“Tricky little bitch,” I said with a grin, unable to help laughing. Austin was being dominated by a house, and while I didn’t know how, I knew it pissed him off. It pissed him off, and Ivy House was gloating about that fact.

“I’m definitely going to the loony bin,” I said as I tore my gaze away from the triumphant woman in the wooden carving and went off to join the others. “I’m rooting on a house in a battle of wills with a man that turns into a polar bear. Somewhere along the line I’ve hit my head and now I’m living in fantasy land. I’m probably in a straitjacket in a padded room as I mutter about knives named Cheryl…”

My mumbles dried up, along with all the spit in my mouth, when I walked into the sitting room they’d chosen for the meeting.

My gaze immediately went to the man at the back of the room. He had dark, tousled hair, a midnight five o’clock shadow, a strong jaw, and a straight, narrow nose. His eyes, the lids naturally heavy, as though he were plotting something, flicked my way. In the next moment, his body position shifted minimally, enough to alert everyone in the room that he’d torn focus away from them and was now devoting it all to me.

A hush settled on the room as the others followed his lead, and in that moment I knew. He was the large gargoyle with the incredible wingspan. This was the guy who had saved my life, protected me from the reaching branches, and cut himself up in the briars so I wouldn’t get scratched. This was my knight in shining armor. This incredibly hot guy, in his mid-thirties, was under my command.

The breath left my chest and a tingling warmth spread within my lady-drawers. Usually a man got the position of power and the underling was an implausibly sexy young woman. The role reversal was a little hot, making me want to do things that were a lot naughty, and oh my God, where were these thoughts coming from?

I cleared my throat, trying to scrub my mind while I was at it. I might have to work with this guy—you never got involved with someone you worked with.

“You need to live a little. When the pants come off, make sure he’s the one on his knees.”

I blocked out Ivy House’s magical communication and thus her voice. She wasn’t helping.

“Well now, this is nice, everyone just standing around, staring at each other,” Niamh said, cutting through my frozen thoughts. Mr. Tom sighed much too loudly.

There went any semblance of classiness, gone with one comment.

“Hi,” I said to the room at large, not able to tear my eyes away from the tall man in the back. He was Mr. Tom’s height—six four or five—but he looked much larger by virtue of his perfect posture. His broad shoulders and muscular chest was nearly as robust as Austin’s, and his wings fell so low that they nearly dusted his ankles.

A surge of heat blistered through me, making me want to fly with him again. To see those incredible wings snap out before they pounded against the air. Something in me craved it. And I didn’t just want to see it—I wanted to join him, to meet him in the sky so we could tumble down together, our bodies entwining, reaching our finish and separating before we crashed into the ground.

I belatedly realized I was fanning my face while staring at him. A sheen of sweat covered my brow. Live a little, indeed. I’d gone completely off the rails.

“Hi,” I said again with a sheepish smile. “Welcome. I’m Jacinta—Jessie, if you like.” Mr. Tom sniffed, and I wasn’t about to stop and question why. I forced my gaze away from Mr. Hot Guy, looking over the others gathered in the room. Fourteen new faces. The guy with pink hair smiled at me, but the rest of them stood or sat with straight faces and patient gazes, living stone. “Thank you for showing up today. Really. You saved the day. We’re going to have to be a lot more careful now that we know people are infiltrating this neck of the woods. If not for you, I would’ve been splattered on the rocks.”

My gaze slid back to those serious, deep brown eyes in that handsome face, letting him know that last thank you was for him in particular. His nod was succinct—just another day saving damsels in distress.

“I’d like to go around and get all your names, if I could,” I said, taking another few steps into the room. “After that we’ll order some pizzas, I’ll give you a little history on my situation here, and we’ll figure out what we’re going to do with all of you. You won’t all fit in Ivy House.”

“At least one of them sure will, though,” Niamh murmured, and my face burned hot. This was not the time to return to blushing.

Or fanning my face.

Or agreeing with Niamh.

It certainly wasn’t the time for all three…

13

“Okay, well…” Later that night I stood in front of Damarion’s chosen room like a geeky teenager who didn’t know how to flirt.

