Interview with Seth, a sexy cowboy gargoyle...
I rap my knuckles against the hard, wooden door and wipe my feet on the “I like it dirty” doormat. A breeze whips my hair across my cheeks, sending a shiver down my spine. I glance to the street. Light glows from the streetlamp onto a parked car. A neighbor’s dog barks. I can’t shake the sense that someone watches me. My scalp tingles at my nape. I pray it isn’t a fae.
“Hurry up, Wynne,” I whisper.
The door opens with a soft whoosh.
Wynne, dressed in a dark-blue jumpsuit with a yellow scarf tied around her neck, smiles. I swear her blue eyes twinkle. “Come in, Rosalie.”
I step over the threshold and into the old Victorian. The scent of patchouli wafts over my senses. “Is Seth here?”
Wynne winks at me. “Not yet, but soon.”
The anxiety rippling through me takes a breather. A few moments alone with Wynne chases them away. I wonder if she used magic on me. I wouldn’t put it past her, and as far as witches go, she’s the best there is.
“This way.” She saunters down the hallway past the grandfather clock and the pictures of Becknell witches from years past. Each and everyone of them have the same beautiful blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, that is, until I reach the black and white photos. Even in those, I swear I can see the resemblances.
When we reach the living room, Wynne steps aside to let me pass.
A fire burns in the hearth, and Neira, Wynne’s familiar is curled up on one end of the antique clawfoot couch. Nestled on the coffee table rest two mugs and a pot of tea. This close, the scent of orange and spice makes my mouth water.
“Make yourself at home.” She holds out her hand toward the couch. “You’re going to enjoy your interview with Seth.”
My pulse spikes, and I’m sure I flinched. I try to hide my reaction, place my bag on the seat next to me, and settle into the cushion. “What makes you say that?”
Wynne shrugs, but a slight smile tugs at her lips. “You’ll see.”
Seth Denton has been on my mind since I woke up this morning. It’s not everyday the opportunity to interview a gargoyle arises. I’m prepared, or so I think, but Wynne’s reaction makes me question that premise more than I care to admit.
“Wynne, what do you—”
Wynne raises her hand, and she blinks. Then, that sly smile returns. “He’s here. That’s my cue to leave. Neira,” she motions to the cat, “let’s go.”
Neira stretches and her eyes seem to glow as her gaze meets mine. She doesn’t shift into her human form which surprises me. That cat never misses an opportunity for a good sarcastic comment. Maybe she’s turned a new leaf. Naw, not Neira.
She jumps off the couch and follows Wynne from the room.
The crackle of the fire and the click of the grandfather clock down the hall are the only sounds. My gaze tracks to the gargoyle incense burner situated on the mantle then over the well worn path in the middle of the rug to the window. The curtain flutters ever so slightly.
My heel taps as if of its own volition, and I have to force myself to breathe. It’s just Seth, I remind myself.
A moment later, he materializes next to the fireplace. Back to me, I’m offered a tantalizing few of his backside. Dressed in a leather jacket, a pair of denim jeans, rattlesnake boots, and his signature Stetson, he’s one fine cowboy.
“Hello, Seth. I’m happy you’re here.” I sound like a school girl and mentally kick myself for it.
He removes his hat and glances at me over his shoulder. Dark brown and curled at the tip, a few strands of hair brush along his lashes. A smile tugs at his lip, accentuating the small dimple in his cheek along with the whisper of stubble at his jawline.
Swoonworthy? Most definitely.
“Howdy, Rosalie. You wanted to talk to me?” Seth turns to face me and crosses his arms. Curled at his waist rests his whip, his favorite weapon. He tracks his long, work-worn fingers over the handle.
I wonder what it would be like for him to trail his fingertips along my skin. My face warms, and I reach my for my bag. My hand knocks the thing onto the floor and my pen bounces off the carpet and skitters across the wood until the tip slams against Seth’s boot.
I didn’t think my cheeks could burn any hotter, but they do.
He bends down to pick up my favorite writing utensil, and his muscles flex taut beneath his jacket. The top three buttons of his dark button-down flannel shirt are undone, and the tip of his spark stone flares from opaque to red to purple before settling into a deep blue. A soft chuckle eases from him.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous. Not you.” Bent on one knee, he grasps the pen and glances at me.
