Love Bewitched (Gargoyle Night Guardians Book 3)

by Rosalie Redd

  The god flicked his finger at Marco. A soft click echoed through the chamber, and the band around Marco’s neck fell to the floor with a loud clank. The metal collar rolled across the hard stone, coming to rest alongside one of the crates.

  Marco rubbed his neck. A smile tugged at his lips, and his eyes glowed.

  The game wasn’t over between the two of them. Fine. Bring it.

  “Is that all, my lord?” Zain choked out the question.

  Gwawl leaned back in his chair then flicked his finger at the crate where the collar had come to rest. The chains slid away, and the door creaked open.

  He smiled, revealing a long set of pointy fangs. “You are both free to leave, but wouldn’t you rather stay and watch?”

  Nausea roiled in Zain’s stomach.

  A pained cry echoed from within the crate. Heavy footsteps reverberated off the walls, and a gargoyle emerged from the dark depths. Bare-chested, shoeless, and wearing a tattered pair of jeans, the creature’s shoulders sagged. Red welts marred his skin, and long, dark hair concealed his features. Through a few stringy strands, one haunted eye glared.

  The scar along Zain’s chest burned hot and fevered. As a fae, he should relish in the torture of a gargoyle, but instead of an enemy, he observed a tormented soul.

  Unwilling to witness the impending suffering, he turned his back on his god. Shoulders tight, Zain stalked from the aptly named Misery Room. Marco and Gwawl’s chilling laughter rang in his ears.

  CHAPTER 21

  P ositioned across the street from the well-maintained Victorian, Zain rested his shoulder against an oak tree’s trunk, focusing his attention on the tall glass windows. Through the crack in the partially drawn curtains of the well-lit room, he caught glimpses of Wynne.

  She was dressed in a familiar blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and the bracelet on her wrist glistened in the lamplight’s glow. His chest expanded with a strange mixture of pride tinged with the tiniest bit of regret. Although she’d chosen to wear the sweater he’d given her, she had been forced to wear his jewelry.

  As soon as the sun had set on the human realm, he’d sifted here to assess his options. Unfortunately, Wynne wasn’t alone. At least three others were inside, including that damned gargoyle Damian. Not a big surprise, since he’d expected the gargoyles would protect her.

  He palmed his hand in his fist. The guy wasn’t worthy of anyone as fine as Wynne, but Zain shouldn’t judge. He was a fae, after all, and her enemy. The chain around his neck weighed heavy on his soul. He gripped the strap, whipped it over his head, and shoved it into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. Wasn’t that the old mantra?

  A car, its headlights on high beam, sped down the road.

  “Slow down!” a neighbor yelled from his bedroom window. The slam of the glass hitting the frame as he closed the window rebounded off the nearest house.

  What would it be like to live in a community surrounded by neighbors who thought their biggest worry was street noise? Longing for a peaceful life settled deep inside, but Zain brushed it aside before the yearning planted roots.

  “Time to reclaim my witch,” he whispered.

  My witch.

  He liked the sound of that.

  Silent as death and just as lethal, he zipped across the pavement. The wards surrounding Wynne’s property buzzed as he neared, raising the hair on his arms. He slipped through without a single scratch. The bracelet around Wynne’s wrist was all the invitation he needed.

  He sifted through a crack at the top of the front door and whirled to life on the other side. The strong aroma of patchouli incense swept across his senses along with Wynne’s distinctive lavender scent. A ripple of delightful anticipation tingled over his shoulders.

  Several photographs lined the walls, most of them black and white from an era he remembered all too well, and an old grandfather clock rested close by, its rhythmic tick in time with his beating heart. Near the end of the hallway, a soft glow filtered from an open doorway.

  “Wynne, no,” a stern feminine voice echoed from the room. “Might as well open the door and welcome the fae right in.”

  The muscles in Zain’s shoulders tightened along with his fists. Were they discussing him?

  “You’ve warded the place. Zain can’t get in. I’ll stop him before he even reaches the sidewalk.” Damian’s deep tone vibrated with determination.

