Stone Sentinel: A Beautiful Monsters Story (BeMo Vol. 3.5)

by Jex Lane

  “You hear something?” one of the hunters asked.

  She took five steps forward, two to the left, and one more forward. She stopped, and a wide smile crossed her face.

  When the hunters noticed her, it only took them a split second to draw their crossbows and stakes.

  “Pig on a stick! Samantha, what are you doing here?” the leader of the hunter team, Wardens, asked. She was short with hair tied back in a bun.

  “Hi, Commander Silva. I need to see Tarrick.”

  “No. Where are your bodyguards?”

  “On vacation. And will be for a few days.”

  Silva clenched her teeth together and sucked in a deep breath as if trying to calm herself. “Samantha—”

  “I already know I’ll be meeting with Tarrick tonight. You can stand aside or I can fight my way in.”

  “You’re not a fighter.”

  Jet’s turn. He lowered his head, letting his shoulders hunch and wings come up. A low growl echoed around the stone area.

  Silva, not the least bit perturbed, brought her comm up. “Operator, I need a gargoyle buster outside of Warlord Tarrick’s room asap.”

  Damn those weapons. Jet snarled, showing sharp teeth.

  “Sick ‘em,” Fate-Pebble said.

  Jet leaped at the hunter leader, but before he landed on her, she teleported away.

  Fate-Pebble ran to the door—she didn’t really have the speed most vampires did, but she was a little faster than most humans—and opened it. She disappeared inside.

  And then a moment later came right back out, slamming the door behind her.

  Jet stood down, as did the hunters—who hadn’t bothered to attack him; they didn’t have their busters yet.

  Silva placed her hands on her hips. “Enjoy yourself?”

  “You could have warned me he was in the middle of feeding. I didn’t really need to see that.”

  “What’s the problem? Don’t you find Warlord Tarrick attractive?”

  Fate-Pebble leaned against a pillar. “He’s the third strongest incubus in the world. Anyone with eyes would find him attractive. But he’s my father’s…uh…I can’t say that yet because you don’t know.”

  Silva put her hands on her hips.

  “The point is,” Fate-Pebble continued, “that I don’t want to see him fucking other people. You did that on purpose.”

  The hunter commander smiled wide. “Next time I tell you that you can’t go see the Warlord, obey me and it’ll spare you an eyeful of cock.” Silva returned to her post in front of the door, keeping watch on Jet.

  Fate-Pebble stroked his head and said to him, “You don’t need to be scary anymore. No more fighting tonight.”

  He returned to looking like a Rottweiler.

  “Oh! Speaking of cock…I have a letter for you, Commander.” Fate-Pebble pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket.

  Silva looked wary as she took the letter. Unfolding it, her eyes scanned the sheet. She sighed. “Dear Silva. I still love you. Regards, Bryson comma Warlord.” She lowered the letter and stared at Fate-Pebble. “I don’t think Bryson puts hearts in place of his o’s.”

  The other hunters in the room laughed.

  “Darn it. I thought for sure you’d believe he wrote that.” Jet didn’t think she was serious, but sometimes it was hard to tell with fleshlings. They didn’t always say what they meant. “You know you two are going to get back together again.”

  Silva folded the letter and shoved it into a pouch on her belt. “No.”

  “I literally see the future.”

  “The future can be changed,” Silva said.

  “Not this much. You’re going to ride that undead dick again and”—Fate-Pebble leaned in—“and you’re going to love it.”

  The team of hunters laughed again. “Shut up,” Silva said to them. They fell silent. “I’m not taking love advice from a teenager, oracle or not.”

  “I only look like a teen. I’m not actually one anymore.” Fate-Pebble played with the tips of her long brown hair. “You should also let my father know that you forgave him ages ago. It’s been eating at him.”

  “I haven’t forgiven him.”

  “You totally have. You’ll tell him, then you’ll get back together with Bryson. And really, with as stuck up as you are, you could use his big black co—”

  “That’s quite enough, Oracle,” a deep voice said.