He and two others, not including Cedric, who was also staying, had been given rooms in Ivy House, Mr. Tom insisting at least that many resident gargoyles were needed to protect me after the attack. Damarion had pushed for more, but I didn’t want to feel like I was walking on eggshells in my own home. Four strangers were bad enough, especially when one seemed to cause hot flashes of the lustful persuasion.

My God, the guy was hot, though. Hot and intense and I couldn’t push away the fact that he’d saved my life and thought nothing of the act. It made him that much more desirable.

I was crushing. Hard. I’d forgotten what it was like. I kinda liked it, though I could do without all the embarrassing remarks from Niamh and the goading remarks from Ivy House. I didn’t need one pimp, thank you very much, let alone several. Good grief.

Damarion waited just inside the door, his gaze rooted to mine, a man of few words.

“Thanks again, for everything,” I said, prone to babbling around him. I wasn’t a master at small talk, and with him, it showed.

“I am glad I came,” he replied.

“Awesome.”

Oh man, had I really just flashed him a thumbs-up?

I tore my hand out of the air. “Anyway, if you need anything, I’m in the master suite at the end of the hall.” I pointed at a wall. “I mean… You know.” I did finger acrobatics, as though he’d find his way through the halls thanks to my pointer finger tracing the invisible path. “So…”

“Thank you,” he said, stepping forward, his direct gaze intimidating, mostly because I was thinking impure thoughts. “This house—your magic—is a legend among our kind. It is a great honor to be summoned here.”

“Oh.” I smiled at him and then tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I can help you. I can feel your magic, pulsing within you. I can help you release it. That is why you summoned me, is it not? You require…release?”

His eyes sparkled devilishly. My chest felt tight, like I wasn’t getting enough air.

“Y-yes.” I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool but so out of practice with all this. I hadn’t expected to be this fervently attracted to someone so quickly, especially someone much younger and way hotter.

“Power trumps beauty,” the walls whispered. But this was not the voice of Ivy House—it was a woman’s voice, the same one I’d heard before accepting the magic—Tamara Ivy, the creator of this place, if I had to guess. “But just like you wouldn’t trust someone who only valued you for your beauty, trust no one who only lusts after your power. Trust no one who doesn’t see you for you. Your life depends on it.”

Fair point, but a depressing sentiment. She wasn’t the happiest of women. Being murdered would certainly do that to a person. I really needed to find out the story behind that so I had a little reference for her words.

“I mean, I need help controlling the magic,” I said. “I can do some things, but I have a lot to learn. I need someone to help teach me.”

He took another step toward me, his head bowed to look down into my eyes. I licked my lips, trying to hold my ground. “You know all you need to know,” he said. “You merely have to release the information from your mind, and the magic with it. Slowly at first, to get used to it, but then in wild, hard, pleasurable gushes.”

Okay, that was a little much with the double entendres. I knew that logically, anyway, but my body hadn’t quite gotten the memo, because I shivered hot and cold.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

Another step, right in front of me now, leaning over me so our breath merged, the air between our mouths heating. “I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice not much more than a hum. “I just do. The second I landed on Ivy House soil after rescuing you, I felt it. I felt it as hard as I felt your summons. Just like I can feel your magic, which isn’t something I can normally do. I am meant for this role, Jacinta. I am meant to help make you our queen.”

Like Edgar finding the book because he was meant to read the old scripts. Clearly Ivy House had deemed Damarion worthy, and given him a few tools to help him train me.

She couldn’t somehow superheat my blood within his proximity, could she? Because that was just wrong on so many levels.

“Okay, well…” I took a nice, big step back, just in case. “O-kay. I’m going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Flying, right?”

“Yes. I’ll take you flying after your training, and then to dinner.” He put his forearm in front of his waist and bowed. “If you’ll allow me to escort you.”

My belly fluttered. “Uhm, sure. I should warn you, though, I haven’t been lucky on the dating front. Zero for two. Well, zero for three if you count the failed marriage…”

What was wrong with me? He’d said dinner, he hadn’t said anything about dating! Even if he had, my response shouldn’t have been to knock myself and call out my divorced status in the same breath. Abort, abort!

“Anyway…”

“Tomorrow, we will end your streak of bad luck.” He took hold of my hand gently, his palms baby-soft, and brushed his lips across my knuckles.