His eyes, those deep blue eyes, capture me in his gaze. More brilliant than the depths of a clear lake, I swear I can see into his soul.
I clear my throat. “I think we should start on the interview, don’t you?”
He smiles, and that cute dimple in his cheek forms once again. “If you insist.”
He rises to his feet, crosses the distance between us, drops his hat on the coffee table, and hands me the pen. As I take the pen from him, the warmth of his fingers tingles my skin, and his rich, masculine scent invades my senses, warming me to my toes.
Damn, I need one of those hand held fans. It’s hot in here.
Before I can ask him if he wants to sit, he slides into the seat on the couch next to me. His muscular leg brushes against mine. Even through the thickness of our jeans, I sense his body heat and his strength.
I fumble with my notebook, placing it on my knee, and flip to a blank page. “So, how long have you been a gargoyle in Rhiannon’s army?”
He settles into the couch and rests his arm along the back. “For over a hundred and thirty years. My how time flies.”
I jot a note in my book, hyper aware of how close his hand is to my back.
“Who do you fight and why?”
“Dark fae out to murder humans. They’re after souls, bad ones to enlist in their army, good ones to snag a hit of energy from before they arrive in the Otherworld.” He toys with the barbed end of his whip. “It’s my job to protect the humans and I do so every night without fail.”
His eyes glow a shade of green before returning to their normal brown. This reminds me that his soul is neither good nor bad. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and concentrate on my task.
“Why are you a gargoyle? I mean…why do you have a questionable soul?”
He inhales and strokes his fingers along my hair, brushing the tips as if he had every right. The sensation calms me, and I don’t stop him.
“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.” He halts on his own accord, sits forward, and stares at his fingers. Disgust curls his lip. “My apologies, Rosalie, I shouldn’t touch you with my dirty, filthy hands.”
He pushes himself from the couch and tracks to the fireplace where he stares into the embers. I can see the flames’ reflection in the corner of his eyes.
I don’t like to see him in distress, so I change tactics. “Seth, when Rhiannon throws a questionable soul into a gargoyle to serve in her army, she blesses each one with a special skill. What is yours?”
He runs his palm over his face and through his hair. His gaze never wavers from the flames. “Rhiannon has a twisted sense of human. Let’s leave it at that.”
My breath lodges in my throat. I hadn’t expected that reaction. He’s usually such a nice, easygoing guy.
Steam rises from my cup of tea. I clasp my fingers around the mug and take a sip. “Wynne made us some tea. Would you like some?”
“Does it have whiskey in it?” His charming smile is back on full display.
I relax and take another sip. “ ‘Fraid not.”
He shrugs. “Next question, then.”
I study him, noting how he takes in his surroundings without seeming to. Always on alert, he’s one of Rhiannon’s best warriors. Respect for him swells in my chest, and for all it’s worth, I want nothing more than to see him happy.
I tap the end of my pen against my bottom lip. “Seth, is there a special woman in your life?”
A faraway look crosses his features, but quickly fades. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it, and I’d bet my bottom dollar the answer to my question was “yes.”
“I’m a questionable soul, remember? I don’t deserve to have any gal, especially one as sweet as—” He clamps his lips together.
A sense of giddiness lightens my chest. I was right.
“Who were you going to say?” I prompt, pen tip pressed against the page.
He turns to face me, his features taut, and crosses his arms.
“You’re gettin’ on my last nerve, Rosalie, and the fae need a killin’.” Despite his rough words, the beginning curl of a grin tugs at his lips.
I want to hug him. Instead, I ask my last question. “All right, Seth. We’re almost done. Tell me, what scares you?”
His gaze narrows on me, and suddenly, I feel like the one under a microscope.
He exhales long and slow, and runs his palm over his features once again. “I had a feeling this interview wouldn’t be easy. You ask some hard questions, ma’am, but in all frankness, what scares me the most is not being able to save someone I love.”
Remorse settles onto his shoulders in an almost visible form. My heart aches for him. Somewhere is his past, he lost someone dear to him. I don’t have the heart to ask him whom.
I shove my notebook and pen into my bag and stand. “Thank you, Seth, for the interview. I’m sure the fans will love reading your story.”
He snags his Stetson off the table and sets it on his head. “I appreciate that. Thank you, Rosalie.”
Before I can say another word, he dematerializes, leaving only a trace of his masculine scent behind.
