If a true demon walked the land, then this
undead creature was a pawn to some great master. And that darkness wanted Lillian.
Gregory flexed his talons.
The vampire heaved up from the ground, and
Gregory fought for a stronger grip on the foul creature. More were closing in
on him. He could hear the baying of Death Hounds as another pack approached
from the west. Precious time was slipping by. He should have been able to kill
this creature with ease, but demonic-aided shields wrapped the beast in layers
of protection he couldn’t breach quickly.
Two more vampires rushed out of the forest
and landed on Gregory’s back. He speared one with his tail blade. At least the
two new arrivals didn’t have the added protection Alexander possessed. Flexing
his wings, Gregory dislodged the other vampire, but couldn’t release Alexander
to kill it. It continued to circle him, nipping at him like a mad little dog.
It came too close and he snapped his head
up and caught it under the chin with one of his horns. Blood momentarily
blinded him. Alexander continued to twist, managing to dislodge Gregory’s
talons every time he had a grip on the vampire’s head. Gregory held on.
Minutes ticked by as they fought until the
vampire’s shields were frayed and blackened. Sluggish blood now oozed from
hundreds of wounds, tinting the vampire’s pale skin bruise-dark, but Alexander
showed no signs of weakening.
Gregory heard at least three more vampires
crashing through the forest, shattering the undergrowth in their frenzied
madness. When they emerged into the clearing, they didn’t slow, only changed
their headlong course to run at him. The first hit Gregory hard enough to knock
him from Alexander. While he dispatched the first, the second one grabbed a
wing, its claws shredding the membrane. Gregory yowled, and wacked the vampire
in the temple. It didn’t slow the creature, and it came at him again. He caught
it, wrapped his hand around its skull, and flexed his fingers.
The skull cracked, and his talons sunk into
soft tissue. Twitching death throes took it. He was turning to deal with its third
companion when Alexander landed on his back. The vampire raised his hand to
strike. Something darker than the shadows of the night glimmered in his hand,
eating all the light. Gregory blocked Alexander’s strike just as Lillian burst
into the meadow, a pack of Death Hounds snapping at her heels.
Her expression was one of rage. Blinded by
her fear for him, she wasn’t using her other senses. His lady didn’t see the
Death Hounds.
“Lillian! Behind you!”
Alexander struck with the blade a second
time. The dagger found an opening, and sunk into the joint at the underside of
Gregory’s wings. Shocking pain crippled one wing and then the wound turned ice
cold as the blade started feeding.
Four massive hound-like beasts crashed
through the forest in pursuit of Lillian, but she didn’t fear them. The Death
Hounds fell in beside her. She knew them from a blurred and long-ago memory.
They were hers to command. A gift from the Lady of Battles. How they had come
to be enslaved by vampires was a question for another time. She touched their
minds and sent them to intercept another group of vampires approaching from the
north. The beasts surged forward to do her bidding. With the new threat
handled, all her focus was for the two vampires still attacking her gargoyle.
Instinct told her Alexander was the real
threat. She sprinted toward the vampire, but before she could reach him, he
raised his hand and plunged a blade into Gregory’s back, close to the wing
joint. Her gargoyle bellowed, twisting and clawing, unable to reach the knife.
In his struggle, Gregory knocked the vampire from his back. Alexander flipped
through the air, hit the ground and rolled once. Then he lay still, face down.
Unmoving.
Easy prey.
Her savage, rage-filled magic whispered into her mind. Whatever demonic power
had given Alexander unnatural strength was exhausted.
Kill him now
, her
Otherself urged.
But greater need drew Lillian’s senses to
her gargoyle. Through their link, she sensed his waning power. He was dying,
his life force draining away through the blade. Alexander rose to his feet, his
usual grace hampered by his injuries.
Rage uncoiled in her stomach and two-inch
long claws emerged from her fingertips. A ruthless need flooded Lillian’s mind.
The vampire would die for what he’d done to her gargoyle.
Power continued to expand like a
long-dormant flower unfurling its petals. Her forehead burned, as did the area
between her shoulder blades, but a sweet, musky scent filled her nose,
distracting her from the pressure building beneath her skin.
She advanced toward Gregory and the
vampire. The undead gave her another cold smile.
“I remember you.” Her voice came out in a
harsh, grating tone. “You were called Alexander.”
She returned his cold smile and rushed him.
