“Lillian needs rest,” he said.
“Of course.” Vivian made a sweeping gesture
with her arm. “This way.”
He inclined his head to Vivian in thanks
before urging his lady back in the direction of the house. Lillian allowed
herself to be herded.
Inside, Gregory followed Lillian as she
made her way through the kitchen and on into the living room. There she
collapsed into a chair and held a pillow in her lap, her eyes glazing with
recent memories. Her grandmother stood next to her and whispered words of
comfort. Right now, Vivian was the one Lillian would find safe and familiar,
while his presence would only lead to more questions and worry. So he faded,
blending into the room around him until he was once again part of the shadows.
Distracted by her grandmother, Lillian
missed when the gargoyle vanished. She leaned forward in her chair, her fingers
biting into the armrests. He’d been standing right in front of her a moment ago
and now he was gone. Nothing moved that fast. His magic must cloak him in some
way she didn’t understand. A laugh bubbled up. She suppressed it with
difficulty.
What
did
she understand? Magic.
Gargoyles. Unicorns. Her entire life was a lie.
When her mind threatened rebellion, she
took several deep breaths. Calmer, she approached the problem with a rational
mind. What was she to do? A gargoyle followed her around like a lost dog. He
must have a reason. She needed to find out his motives. But how? Question after
question whirled through her mind, but no reasonable explanations presented
themselves.
“You’ve had enough shocks for one day,”
Gran whispered in her ear. “Come with me. The gargoyle is right. You need to
rest. Everything will seem better after a good night’s sleep. Then I’ll explain
everything I know in the morning.”
She should be demanding answers now,
tonight…but she was so damned tired. Her body felt heavy, her limbs numb.
“Come,” Gran whispered.
Lillian was certain her grandmother was
weaving some kind of spell to make her sleep, but she decided she was too tired
to care.
Gran ushered her up the stairs, pushing on
her shoulders to steer her in the right direction. After a few turns, Lillian
found herself in a room. Her grandmother handed her a bit of satin. Lillian
blinked. Her favorite indigo nightgown. And yes, that was her oversized bed. It
had never looked so good.
When the door’s click announced her
grandmother’s departure, Lillian started shedding clothing as she crossed the
floor.
The satin nightgown still a cold presence
against her skin, she crawled across the bed and scrambled under the covers.
Her eyes were already closed by the time her head hit the pillow. Before sleep
claimed her, a worried thought flashed across her mind.
Where had her gargoyle gone?
* * *
Hearing was the first sense to awaken. A
soft, slow whooshing teased the edge of her hearing, rhythmic like the ocean,
almost a purr. The soothing noise had a steady thump as its counter beat.
Delicious warmth radiated throughout her body.
A part of her mind wanted to embrace sleep,
but other senses were sharpening. She inhaled a deep breath. Air perfumed with
the scents of home baking filled her lungs—her grandmother’s pancakes and
sausages, if she was not mistaken. Her stomach growled, waking her further.
Still she didn’t open her eyes—there was something dancing at the edge of her
consciousness, something she didn’t want to acknowledge or remember.
She squeezed her eyes tight and wiggled
closer to the heat, determined to recapture the mindless oblivion of sleep.
Another scent crawled across her senses and seeped into her mind like a drug,
one reminiscent of wild places and the pleasant musky warmth of a purely male
being—the scent of gargoyle.
She froze. Memories of the last day
wouldn’t be denied and came crashing down upon her peaceful world. Muscles
taunt with tension, she cautiously opened her eyes—to an expanse of dark skin
stretched over a defined, muscular chest. A heavy weight was slung across her
shoulders, preventing her from sitting up, and something else with the grace of
a two-by-four held her lower legs imprisoned. Five minutes’ worth of wiggling,
and the gargoyle’s arm was down almost to her waist. Being careful not to shake
the bed, she sat up.
The two-by-four turned out to be his tail.
There was an eight-foot gargoyle occupying her bed. Tramping down rising panic,
she did a quick survey of the bedroom. Her robe lay on the other side of the
room, tossed over the back of her reading chair next to the antique oak
dresser. With a new goal firmly in her sights, she held the panic at bay a
little longer.
