Dad bod gorgon, p.1
Dad Bod Gorgon, page 1
dad bod gorgon
Violet Rae
Kat Baxter
contents
Dad Bod Gorgon
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Dad Bod Monsters
dad bod gorgon
Gideon
It doesn’t take me long to realize the curvy little human is meant to be mine. She’s reluctant, though. I mean, who can blame her? The first time we met, I turned her to stone. Now, she’s afraid to look me in the eyes. Still, I’m using any excuse I can to spend time with her, and I think it’s finally working. Until I prove how monstrous I can be right in front of her, and I know it’s all over. But maybe, just maybe, my little human will surprise me.
Dad Bod Gorgon by Violet Rae & Kat Baxter
Copyright © 2024 Violet Rae
Copyright © 2024 Kat Baxter
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: violet@authorvioletrae.com
Cover by Bookin It Designs
Editing & Formatting by Violet Rae
Created with Vellum
chapter
one
Verity
The problem with being a human living in a monster town is the whole being a human part. The townspeople—monsters?—often whisper behind their hands about how tiny my ears are or how flat my nose is. They remark on the nearly pale, colorless shade of my skin, dotted in spots but only in certain places, like the bridge of my flat nose. In essence, they find me boring. Plain and uninteresting.
Monsters have existed in our world for as long as humans, some would argue longer. At first, the monsters tended to stick to their communities in Screaming Woods and Fable Forest. But as humans became more comfortable with their presence, they’ve spilled into cities and are now, for the most part, an accepted part of society. It’s not unusual to see werewolves, vampires, ogres, and satyrs, to name a few, roaming the streets like everyday citizens.
Me? I live in Fable Forest, one of the original towns where all the monster action started. Fable Forest holds the largest number of ancient tomes. It's rich in history and mythology, and as a scholar of ancient languages, I love it here.
Except for the loneliness.
But thankfully, I convinced my best friend, Alice, to move here a few months after I got settled. Having her here helps, but it still feels like something is missing …
I brush at a spot of lint on my deep blue party dress. My nerves jangle, ever the constant reminder that I’m uncomfortable in my own skin. I have no legitimate reason to be this nervous. I’ve worked for the Lancasters for over two years, and I want to celebrate their son Adrian’s triumph. After all, I was his tutor, so I was part of his success story.
The red brick mansion perches on the crest of a hill. I move through the foyer, not paying attention to the priceless ancient statues or the paintings by old-world masters. I’ve seen them dozens of times before.
I also ignore the female ogre who approaches me, a frown firmly set on her green face. She’s one of the main protectors for the Lancaster family.
“Ma’am, stop please,” a deep but feminine voice calls out in ancient Etruscan. I almost ignore the order, but a hand at my elbow stops me. “I need your bag, please, Verity.”
Before I can protest and reach for my EpiPen, the bag and pen are gone. Uni’s wide hips disappear through a doorway. With how big ogres are, you'd think they would be slow and lumbering. But they’re actually quite spry.
Dammit. I could have asked for it, but these people already think my humanness makes me so frail that a brisk wind could take me. Kinda hilarious, if you think about it, because I’m no wilting flower. In the human world, I’m what would be considered plus size. Wide hips, big boobs, soft belly, and thighs that could start a fire with all the chaffing.
Through the opened French doors to my right is the garden. An expansive space fit for a grand English estate. Fountains, topiaries, perfectly squared-off hedges, you know the look. I’ve only ever seen a yard like this in books and on television, but it turns out they do exist. Dozens of people mill about and laughter carries on the wind. Tables laden with food and drinks border the paved area.
The people wander around, visiting and eating, seemingly unaware of the potential danger flying around them. Buzzing little devils are no doubt out there. But surely the odds of them coming near me when I’m briefly outside without my EpiPen are slim to none?
I’ve got this. I can do this. I take a deep breath, hoping I don’t make a complete idiot of myself out there.
Schooling my features into a smile, patting down my light brown hair, and smoothing out the pleats of my dress one last time, I step outside into the bright sunshine. I blink for a moment, trying to let my eyes adjust. Before they fully adjust, a woman’s voice booms from the chatter, and another hand grasps my elbow.
“Verity, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you to arrive so I can introduce you to my friend, Skylar Waitrose. She has a ten-year-old son she wants to talk to you about,” Della Lancaster, mother of the brilliant boy I tutor, says far too loudly, considering she’s standing right next to me. “Skylar, this is the genius I’ve been telling you about.”
Not much about Della can be called delicate, and she soon pulls me off my feet and in the direction of a rather overwhelmed-looking woman. The other woman is about the same height as me, and we both have to tilt our heads back to look at Della. I’ve never inquired about the heritage of the Lancasters, though. I suspect they’re giants of some kind because they’re all extremely tall. Even Adrian, only twelve years old, stands a head taller than me.
Della claps her enormous hands. “I’m so very pleased you’re finally meeting. Skylar, I assure you that Verity and her mastery of ancient languages is the only reason Adrian won his place in the Elite Program for Magical Languages.”
