Chapter Two
Grogoth
The human spoke during slumber again. Which means I’m now tired at work due to lack of rest. For years, the woman’s nightmares have prevented me from a good night’s sleep. From what I've gathered, there was a string of incidents in her past that left a stain on her soul.
Someone hurt her. Badly. Ever since my first revelation of this, I often stay awake at my resting place on the pillar outside of her room. Listening. Waiting. Because as soon as she lets loose the name of her tormentor, they will never see the sun again.
I tend to the hydrangeas, listening to their needs through their connection to the soil.
The roots of all the plants in the garden obey me, not because I hold any control over them but because they’ve been in my care for centuries, all the way back to when the castle housed a king.
As plants die and feed the soil for a new generation, their memory is passed on, and on.
I know in my clay heart that the garden cares for me, too.
I can’t say for certain, but I believe the oak tree purposefully planted the woman whose window always smells like faraway lands in my path all those days ago.
Though years have passed, I still remember the crimson of her cheeks when I walked in on an intimate moment between the two.
I can still hear the embarrassed twinge in her voice.
She has such a lovely voice, like a poet, though the naughty words she’d stumbled over had been anything but elegant.
“I love to hold such girth in my hands. To grip something so thick, to stroke it—”
That probably isn’t what she actually said. My memory is muddled by the way her words and her beauty had tangled around me, causing my trousers to tighten.
Done with this end of the garden, I turn toward the castle.
The twilight sky shines a soft glow over the rows of colorful plants like a stunning watercolor painting.
I clench my fists. Dawn. I know what awaits me.
My little hummingbird will be out on her second-floor balcony, bending her body into alluring shapes, pressing her plump rear into the golden sky.
I’ve heard her friends call her Ari, but I like my private nickname for her better.
The way the wind favors her, almost like she’s flying, flitting about in a blur of color.
The sweet sound of her humming both Landen and Hydran lullabies as she cooks flavors from around the globe.
The woman tortures me every morning, and yet, I haven’t changed my morning route because I’m a glutton.
My body reacts to my excitement, the waistband of my trousers uncomfortable.
I try to keep my eyes level, but I know I’m going to look.
Will she be in the skin-tight black leggings this morning, or did she opt for one of her more colorful pairs?
Which poses has she already completed, and will I get to see her luscious downward dog?
Serendipitously, the thought had barely crossed my mind before I spot her, lush ass in the air, hands and feet on her mat. The most mouthwatering triangle I've ever seen. I distractedly tend to the roses that run along the side of the building as I steal glimpses of her beautiful backside.
The things I would do to that woman! I imagine myself on my knees behind her now, my chin covered in her slick juices as I delve my tongue into her cunt.
If she would allow it, I would lave the inside of her bottom as well.
I imagine the meat of her ass in my hands, picture the way her holes would yawn as I pull her cheeks apart, stretching open for me.
A thorn pricks my finger. I glare at the bush, but quickly shake it off.
“I deserved that,” I admit. “I’m distracted. My apologies.”
I glance back up at the balcony, my heart sinking with disappointment as Ari rolls up her mat. She turns and our eyes lock. For a moment, I can’t move. She waves a dainty hand and smiles shyly, but I remain frozen like the statue I was meant to be.
∞∞∞
“No, please!”
The man cowering below me struggles in his restraints, trying to guard his manhood with mangled hands. His pleas fall on deaf ears. I may be out of practice, but I’m no stranger to torture. No stranger to the multitude of things dying men will claim, the promises and prayers they vow.
“Stephen,” I speak his name with no emotion. “Your fate was decided when you laid your sights on Arielle.”
“Arielle?” he sputters. “I haven’t seen that bitch in years!”
“You will not speak of her again. Not with slurs, nor by her name.” I strike him again, bringing my steel down with precision. Over his cries of pain, I calmly explain. “You owe her your life.”
“Please, don’t kill me!”
I won’t. I refuse to add another burden to my hummingbird's shoulders. I will, however, relieve him of everything he might use to harm someone again.
∞∞∞
Covered in blood, I cower behind the corner of the building.
Ari strolls through my garden, a crease in her brow.
What is she worried about? Why is she in the garden?
Surely she isn’t worried about me. She has no reason to believe I’ve been off imparting vengeance in her honor. No reason to realize I was gone at all.
Cowardice fills my weary stones. I slink away to wash off in the pond. Ironic that I’m more rankled by facing the petite tree hugger than breaking a vow of pacifism to chop off a man’s bones.
Once I’m clean of evidence, I start on the far end in hopes that Ari will be gone by the time I reach her window.
“Apologies, friends,” I murmur to the hydrangeas. “I—wait. What’s this?”
The soil is tended, the flowers fat and happy. I check the surrounding beds. All are the same, from the far corners to the plants beneath my perch. Someone quenched their thirst while I was away.
Someone . . but it couldn’t be her. Couldn’t be. Unless she has noticed more about me than I've realized.
Involuntarily, my gaze shoots to Ari’s balcony. I swear I see her before the curtain drops, swaying slightly, but I can’t say for sure.
“That’s it,” I growl. Time to stop being a coward.
Unfurling my wings, I fly to her level. Instead of molding onto the building in my nightly perch, I land on the intricate branches. Pausing only for a steeling breath, I rap my knuckles on the glass.
For a moment, I think she might leave me out here. Hope she will, even. Then there’s movement inside. A cat rubs against the window, causing the curtain to flap.
A cat! That’s all it was. How foolish—
Ari appears with a gentle gasp parting her cherry lips. Before opening the door, she pauses with a hand over her mouth and I ache against the need to groan, to growl at her to move her hand this instant. My fists flex, but her voice sends an overwhelming torrent of emotions crashing over me.
“Yes? I mean,” Ari opens the door a little further, leaning through the gap in a way that highlights the ample swell of her bosom. “Hello.”