After several more minutes of slow cautious
wiggling, she was out from under the gargoyle’s wings. A few more deep calming
breaths, and she inched off the bed in slow motion. Her bare feet touched the
floor. Her new bedmate hadn’t so much as stirred a talon. Fear made her breath
shallow and rapid. She bolted for the robe in a mad dash. In under ten seconds
flat she had the robe clutched in one hand and she’d reversed course for the
door.
She reached the old walnut door, a gate to
sanctuary, the way to freedom. But she did not turn the knob. Poised, frozen
between moments, she was unable to decide which way to go.
Whatever was on the other side of the door
was just as much the unknown as the big beastie sleeping in her bed. Worse,
perhaps. The gargoyle had never lied to her, which was more than she could say
about her family. For years they had hidden all this from her. Magic. Of all
things, magic existed.
She needed answers. Perhaps then the chaos
of the last day would order itself into something resembling a normal life.
Ten feet away, sleeping soundly in her bed,
was someone fully capable of answering her questions. All she had to do was
confront him.
Determination flowing in her blood, she
spun around and faced the bed. The great, lumpy mound under the comforter was
still there, the whole mass rising and falling in the slow, relaxed rhythm of
sleep. How long had she slept next to the big eight-foot monster, with his
massive talons that could have torn her apart? Even as she thought it, that
older foreign part of her spirit knew he would never harm her—not even in his
sleep.
Indecision held her rooted in place for
several more seconds. Then curiosity and that strange, fierce need to be near
him reared its head and overruled wisdom. Instead of running away, she slid one
foot ahead of the other until she stood at the end of the bed.
The opportunity was too tempting to resist.
After a moment’s consideration about the foolhardiness of what she was about to
do, she tugged the comforter off the bed in one slow pull and reached out with
shaking fingers.
Keeping her touch light so he wouldn’t
wake, she slid her fingertips along warm skin. The deep rise and fall of his
chest confirmed he still slept deeply, too exhausted to have heard her get up
or to notice the comforter’s lack. He was curled in a fetal position, his tail
tucked around him like a cat—the biggest damned cat she’d ever encountered. It
was nice studying him while he slept. He seemed less scary that way.
Even curled on his side, his eight-foot
frame dwarfed the king-sized bed. One massive wing stretched out behind him
while the other blanketed him like a cloak of shadows. His head rested pillowed
on his bicep, and one arm still reached out to where she’d been tucked against
him. His fingers, with their two-inch claws, were uncurled, relaxed in sleep.
If he’d had a nightmare, he could have gutted her. Her eyes travelled the
length of him again. While he wasn’t human, he was certainly male.
Overprotective guardian non-withstanding, he’d be finding himself different
sleeping arrangements very soon.
Without conscious thought, her fingers
found his hand and touched the black, curving claws. She really should be
running away, she reminded herself. Instead she sat on the edge of the bed and
explored the gargoyle.
Oddly, she could deal with the strangeness
of the gargoyle better than seeing her family in their new roles. Or seeing a
man she’d known all her life turn into a unicorn. Like something out of a
fevered dream. Abnormal. Surreal and completely creepy.
That the gargoyle seemed the most normal
part of her life didn’t bode well at all.
She stroked his mane for several minutes.
Calm returned, followed by clearer thoughts. With a confidence she didn’t know
she possessed, she sat on the bed and investigated the spiky ridge of fur
between his horns. If she thought she could get away with it, she would have
tried to brush his mane for him, but the motion might wake him, and she rather
liked watching the gargoyle sleep. She wasn’t sure why or how, but he was a
natural part of her existence. Like air and food and water, her gargoyle had
transformed into a component she needed to live.
From downstairs, the distant beep of the
kitchen timer reached her ears. At the noise, the gargoyle made a huffing sound
as he buried his muzzle under the edge of her robe until his entire head
vanished beneath a fold of the dark-green fabric. His horns and ears stuck out
and she started to laugh.
“No, I stand corrected. You’re not
cat-like. You’re more dog-like.” His ears twitched at the sound of her voice,
but he still didn’t wake up. Instead, he’d burrowed further under her and
threatened to push her off the side of the bed. “Definitely dog. I don’t
suppose I can teach you to fetch breakfast? Oh, well. At least . . .”
