bitter heart.
“I’ll go slowly,” he tells me.
A second later, his flesh turns to hard stone, and his wings spread out behind his massive frame. I take a deep breath and jump to wrap my legs around his waist.
I hear his teeth grit together, and then, he leaps into the air.
As his wings flap harder and faster, we rise higher above the jungle.
I look at the greenery beneath us with a strange mixture of feelings.
My night with the three gargoyles was easily the best one of my life.
But knowing that, at the very least, Byron regrets it, makes me feel terrible.
Even more like an ugly freak.
I press my face against Harold’s chest, and as we fly, I’m ashamed to say silent tears run down my cheeks, whipping away in the wind. I don't know why this should be any different. I’ve felt undesirable and despised my entire life. So I’m really crying over nothing.
Just the same old crap.
When hours and hours later, we land gently, I’m almost sure I was asleep.
But when Harold untangles himself from my grip and sets me down in the grass, I realize we’re in an orchard.
Immediately, the only thing I can smell is oranges.
Inhaling deeply, I don’t even care how stupid I look.
I lie back on the grass and stare up at the clouds, feeling…
not relaxed, but something I can’t quite place.
Harold comes back a second later, blocking my vision of the clouds. “Orange?” he asks, holding it out to me.
I smile at the sweet sincerity in his voice and struggle to a sitting position, using my cuffed hands.
To my surprise, he peels my orange for me before handing it to me, and then sits down next to me, so close our thighs touch. We eat in silence for a while, comfortably. Enjoying a quiet moment before I have to go and ruin it, of course.
“Where are the other two?”
He slows in his eating. “I let them get a little ahead of us, so we could stop without them bugging us.”
Ah, well that’s kind of nice.
I smile. “Thanks.”
“I just…” he seems to struggle with the right words. “I felt you crying.”
My smile vanishes and suddenly I’m not hungry anymore. “Sorry.”
“You’re apologizing for being upset?” He laughs, and it’s a kind laugh. One that rings through me like a beautiful bell. “Everyone cries sometimes. I just wanted to know why.”
I shrug. Usually I lie about this kind of shit. But for some reason, I don’t really feel like lying today.
“Byron seemed pretty upset about last night.”
Harold stares at me, waiting. And for some reason, there’s no pressure behind his silence, just a willingness to let me talk.
I chuck the remainder of my orange on the ground and glare at where it falls. “This isn’t the first time someone’s regretted being with one of my kind. It’s stupid that it bugs me.”
His brows draw into a line on his forehead. “This isn’t about you.”
He looks as if he’s debating with himself.
Poor thing can’t even bring himself to be mean to someone he considers a monster.
“It’s okay. I know what I am. I know how others see me.”
He shakes his head. “No, I meant it when I said it isn’t about you.” He pauses for a long minute. “The thing is, our people are dying out. And the priority of our Elites has become solely focused upon building our numbers.”
“Why are there so few of you?”
My mind ran through every possibility, before Harold answered my question.
“Not many humans carved female gargoyles, and female births are uncommon. And—”
“So,” I interrupt, not able to keep my mouth from running, “gargoyles are either created or born, and either way there aren’t a lot of females, so your kind are dying out.”
He nods. “And because of that, there are very specific requirements for any males who will be given a chance to impregnate one of the few gargoyle females. One of which is for us to remain celibate…which we’ve successfully managed to do for the last twenty years.
But, because of our night with you, we’re no longer allowed to have a mate or child. ”
“What?” I can’t hide my shock. “That’s stupid. One night with me shouldn’t cost you everything. I mean, we were drugged.”
He shrugs. “It’s simply our way.”
“No,” I tell him. “You three aren’t going to say a word about what happened between us, and you’re not going to lose everything.”
He stares at me as if I’m crazy. “We can’t lie.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because—“
“Eros drugged us. You guys wouldn’t have slept with me otherwise.”
It takes him a long time to answer. “It’s okay. I just wanted you to know that Byron isn’t mad at you. He just gets mean when he wants to push someone away. He tried that with me, years ago.” He smiles as he says the last part.
Harold rises and gathers more oranges, ending our serious conversation. He peels two more oranges while I watch him, fascinated yet again by how such a big man can be so gentle. With a shy smile, he hands one of them to me and sits back down.
While we eat, we chat about the most normal things. He asks me about life among the humans. We talk about my many jobs, my friends—I even tell him about my ex. Never did he seem to judge me. Instead, he asked questions, seemed interested, and made me feel… special.
At last, he grew quiet. “We have to keep going.”
“To…”
He seems to consider my question for a second. “Eventually, to our home.”
“Why?”
His shoulders stiffened. “Because, we need your help.”
I hate that I know he’s lying. I hate that I know there’s more going on here than I understand.
That alone should send me running from these gargoyles, searching for a chance at escape.
But instead, I take the hand he offers me, raise my arms to wrap around his huge neck, and snuggle closer as we rise into the sky.
Because I want this feeling to never end. This sense, almost like… almost like I’m loved, or at the least cared for.
And the second I return to reality, this is gone forever.
I’m not na?ve. I don’t think they’re taking me somewhere to shower me with hot sex and candies. The thing is, I’m Medusa. I’ve lived for a very long time. If these gargoyles wish me harm, they aren’t the first ones.
So maybe—just maybe—going with them is worth the risk.