Life as a gargoyle isn’t easy. I wish him well.
Night Angel, book 1 in the Gargoyle Night Guardians series is available now! To snag your copy, click <<here>>
“Hurry up, Wynne,” I whisper.
The door opens with a soft whoosh.
Wynne, dressed in a dark-blue jumpsuit with a yellow scarf tied around her neck, smiles. I swear her blue eyes twinkle. “Come in, Rosalie.”
I step over the threshold and into the old Victorian. The scent of patchouli wafts over my senses. “Is Seth here?”
Wynne winks at me. “Not yet, but soon.”
The anxiety rippling through me takes a breather. A few moments alone with Wynne chases them away. I wonder if she used magic on me. I wouldn’t put it past her, and as far as witches go, she’s the best there is.
“This way.” She saunters down the hallway past the grandfather clock and the pictures of Becknell witches from years past. Each and everyone of them have the same beautiful blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, that is, until I reach the black and white photos. Even in those, I swear I can see the resemblances.
When we reach the living room, Wynne steps aside to let me pass.
A fire burns in the hearth, and Neira, Wynne’s familiar is curled up on one end of the antique clawfoot couch. Nestled on the coffee table rest two mugs and a pot of tea. This close, the scent of orange and spice makes my mouth water.
“Make yourself at home.” She holds out her hand toward the couch. “You’re going to enjoy your interview with Seth.”
My pulse spikes, and I’m sure I flinched. I try to hide my reaction, place my bag on the seat next to me, and settle into the cushion. “What makes you say that?”
Wynne shrugs, but a slight smile tugs at her lips. “You’ll see.”
Seth Denton has been on my mind since I woke up this morning. It’s not everyday the opportunity to interview a gargoyle arises. I’m prepared, or so I think, but Wynne’s reaction makes me question that premise more than I care to admit.
“Wynne, what do you—”
Wynne raises her hand, and she blinks. Then, that sly smile returns. “He’s here. That’s my cue to leave. Neira,” she motions to the cat, “let’s go.”
Neira stretches and her eyes seem to glow as her gaze meets mine. She doesn’t shift into her human form which surprises me. That cat never misses an opportunity for a good sarcastic comment. Maybe she’s turned a new leaf. Naw, not Neira.
She jumps off the couch and follows Wynne from the room.
The crackle of the fire and the click of the grandfather clock down the hall are the only sounds. My gaze tracks to the gargoyle incense burner situated on the mantle then over the well worn path in the middle of the rug to the window. The curtain flutters ever so slightly.
My heel taps as if of its own volition, and I have to force myself to breathe. It’s just Seth, I remind myself.
A moment later, he materializes next to the fireplace. Back to me, I’m offered a tantalizing few of his backside. Dressed in a leather jacket, a pair of denim jeans, rattlesnake boots, and his signature Stetson, he’s one fine cowboy.
“Hello, Seth. I’m happy you’re here.” I sound like a school girl and mentally kick myself for it.
He removes his hat and glances at me over his shoulder. Dark brown and curled at the tip, a few strands of hair brush along his lashes. A smile tugs at his lip, accentuating the small dimple in his cheek along with the whisper of stubble at his jawline.
Swoonworthy? Most definitely.
“Howdy, Rosalie. You wanted to talk to me?” Seth turns to face me and crosses his arms. Curled at his waist rests his whip, his favorite weapon. He tracks his long, work-worn fingers over the handle.
I wonder what it would be like for him to trail his fingertips along my skin. My face warms, and I reach my for my bag. My hand knocks the thing onto the floor and my pen bounces off the carpet and skitters across the wood until the tip slams against Seth’s boot.
I didn’t think my cheeks could burn any hotter, but they do.
He bends down to pick up my favorite writing utensil, and his muscles flex taut beneath his jacket. The top three buttons of his dark button-down flannel shirt are undone, and the tip of his spark stone flares from opaque to red to purple before settling into a deep blue. A soft chuckle eases from him.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous. Not you.” Bent on one knee, he grasps the pen and glances at me.
His eyes, those deep blue eyes, capture me in his gaze. More brilliant than the depths of a clear lake, I swear I can see into his soul.
I clear my throat. “I think we should start on the interview, don’t you?”
He smiles, and that cute dimple in his cheek forms once again. “If you insist.”