Her next words froze, forgotten on her
tongue. Angry voices drifted in through her window. She tensed as they came
closer. The gargoyle exhaled a grunted exclamation and in one beat of her
pounding heart, he was fully awake. His powerful tail snaked out and reached
around her shoulders. That heavy, unstoppable weight forced her forward and
down until she was sprawled flat on the bed, the gargoyle poised over her. Then
he leaped from the bed, tearing sheets and dislodging the top mattress with the
strength of his lunge.
The sudden jolt rolled her like a limp doll
and she was facing the window in time to see him clear the distance in one
bound. He landed on all fours, his tail lashing back and forth. He made no
noise as he reared up onto two legs and braced his arms on either side of the
window while he watched the goings on below. She inched closer to his side.
Voices drifted up. Two strangers debated with her Uncle Alan.
“What are you hiding? We can smell it from
out here.” A man’s voice echoed up from below.
Lillian nudged the gargoyle until he let
her look out the window. Below, two men faced off against her uncle. One of
them, the older man with the graying hair, looked vaguely familiar. It took her
a moment to realize why. When Gregory bunched his muscles, preparing to leap
down, she put a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Wait,” she hissed. “I know these people.
Please don’t get all fierce on them. They’re friends of the family. The younger
one’s name is Robert, and the older man is his grandfather, Jackson.”
Jackson tilted his head to the side,
sniffing at the air. “Tell me what you’re hiding. It smells of power and
aggression.”
“We have a new ally. Vivian will explain
everything tonight when she meets with your leaders for the gathering. That’s
all I can say for now,” her uncle said.
Robert took a step closer to her uncle.
“You’ve got to give us more. We saw the unicorn. What has the Coven been up to?
Tell us now or the Hunt will appear at your doorstep some night not of your
choosing.”
“Is that a threat?” Lillian’s uncle asked,
voice sharp with annoyance.
Jackson put a restraining hand on his
grandson’s shoulder. “No, not a threat—a warning. One friend to another. We
don’t want to see anything happen to you or your family. But whatever the Hunt
decides, it’s out of our hands.”
Her uncle’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.
Come, I’ll drive you back to your farm.”
When the voices died away and the sound of
retreating footsteps faded, Lillian turned from the window and pressed her back
against the wall. The gargoyle—Gregory—stood looking down at her, his muzzle
pointed in her direction, his expression unreadable. She wondered what the Hunt
was—it didn’t sound good. But before she could voice her concerns, there was a
disturbance outside in the hall. It came a second time. Closer now, she could
make out the sounds—dishes rattling on a tray. Breakfast had come to her.
Gregory advanced on the door with grim
interest just as it creaked open. Gran strolled in, and then shoved the door
shut with her hip. Gran eyed the disheveled bed with an arched eyebrow, and
then looked the gargoyle up and down as she detoured around him. When she
passed, she waved the two trays close to his muzzle and continued forward with
a knowing smile. The gargoyle padded after her, sniffing at the trays as he
came.
“Did you sleep well?” Gran asked. Again the
eyebrow rose in question.
“Yes, very well . . . considering a rather
large
gargoyle
was sharing the bed. Know anything about that?”
Gran graced Lillian with a most innocent
look. “Yours is the biggest bed in the house.”
“Ha! I knew it. You said you ordered the
wrong size for the resort and didn’t want to pay to ship it back.”
“I couldn’t very well tell you it was for
your gargoyle, now could I?”
Lillian huffed and turned to the gargoyle
and speared him with a look. “You’re not a dog—you don’t get to sleep in my
bed.”
Gregory seemed more interested in what Gran
was carrying than in the conversation.
Gran cleared her throat. “Anyways, I
imagine you both must be hungry, so I brought a little something to hold you
over until lunch. Eat, and then we’ll talk.”
Lillian was about to tell her to talk now,
but the mingled scent of real maple syrup, pancakes, and sausages reached her
nose. She tracked the trays as avidly as did the gargoyle. Deciding she could
multitask, Lillian uncovered the first tray and snatched up one of the
sausages. She was taking the first bite when the gargoyle leaned in close and sniffed
at her food.