  Indeed, Zain was the topic of conversation. Fancy that.

  He crept down the hall. Just give me two seconds. That’s all the time he needed for a quick snatch and grab.

  A gray and white cat slipped from the open doorway into the hall. Bits of white and black swirled in the animal’s green aura, and he couldn’t determine whether the cat’s soul leaned toward good or evil. The feline focused on him, flicked its tail then scampered toward him, a low growl rumbling from its throat.

  “Neira?” Wynne’s gentle voice broke the silence.

  The cat leapt at Zain and latched onto his jacket. The feline sunk its claws into his shoulder and hissed.

  He ripped the damned thing from him and held it by the scruff. “That wasn’t nice.”

  The pounding of heavy feet shook the floor. Damian burst into the hall, his massive build taking up most of the space. A snarl curled his lip.

  “How did you get in here?” he barked. Like the cat, his red aura contained swirling bits of white and black.

  “Carefully.” Zain retorted then tossed the feline at the gargoyle.

  The cat sailed through the air, feet twisting this way and that. In a flash, the feline morphed into a human female and bowled into Damian. She fell, but Damian caught her before she crashed to the floor.

  Zain sifted past them in a swirl of dust bunnies, reformed in the room, and searched for his witch.

  Wynne stood next to a fireplace. Golden hair hung loose around her shoulders in gentle curls. Her beautiful blue eyes widened, and her plump, reddened lips opened on a soft inhale.

  A mouse’s breath could’ve knocked him over.

  “Get out, fae!” Another woman, one that resembled Wynne in so many ways, but didn’t evoke the same reaction in him, grasped the fireplace poker and strode forward. Sparks of yellow swirled in her blue aura. A good soul…

  “Alata ronan ka,” she chanted.

  “No, Sasha!” Wynne raced in front of the woman and knocked the poker from her hand. The metal stick clattered across the room and under an antique couch.

  That Wynne would rush to his aid stymied Zain, freezing him in place.

  He locked onto her stunned gaze and exhaled on a rush. “Wynne—”

  Damian burst into the room, and a loud war cry erupted from his lips. Dagger gripped in his palm, he launched into the air. The blade’s tip glinted in the light as it arced toward Zain.

  He extended his razor-sharp claws and met the gargoyle halfway.

  They collided with a forceful impact that reverberated through Zain, and they crashed into the coffee table. Glass shattered, bounced on the rug, and skittered across the polished wood floor.

  Damian’s blade sliced into Zain’s shoulder. Numbing pain rippled all the way to his fingertips.

  He slashed his nails along Damian’s back, but the sharp tips skittered over his skin. Drawing on his fighting instincts, he head-butted the guy.

  Stars formed in Zain’s vision, but Damian’s grip loosened, and he regained his senses. Zain pushed away from the gargoyle.

  Neira and Sasha attacked him from either side, pelting him with their fists. He shoved them aside, and his attention focused on Wynne.

  Brow furrowed and lips pursed, she scanned his features. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I had to.” He reached for her arm.

  Her attention flicked behind him, and her eyes widened. “Watch—”

  Zain ducked, and Damian’s blade whooshed through the air, shaving off the tail end of Zain’s braid. The coil of plaited hair landed at his feet.

  “No, you did not just cut
my hair.” Zain squared his shoulder and barreled into Damian’s midsection. He didn’t stop until the guy’s back crashed into the wall.

  The chandelier above the coffee table tinkled and swayed. Dust and bits of plaster rained around them.

  As if in the boxing ring once again, Zain focused on his opponent, his mind settling into the place where the outside world fell away and the only thing that mattered was the final knockout.

  A quick jab to the ribs, a cross to the cheek, and an uppercut to the chin were all it took to stun the gargoyle. Damian groaned then slid to the floor.

  Zain didn’t like the guy, but he couldn’t bring himself to deliver a killing blow. He lowered his fists and turned toward Wynne.

  Arms extended, she held her sister and the feline shifter at bay.

