Page 17 of Shadows and Stone

"Ryker," he breathes, his thumb tracing the shape of my jaw. "You're claws... fuck."

I blink, the haze of lust clearing just enough for panic to set in. "Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I—"

"I didn't say stop," he chuckles, a sassy, confident smirk returning to his lips as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth. "I was just going to say it feels good."

Damn, this little human is going to be the death of me. I reluctantly loosen my grip, letting his feet touch the floor. Despite that, I can't bring myself to lower my wings completely. I don’t want to let him go. I need him in my arms. I feel raw, exposed, and completely overwhelmed. The creepy letter from his stalker is still sitting there just feet away from us. It’s a stark reminder of why I’m actually here.

"Teagan, I’m so sorry." I run a hand over my face, the subtle texture of my purple skin feeling coarse under my own touch. "That shouldn't have happened. I swore to Dean Yaga, and to myself, that I would keep this purely professional. At least until this shit is over. You're in danger. A stalker is tracking you, and I just let myself get distracted."

Teagan’s smile softens. I expect him to pull away. Instead, he reaches up and gently caresses my cheek. "You didn't get distracted, Ryker. You reacted to someone threatening me. That’s a big difference. Then, I kissed you because I wanted to. Don't ruin that perfect kiss and sexy makeout session with some misplaced guilt."

"It's not just guilt," I grumble, stepping back so my wings can tuck against my back. The cold room air immediately hits us. "I'm supposed to be your shield, Teagan. If I lose my head because I'm attracted to you, I could miss something."

"You won't," Teagan says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze is razor-sharp. "Because you're too good at what you do. Now, come on. Let’s go get something to eat. Have you ever tried Monster-ella Sticks?"

I stare at him. "What?"

“Come on, gargoyle. They are amazing with Boowery beer.”

A few days later, I find myself standing in the middle of a chaotic, music pulsing nightmare known as the Alpha Claw Omega house. Ethan, Teagan’s younger brother, had practically burst through our dorm door at seven o'clock, babbling about "tradition" and "free cheap beer." Teagan agreed instantly. Insisting it was part of his “act like a normal college student” bucket list. But I suspect that it’s an excuse to escape the heated tension after our kiss.

The fraternity house is jam packed with dancing students, loud chatter, and the overwhelming scent of alcohol. Not to mention all the monster pheromones. If we weren’t at a party with underage drinking, this would be the ideal place to capture Creelin U’s vast diversity. I spot a pair of harpies dancing, a couple of satyrs killing it at a beer pong table, and a massive, gray-skinned gargoyle standing near the front door, looking about as miserable as I feel. “You and me both, brother,” I murmur out loud.

The main difference between that gargoyle and me? He’s gray, stoic, and completely ignored by the crowd, blending in easily.

I, on the other hand, am a seven-foot-tall, bright purple gargoyle in a fitted black shirt that feels far too tight across my shoulders. And worse, I’m currently tracking Teagan Dae through the crowded living room like an obsessed stalker watching his prey.

"Relax, big guy," Ethan shouts over the loud bass, sipping from a red plastic cup as he leans against the doorway. "Teagan’s fine. He does this all the time at industry wrap parties. He knows how to handle a crowd."

"Those parties have security guards," I growl. My gaze locks onto the back of Teagan’s head. His purple hair stands out like a beacon under the lights, showing off the hues of violet and magenta. He’s laughing, holding a bottle of Boowery beer, talking to a group of undergrads who look like they’re two seconds away from hyperventilating at the sight of a real K-drama actor in their living room. "This house has hundreds of drunk teens focused on their own shit and zero door checks."

"Okay, true," Ethan admits. "Though, if anyone tries anything, I'm pretty sure you could just throat punch them with your gargoyle strength."

I roll my eyes. Throat punch? "I’m trying very hard not to go to jail, Ethan."

My eyes never leave Teagan. I couldn’t if I tried. Even in the middle of a crazy college party, he’s stunning. The way his body moves when he laughs, the expressive way his pretty brown eyes flash, and that sassy tilt of his chin when he talks. All of it, it’s intoxicating. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to walk over there, throw him over my shoulder, and show everyone in this room exactly who he belongs too.

No, you asshole. He doesn't belong to you, my brain snaps back. You're temporary. Just here until the stalker is caught. The thought stings worse than it should.

Temporary.

Zay suddenly materializes at my side. "Hey, Ryker!" He’s wearing his Creelin U sweatshirt and holding an empty shot glass. "Did you notice the embroidery on that vampire's jacket over there?" As soon as Zay found out I had a hidden talent with fabric, he constantly liked to get my opinion on clothing random students wore. Teagan encouraged it, convinced that these little exercises might trigger a memory of some kind.

I blink, forcing my attention away from Teagan for a second to glance at the vamp Zay is pointing toward. My eyes focus in on the shitty jacket seam, automatically mentioning the fabric type, crappy stitching, and it’s obvious signs that it’s a fake, so, probably not something sold on campus.

Zay stares at me, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Dude. You really are a fashion genius. Where did you learn all that?"

I blow out a deep breath. "I... I don't know."

That familiar knot of frustration tightens in my chest. My hands twitch at my sides, muscle memory searching for the weight of a pair of shears or the smooth wooden surface of a cutting table that isn't there. "It just kinda... comes out."

Before Zay can pry further, a shift in the room’s energy instantly pulls my focus back to Teagan.

The group he was talking to has dispersed, leaving Teagan near the hallway. He isn't alone.

A tall, broad-shouldered minotaur shifter wearing a varsity jacket has stepped into Teagan’s personal space. He has small, curved horns protruding through his messy brown hair. The guy is leaning against the wall, effectively trapping Teagan between his body and the hallway doorframe.

I can't hear what he’s saying over the music, but I don't fucking need to. I see the exact second Teagan’s practiced smile falters. The subtle, defensive shift in Teagan's posture as he takes a step back, his hand coming up to press against the guy's chest in a clear 'back the hell off' motion.