“I mean no disrespect, but it’s also my territory now,” Dimitrie said, giving the horse’s snout a gentle rub. “And they are my humans as well.”
Luc launched himself into the stall, his boots scattering fresh hay. Dimitrie jumped back and the horse whinnied and stomped. Luc curbed his temper, fast. It wouldn’t be wise to show this boy just how little he wanted to share his humans. Especially one human in particular.
Ingrid.
Once Dimitrie met Ingrid Waverly and breathed in her scent for the first time, he would be able to call it up at any moment. He would be able to feel the echo of Ingrid’s heartbeat, the flutter of her pulse. He would be able to know exactly where she was at all times, whether she was afraid or happy or sad or anxious. He’d feel her every emotion. Dimitrie would be connected to Ingrid just as Luc was. Luc stifled a growl of irritation.
“Where do you come from?” he asked to change the subject.
There were hundreds of Dispossessed in the city, thousands in Europe, perhaps hundreds of thousands the world over. The Dispossessed guarded any territory where les grotesques stood, whether it was a public park, a cemetery, or a private home. Dimitrie didn’t look familiar, but Luc’s circle of acquaintances was rather slim.
“Not far. Bourges,” Dimitrie answered, his eyes still on the horse’s quivering flesh. Luc supposed he did make the animals a bit jumpy, but he was Lady Brickton’s driver. The horses had no choice but to work with him.
“The other servants tell me the family is unnatural,” Dimitrie said. “Especially the twin brother and sister.”
Luc arched a brow. He’d thought Irindi would explain things to Dimitrie. But perhaps she simply tossed the boy into his new territory and washed her hands clean of it.
“You should keep yourself separate from the other servants,” Luc advised. “Give them no reason to gossip about you.”
After the debacle in December, Lady Brickton had raised the servants’ pay significantly to secure their silence and to keep them on staff. The servants knew almost everything now. They had witnessed not only Grayson in hellhound form, but two gargoyles as well, one of which had shifted from true form to human form directly in front of them. They had also seen Ingrid, whose angelic blood had lit her up like an incandescent bulb and given her the power to subdue the attacking gargoyles—all on the front lawn of the churchyard.
Only the butler, the cook, and two lady’s maids had chosen to remain. Nora, Gabby’s maid, had been killed by a hellhound. Luc supposed that was reason enough for the others to have flown the coop.
“Besides,” Luc added, a knot at the base of his throat coiling tight. “It isn’t wise to become friendly with the humans.”
Luc had learned his lesson.
Dimitrie’s bony shoulder rose in a shrug. “I don’t mind humans so much.”
The confession silenced Luc. Admitting something like that to another gargoyle was a serious risk. There were plenty of gargoyles who did mind humans. Despised them, even. Especially Alliance humans. They were supposed to be allies to the Dispossessed, and yet there were rumors going around now that Alliance leaders wished to enslave gargoyles even further. Make them bend to Alliance edicts. Suffer Alliance punishments.
Luc would love to see the fools try. Gargoyles were already slaves enough. Irindi and the rest of the Angelic Order ruled over them. They watched and listened. They knew everything. You have an affinity for the child christened Ingrid Charlemagne Waverly. The memory of Irindi’s hollow, monotone voice as she had accused Luc of such a disastrous and unorthodox breach of conduct still flooded him with shame. Yes, he did have an affinity for Ingrid. Worse yet, he’d kissed her, and he’d wanted more—much more—than a kiss.
He still imagined sometimes, when feeling particularly weak, what that more might be like.
But it was a waste of Luc’s time to continue with such pointless imaginings. He was a gargoyle, and the angels or God or whoever had created gargoyles in the first place had covered all the bases. No Dispossessed could take a human lover. Anything more than a kiss triggered an involuntary shift, and a painful one, too: bones snapping, muscles and tendons stretching to unnatural lengths.
Not to mention that the Dispossessed considered such relationships treasonous, punishable by death. Just last December, René, a member of the Wolves caste, had been ripped apart and discarded into the Seine for his indiscretion.
How could Luc protect Ingrid if the same was done to him? Protecting her had to come above all else. He supposed Dimitrie would at least be able to help him in that respect. Still, for the boy to admit he liked humans was a dangerous—even foolish—move. Luc wondered what kind of gargoyle Irindi had sent him.