  “Let us kill him.” Neira squirmed, trying to break free.

  Sasha huffed. “At least let me put a spell on him to—”

  “Leave, before Damian rouses.” Wynne’s tense voice broke the silence.

  Zain’s shoulders tensed. What had he expected? That she’d leave with him willingly? Even he understood she wouldn’t want to return to a hellhole like Gwawl’s portion of the Otherworld, but part of him had hoped she’d come with him.

  How could he have forgotten that he was the bitter enemy and wasn’t worthy of anyone as smart, determined, and beautiful as Wynne?

  She’d wanted to save her mother with a passion he’d admired, though, and she deserved to know what he’d discovered. “I found the spell to heal your mother.”

  Wynne’s entire body tensed. She studied him with those ocean blue eyes. “That’s a lie.”

  He flinched. “When have I ever lied to you?”

  Her brow furrowed, and her eyes tracked back and forth as she stared at him.

  “You don’t seriously believe him, do you?” Sasha gripped Wynne’s arm. “He’s a fae.”

  “Give me the word, Wynne, and I’ll kill him.” Neira hissed.

  Damian coughed. Shuffling noises rustled from over Zain’s shoulder. He didn’t have much time. Desperate, he held out his palm toward Wynne. “Come with me. We’ll figure it out together.”

  “You won’t live that long.” Damian’s booted feet shook the floor.

  Wynne drew her bottom lip between her teeth in that way that drove him crazy, but then determination flicked through her eyes.

  She jerked away from her sister and grasped Zain’s hand.

  His lungs expanded, filling him with such happiness he thought they might explode. Out of the corner of his eye, a sharp blade careened toward him.

  Holding Wynne close, he sifted in a swirl of ceiling shards, bits of glass, and dust bunnies, taking the beautiful, spunky witch with him.

  Damian’s vengeful scream followed them in the undertow.

  CHAPTER 22

  A s if in the midst of a hurricane, Wynne reformed into her physical body. She steadied herself against Zain’s firm biceps, and he wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “You all right?” His deep voice rumbled in the space between them, tickling her insides.

  “I think so.” Exhaling a slow breath, she took in her surroundings.

  She stood in the middle of a room, the walls carved from hard-chiseled stone. Made of rough brick, a large russet fireplace graced one wall. A chest of drawers rested near a king-sized bed. The black silk comforter seemed to shimmer. A doorway led to what she assumed was a bathroom.

  “It’s not much, but the place is comfy.” Zain trailed his fingertips along her shoulder and down her arm, leaving tingles of awareness in his wake. “Thank you, Wynne.”

  She blinked. “For what?”

  “For trusting me.” A slow smile tugged at his lip then bloomed into a full-on grin. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I wasn’t sure I would either.” The blunt remark slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.

  He laughed, and the crinkles around his eyes chased away the sadness that usually resided there, making him even more gorgeous than before. No one had a right to look that beautiful.

  “Well, I’m glad you did,” he replied.

  Warmth tracked up her neck and across her cheeks. Unwilling to let him see how much he affected her, she stepped away. “I expected you to return me to my cell. Why did you bring me here?”

  “To show you what I found.” He pointed to the far corner of the room.

  An unassuming table with a single chair rested next to the tall dresser. The old tome of spells lay on the table’s surface. She hadn’t noticed it on her first glance around.

  “The book.” She whipped her head around to stare at him. “You said you found the spell to heal my mother.”

  “I believe so.” A frown marred his handsome features, and he peered at the floor before meeting her gaze. “I had to skip over several of the harder words.”

  Wynne’s mind whirled, her thoughts bouncing down multiple paths like jumping beans. He was embarrassed by his inability to read. He’d wanted her to trust him. He’d read from the manual to help her mother.

  A groundswell of gratitude started deep inside and expanded with each breath. She wasn’t sure why he’d helped her, but she was glad he had. Questions remained, however. “Why did you search for the spell, and why is the book here?”

