Chapter 107

By the time Marc reached the cockpit, he was almost breathing again. None of the wounds his friends had suffered looked fatal. They were all serious injuries, to be sure, all torso shots, but nothing their gargoyle healing mechanisms shouldn't be able to take care of - though Damien, at least, would probably be stone for a good long while since his injury had likely punctured a lung, based on location. He must have stood when he saw one of the other gargoyles go down. The other good news was that it looked like most of the rounds had gone all the way through, so they wouldn't be healing with a bullet still inside them, like Marc. He'd have to have that taken care of when he got back to Quebec, but having to re-heal after the surgery would be a small price to pay.
Finally, he leaned over the pilot's chair and checked on his father, his stomach a tight leaden knot. Aldara stood next to him, her clothing and hair spattered with blood. At least the knot on her head had already started to heal.
"Looks like maybe a broken collarbone," Marc said as he examined his father's petrified form. His knees nearly gave out on him with relief. "But too high, I think, to have hit anything vital." His parents had been married for over eighty years but were still devoted to each other. He didn't want to imagine how his mother would deal with Etienne's death.
"Thank the gods," Aldara whispered. "I'd have never forgiven myself if any of them had been killed because of me."
"None of this was your fault, sweetheart." He crushed her close, reveling in the fact that they were all alive and that at least for the moment she wasn't fighting off his embrace. He needed to hold her for a moment, needed to feel her, all warm and healthy and next to him. "I'm just glad it's over."
"Me too." She tilted her face up to his and cupped the back of his head with one hand. "I was afraid you were dead, Marc, and part of me wanted to die too, right then and there. I have no idea how you've come to mean so much to me so quickly but you have. When I thought I might never get to kiss you again, to feel your arms around me, I realized I was a fool earlier today. I love you, Marc Armel. I fell in love with you before I knew you were a prince and I was already part of the way there before I even remembered who I was. I hope you can forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, blackbird." His eyes stung as he looked down into her beloved face. "I love you too."
"I'd be proud for your people to know I'm your...lover," she said.
Marc smiled and used one thumb to wipe a tear off her cheek. "I'd rather introduce you as my fiancée. Think you could live with that instead?"
She tipped her head to the side, studying his face. "You mean...?"
"I mean, will you marry me, Aldara Cromlech? Will you stay with me in Montreal and be my wife, my consort, my best friend for as long as we live?" He couldn't believe he'd proposed standing next to his injured father on a pilotless plane filled with blood and bullet holes. Way to go, idiot! How romantic was that?
"I'd love to," she whispered. She went up on her tiptoes and squeezed him tight. "Yes, yes, yes!"
It was a long night, and by the time they got back to Marc's townhouse it was nearly dawn. His people had their gold and diamond crown back, his friends were healed and everybody was happy. "I like your house," she said around a yawn the minute they crossed the threshold. "Where's the bedroom?"
"Upstairs." Marc took her hand, kicked the front door shut behind them and towed her toward the stairway. They'd at least been able to shower and change earlier when the gargoyle medics had checked over Aldara and dug the bullet out of Marc's side. Thanks to Mari Rocher meeting them at the airstrip with the healing cup, he hadn't had to revert to stone to recover. His father and friends were all fully restored as well, though somewhat chagrined that Marc and Aldara had defeated the bad guy without their help. Without Marc's rapid healing ability - and the fact that he'd pivoted just enough to catch the bullet between two ribs instead of inside his chest cavity, they'd all have been dead. Now that it was all over, Marc was just dog tired.
"I think your mother liked me," she said hopefully as she climbed the stairs beside him. "She's rather imposing at first, but beneath it, she was very kind."
"She adored you," Marc corrected. He led her through the doorway into his large master suite. The sleek modern décor was similar to his home on the island, though a little less stark to blend with the character of the century-old house. "And she was thrilled to know we're getting married. She doesn't wear her emotions very close to the surface, but believe me, she's genuinely happy to have you for a daughter-in-law."
"What kind of gargoyle will I be, I wonder?" she mused. "I hope I still have wings." She peeled off her jacket and tossed it on a chair, making herself right at home. The easy gesture gave Marc a happy little thrill. She was home. And for the first time in his life so was he. Home with Aldara.
"You plan to convert?" He'd hoped she would, of course. Though she was already immortal, he knew that his people would be happier in the long run if their leader's consort was one of their own.
Her laugh was soft and tired but sweet. "Of course I do, silly. Your parents would be devastated if we didn't give them grandchildren somewhere down the line."