He rises to his feet, crosses the distance between us, drops his hat on the coffee table, and hands me the pen. As I take the pen from him, the warmth of his fingers tingles my skin, and his rich, masculine scent invades my senses, warming me to my toes.
Damn, I need one of those hand held fans. It’s hot in here.
Before I can ask him if he wants to sit, he slides into the seat on the couch next to me. His muscular leg brushes against mine. Even through the thickness of our jeans, I sense his body heat and his strength.
I fumble with my notebook, placing it on my knee, and flip to a blank page. “So, how long have you been a gargoyle in Rhiannon’s army?”
He settles into the couch and rests his arm along the back. “For over a hundred and thirty years. My how time flies.”
I jot a note in my book, hyper aware of how close his hand is to my back.
“Who do you fight and why?”
“Dark fae out to murder humans. They’re after souls, bad ones to enlist in their army, good ones to snag a hit of energy from before they arrive in the Otherworld.” He toys with the barbed end of his whip. “It’s my job to protect the humans and I do so every night without fail.”
His eyes glow a shade of green before returning to their normal brown. This reminds me that his soul is neither good nor bad. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead and concentrate on my task.
“Why are you a gargoyle? I mean…why do you have a questionable soul?”
He inhales and strokes his fingers along my hair, brushing the tips as if he had every right. The sensation calms me, and I don’t stop him.
“I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.” He halts on his own accord, sits forward, and stares at his fingers. Disgust curls his lip. “My apologies, Rosalie, I shouldn’t touch you with my dirty, filthy hands.”
He pushes himself from the couch and tracks to the fireplace where he stares into the embers. I can see the flames’ reflection in the corner of his eyes.
I don’t like to see him in distress, so I change tactics. “Seth, when Rhiannon throws a questionable soul into a gargoyle to serve in her army, she blesses each one with a special skill. What is yours?”
He runs his palm over his face and through his hair. His gaze never wavers from the flames. “Rhiannon has a twisted sense of human. Let’s leave it at that.”
My breath lodges in my throat. I hadn’t expected that reaction. He’s usually such a nice, easygoing guy.
Steam rises from my cup of tea. I clasp my fingers around the mug and take a sip. “Wynne made us some tea. Would you like some?”
“Does it have whiskey in it?” His charming smile is back on full display.
I relax and take another sip. “ ‘Fraid not.”
He shrugs. “Next question, then.”
I study him, noting how he takes in his surroundings without seeming to. Always on alert, he’s one of Rhiannon’s best warriors. Respect for him swells in my chest, and for all it’s worth, I want nothing more than to see him happy.
I tap the end of my pen against my bottom lip. “Seth, is there a special woman in your life?”
A faraway look crosses his features, but quickly fades. If I’d blinked, I would’ve missed it, and I’d bet my bottom dollar the answer to my question was “yes.”
“I’m a questionable soul, remember? I don’t deserve to have any gal, especially one as sweet as—” He clamps his lips together.
A sense of giddiness lightens my chest. I was right.
“Who were you going to say?” I prompt, pen tip pressed against the page.
He turns to face me, his features taut, and crosses his arms.
“You’re gettin’ on my last nerve, Rosalie, and the fae need a killin’.” Despite his rough words, the beginning curl of a grin tugs at his lips.
I want to hug him. Instead, I ask my last question. “All right, Seth. We’re almost done. Tell me, what scares you?”
His gaze narrows on me, and suddenly, I feel like the one under a microscope.
He exhales long and slow, and runs his palm over his features once again. “I had a feeling this interview wouldn’t be easy. You ask some hard questions, ma’am, but in all frankness, what scares me the most is not being able to save someone I love.”
Remorse settles onto his shoulders in an almost visible form. My heart aches for him. Somewhere is his past, he lost someone dear to him. I don’t have the heart to ask him whom.
I shove my notebook and pen into my bag and stand. “Thank you, Seth, for the interview. I’m sure the fans will love reading your story.”
He snags his Stetson off the table and sets it on his head. “I appreciate that. Thank you, Rosalie.”
Before I can say another word, he dematerializes, leaving only a trace of his masculine scent behind.
Life as a gargoyle isn’t easy. I wish him well.
Night Angel, book 1 in the Gargoyle Night Guardians series is available now! To snag your copy, click <<here>>