The Beautiful and the Cursed: Marco's Story Read Free Page A

him, she said nothing as he walked toward the chair. She continued to draw, eyes peering up for a moment before looking back at her paper. The full, pearly moon provided all the light she needed.
    Yet again Marco attempted to reason out his behavior when it came to Grace. He had heard tell of gargoyles that favored one human charge over their others. They were usually infant gargoyles, though, newly Dispossessed and still adjusting to the cruel reality that they would never—
could
never—be with a woman again.
    Marco was no infant. He could appreciate women’s beauty, but his fire for them had been snuffed out long ago. Why desire what one cannot have? He had tortured himself long enough. No, he wasn’t attracted to Grace.
    “The Pegasus constellation is my favorite,” she whispered, her pencil connecting lines between the stars she had been busy charting. “What is yours?”
    Marco stood beside the rattan chaise, his arms crossed. He didn’t bother to look at the sky. “There is nothing up there that interests me.”
    Grace laid her pencil flat and leaned her head back. “Not even God?”
    A laugh rumbled deep in Marco’s chest. “We aren’t on the best of terms.”
    She straightened in her seat and tucked in her legs to make room at the foot of the chaise for Marco.
    “And is there anything down here that interests you, Mr. Angelis?”
    Her whisper stopped Marco from taking a seat. She would sometimes do this. Flirt with him. Marco had found that if he ignored it, she stopped. He disliked the idea of disappointing Grace, but she always recovered quickly.
    Besides, he knew too well that stars were not the only objects in the night sky. Any number of gargoyles might circle overhead at any given moment.
    “Right now, I’m interested in why you were crying this morning. Why you’ve been upset all week.” She parted her lips to speak, but he cut her off. “And do not say you cannot tell me. Neither of us is leaving this roof until you do.”
    She sealed her mouth and closed her sketchbook.
    “I know it has to do with Lady Arabella,” Marco supplied, vaulting one of his brows.
    Grace sighed. “Do you want me to be fired, is that it? If she finds out I’ve told you, or anyone else, she will see to it.”
    He had never thought the baron’s daughter very cunning. She had beauty, money, and a title, but little more to offer. Marco would not have cared so much about Arabella’s secret if not for that demon dust.
    “Grace, I can protect you.” The words were more honest than he could ever explain. “But I need to know where you were this morning.”
    She threw her legs over the edge of the chaise and stood up. She began to pace, the blanket trailing behind her like a queen’s robes.
    “I don’t know who he is,” she finally said, her back to Marco. “I don’t know where she met him, but he is clearly unsuitable. My lady is … I can’t easily explain it.”
    So Lady Arabella had been meeting a man. How pedestrian.
    “Try,” Marco pressed, moving toward her.
    She saw him from the corner of her eye. “My lady is different since meeting him. I’ve never seen her so enamored with someone before.” Grace stopped pacing and faced him, looking relieved to be sharing this secret. “But I don’t understand why she is so obsessed. I usually watch from the carriage while they sit in a square or at a café. Their meetings are brief and chaste, but there is something wrong about him.”
    Of course there was. Marco could guess exactly what, too.
    He flexed his fingers to distract himself from the tension running up his spine. The mere image of a demon coming close to one of his humans made his gargoyle form yearn for release. For that was what this “man” had to be. And only the most powerful demons could take on a human guise.
    “She met with him again this morning?” he asked.
    The complaints about musty clothing made sense now. The demon stink must have seeped into whatever she was wearing during