  Warlord Tarrick stood in the doorway, buttoning his white dress shirt. His dark blond hair uncharacteristically messy.

  Another incubus, half dressed and wearing a wide smile, moved past him with a shallow bow before scurrying away.

  “Enjoy your dinner, Warlord?” Sam asked. “It looked like you were enjoying him.”

  Tarrick smoothed down the front of his shirt. “How can I assist you tonight, Oracle?”

  “You, me, and Jet are going to save Christmas from Krampus.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jet entered Tarrick’s room. The inside looked much the same as his Ashwood room: lots of dark wood, red and brown curtains and tapestries, weapons on the walls. Jet had sat on the Ashwood roof for centuries. He’d been there before Tarrick conquered the estate, and assumed he’d be there for much longer.

  But then Rage-Boulder showed up.

  The world whispered around the Fate-touched son of gods, and gargoyles could hear it.

  And Jet knew it was time to wake.

  “You need to stop ditching your hunters,” Tarrick said, closing the door behind him. “If anything happens to you, your father will rip out my spine, along with anyone else who has the misfortune of crossing his path while he frenzies.”

  Fate-Pebble shrugged. “Guess I better not die then.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “I know.” She ran her fingers over a small bust of Ilertha—the incubus goddess—that sat on a thick marble plinth.

  “Why are you really here, Oracle?”

  “I told you…we’re going to save Christmas.”

  “From Krampus?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  Fate-Pebble tilted her head. “No?”

  “No.”

  “I’m a vampire. And you’re a thousand-year-old incubus. And Jet’s a living rock. And there are dragons and elves and mermaids and—”

  Tarrick held up his hand. “I get the point. But I know what creatures walk this earth—”

  “Like you knew my father is the son of the incubus goddess and sired by the vampire god…”

  “Fair, but Krampus is no more real than Santa.”

  Fate-Pebble gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Santa isn’t real?” When Tarrick went to grab his phone from his desk, she added, “I’m not joking. There’s a threat and I’m going to stop it.”

  Not wanting to be forgotten, Jet licked her hand.

  “With Jet. He’s going to help me. And if you send me back to the bunker, I’ll find another way out. Christmas is only four nights away and if we don’t stop Krampus, my father will never get the help he needs.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Not yet, but it will eventually.”

  Tarrick stood silent for a moment. “When I was a child,” he finally said, “the human children I grew up around feared the son of Hel, who came around yuletide and would steal them away if they’d been naughty. They thought him a monster. But I knew better because my mother taught me what real monsters are.” Tarrick dialed a number and put his phone to his ear.

  “If you’re calling about Lady Lillian, she is unharmed,” a male voice answered.

  “No, old friend. Although, I’m happy to hear it. What do you know about Krampus?”

  “I know the mythology and stories are widely varied. Some have Greek origins, some Christian. A half-goat, half-demon who walks on December fifth. He carries a birch bundle or a chain and shoves children into a sack. Why do you ask?”

  “I’ve heard a rumor of one.”

  The person on
the other end of the call chuckled. “And you believe it?”

  “Not yet. I had hoped you could confirm.”

  “I can ask around.”

  “Thank you, Teleclus, but there’s no need. Stay safe.”

  “On the battlefield there is no ‘safe’.”

  The grip Tarrick had on his phone tightened. “Malarath pulled you out of retirement?”

  “No, the High Lord General did.”

  “And how is my son?”

  “He’s taken to his new role well. Limit your calls to me. I must go.” The call ended.

  Tarrick looked at Fate-Pebble. “It’s past December fifth.”

  Fate-Pebble shrugged. Jet had no idea why Tarrick didn’t believe her.

  “Blood.” She blinked hard several times. “The dark presses in. So much red and black. It’s endless. You won’t be able to stop it. They watch and they come. The bloody night. It’s coming.”

  Her eyes turned white.

  Jet felt helpless as the powerful visions flooded her.

