Chapter 44

Beau woke feeling better than he had in years, despite the fact that both feet and one arm were hanging off the edge of the bed. Dana was lying next to him, her face turned into her pillow, snuffling softly. In her sleep, she looked more like a contented kitten than the force of nature he knew her to be when awake.
Mindful of what she'd said the night before, he eased himself out from beside her and drew on his boxers before padding out to what passed for a kitchen. The furnished flat she was using was tiny for one person. With two of them in it, the place would be downright cozy. Hopefully it would only be for a few days, then he could return home with the crown. If fate was truly kind, he'd have gotten over his obsession with her by then and he'd be able to sleep again. Almost every night for the last five months he'd woken up hard, dreaming of a tawny-haired half-dragon.
The coffeemaker was a primitive version but he got it started before he backtracked to the miniscule bathroom. He showered and shaved with only a few bumped elbows to show for it. Good thing he didn't shift to his gargoyle shape every morning. He'd break out a wall. He made his way back to the kitchenette and rummaged through the refrigerator for food. There were eggs and a bit of bacon, in addition to the bread and even a small wedge of cheese. Omelets, then. While Dana might be able to survive on toast, Beau couldn't. Especially after the workout he'd had last night, first on the hallway floor, then later in that undersized bed. Around Dana Logan, he needed to keep up his strength.
When Lady Helene, the clan's seer had insisted he come in person, he'd objected but mostly because his mother expected it. Bettine Dumont had issues with letting either of her children or her grandchildren out of her sight. Beau understood, even if it sometimes drove him crazy. Maybe once Annette had successfully completed her first transformation, both Beau and his mother could rest more easily.
"Good morning." He looked up as Dana dragged herself into the room, sleepily pushing her masses of hair out of her face.
"Morning," she replied around a yawn. "Is there coffee yet?"
"Sit." The omelet was fine, so he stepped away from the stove to push her into one of the wicker chairs in the sitting room. "Coffee coming right up. Black?"
"Please." She sat, curling her feet up into an effortless lotus position. He paused to admire her long limbs, highlighted by the skimpy shorts and camisole she'd put on. "Is that food I smell?"
"Just an omelet." He flipped it quickly, then delivered her a mug of the strong black brew he'd made. "You can have toast, if you prefer."
"You cook?" She took a long swallow from her mug and sighed. "Food's good. I just don't usually bother in the mornings."
"Not an early riser, I'm guessing." With a quick flick of his wrist, he flipped the omelet onto a waiting plate. After turning off the stove, he cut it in half and transferred one piece to another plate, added strips of bacon to each and carried their breakfast around the counter to the sitting room.
"Not at all," she agreed, accepting the plate and fork he proffered.
Beau sank onto the rickety sofa and balanced his own plate on his knee.
"There's a reason my antique shop in Philadelphia doesn't open until ten," she added, cutting a piece of the fluffy eggs. He watched her taste it, then close her eyes and moan in appreciation. "Damn. A scientist, a cop and you can cook. Keep feeding me like this and you can hog the covers as long as you want."
"I do not hog the covers," he denied as haughtily as he could with a mouth full of bacon. "But you, mademoiselle, are a pillow thief."
"Ha!" She stabbed the air with her fork. "Am not." Then her face broke into a wide grin and she giggled.
Beau chuckled as well, though he was busy watching her jiggle while she laughed. Her breasts were small and firm but they still bounced nicely.
"Damn, it's hard to stay mad at a man who cooks." She wiped her eyes and took another bite of omelet.
"Mad?" She certainly hadn't acted angry when he'd jumped her at her doorway. Or later, in her bed. "Why would you be mad at me?"
"Philly? February? Three a.m.? Ring any bells?" She rolled her eyes. "I know something happened and you had to go home but you could have called at some point and explained."
He'd thought about it. He'd come close to sending her flowers half a dozen times. But each time, he'd convinced himself it was all for the best if she never heard from him again. He had too many commitments, too many responsibilities, to play with a free spirit like Dana. Still, he'd been raised to be a gentleman and the lady did deserve an explanation. He set his plate on the wobbly cocktail table between them and rested his elbows on his knees.
"It was...a family emergency of sorts. My mother called in hysterics. My nephew nearly died that night."
Her plate clattered to the table beside his and she scrambled over to kneel at his feet and take his hands in hers. "I'm so sorry, Beau. Is he okay now?"
He nodded.
"What happened?"
"He is thirteen years old and had problems making his first transformation. That...happens sometimes."
"How awful."
"It is part of the reason we need to recover the regalia. A gargoyle's first change occurs somewhere around puberty but there is no way to predict when. It is always painful, the first time but since the artifacts have been lost, it is now sometimes fatal."