Monday, January 26, 2009

SPOTLIGHT: Gargoyle's Quest by Nia K Foxx

SPOTLIGHT: Gargoyle’s Quest
by Nia K. Foxx

Cover art by Fabiano Fabris
ISBN (13): 978-1-59596-261-4
Genre(s): Paranormal, Urban Fantasy
Theme(s): Interracial, Shapeshifters
Series: Gargoyles
Length: Novella


For Lorn De LaRue, Gargoyles have always been as common place as the humans they are sworn to protect. It’s up to Lorn to make sure their existence is preserved -- by any means necessary. Right now the means would appear to be Dr. Fatima Smith, an ebony beauty who never imagined that her interest in Gothic folklore would force her into a world she had never known existed and into the arms of a creature who could not let her go.

Publisher’s Note: Gargoyles 1: Gargoyle’s Quest is book one of a serial, books meant to be read in order.


This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Fatima fingered the dull ache just above her breastbone for the umpteenth time that evening. What’s wrong with me? She risked another glance at the stranger who’d entered the already crowded conference room just moments earlier. The dull ache on her chest turned to a deep throbbing.

The man literally stood head and shoulders above the rest. She estimated that he had to be 6’ 7”, if not taller. He was smartly dressed in dark slacks, matching collarless shirt and tan blazer. She hadn’t had a chance for a closer look, but even from her vantage point she could tell he was attractive. She wondered what university he was with. She was certain that she’d never seen him at any other of the Myths, Legends and Folklore conferences before. She blushed, turning her head quickly when he caught her observing him. At least she thought he’d caught her. From that distance he could’ve been looking at anyone in her general direction. “Dr. Smith, I’m looking forward to hearing your lecture on gargoyles tonight,” the mousy young man in front of Fatima was saying. He’d been talking for five minutes and she could honestly admit to only hearing a portion of what he’d uttered. “I had the opportunity to read your article in Mythology Today and was very intrigued by your theories on the origins of gargoyles. Your supporting material is some of the best I’ve seen,” he continued. She tried again to focus on what the young grad student was talking about, but found herself glancing sideways at the giant across the room. You’re here for the conference, to present your findings to fellow students of mythology. “Thank you,” she responded appropriately as the man continued to lay it on. “Excuse me,” the voice of her colleague, Professor Gordy Singleton, interrupted. He’d attained his tenured status a few years earlier, and Fatima had aligned herself with the budding professor after discovering his interest in Gothic folklore. “They’re ready to start seating everyone, and I want to make sure that we’re in our places before you’re called up for your presentation,” he explained. “Of course, Gordy,” Fatima placated, not wanting to experience one of his “high stress” episodes. “Please excuse me,” she apologized to the student as Gordy took a gentle hold of her exposed elbow. His hand felt cold and clammy against her bare skin. She looked down to where their flesh connected, noting the drastic contrast between her almost espresso coloring and his own alabaster fingers. Over their two-year acquaintance she’d become accustomed to the various peculiarities of his appearance like the perpetual sheen that coated his skin, giving his face an unhealthy glow, and the stringy ill-kempt hair that seemed perpetually plastered to his forehead. His features were delicate, reminding her of a teen on the cusp of manhood. Piercing sky blue eyes were his only redeeming physical quality, but they were perpetually hidden behind oversized spectacles. Gordy seemed to care little about his outward appearance, as he did nothing in the way of improvement. “Stop worrying. I’m sure things won’t start for several minutes,” she reassured him quietly. “I know,” he muttered, “but I thought I’d save you from your ever growing fan club.” He motioned with his head to the young man they’d abruptly left behind. “He was just being polite,” Fatima explained before wondering why she was even bothering. “I swear sometimes you are completely oblivious to male/female social cues,” he admonished. She groaned aloud. “Not again.” “What.” His look was innocent. “You know there are actually people who support and believe in my work out there.” She hated having to rehash this with him. Over the last two years they’d worked together Gordy had become increasingly protective of her. Why? She wasn’t sure; she’d never given him any indication that she wanted anything other than a professional relationship. If he kept this jealous lover act up she would sever their working ties completely. “Of course there are,” he offered, “it’s just that --” “Don’t, Gordy,” she interrupted, slipping her elbow from his grasp, determined not to let him dampen her mood. She was one of three speakers in this evening’s segment on Gothic folklore. She’d felt honored when the committee approached her about the opportunity seven months ago. As the only associate professor speaking, she felt the need to prove herself worthy of the privilege bestowed, and was determined that Gordy wasn’t going to ruin her night with his unwarranted possessiveness.
Gordy resisted the desire to maintain his hold on her, reminding himself that there were still three days left in the conference. Enough time for him to move beyond the position of co-worker that she’d relegated him to for so long. After all, he’d waited patiently until she came into her own, not wanting to start a relationship with some pseudo-professor. No, Fatima was not just a pretty face. She was well on her way to becoming an authority on Gothic folklore. What more could he want in a woman? He allowed her to take the lead, letting his gaze linger on her firm well-rounded backside swaying seductively in loose fitting slacks. She wore a pink silk top that clung to her slight waist, accentuating perfectly rounded breasts. He could feel the thickening of his cock as he thought about taking what he was sure to be dusky nipples in his mouth. Something caught her attention, causing her to turn her head. He was gifted with the perfection of her profile. Her pink tongue darted out over full lips and his eyes lingered for a moment as he thought of how those lips would taste, better still how they would look around his pink cock, swallowing him slowly. He imagined those whiskey colored eyes looking up at him with desire. He gave his head a mental shake, dislodging the image that had assisted in many nights of masturbation.

* * *

Lorn ignored the voluptuous catering assistant as she made what had to be her twentieth pass in front of him. Normally, he would have found her obvious flirtation amusing, but tonight he was on a mission. He’d followed various literary works on gargoyle mythology over the centuries hoping that somewhere a scholar could discover that vital piece of the puzzle he and his kind managed to overlook. Fledglings were the missing variable. The question remained did they still exist? From across the room his eyes zoomed in on the young woman whose recent research on gargoyle origins had fascinated him above any others. She looked even more beautiful in person than the picture his private investigator had supplied. He’d expected to find a studious face framed by owlish glasses, complete with a severe bun or some other form of disguise modern day career women used to downplay their looks. Instead, he discovered a woman who could just as easily given any Miss America a run for her money. The photo he had was taken while she chatted with a group of students in a coffeehouse. Oblivious to the photographer, the woman had been caught laughing over something said, her dark eyes rounded in surprise, teeth gleaming, while her hand clutched her chest. Lorn remembered searching the picture wondering who was responsible for the reaction. Unlike tonight, her thick shoulder length hair had hung loosely about her face, its dark tresses gleaming in the light. He was surprised at the primal way his body responded to her picture. The more he studied her image the more aroused he became until he finally tossed the photo aside, cursing his body’s reaction. He’d wondered if he was so far gone that he was beginning to lose control over his sexual functions. He’d heard of that happening to one of his brethren before the change finally claimed him. The gargoyle had said that his sexual drive was the only thing that provided sanity, emotion and a sense of connection to the world, while his heart became a stoned metaphor for his eventual transformation. Now standing in the bustling conference room Lorn found his cock stiffening again as it had when he first saw the photo of Dr. Fatima Smith. She talked with a modern day Poindexter, then with a man who seemed a tad too familiar. Lorn found himself grinding his teeth in an effort to keep his incisors from lengthening. Who was this man and why was he touching her?

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