  “Please, the knife. It hurts my back.”

  “I know, child.” Tarrick grabbed something out of his desk drawer and crossed the room to her. She swiped tiny claws at him. He dodged the attack with a lazy sidestep and lifted her shirt in the front.

  “The world cries, corrupted by the black. Magic turns purple. The eyes see all.”

  Tarrick plunged a stake into her chest, avoiding her bra. He scooped her up as she went limp, and lay her on his bed, taking a seat beside her.

  Jet hopped up next to her and whimpered.

  “I’ll remove the stake once the sun is up so she can sleep. I don’t think she needs to suffer the visions right now,” Tarrick said, running a knuckle down her jaw in an affectionate gesture. Like a father worried for a daughter. “She’s cold. Matthew’s too upset tonight to feed her?”

  Jet nodded.

  “Has she mentioned when he’ll finish his primary transformation?”

  Everyone asked that question, but no, she didn’t know when he’d come out of it.

  Tarrick grabbed a comm out of his pocket and pressed a button on it. “Silva.”

  Green light filled the area and Silva appeared. “Sir?”

  “Did you find the Misfits?”

  “She sent them to the Bahamas. Do you want them here?”

  “No. It seems tomorrow the three of us”—Tarrick motioned to Jet, Fate-Pebble, and himself—“will be hunting Krampus.”

  Silva stifled a laugh. “Really?”

  “No. I think this is about Matthew.”

  Silva looked over to Fate-Pebble. “I never thought I’d feel bad for a vampire but…she’s really young and it can’t be easy to be connected to him while he’s transforming. Are you going to send her back to the bunker?”

  Tarrick shook his head. “She’s one of the only advantages I have over Malarath right now. I’ll humor her for a night. Have all my appointments moved. Except the meeting with the berserkers, have Holst go in my stead. Keep your distance tomorrow, don’t let her see you trailing. And she’ll need a bag of blood at sundown.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tarrick waved his hand in dismissal and Silva teleported away. He looked over to Jet. “I think Asper’s around but I haven’t actually seen her for a few weeks.”

  Jet wagged his tail at the mention of Asper. He missed her. They had sat together for centuries, watching the world pass. When Jet took on his two stones, he had to leave her. She chose to stay close to Tarrick, her stone.

  “I’ll open the window for you if you want to go sit on the roof,” the Warlord offered.

  Jet nudged Fate-Pebble with his nose to make sure she would stay asleep and hopped off the bed. Tarrick pressed some buttons on his phone and Jet heard locks sliding open. The incubus opened the window and Jet shifted into his true gargoyle form.

  He stretched wings behind him and flexed his limbs. His true form had arms that looked closer to a human’s than a dog’s. Sharp claws, teeth, and spikes that ran down his back made him fearsome in a fight, but it was his impenetrable black stony skin that made him unstoppable.

  Crawling out the window, Tarrick closed it behind Jet but didn’t lock it.

  Wise.

  Magic wards or no, Jet would break it all down to get to Fate-Pebble if she needed him. Jet climbed to the roof and took vigil at the corner. There were a handful of other gargoyles on other corners, but they all slept.

  Jet envied them in a way. He often wanted to rest again, unmoving, observing without the need to interact. The world was exhausting.

  But he had stones now. Stones he wanted to protect. Stones he hadn’t done enough for.

  Rage-Boulder suffered more than he should have at the hands of the incubus king. Many times, Jet had wanted to try and save his stone, but the king could command gargoyles. As could gods and some vampires. Annoying. Jet resented the ones who could manipulate his will.

  Except Rage-Boulder. Jet forgave him. Mostly because his stone asked rather than demanded.

  Jet studied the gardens. Unkempt and overgrown, Tarrick hadn’t been here long. If he had, they’d be flawlessly maintained.

  Or maybe the incubus warlord kept them this way to hide his presence. Jet decided that explanation was more reasonable.

  Countless spirits walked the grounds.