His haughty expression changed to one of shock as she sank her claws into his
gut. She shoved with all her newfound strength, and her hand jammed up into his
chest cavity, claws digging until she found his heart. The shriveled organ
pulsed with a dark magic—one which anchored the vampire’s soul in the world of
the living long past its natural time.
With the sharp crack of ribs, she pulled
the heart from his chest. She called a small trickle of magic and closed her
hand upon the heart. After a moment, dust poured between her fingers. The
vampire slumped to the ground, shock frozen on his face even in final death.
Energy coursed within her, accompanied by a
newly born strength. Delicious joy spread through her veins like the finest
wine as the power built. Here was an immense magic fit to slay all her enemies.
She would make certain her gargoyle and her family were safe. Starting with the
Riven, she would demonstrate what happened to those who stood against her.
“My lady, you must fight it.” Gregory’s
voice shook with exhaustion, but he continued. “Do not give in to mindless
rage. Fight the darkness in your own soul or you will become what you plan to
hunt down and destroy.”
His words cut through her intoxicating
magic. The rage that had fueled it melted away.
Scattered thoughts rallied around the sound
of Gregory’s voice, and the fog surrounding her mind cleared. She blinked for a
moment, trying to remember what had occurred. How had she gotten here? Then she
focused on the gargoyle and nothing else mattered.
Moving impossibly fast, she glided over the
earth and knelt by his side. She cradled his head while she surveyed the
damage. A wing, shredded and collapsed over his side, hid what she sought.
Gently, she pushed his injured wing out of her way and exposed the offending
object. Though she must be causing him immense pain, Gregory remained docile
under her hands.
Now she could see the wound clearly. A
ridge of stone spread out around the dagger. After she urged Gregory onto his
stomach, she laid two fingers on either side of the blade. Even without
touching the metal, its evil burned cold against her skin. With her free hand
she stroked Gregory’s muzzle and whispered nonsense to him.
His skin quivered at her touch.
“Easy,” she whispered as she closed her
eyes and rested her cheek against his back.
Breath still hissed between his lips, rapid
and panting. The throb of his great heart slowed. Touching him, his thoughts
flowed to her.
He would turn to stone, try to heal, but it
was doubtful if he would ever awake again in this Realm. There wasn’t enough
magic to heal him in time to save her. The ones of darkness would hunt her down
and either kill her or use her.
The gargoyle’s despair swamped her.
“Easy, big fellow. You’re not dead yet, nor
am I.” She grasped the dagger’s hilt and pulled. The blade didn’t come free.
She applied more pressure while she braced a hand against his back. Gregory
grunted, but the blade refused to shift.
Magic uncurled within her blood and flowed
into her mind. She paused at the foreign sensation of her magic whispering
knowledge into her mind, and then after a moment of hesitation she listened without
question.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned her thoughts
to the blade. There was a sense of presence about the dagger. Self-awareness.
“I know what you are. If you don’t stop
feeding and release my gargoyle, I will consume you.” She pushed her thoughts
ahead of her as she leaned down to glare at the blade, forcing it to listen and
become aware of her and the danger she represented. “If my gargoyle dies, I’ll
destroy you. I’ll take you apart until your soul is bare before me. Then I will
torture you. When I am finished, I shall remake you and drive you into the
hearts of your masters. This I promise.”
The demon blade shivered and leapt free of
Gregory’s flesh. It imbedded its tip three inches into the ground next to her.
The dagger vibrated for several seconds before it stilled.
She paid the blade no more mind. Instead
she pressed her hand against the wound. For now, there was nothing she could do
for his physical injuries, but she sensed his greatest danger lay in his lack
of magic. He’d been bled out magically. She hadn’t a clue what she was doing,
but her magic stirred again, calming and guiding her panicked thoughts as it
sorted through her memories.
Clear as if she was hearing the tale anew,
she remembered the story of how the dryad queen had saved the gargoyle after
he’d been wounded by demons. The queen had healed the gargoyle by sharing her
magic through blood. And after Alexander had injured Lillian that day in the
grove, Gregory had healed her, but he hadn’t said how at the time. Now she
thought she knew. He’d shared blood with her. If Gregory’s blood could heal
her, then it stood to reason hers might restore him. And tonight she was full
to brimming with magic. It still churned below her skin, calling for her to
release it.
“You can save him,”
it whispered.
If her magic-laced blood was the best
chance she had to save her gargoyle, she would give as much as required.
Dabbing at her bloody wound, she winced.
