“To be separated from you by the necessary distance required to remain unseen as I fly puts you at too great a risk. You could be attacked before I was able to reach you.”
Exasperation made Fil snap, though she supposed the exhaustion didn’t help either. Damn it, she wasn’t wild about overbearing males at this best of times, and this damned sure didn’t qualify for that distinction.
“Look, Rocky, if you won’t fly, your only other choice is to get on the damned bike. You got a shrink ray in your pocket so we can move this along, maybe?”
“A shrink ray?” Spar shook his head, his expression indicating that maybe he was considering lumping her mental state in with that of the exploding cultist earlier. “I do not even wish to know what such a thing might be, so I feel certain that I do not have one in my possession. However, if this is indeed our only mode of transportation to your living space, perhaps this might help?”
A waspish demand fizzled on the tip of Fil’s tongue as she watched yet another impossibility occur before her very eyes. For an instant the air around Spar seemed to shimmer, but before she could focus on the strange phenomenon, her eyes were too busy focusing on the drop-dead-gorgeous specimen of apparently human man candy that stood in the gargoyle’s place.
“Wha-huh?” she stuttered.
Who could blame her? Fil might have found something compelling about the gargoyle statue that had drawn her back to the abbey that evening. It had possessed a kind of inhuman beauty in its ferocious strength and unwavering stance. This, though, this man who stared back at her from Spar’s bright black eyes … this man’s beauty was entirely human.
“Spar?”
Her voice wavered, and she felt ridiculous asking, but she had to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Or, you know, having a stroke. The man nodded, a short, proud dip of his chin, and the gesture solidified her first impression—that this was a gargoyle in human’s clothing.
He still towered over her, but at six foot and three or four inches, he no longer loomed high enough to draw immediate attention. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, dark and barely too long to be called a buzz. The style appeared vaguely gladiatorial, the way his clothing had been in his other form, but it suited him and his almost military bearing.
The wings were gone, of course—where, she couldn’t even hazard a guess—and his legs, clad in ordinary, faded blue jeans, appeared jointed in the normal human manner. She could only assume the feet in his heavy, battered boots no longer sported the kind of talons that could disembowel a bison with one swipe, because his hands looked claw-free, strong, and entirely normal.
His features, she realized, appeared almost the same, maybe a little less severe, softened even more by the shadow of stubble that covered his jaw, but recognizable from his statue form. His eyes still shone as if lit from within, but that could be a trick of the light. Spar the Guardian now looked like Spar the perfectly ordinary human man.
Only about fifty times hotter.
“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice still low enough to rumble through her, but not as booming now. “Have I erred with my appearance in some manner?”
Yeah, you made yourself so sexy, I want to lick my way from your forehead to your heels, you big hunk of man, you.
Quickly, Fil shook her head and cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not at all. You look, uh, you look fine.” She had to tear her gaze away, something that took more willpower than she wanted to admit, and she covered her discomfort by starting the bike’s engine and lifting the kickstand.
“Come on,” she said, desperately hoping her voice didn’t sound as husky to Spar as it did to her own ears. “I’d like to get home before sunrise, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Fil stared straight ahead and gritted her teeth while her newly gorgeous companion moved to straddle the
Exasperation made Fil snap, though she supposed the exhaustion didn’t help either. Damn it, she wasn’t wild about overbearing males at this best of times, and this damned sure didn’t qualify for that distinction.
“Look, Rocky, if you won’t fly, your only other choice is to get on the damned bike. You got a shrink ray in your pocket so we can move this along, maybe?”
“A shrink ray?” Spar shook his head, his expression indicating that maybe he was considering lumping her mental state in with that of the exploding cultist earlier. “I do not even wish to know what such a thing might be, so I feel certain that I do not have one in my possession. However, if this is indeed our only mode of transportation to your living space, perhaps this might help?”
A waspish demand fizzled on the tip of Fil’s tongue as she watched yet another impossibility occur before her very eyes. For an instant the air around Spar seemed to shimmer, but before she could focus on the strange phenomenon, her eyes were too busy focusing on the drop-dead-gorgeous specimen of apparently human man candy that stood in the gargoyle’s place.
“Wha-huh?” she stuttered.
Who could blame her? Fil might have found something compelling about the gargoyle statue that had drawn her back to the abbey that evening. It had possessed a kind of inhuman beauty in its ferocious strength and unwavering stance. This, though, this man who stared back at her from Spar’s bright black eyes … this man’s beauty was entirely human.
“Spar?”
Her voice wavered, and she felt ridiculous asking, but she had to be sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Or, you know, having a stroke. The man nodded, a short, proud dip of his chin, and the gesture solidified her first impression—that this was a gargoyle in human’s clothing.
He still towered over her, but at six foot and three or four inches, he no longer loomed high enough to draw immediate attention. His hair was cropped close to his scalp, dark and barely too long to be called a buzz. The style appeared vaguely gladiatorial, the way his clothing had been in his other form, but it suited him and his almost military bearing.
The wings were gone, of course—where, she couldn’t even hazard a guess—and his legs, clad in ordinary, faded blue jeans, appeared jointed in the normal human manner. She could only assume the feet in his heavy, battered boots no longer sported the kind of talons that could disembowel a bison with one swipe, because his hands looked claw-free, strong, and entirely normal.
His features, she realized, appeared almost the same, maybe a little less severe, softened even more by the shadow of stubble that covered his jaw, but recognizable from his statue form. His eyes still shone as if lit from within, but that could be a trick of the light. Spar the Guardian now looked like Spar the perfectly ordinary human man.
Only about fifty times hotter.
“Is this acceptable?” he asked, his voice still low enough to rumble through her, but not as booming now. “Have I erred with my appearance in some manner?”
Yeah, you made yourself so sexy, I want to lick my way from your forehead to your heels, you big hunk of man, you.
Quickly, Fil shook her head and cleared her throat. “Um, no. Not at all. You look, uh, you look fine.” She had to tear her gaze away, something that took more willpower than she wanted to admit, and she covered her discomfort by starting the bike’s engine and lifting the kickstand.
“Come on,” she said, desperately hoping her voice didn’t sound as husky to Spar as it did to her own ears. “I’d like to get home before sunrise, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Fil stared straight ahead and gritted her teeth while her newly gorgeous companion moved to straddle the
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