Myths and Gargoyles by Jamie Hawke (interesting books to read in english txt) 📕

other two shared an exhausted look. “Not you two, if you don’t want to. But… I’d like to speak with Jack some more.”

“Knock yourself out,” Red said, wandering off, and Pucky went too, muttering something about needing rest. I felt the same as her, but stayed partly because I was curious, and partly because I didn’t want to appear rude.

“Yeah?” I asked when they finally left.

Elisa gave me a smile, watching me. It was starting to get awkward, so I sipped the last of my water, then waited.

“Our Protector,” she said, finally. “How does it feel?”

“Painful,” I admitted. “But amazing.”

“And that’s going to be the rest of your life, you realize? Painful, but amazing.” She let that sink in, then stood and approached, putting her hands on my shoulders. Her touch melted me, and as she started massaging my shoulders, I wondered how I could do anything but float away.

“I’m one of the few originals, you know?” Elisa said. “Red, too.”

“I wasn’t sure,” I muttered, nearly lost in sleep.

“There are descendants, like Pucky, and then there are those who earn the role, similar to you with being a Protector.”

That piqued my interest. “Meaning someone could actually become, I don’t know, the Mad Hatter?”

“In theory, but they’d have to be quite mad, and that role would have to be vacant. It isn’t—the Mad Hatter is locked away in one of our Legend prisons, and will likely never see the light of day again. The thing is, when a Myth or Legend is killed off, that side wants them back, right? But it’s not up to them. Let’s say Red were to die someday, but some girl—or boy, for that matter—was lost out in the woods and attacked by the big bad wolf, but survived. They might end up becoming the new Red, although there are more factors than that at play.”

“So you can’t take someone and train them, make them become someone?”

She paused in her massage, apparently thinking through that question. “It has happened, actually. The one they call Jiminy, now, was not the original guide. This one was brought in because of his intelligence, his way with strategy, and yes, he became the role. It’s very rare though, and at that point it’s up to the Ichor choosing you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

She went back to the massage, and said, “I wanted you to know who I am, is all. I really do knit shirts from thorns, as you can see,” she held her hands out, and for the first time I saw how scarred they were, rough even, in a way that completely stood out from the gentle grace that was the rest of her. “They grant magic powers. My brothers, some of them are still around, but not all. I could, in theory, try to train someone to become one of these swans, to take on the powers… but it isn’t necessary. Of the three true brothers who remain, I’m not sure any of them would like the idea.”

“Original,” I said, thinking out loud. “Making you…?”

“A tad older than yourself,” she said, moving the massage to my neck. “But not at heart.”

I chuckled at that, and she patted my shoulders. “Come, are you ready?”

After hearing that several times that day already, my mind instantly went to more training. “No,” I groaned. “I can’t handle any more. My body—”

“You misunderstand,” she interrupted me. “We’d talked about painting each other. I know I said after, but… seeing you these last couple of days, I’ve changed my mind. With you like this, exhausted but excited—that’s what I want to capture. And you?” She pulled at the top of her shirt so that there was no chance of me not catching on. “Would you still like to paint me?”

Odd, how a bit of skin can totally erase one’s exhaustion. That’s what happened at that moment, and I before I knew it I was following her to the room where Pucky was already asleep. She had her own room, but I had to assume this was comfortable for her or held some other attachment, or why else fall asleep on this bed? It’s where she had the cupboard for her paints, and where she stood in the moonlight of the full window and undressed, this time completely.

When she stood there in front of me, moonlight casting a deep shadow between her legs and across her breasts, I wanted her, badly. A glance back showed Pucky still asleep, and I wondered what she’d think of that. She had no problem before, though that was something else, for sure.

Elisa licked her lips, nodded to me, and I pulled off my clothes too, glad to be free of them and, oddly, not self-conscious at all. With all the training and the experience we’d already shared, a couple of days had started to feel like a lifetime.

A heavy breath came from her, chest expanding as she ran her hand along her stomach, stopping at her other arm, and I realized, somehow, that she felt self-conscious! The idea that his beautiful woman should somehow be shy around me was baffling, but then I caught on. When the paints were involved, it was art. Her hands, although she’d shown them to me, were now turned away like she was trying to hide them.

I walked over, took a canvas, and placed it on one of the easels. That seemed to put her somewhat at ease. She did the same. The golden hair between her legs caught the moonlight, and I started there. Where else? It wasn’t like the painting needed foreplay, after all. Taking gold and then silver, I began to capture her as I saw her then, in the moonlight, not worrying about natural colors, but focused on recreating the beauty that was her in that moment.

She was painting me, too. Both of us had the canvasses slightly off to the side so that we were exposed, both of us getting into it to the point