Her finger came away bright red. When she held them up to his mouth, his
nostrils quivered, but he didn’t go for the bait. Instead he turned his muzzle
away as he curled tighter into himself.
“I don’t want you to feel me die,”
he said into her mind, his mental voice weakening.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Rocking back and forth
with him in her arms, she tightened her grip on his muzzle and guided his nose
to the wound on her arm. He was too weak to fight her, but he wouldn’t lick at
the blood running down her arm either. Well, she wasn’t going to take no for an
answer. She stuck her fingers in his mouth. “Take a little taste, my heart.
That’s it, just a bit more.” As she’d hoped, he wasn’t able to resist and his
tongue started lapping at her bloody fingers. Growing stronger, he sucked on
them and then sniffed his way up her arm. He pushed the torn fabric of her
sleeve aside and licked at her wound to clean it. Her magic rushed from her
into him, draining her. But she didn’t care. Anything to save her gargoyle.
As more and more of her power spilled into
him, her mind became foggy. She drifted for a time.
Gran and the other surviving members of the
Hunt found her there, holding the gargoyle’s head in her lap as she fed him her
magic. Gran’s expression was a strange mix of fear and relief. Instinct told
Lillian to keep what had happened to herself until she understood what was
going on. So she didn’t tell them about the Death Hounds . . . or other things.
What other things?
she asked herself as she scrambled a moment for an answer. None
came. Her memories were unclear, chaotic and sprinkled with holes. The Riven’s
blade still glittered darkly beside her. There was something important she
should remember about that, too. As with her other memories, it was like
someone had come in and stolen them while she’d healed her gargoyle.
More of the Hunt arrived as the minutes
slid past. The other dryads entered the clearing. Seeing the downed gargoyle,
they hurried to Lillian’s side. Sable offered to share some blood with the
gargoyle to help him heal. Lillian nodded, and let each of the dryads share
blood with Gregory.
When he started to stir awake, she leaned
down and made a show of kissing him on his broad forehead, and then made eye
contact with each of the dryads in case they didn’t understand her claim.
The wait for Gran’s pickup was worse than
Lillian imagined. Sitting helpless and cursing the Riven weren’t the most
useful endeavors, but at least it made her feel better knowing she was going to
do them harm. The power which had reared up within her soul was receding, but
it wasn’t gone. She could still feel the potential as it simmered below the
surface.
Gregory reclined on his haunches, his legs
folded under him and his wings limp at his sides. Even though he lay quiet,
with his head resting on her lap and his eyes closed, he wasn’t asleep. His
ears twitched at every sound, on the alert for danger even in his weakened
state.
Lillian blamed herself for his injuries. Had
she not distracted the gargoyle, he might have defeated Alexander without
getting injured himself. She looked up while she continued to stroke Gregory’s
mane. Other members of the Hunt had arrived and stood guard at the edge of the
clearing. The dryads hung back as well, giving Lillian a wide berth, but they
remained within earshot should she need them again.
Gregory huffed out a loud expulsion of air
in a very horse-like fashion. He lifted his head and his ears swiveled forward.
The rumble of her grandmother’s truck
reached her ears a moment before its headlights cut through the clearing.
Blinded, Lillian shielded her eyes with one hand until her vision adjusted.
Stiff muscles complained about the cold, damp ground when she stood.
The truck skidded to a halt next to her.
Lillian lowered the tailgate, then turned to help Gregory. He was already on
his feet and making his way to the truck. He moved like a joint-sore old man on
a rainy day, but he limped his way over and heaved himself into the truck bed.
Lillian jumped up after.
There was precious little spare room in the
back of the truck, and Lillian settled cross-legged in one corner and braced
her back against the cab, then patted her lap. Gregory lowered his head,
cautious of his horns. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again.
The ride back took twice as long, but
thanks to Gran’s driving, they were saved from the abuse of potholes. Lillian
thought she might cry from happiness when the truck turned into their driveway.
Soon she and Gran could tend Gregory’s wounds. While the deep knife wound was
the most worrisome, she didn’t like the raw-hamburger look of his shredded
wing. He might never fly again.
The truck rolled to a stop and Jason
appeared and opened the tailgate. Gregory sighed and gathered himself. His legs
shook with each step and she wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do
for him. So she shadowed him, encouraging him along as best she could.
Gran hurried ahead of them and vanished
into the house. Lillian stayed by Gregory’s side while he made his painful way
up the back steps, through the kitchen, and into the living room. She would
have stopped there, but the gargoyle limped on up the stairs. Lillian followed
him until he collapsed next to her bed.