  “I didn’t search for the spell, per se. I stumbled across it.” He ran his palm over his braid, glanced at the shortened end then tossed it over his shoulder. A long sigh, one that carried the weight of the world, slipped from his lips. “After you disappeared with that gargoyle, I wanted to track after you, but daylight arrived on the human realm. The hours I had to endure until I could find you…”

  Shoulders stiff, he crossed to the fireplace and snapped his fingers. A fire burst to life in the embers. He grabbed a log from the pile nestled alongside the brick and tossed it onto the flames. The scent of pine wafted into the room.

  She crossed the distance between them and touched his arm. The warmth of his skin tingled her fingertips.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  “I needed something to keep me occupied. So, I brought the text here. I read the section on controlling the crystal, sounding out some of the words, skipping others altogether. When I finished the first page, an hour had gone by. An hour. One page.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, the muscles in his bicep bulging. “In a fit of rage, I shoved the book aside. It rammed into the wall and ended up on a different page. The word ‘crystal’ caught my attention.”

  With a gentleness that belied his strength, he clasped her hand in his palm and tugged her toward the manual. “Come. Look. Tell me if it’s what you need for your mother.”

  The sincerity embedded in his beautiful hazel eyes breached through a crevice in her hardened heart. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat, so she nodded.

  A relieved sigh eased from him. He grasped the back of the chair, tossed the shirt that rested there onto the dresser, and offered her the seat.

  Wynne scooted onto the smooth polished wood and peered at the book. A mixture of hope and fear fluttered and tickled her stomach.

  She traced the words with her finger. Faster and faster she read, skimming down the page. The fluttering in her stomach morphed from a single butterfly to a whole colony. She reached the end, and she jumped from the chair.

  “This is the right spell! It’s a slow healing one, but I think it will work. I just need to practice to absorb the meaning. Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around Zain’s neck.

  His muscles tensed, but then he relaxed and slid his arms around her waist, drawing her close. “You’re welcome.”

  His masculine scent burned into Wynne’s senses, warming her on the inside. She trailed her fingers along his braid. Several of the strands unraveled, and she released the rest from their confinement. His glossy hair cascaded over his shoulders, accentuating the masculine curve of his jaw and the fullness of his lips.

  She brushed one fingertip along th
e smooth, plump flesh from one side to the other. The sudden urge to kiss him swept through her with such force her lips tingled. Her attraction to him was too strong, too new, too fast, but she couldn’t deny the chemistry between them.

  A deep growl rumbled in his throat, and he grasped her fingers and brought them to his chest, right over his heart. “Wynne. What you do to me…”

  To hear her name on his lips with such reverence drove another spike into the walls around her heart. Cracks formed.

  Something wet and sticky coated her fingertips. She glanced at her hand. Fresh blood dripped down her finger, and a barely visible stain darkened his black T-shirt.

  She pushed against him. “Zain. You’re injured.”

  “Flesh wound. It’ll heal.” He placed a trail of soft kisses along her jaw. His rough whiskers scraped her skin, in sharp contrast to his tender ministrations. Like bitter and sweet, it was the perfect combination.

  Wynne didn’t want to resist, but her training as a healer focused her like nothing else could. “Stop. Let me look at your wound.”

  His shoulders sagged then he released her. “It’s nothing that a little time won’t fix.”

  She wiped her bloodstained fingers on her pants and narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ll be the judge of that. Take off your shirt.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow, and an amused smile lit up his features, accentuating the diamond stud alongside his nose. “Now, how could I refuse a demand like that?”

  He gripped the bottom of his shirt and ripped it over his head in one swift move, revealing a set of abdominal muscles and pecs worthy of a god. The words “handsome, gorgeous, and beautiful” didn’t do him justice. He was an Adonis, and the gods had broken the mold after he was born.

  A large gash on his left shoulder glistened with warm, wet blood. A trickle pulsed from the wound and tracked over a scar along his peck until it found the groove in the middle of his chest. From there, the congealed mass thickened and stopped above his belly button.

  She met his gaze. “Do you have bandages?”

  He pointed across the room. “In there.”