Chapter 89

"Do you have any idea how old you are?" Marc asked the question in French, just to see how easily the nameless woman responded.
"Non." She didn't even seem to notice the switch, just replied in the same language. Her accent was neither Quebecois nor Parisian but he couldn't tell any more than that.
"Does French feel more comfortable than English?" He flipped the steaks.
She paused, scrunching her eyebrows over her nose. "No."
"How about Italian?" He hoped not. That wasn't one of his better languages. "Or Greek?"
This time she just shook her head. "All four seem sort of equal, I suppose. Like I'm used to switching back and forth on a regular basis."
"Well educated, moderately wealthy and from somewhere with a mixed population. You had to have been on a ship - that's the only explanation I can think of for finding you this far from shore. It's too late in the year for there to be much activity on the beaches here." After taking down two black stoneware plates, he laid a steak on each, poured red wine into a pair of stemmed glasses and waited for the microwave to ding.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shivered. "I think I'm from somewhere warmer than here, as well. I'm freezing."
The timer went off and Marc transferred the potatoes to their plates. "Let's see if food warms you up." He got out salad bowls and silverware then rounded the island to sit on the stool beside her while she refilled their wine glasses. "Cheers."
She clinked her glass against his. "Salut."
"How about music?" he asked, eyeing the satellite radio receiver on the counter. "Can you remember what you like?"
"Everything," she replied around a bite of salad. "Rock, jazz, folk, you name it."
He settled on some soft jazz, figuring it made better background music for a meal than the heavy metal he'd been listening to at lunchtime.
"This is fabulous," she said with a sensual little moan as she tasted the steak. "You may cook for me anytime, monsieur." She dug in with a fierceness that belied her tiny waist. "We only need my fresh raspberry torte to finish it."
"Sorry. I'm going to have to go into town tomorrow night to get some groceries. I can pick up raspberries if you like."
"Why tomorrow night?" She paused with her fork halfway to her lips and tilted her head. "Can you not go in the morning?"
He laughed. "Okay, you don't know a lot about gargoyles. From sunrise to sunset I'm big, brown and winged. Not the best time for going out in public."
"Really? No, I didn't know that."
She eyed his broad-shouldered form and wondered what he would look like with wings. The idea was oddly exciting - or maybe it wasn't so odd. Here was a man she could be with and not worry that her own wings would pop out if she got carried away. She didn't know if she'd ever been with a nonhuman - or a human for that matter - but she knew that being held against his chest while she cried had been almost as tantalizing as it was comforting. She wanted him and she hadn't even seen him with his clothes off. Just sitting next to him on the barstools, she could detect traces of his spicy, masculine scent and it was making her wet.
"So what do you do for a living so far away from everything? Are you a writer? An internet guru? Or just a hermit? Money obviously isn't a problem."
"This is just a vacation home, I'm afraid. It's the place I go to get away from it all. But nine to five in a crowded office would clearly be a problem. Nobody tailors suits to fit around wings or a tail. I'm an investments broker - I handle all the finances for the clan as a whole and for most of the individuals and families in it."
"You said you're not married," she noted, taking another sip of the mellow red wine. "Is there someone special waiting back in..."
"Montreal," he supplied. "And no. I'm not involved with anyone. Haven't been in years."
"Montreal. That sounds...familiar." She chewed the last bite of her steak and chased it with the last sip of wine just before a yawn erupted from her throat. The force and suddenness of it startled her, knocking her almost off her stool.
"Maybe it will come to you in a dream," he said with a sweet, slightly rueful smile. His lower lip was fuller than the top one and she fought back an urge to lean up and nip it with her teeth.
"Maybe." She actually thought her dreams would be filled with thoughts of him. But she was too tired now to do anything about the urges that coiled in her belly as he took her arm to lead her back to the bedroom. "What about the dishes?"
"I'll take care of those later. I'm not the one recovering." He paused outside the door to what was clearly the master bedroom. "Okay if I get a few things out before you go to bed?"
"Of course. But where will you sleep?"
"There are guestrooms," he said with that easy smile. She sat on the edge of the bed while he pulled out a clean pair of flannel lounge pants and collected his toothbrush from the bathroom and his laptop off the desk. "There's a fresh toothbrush on the sink. Towels are in the closet. Help yourself to whatever else you need."
"But I'm the guest," she pointed out. "Why am I sleeping in your room?"
He stood in the doorway, tipping his head to the side. "A very valid question. I guess it just didn't seem right to make you switch since you've been in here most of the night. Why don't we just leave it like this and think about it more after we've both gotten some sleep?"
"Oh, very well," she said - or tried to say around another yawn. "But the bump on my head will be gone soon and then you won't be able to boss me around. Immortals heal very quickly, you know."
"Looking forward to it, blackbird." He stepped up, brushed a kiss against her cheek.
"Will I see you after sunrise?" A glance at the clock said the night was almost over and she really wanted to know what he looked like in his natural form.
"Unless you'd rather not." There was a hint of caution in his tone, as if he were actually worried about her response.
"I won't be afraid."
"Then I'll see you in a few hours. Now sleep." With an upward quirk of just one side of his mouth, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.