The gargoyle flexes her wings with a sigh, the open floor plan allowing her to stretch them almost to their full length. The tips quiver slightly, and I wonder if they’re sensitive to touch. I’m drowning in flashes of Seraphine above me, wings cocooning us in privacy, my bare hands reaching for each short claw before tracing the ribs, relishing the downy soft skin there?—
She turns to me, warmth in her face and heat in her eyes that sends a flush through my entire body. I realize I’m dealing with a supernatural being and mind-reading isnotoff the table.
“You listened.” She sighs contentedly, gesturing to the modern accents softened by wood paneling and natural lines. The staircase to the bedrooms is the same textures, built in an accessible width that lets the gargoyle ascend without making herself small, her wing tips quivering with what I hope is joy. I’m not sure what she thinks I listened to, since the previous showing met all her requests and this place does not—no soaking tub, no proximity to the Presidio, no view of the Golden Gate. But I’m pleased she’s pleased.
I follow Seraphine to the next floor, rambling about the tiling in the guest bathroom, the smart system that controls temperature, lighting, and general ambience with a flick of her finger.
Stupidly, embarrassingly, mortifyingly, I am again struck dumb when we enter the bedroom. My tongue fills my mouth like too much dry bread, and I immediately forget anything about real estate. If the gargoyle asks me about square footage or parking, I’ll drool in answer.
Seraphine asks me a question from far away, barely audible over the high-pitched ringing in my ears. My vision blurs, theworld tilts, and only then do I realize she is sitting on the edge of the bed, dark duvet dimpling beneath the curve of her ass, the press of her delicate hands. She looks up at me, the soft city lights glowing on her already luminescent skin, a question on her face, a need in her eyes.
“Sorry?” I rasp.
“Are you in the market for a bed?” The way she repeats herself makes it clear this isn’t the first time she’s asked me.
I shake my head, finally clearing it enough to come back to earth. “No, I’m not. There’s no need. Mine will last a while, given the lack of use.”
WHY DID I SAY THAT?
Seraphine arches a brow, looking at me curiously, a wry smile quirking her lush mouth. I have to stop staring at her mouth, so I drag my gaze away only to be caught between the swell of her breasts, then the soft place where her neck meets the strong curve of her shoulders.
I am helpless with this woman—this magical creature of another world, another time. I can’t believe I ever considered her “just another monster.” Just another box to check on my road to freedom.
She’s waiting for me to say something else, so I regurgitate the designer’s information, rambling breathlessly about how some owners prefer to buy a unit with the staging, like a tasteful pre-furnishment. Seraphine shakes her head slowly, the other eyebrow popping up to meet the first.
“Oh, no, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I’ll have my things shipped from Lyon.” She gestures easily to her wings. “Someone with my accoutrement requires specific furnishing.”
My brain finally kicks back on at the future tense of her language.
“You will?” I can barely breathe. “Or you would?”
Seraphine breaks into an infectious giggle, standing so she’s barely a half step away from me.
“This one,” she says, taking my hands in hers, the soft press of her skin against mine distracting me from the grip I have on the keys. “This one speaks to me.”
I’m lost in her deep brown eyes, thrilled to swim there until I die, like a squirrel caught in a pool.
“I’ll take it, Anya,” she says, voice a low thrill down my spine. The joy of her touch, of her incandescent gaze, of her nearness evaporates in the face of the truth. I’ll never see her again after this. I’ll hand over yet another client’s keys and move on with my life. This is it. The final monster on my list.
I jerk my hands away, stumble back a step, wheezing against the tightness in my chest. This was supposed to be a triumphant moment—proof that I could meet the supernatural challenge laid before me without breaking a sweat. I was going to use the money to buy my own penthouse and throw a glorious party announcing my return to the life I used to work so hard to maintain.
The life that got me in this mess in the first place.
Freedom is knocking at the door and?—
“Are you alright?” Seraphine still holds her hands mid-air, as if waiting for me to return. I want to. I want to hold more than her hands. I want our time together to smolder until it ignites. And anyone who has built a roaring fire in a hearth knows that it takes time, energy, and attention. It doesn’t happen with one attempt—or even two.
Before I can think it through, I tuck the keys into my pocket, keeping two fingers looped through the ring. I can’t shake the feeling someone will rip them from me if I’m not vigilant.
“Meghna called me.” I don’t know why I bring her up. I don’t know why I say her name like that. I don’t know why Ican’t physically bring myself to hand over the keys to my final successful sale.
Seraphine’s eyes dart around the room, skimming over the keys in my pocket before landing back on my face. “Good.” But she says it like she isn’t sure what else to say, somewhere between a question and a confirmation.
“One of my other clients gave her my number?—”
“I didn’t?—”
“Edur Boreal referred her.”