Levet (Guardians of Eternity #9.5)(7)

Levet froze. He would not run. He would not run. He would not run.

Reaching up, he tugged off the amulet that had obviously been deactivated by the spells of protection that surrounded the lair.

His mother was nothing if not thorough.

And cruel.

Excessively, spectacularly cruel.

The thought whispered through his mind as his gaze skimmed up the stout legs that were heavily muscled and covered by a reptilian gray skin. A long, surprisingly thin tail curled around the feet tipped with claws. His gaze lifted to his dear old maman’s hefty body, which had grown even wider since Levet had last seen her, with wide leathery wings that spread in a ten-foot span from her back. Up ever higher, Berthe’s face was a perfect example of gargoyle beauty.

A short, thick snout. Small gray eyes that peered at the world from beneath a heavy brow. Two fangs that were big enough to be called tusks curved from her upper gums to reach her pointed chin. And on top of her broad head she had two sharp horns that were polished to gleam in the candlelight.

Levet forced a stiff smile to his lips. “Bonsoir, Maman. You are looking . . .” He allowed his gaze to shift back down to her wide girth. “Well fed.”

Berthe shrugged. Unlike most females, gargoyles had no issues with weight.

Their philosophy was the bigger the better.

“Gregor proved to be a disappointment so I had him basted in a lovely rosemary and garlic sauce and roasted over an open fire,” she said with a light French accent. “He was far more satisfying as dinner than he ever was as a lover.”

“Charming.” Levet ignored his mother’s jaundiced glare at his pretty, fairy wings. “Did you eat my father as well?”

“Do not be disgusting,” the female growled. “I am not a cannibal.”

Levet kept his expression guarded. Gargoyles were like most demons. They were willing to take lovers from many different species, although they usually chose a gargoyle when they were in heat.

Halflings weren’t unheard of, but they were rare.

The fact that his mother had always refused to name his father had made Levet assume his parentage was yet another source of shame to the family.

“So my father was a gargoyle?”

Berthe snorted, thankfully unaware of how much the information meant to her son.

If she knew it could be a weapon to hurt him, she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

“What sort of question is that?”

“A rather obvious one, I would think.” Levet spread his stunted arms. “Just look at me.”

Berthe narrowed her eyes to beady slits. “Your father was a fearsome warrior who sired many sons who brought him nothing but pride.”

Levet’s tail twitched. He didn’t know if he was pleased or disappointed by the information.

He was demon enough to take pride in the thought that his father was admired among gargoyles. Bloodlines were always important.

But for centuries he’d blamed his lack of gargoyle-ness on his father.

Now who was he supposed to hold responsible?

“So what happened to me?” he demanded.

Berthe curled her snort in blatant disdain. “A freak of nature.”

Levet grimly pretended her words didn’t cut. “Or perhaps your bloodlines are not as pure as you thought?”

A hint of smoke drifted from a flared nostril. Berthe was one of the rare gargoyles who could breathe fire. Which, of course, explained her position as doyenne.

“More likely a curse from the gods,” she countered, hate glinting her gray eyes. A hate that had been more destructive to Levet as a child than any of the vicious beatings. “I was warned to have your head removed the minute you were born.” She gave a flap of her enormous wings, nearly sending Levet tumbling backward. “Unfortunately I was too tenderhearted to follow the wise advice.”

Levet gave a snort, refusing to acknowledge the age-old sense of betrayal.

“Tenderhearted?”

“Oui.” Berthe moved to settle her bulk on the satin pillows, her wings draped over the floor and her tail swishing around her feet. She portrayed the image of languid indifference, but Levet wasn’t fooled. She might look like a lumbering brute, but she could move with the speed of a striking viper. “I allowed you to survive with the hope that you would overcome your disfigurements and grow into a prince worthy of standing at my side. You should be grateful.”

Grateful.

The word echoed through Levet, abruptly altering the pain he’d sworn he’d never feel again to a rush of fury.

“Grateful for what? I spent my childhood being brutalized by my siblings.”

His mother shrugged. “Did you expect to be coddled like a human baby?”

He ignored her taunt. “And when I at last left the nursery I became the target of every gargoyle who thought it was amusing to toss me into the fighting pits and see how many demons could beat the heebie-jeebies out of me before I passed out,” he hissed.

Bertha furrowed her brow in confusion. “The . . .” She made a sound of impatience. “Oh, la la. It is bejesus, you ridiculous pest.”

Levet waved off her sharp words. “You did nothing to protect me.”

“Only the strong survive in our world.”

Levet planted his fists on his hips. “Is that your excuse for trying to kill me when I hit puberty?”