  This fortress had seen many battles, suffered many wounds. The dead lingered here.

  Why hadn’t they been claimed by a god?

  Perhaps they weren’t yet ready. Perhaps they’d never be.

  The presence of gargoyles ensured the spirits couldn’t enter the structure. If they tried, one would wake and destroy it.

  Forever. Gone. No god to take them.

  Some sought that, and over the years, Jet had destroyed many.

  That was, after all, his purpose. Protection against the unseen, his duty. The spirits here were muted and unmoving. They posed no threat. They weren’t malicious or corrupted.

  But even still, Jet wouldn’t allow any near his stone.

  He kept an eye on them for the rest of the night. They dissipated as the sun rose, but Jet could still sense their presence.

  In the fortress, he could hear hunters and incubi going about their business. Much talk of battles and war. Tarrick typed away on one of his devices. He didn’t allow anyone in his room, instead issuing orders over his phone.

  It pleased Jet that Fate-Pebble had privacy as she slept.

  The sky began to darken again and Jet climbed down. Tarrick didn’t even look up from his tablet when Jet crawled through the window and changed once again into his dog form. He joined Fate-Pebble, who no longer had a stake in her chest, on the bed, and curled at her feet.

  An hour after sundown, she began to stir.

  Tarrick sent off a text and went to the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

  She struggled to sit up, swallowing hard and licking her lips. Her eyes turned red and she locked onto Tarrick’s neck. “I think I might try to attack you…”

  “I know you’re hungry—”

  “Starving.”

  “—but you’ll resist it.”

  “Not fair. Incubi smell so good. The older the better. And you’re ancient.”

  He didn’t look amused. He had nothing to be upset about, Jet was far older. Some might even say he was antediluvian…

  A hunter appeared with a bag of blood in her hand. Tarrick motioned to Fate-Pebble and the hunter handed the blood over before saluting and teleporting away.

  Fate-Pebble shoved a tube into her mouth and began to suck.

  Tarrick took a seat beside her. When she finished, he asked, “Have you told Matthew?”

  “Told him what?” Fate-Pebble tossed the bag of blood at a trashcan and did a little victory pump with her fist when it made it in. Her skin pinked and her eyes returned to silver.

  “That he’s the one who kills you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A low growl escaped Jet.

  Neither stone would
die.

  Not if he could help it.

  The color Fate-Pebble had gained from drinking the blood drained away and her eyes widened. “How did you…?”

  “I’ve read everything there is to read about oracles. It is known they see their own demise, often saying it over and over: The gold sword opens my neck. The claws rip out my heart. The poison is sweet. The stones crush my body. Your vision is: The knife in my back hurts. Or some variation of that.”

  “But—”

  “My initial thoughts were Malarath, Prescott, or myself, but getting stabbed in the back often indicates a betrayal by a loved one. Coupled with the way you avoid eye contact with Matthew after you have your visions—something you should work on—made him the most likely candidate. And you confirmed it for me just now.”

  Fate-Pebble’s eyes went red again. “You tricked me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like you.”

  “We established that a long time ago. Now, are we going to hunt Krampus or stay in bed all night? Either option is fine with me.”

  “Are you going to tell my father?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because it’s not what you think.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. But more importantly, I don’t need him distracted right now—assuming he ever completes his transformation.”

  “Distracted by trying to save my life, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  Fate-Pebble scowled. “Maybe I’ll tell him then.”

  “By all means. I’m sure your god will love that.” Tarrick motioned to the bathroom door. “Feel free to take a shower.”

  With her lips pressed together and eyes narrowed, Fate-Pebble stomped into the bathroom. A moment later, the shower turned on. Tarrick went about grooming himself, using a standing mirror to brush his hair to perfection and slip on a suit vest and jacket.

  With as vain as incubi were, he wondered if Tarrick disliked all the scars that ran across his body. Then again, maybe others couldn’t see them. Incubi could do something to hide their imperfections—at least that’s what Jet had overheard them saying.