Promised to a Gargoyle King but the Werewolf King wants us.

Chapter 8 - There's a Gargoyle in the bedroom.

The shock of what had happened came out in her dreams, as most of Kate's trauma liked to do, in the forms of dreams. More dreams. Burning flames, Damien on fire again, and the real shock of what had almost happened to him.

And shock about the fact that she actually didn't have any hair anymore. At all.

This was made worse when her dreams shifted to feeling hot, in a dark place, with a Gargoyle sitting beside her and stroking her scalp soothingly. Or creepily was a better word. The sensation of a creature sitting there, fingers made of cold stone, running fingers across her head was the strangest thing in the world. Because stone shouldn't have been able to do that. It shouldn't move. It was like rubbing her bare scalp against a statue.

Then the sensation of prickling.

Tickling.

Tickles that made her squirm, restless, unable to wake up from what she knew had to be a dream.

Kate sat up, breathing hard, reaching up to scratch her bare scalp. All she found was hair. Lots and lots of hair. She might have assumed that the entire thing had been a dream- the fire, the mark, the 'Lets just expose ourselves to the Guild a way worse than getting naked and running in circles around them'...

Except that she now had very long, very blonde curls, hair that stretched right down to her fucking knees. And the Gargoyle was sitting in her bed. Not sitting. Crouching. Crouching like he was on the edge of a church, not on the edge of a bed, staring at her like a fucking statue. He tilted his head, curious as she glared at him, skin dark grey in the early morning. Half naked again as usual. The sounds of the Guild outside were still there, at least one or two computers still going strong, though how they did it Kate had no clue.

She glanced at her phone. Six in the morning. Tried to not throw the phone at the Gargoyle invading Damien's room.

“That's better, isn't it?” He cooed, gentle, as if she was a naughty child. “Let's not do that again. You no longer work at the library. I've deposited several million into your account. I take care of my bride.”

“Get the fuck out of my bedroom.”

“You live here now?”

Apparently so. She slid out of bed, nearly tripping on the hair as her knee caught onto it, finding it way too long. Kate tried to find scissors in Damien's drawer. Tissues, printout of porn... okay, wow. Porn.

She went bright read and felt a cold chest press against the back of her.

“So this is your room?” The Gargoyle lifted up the sheet of porn. “Your ...art?”

“Don't go through Damien's things.” Kate was bright red, snatching it from him, shoving it back in the draw. She found scissors and started to hack at the very long golden curls. This was her natural hair colour, okay, she admitted it. But she had dyed it brown for a reason. This hair made her look like she belonged in a fairytale and Kate liked looking like she belonged in the library, in reality. Maybe that was why she struggled with the SCA so much.

The Gargoyle just watched, passive, as she kept trying to hack away her hair. It didn't work. The scissors broke every time.

“It won't cut.” He informed her lightly. “I made sure of it. It won't dye. You're better this way.”

“You're a jerk.” She hissed, throwing the scissors at him. “I can't go ou-”

“Kate?” A knock at the door. Goldie. She opened the door and peered around the edge, a red pimple forming on the side of her chin, looking exhausted. “Who are you talking to?”