An array of first-aid supplies already lay
in orderly rows at the foot of her bed. Gran held a plastic squeeze bottle of
sterile saline in one hand and was reaching for a roll of cotton when Lillian
came alongside. “How can I help?”
“Blankets to keep him warm and something to
rest his head on.”
Lillian bobbed her head and hurried to grab
a pillow off the bed. She placed it under his head with gentle care and went in
search of clean blankets. When she came back, Gran was already cleaning some of
Gregory’s wounds.
The older woman mumbled to herself as she
probed the wound at the base of his wing joint and then examined the rips in
his wing. “I think our gargoyle got banged up right and good, but he should
recover.” She patted Gregory on his shoulder and smiled. “Besides, you’re too
stubborn to stay wounded for long. Too much evil out there that needs killing,
if I know you.”
Gregory snorted, but his laugh turned into
a grunt of pain.
“Easy there,” Gran said. “Cleaning your
wounds will hurt. A lot. And I don’t want to risk giving you something for the
pain that might cause a reaction. You ready?”
Gregory nodded in agreement while Lillian
shook her head. No, she wasn’t ready to see her gargoyle in pain again. She
still couldn’t banish the image of him twisting, writhing in agony, unable to
reach the dagger embedded in his back. Nausea rolled through her stomach in a
hot wave. She ignored it and placed her hand on either side of his head.
At the contact of skin on skin, she linked
with him like he had when she was showing him her language that first day.
Pain. He ached everywhere. But his lady’s small, cool hands soothed his
throbbing headache and her scent calmed him. If he had to be injured, this was
the best he could ask for. Though, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to be
beaten so badly. Embarrassment tainted the link.
Lillian broke away. “Oh, Gregory. It’s not
your fault. I didn’t listen to you. My foolish wish to fight by your side could
have cost you your life. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he whispered. His words
were cut short by a hiss of pain when Gran syringed saline into the knife
wound.
Lillian held him, and shared in his pain as
Gran worked. Time dragged by.
When finished, Gran ordered one of the
hovering dryads to bring water and then make broth for Gregory. Lillian’s world
narrowed down to her injured gargoyle. She didn’t know what to call him.
Friend. Beloved. Soul mate. None of those words fit. He was everything to her, and
it scared her.
When Kayla came with the bowl of water,
Lillian took it from her and tipped it to Gregory’s muzzle so he could drink
without straining himself. He lapped out of the bowl until it was gone. She
worried he would make himself sick, but he finished the bowl, rolled onto his
side, and fell asleep on her carpet without any ill effects. She knew so little
about him. That would change as soon as he was well.
* * *
Night advanced toward dawn. Everyone else
had sought their beds long before and now the house was quiet. Lillian sat on
the floor next to Gregory with her back braced against the foot of her bed.
They would have moved him, but no one wanted to risk waking the gargoyle. She
smoothed her smaller hand over his and admired the finger-length talons. Yep,
disturbing a sleeping gargoyle could be bad for one’s health.
They had left him on the ground and covered
him in blankets. Since it hadn’t seemed right sleeping in a bed when he was
curled on the floor, Lillian sat with him. By chance she witnessed the oddest
thing: he was healing. She could see his flesh knitting together until the
shallowest of his injuries looked like old scars, and the worst of his
injuries—the knife wound and his shredded wing—seemed at least two weeks old.
Whether he healed because it was a gargoyle’s nature to heal quickly, or he
mended faster than normal because she kept in physical contact and shared
energy with him, she didn’t know, but she was ecstatic at the signs of his
recovery.
Now that she knew with both heart and mind
that he was on the mend, other things started to encroach upon her
consciousness. She stank. For the second time in as many days, gore coated her
skin, and her hair was matted in rotting vampire blood and other nasty
substances she didn’t want to think about.
She left the gargoyle asleep on the floor
and made her way over to her bathroom, shedding the remains of her leather
outfit as she went. She adjusted both showerheads for complete annihilation and
cranked the water as hot as she could stand. Then she stood and let the
steaming water soak the crud from her body. Touching it or fouling a sponge
with the crap just seemed wrong. When the water ran clear, she slathered
herself in soap.
