Hearts of Stone - Sample

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Chapter 2

“Together we are stronger. Together we will survive. Together we will fight this invasion. Other and human united.” The vampire Elior’s eyes were weary and the ruby shine of his Other dominated. In the background, both of his mates had their wings out, the golden-haired man and dark-haired woman solemn and wearing the armour of the Other forces. “We are one. Stay strong. Help your neighbours. Donate blood to help our vampire population. Share your supplies. If you are near a combat zone, stay low and watch for our soldiers. We are with you.”

The broadcast ended in fuzz.

The weeks had blurred into months since the skies began to burn, the night dark sky turning red, and then the red eclipsed in blackness as flocks of Winged Hellions descended upon them. Angels, devils, it didn’t matter what they were, they were winged death.

They came and destroyed, they took what they wanted, raped and murdered without pity, terrorizing the human and Other population without distinction.

Humans and Other fought back, the battles brutal and desperate. Too often, the winged hellions were victorious, leaving behind the broken bodies of those who sought to stand against them.

“Still with the broadcasts,” Etienne leaned over the back of the couch and sneered over Dior’s shoulder. “Mon Dieu, how many people have access to a device, power to charge it, or an internet signal? Who does he think he is talking to?”

“We have access to a device, power and internet,” Blaise pointed out from the kitchen. “So, he is talking to us.”

“If he wants to talk to us, he can call us,” Etienne retorted, resting his hip against the back of the couch, and stroking his fingers through Dior’s tawny hair. “I think the vampire just likes to see his own image on the TV.”

“I find it comforting,” Blaise carried a wine bottle and three glasses to the coffee table and poured a measure into each glass. “Don’t you, Dior?”

“Hmm,” Dior relaxed under Etienne’s touch. “I think that his message will be received by enough people that it is worthwhile. It keeps the people who hear it feeling connected, makes them feel supported and valued.”

His mind returned to the brilliant green eyes of the girl who had run into him. Haunting eyes, he thought. The Nephilim that she had been meeting with had escaped. It was unusual that a Nephilim would be colluding with a human and he wondered what the girl had exchanged for the vitamins that she had spilled during her escape.

He sighed heavily. He did not like the idea of someone in his city working with the Nephilim. What would motivate a person to work with the enemy like that? He wondered.

“Dior is tense,” Etienne purred, massaging down Dior’s neck and across his shoulders. “After the battle today. You should help him relax, ma chèvre,” he said to Blaise, and Dior did not doubt that the griffin gargoyle’s eyes would be wicked and his smile seductive.

Blaise set his wine glass onto the table and dropped to his knees before Dior. The goat gargoyle was always ready for sex, Dior thought with amusement, watching as the white-blonde man nudged his way between his knees, sliding his hands up the lion gargoyle’s thighs as he moved closer.

“You do look tense,” Blaise’s blue eyes were full of mischief as he stroked Dior’s c-ck to hardness.

“Hmm,” Dior felt anything but tense between the massage of Etienne’s hands and the stroking of Blaise’s hands. He groaned as the goat gargoyle leaned forward and took him into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. The tails of Blaise’s long white-blonde hair swept across his thighs as the other man began to suck, his cheeks hollowing as he did so.

Etienne swung his legs over the back of the couch and slid down against Dior’s side, his skin against Dior’s warm silk. His dark curls were longer than the griffin liked to keep them, but Etienne’s barber had evacuated the city. The griffin stroked his fingers through Blaise’s hair, his hazel-green eyes on Dior’s face, watching as the lion leaned his head against the back of the couch, the long unusual tawny hair falling back from the strong bones of his face.

Etienne leaned over the lion gargoyle and kissed him tenderly. “Yes, mon lion,” he murmured against Dior’s lips. “That is right, enjoy your mate’s mouth on you.”

Etienne liked to direct, Dior thought smugly, and Blaise to obey. They were a good pairing. He could not have picked his mates better, though Etienne had taken some wooing. Blaise, on the other hand, had invited them to f-k him stupid, and, when they had performed to his satisfaction, had immediately accepted them. The goat had gotten off on the thrill of having two predator gargoyles on him, liking the edge of danger that they represented.

“Make him choke,” Etienne leaned back a little in order to watch. Dior’s hand closed in the goat’s hair and his hips rose from the couch cushion, causing the goat to gag and drool. Blaise would be hard, he knew, the goat liking being used roughly. “Oh, yes,” Etienne’s hand stroked himself. “And again, Dior.”

Dior freed himself of Blaise’s mouth and the goat wiped the back of his hand across his chin, his pupils dilated. “Up. I think our griffin wants to get off watching me use you hard,” Dior told the goat and stood so that Blaise could kneel on the couch. The lion gargoyle adjusted the blonde man’s hips and braced a hand against the back of the couch whilst he pushed into the goat, causing Blaise to moan.

Etienne groaned, leaning back against the couch, and watching with voyeuristic interest. “Yes,” he encouraged them. “So sexy.”

Dior leaned into the goat and reached an arm around Blaise in order to grip the goat’s c-ck, stroking him as he thrusted.

“F-k,” Blaise’s arm from elbow to wrist rested against the back of the couch, and he lowered his forehead onto it, giving himself fully into experiencing Dior f-king him. “Oh, yes.”

The goat was nearing release, and Dior gripped him tightly, staying the orgasm until he was ready for him to come. “Etienne,” he growled from between his teeth and the griffin slid forward into the hollow of space between Blaise’s body and the couch. The lion gargoyle released his grip on the goat’s c-ck as he felt Etienne’s lips descend.

Blaise sobbed in a breath of pure ecstasy and came, just as Dior found his own release, gripping the goat’s hips and driving deeply into him, feeling the tight, hot clench of the other man around him slicken as his come spread within him, easing the lion’s withdrawal.

Dior dropped to his knees and took Etienne into his mouth. The griffin did not need much encouragement to come, arching up and groaning, his head still resting on Blaise’s lap, and Dior swallowed down his mate’s seed, waiting until the last throes had worked out the final drops before releasing him and turning to sit on the carpet, one knee up and the other long leg under the coffee table. He passed two of the wine glasses back to his mates and took up his glass.

He took a mouthful, rolling it around his mouth. A good wine, he thought with appreciation as Etienne sat Blaise between his feet, sitting on the back of the couch so that he could braid the goat’s hair.

“Don’t drink my wine,” Etienne told the white-blonde man.

“I know my left from my right, believe it or not,” Blaise replied lightly.

Dior’s mind returned to the woman with the beautiful emerald eyes. An unusual colour, for a human, and almost the same hue as the gargoyle’s Other.

His preoccupation with the woman, he thought, was due to his need to find a female mate. Gargoyles had the smallest population, of all the Others, and Etienne, as a griffin gargoyle, was rarer than himself and Blaise. Their small population, and the rareness of griffins, meant that, more so than many other triads, they had a duty to procreate, something that the griffin had made clear over five hundred years before when, after a lengthy fifty-year courtship, he had finally accepted Dior.

All three gargoyles were of an age where they should be having children. More than, if Dior were completely honest with himself. They should be spilling their seed into a fertile female, and not just into each other.

But it had to be the right woman, one that appeal to all three men, one whose pheromones signalled that she was the right genetic match for them.

And Dior was yet to find her.

The war with the Nephilim was not helping, he admitted. The triad rarely went out amongst the humans and others of the city anymore, always watching the skies for the next attack, and so their exposure to females was limited.

They had not discussed it between them, too busy dealing with the almost daily routine of battling the Nephilim, but he knew that all three gargoyles had begun to suspect that this war was not going to finish anytime soon.

What that would mean for their need to procreate, he did not know.

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