Skylar has the pale blue skin of a half-Kelpie. Her skin is lovely, her iridescent scales shimmering in the sun. At least, I assume they’re scales. She seems a little overwhelmed by Della’s enthusiasm.
I smile and nod as gracefully as possible, holding out my hand. “How do you do?”
“Fine, thank you,” Skylar says. Her pale blue eyes flit between me and Della. Her wide gaze is filled with apprehension as it flicks to Della’s meaty hand. Maybe she’s worried Della will haul her around the same way she’s been manhandling—giantess-handling?—me. “Della tells me you’re an absolute genius with languages.”
I chuckle. “Della says that so often I almost believe it. But I think it’s that I have an ear for languages. Some people can pick out a single musical note in a symphony. I can do that with words.” I know I’m talented with languages, but I also know I put in the hard work to learn them.
“How long have you been a tutor?” Skylar asks, moving around slightly.
I look down at Skylar’s shoes—stiletto heels. I squish my toes in my flat Mary-Jane’s. Just looking at those heels makes my feet and ankles ache.
“For around six years now,” I answer, raising my gaze to Skylar’s pretty eyes. “It makes me happy and pays the bills, so I keep at it.”
“You love what you do, and that’s always a good thing,” Della interrupts, and Skylar and I turn to her. “Excuse me, won’t you? I need to check on the cake.”
I smile and nod, my eyes moving over the guests. Skylar turns to answer her son when he runs up to ask if he can go with Adrian to look at the fishpond. I do love my job and my life. I even love these tense moments when I have to venture into the public domain and talk to people I don’t know. Okay, that’s a lie. I don’t love these functions at all, but I force myself to do them regardless of my level of discomfort. Because I do not want to live alone for the rest of my life.
Skylar Waitrose wanders off after her son, a frown marring her pretty features. I smile, recognizing the frown of parents around the world. I’ll catch up with the woman later if that’s what fate chooses. If not, I’m doing fine with my current student base.
A suspicious buzzing flits past my ear, and I still.
Shit. What do I do?
Calmly walk away, Verity, creating distance between me and the insect.
I do that, barely breathing for fear of bringing too much attention to myself. But the bee follows every move I make. I try to gently shoo it away with a swish of my full skirt, but the tiny black and yellow bug takes that as an invitation to fly beneath the dress and the petticoat beneath it.
Ohmygod!
I hold back a screech of panic as I quickly turn away, shaking out the material and knocking over a man standing near a fountain. I call out an apology, barely hearing the man’s cry of surprise and the splash he makes as he falls into said fountain. I’m too focused on the panic threatening to choke me. My heart thunders in my ears, my mind working through so many scenarios I can’t seem to sift through them to find a solution.
The bee, utterly unfazed by my attempts to get away, rises beneath my skirts and buzzes angrily against my ass where it’s trapped.
Great.
Just great.
I can see the headlines now: Renowned Human Linguist Dies After Bee Stings Her In The Ass.
I howl
None of them knows that I’m fighting for my very life. That one tiny sting will take me out. Maybe I am a frail human. At least I’ll go out providing plenty of entertainment to the Lancaster’s party guests.
All of this means that not a single person comes to my aid, not even when my shriek would outdo any Banshee that may be present. I twirl away as the bee flies free from my skirt, but the tiny little insect decides to tell me off right to my face. My eyes cross as the bee flies up to my nose, buzzing angrily.
I nearly lose my balance on my sensible, flat-heeled shoes but manage to flap my arms enough to keep myself upright. Vaguely, I notice two fluted glasses of champagne fly through the air and shatter on the brick-paved walkway. All I can concentrate on is the tiny bee so very near to landing on the tip of my nose.
I suck in a deep breath of air, ready to scream bloody murder, when something very odd happens. Instead of releasing the air as I scream for help, everything inside me freezes. Or, more accurately, it hardens. Where blood flowed through my veins without me being aware of it, and hot sunlight and silky breeze danced against my skin, now there’s simply … nothing.
I try to move, my brain confused, but I can’t. My body is frozen, but I’m not cold. Is this how death by anaphylaxis works? How terrifying because my brain still works perfectly. I try to scream again, but nothing happens. I can’t release the breath of air I’ve taken into my now solid lungs, nor can I move my eyes.
But I can see the bee freezing in mid-air. Still right in front of my face, the black and yellow stripes fade, morphing into a chalky gray. As if the insect is turning to … stone?
Oh God! That can only mean one thing. I try to shift my focus from the bee to whatever is beyond. I spot him immediately. Frankly, I’m not sure how I missed him to begin with. He’s imposing and distractingly beautiful. A tall, impossibly broad man with tanned skin, a stunning smile, and … snakes for hair?
A gorgon.
You know, like Medusa. And it appears he’s turned my attacker to stone, along with me. Son of a …
I’m going to give that man a large piece of my mind if I ever stop impersonating a statue.
Why would he do this to me? Just because I was trying to avoid that bee and maybe caused a little havoc at that party? That shouldn’t give him the right to turn me to stone. Is he part of the security detail for the party? And he thought I was being a nuisance?