She was on the third shampooing when she
noticed a big, black shadow waiting on the other side of the shower’s glass
partition. Their gazes locked and for a moment, without the touch of skin on
skin, his thoughts flowed to her, broadcasting his overwhelming need for
comfort. Her initial surprise mellowed into a warmer, deeper emotion. Knowing
that her overprotective guardian would never harm her lent her a sense of
confidence she hadn’t expected. Her lips curved at the corners as he continued
to wait in his silent, demanding way for her to make up her mind.
She opened the first glass partition,
pushing it back until it clicked softly against the wall. It was the only sound
in the room besides the splash of water. Gregory waited silently while she
crossed and opened the other side. Another smile curved her lips. “When Gran renovated
the master bath to include the biggest walk-in shower I’d ever seen, I thought
its sheer size was obscene. Somehow it doesn’t seem so big now.” Her mind must
have snapped and gone to a different place where modesty no longer existed. Was
she insane? Probably. Did she care? No. Not when her gargoyle needed comfort so
desperately that she could sense it without touching him.
Lillian moved as close to her showerhead as
she could and he still had to squeeze in order to fit. He didn’t complain.
Getting rid of rotten vampire blood must be a high priority for him, too. She
smiled. He didn’t even crowd her very much.
“This should be awkward,” she said as she
applied her soapy sponge to his back. “Embarrassing. Blush inducing. But it’s
not. Why? Is . . . is this love?”
Several seconds slid by without an answer.
Since he never said much, his silence didn’t upset her. She shook her head and
switched to washing a gore-splattered wing. He flexed it so she could better
reach the dirt. A slow grin spread across her face at the ease with which they
fell into routine. Being with him felt as natural as brushing her hair.
“No.”
His belated answer felt like a kick in the
gut. “No?” she prompted and continued to scrub the membrane between the stout
bones so he wouldn’t know how much that one word hurt.
He paused for a long moment. Then words
poured from him. “Love is the mingling of souls. A powerful emotion. And if we
were like any normal souls, then yes, love would be a good word for what we
share. Yet we are different. We share one spirit—a single soul between us. Like
the Divine Ones, who were once one entity who chose to split into the Mother
and the Father to better understand itself, we are one being in the Spirit
Realm, but two outside of that place. What we share is more profound than
mortal love.”
His words were like balm to her wounds.
What he said should have been outlandish, and it was, but his words fit. She
more than loved him. He was a part of her. Her other self. They had known each
other for an eternity. Smiling, she soaped up his mane.
“Gregory.”
“Yes?”
He sounded hesitant, almost fearful, and
her heart turned over in her chest, expanding with emotion at his
vulnerability. Poor thing. He was as lost as she in this world. “I don’t fully
understand it. I’ve only known you two days, but you mean so much to me.” She
was going to say more. She needed to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.
He sighed, the contented sound rumbling
over the noise of the water. “As you do to me. I will do all in my power to keep
you safe.”
“And I’ll try not to make your task any
harder than it already is.” She ran the sponge down his back while he ducked
under the showerhead and rinsed the soap from his mane. When he came back up
for air, she had a bottle of conditioner at the ready. His doubtful expression
told her she was walking on thin ice, putting lily-of-the-valley-scented girl
products on his hair. “It will make the tangles come out easier when it’s dry.
Trust me, when I’m yanking a comb through it, you’ll appreciate this.”
He sighed again, but let her continue. With
the dirt and gore washed away, and his hair clean and tangle free, she surveyed
her work. It was the most natural thing in the world to reach under his wings
and fold her arms around his waist as far as she could reach. The skin of his
back was warm and slick. His wings shifted, trapping her between them. The
scent of forest and male enfolded her in a blanket as soothing as his silky
wing membranes. Seeing the pale line from the knife wound, she stretched up onto
her toes and kissed the scar. “That we share one soul explains so much. You are
a part of me. At first I was terrified by the link between us, thinking it was
an enchantment or our power drawing us together. Later, I thought it was the
awareness the dryads spoke of. And I very much wanted whatever was between us
to be more than just a chemical reaction. I wanted something deeper, more
meaningful . . . because it already was for me.”
There, she’d spilled her heart. She waited
with her eyes closed, barely daring to breathe.
“Each lifetime, it has always been so for
me, as well.”
She sighed with contentment. Just standing
there, holding him, made her mindlessly happy. She nuzzled that area where his
wings attached. His skin was warm, his scent indescribably wild and male.
Gregory shifted, but he still didn’t break
his silence as he turned to her.
When the silence between them became
awkward, she peeked through her lashes. He was watching her with intense heat.
She couldn’t hold his gaze and glanced down.
Oh . . . he was . . . .