I manage to look at my outstretched arms and notice they’re a very pretty blue stone—lapis lazuli, perhaps. I’m not sure, and I don’t particularly care. I mean, I guess it’s nice to know that I’m a pretty statue. Right now, though, I just want to be free of my stony cage.
Anger flutters through me. There’s no fiery surge since I’m partially frozen or made of stone or however this works. I can’t even glare at him.
The handsome man stands there, his head full of hissing snakes.
A few strangled sounds come from my throat, and then, like a torrent, the words fly. “… you can’t just go around turning people to stone like that. What if your magic disappeared suddenly, and I was stuck like that forever? You don’t even know me!”
The man’s dark eyebrows hike up in surprise, and his lips quirk at my outburst.
I blink, then realize that my eyes are moving. My voice is working again. I inhale deeply, and my chest moves, my lungs filling with life-giving oxygen. I stalk up to him and jab him in the chest with my index finger, careful to avoid looking directly at his eyes on the off chance he’s glaring at me. I don’t want to be turned back into stone.
But I have a thing or two to say to this guy.
I hear the man chuckle, and I chance a glance at his eyes. No glare. Nope, he’s smiling broadly, his eyes full of mirth, and … is that desire in his amber-gold depths? He walks closer, but not so close that his snakes can touch my face. His grin turns lopsided as he tilts his head.
“But did you die?” he asks before bending to pick something up from the ground.
He places it in my palm. It’s a tiny stone bee, the very bee that started all this.
I smile and give a soft laugh, completely disarmed.
No, I didn’t die.
chapter
two
Gideon
I notice the cute little human the moment she walks in the door. Her long brown hair is twisted and pinned at the back of her head, and the strands shine in the sun, encasing her head in a halo like an angel.
She’s a curvy woman with a gorgeous hourglass figure, beautiful brown eyes, and high cheekbones. Her nose tilts at the tip and is sprinkled with fourteen freckles (yeah, I counted).
Her blue dress looks like it belongs on a runway from the 1950s, but she makes it look modern and chic, paired with practical black shoes.
She’s as cute as fuck.
Maybe not a woman who would catch most men’s eyes, but I felt a pull toward her the moment I laid eyes on her. Something tugged and tightened in my stomach, something … odd. Powerful. I’ve never experienced anything like it. It’s possessive and protective, an intense mixture of emotions I don’t understand.
“Ah, that’s Verity. She’s Adrian’s language tutor. Quite a brilliant young woman,” Gerald Lancaster says at my side, his voice filled with pride. “Adrian wouldn't have been accepted into that language program without her, you know.”
I nod as if fascinated with what Gerald is saying, but I’m so focused on the woman that I barely hear the other man’s words.
“Is she single?” I wonder aloud. I have an overwhelming need to talk to her, but I stand rooted to the spot, watching her as she talks with Gerald’s wife, Della.
Gerald clears his throat. “As far as I know, but she’s very private. Studious, as well. Always has her nose in some ancient book or other when she isn’t tutoring Adrian. Oh, excuse me, Gideon,” he says, wandering off after a gnome who seems hell-bent on rolling away one of Della’s glass garden orbs.
I frown for a moment, looking in Verity’s direction.
The little human is making her way around the back garden filled with raised beds of roses and exotic flowers. But I don’t notice those. I’m a monster by nature, but I’ve adopted some of the more human qualities over the years. One of those qualities is curiosity about the humans themselves. And this beautiful human interests me. A lot.
I move, my feet taking me in her direction, when I notice a look of alarm pull her dark eyebrows together. I push one of my snakes away as it hisses and slides along my cheekbone, responding to my observation. “Calm down. You're tickling me.”
Like many of the males of my species, I have a large, thickset body and a face that could grace magazine covers across the world, but I’m no air-headed fuck boy. I’m not vain about my looks, merely realistic. It’s part of the deal with gorgons—our great beauty is designed to draw in the opposite sex, but I’ve spent the better part of my life fighting my natural instincts.
However, I own a security business, and Verity’s look of alarm wakes my inner bodyguard. I know she’s in trouble when she knocks a lizard man into the large fountain.
The other guests chuckle as if she’s the entertainment. Assholes. Can’t they see she’s genuinely scared?
By the time I spot the bee, she’s knocked over a table of cakes and liberated a few glasses of champagne from guests’ hands. But it’s when she freezes in terror right before she starts screaming hysterically that I know she isn’t simply worried about being stung. She’s terrified. Is she allergic? She must be. And the Lancasters insisted that everyone left their phones and bags inside. She must not have an EpiPen.
Must save the human, my inner gorgon/bodyguard roars as I race over to turn the bee to stone. I know I’ve made a terrible judgment call about how much oomph to put behind my gaze when her skin turns the same deep blue as her gown, with veins of golden pyrite branching along her skin. Ah, fuck.
But, holy crap, she makes a beautiful statue, not that I want her to stay that way. I only meant to stun the bee, but I’ve managed to turn Verity to stone too. I know the spell will only last a few moments because I didn’t hit her with my full death gaze, so all I can do is wait patiently. But, man, I love how the pyrite laces along her arms, up her neck, and into her face. Perhaps I’ll commission a statue of her in the same stone one day.
