Sapphire Gryphon: A Paranormal Shifter Romance (Gryphons vs Dragons Book 2)

by Ruby Ryan

  Hell, maybe that's why this was bothering me. I'd been acclimated to being high in the mountains for the last decade that being at sea level was too much.

  "Ethan?" Roland suddenly shouted from across the chamber. "Is Ethan with you guys?"

  "I thought he went with you," I said.

  "He did. But now he's gone." He raised his voice. "Ethan!"

  I turned my flashlight on and picked my way along the slanted rock toward Roland's panicked shape. The rocks were slick, and I almost fell twice, but then I was standing next to Roland at the far wall.

  "Where'd he go?" I asked, shining my flashlight. There was a wet spot on the wall to the left, but nothing else.

  Roland's eyes were wide, and the cocky Irishman sounded more afraid than I'd ever heard him. "He was just here..."

  I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. I'd seen panicked rock climbers act this way before when they were disoriented, and human touch always helped.

  "He couldn't have just disappeared, could he?"

  Suddenly we saw another light to our right, down near the ground. We shone our own flashlights simultaneously, revealing a hole in the wall not much larger than a soccer ball. A hand appeared, then an arm, and then Ethan was shimmying his way out.

  "Dude!" Roland darted forward, sliding down the diagonal rocks toward the hole. "Where the fuck'd you go?"

  "I was right here..." Ethan said simply.

  Orlando and Andy came rushing over with the guide close on their heels. Andy stopped, took one look at the hole, and put on his best lecturing tone.

  "Ethan, what did we say about--"

  "I'm fine," Ethan insisted. "You guys are overreacting."

  Orlando stared at the tiny hole. "What possessed you to go down there?" he said, a strange curiosity in his voice. "Good lord, how'd you even fit?"

  Ethan moved his hand to his side, like he was going to pull a rock or something out of his pocket to show us. But then he flinched, and told us he was curious, and began apologizing.

  Something came over me, then. A wave of dizziness from climbing the rocks so fast. We were too crammed together up in this corner, so I walked back down toward the center of the chamber where the guide's lantern sat on the rock.

  And as I walked that way, I felt the same air pressure as before. It almost felt like it was pulling me in that direction, toward where I'd seen the blue mote during the darkness. And then my stomach was doing backflips, and my breathing intensified, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop my nausea.

  I reached the wall in time to spew vomit all over it.

  Four sets of lights shone in my direction, hitting me like spotlights.

  "Dude..." Roland said as they approached.

  I wiped my mouth and stood up. I felt a little bit better now that I'd emptied half my stomach, but more embarrassed than anything. "Sorry guys, really. Must be the aftereffects of last night."

  Andy grabbed my shoulder. "No sweat, buddy. Maybe this was a bad idea."

  "No, I think I'm okay!" I took a step, but wobbled a little bit. "I just need a minute."

  But Andy shook his head. "Forget about it. This was fun, but I was probably overzealous. Let's get back to town and grab some food."

  I wanted to argue more, but he seemed insistent, like he'd been looking for an excuse to leave. Orlando sounded disappointed, but then the guide was leading us back out the way we'd come.

  As we left, I definitely got the impression that it wasn't concern for my stomach that made the others leave. Even Andy seemed in a rush to leave the chamber, casting aside all concern for me as I went through the crevice.

  I took up the rear, and as I approached the exit to the chamber I slipped and fell.

  My knee hit the wall hard, sending jolts of pain down my leg. I hissed, then jumped back as a foot-wide section of the wall fell away. It crumbled to the ground, kicking up dust into the air. I'd narrowly avoided having my foot crushed.

  "Hey guys?" I said, but nobody heard me.

  And before I could follow them, the blue mote of light returned.

  It came from the part of the wall that had broken. There was a small pocket of air inside the rock, now cut in half by the piece falling away. A rock inside the pocket glowed blue, exactly as I had seen before, but now close-up. Except that didn't make any sense; if it had been inside the rock I wouldn't have been able to see it before.

  The air pressure sensation was back, but instead of making me nauseous it pulled me toward the rock. And my own curiosity demanded I see what it was, so I reached out and picked it up, and the moment it was in my hands the pressure ended.

  It wasn't a rock, but a stone carving. I immediately recognized it as a gryphon, the mythical animal that was half-lion, half-eagle. The details carved into it were incredible: individual talons on the feet scratching against my palm, and the bumps of feathers all along the back. The wings were folded against its body, but one of the joints poked up above the back.

  And the light...

  The source came from a sapphire set in the gryphon's neck, just between the shoulder blades. It was a round cut stone, too perfect to be natural, every facet and face designed with artistry.

  The entire figurine fit into the palm of my hand, but felt like it weighed much more.

  And then the light dimmed on the gem, returning the room to darkness.

  Suddenly conscious that I was alone, I shoved it in my pocket and flicked my flashlight back on. I scrambled into the gash within the rock wall, following my friends out of the caves.

  I was excited to tell them about it, but as I exited into daylight I hesitated. A strange mood had fallen over the group. Everyone seemed quiet, and brooding. But the object in my pocket was so unique; I wanted to pull it out and show them...

  "Bout time," Roland said, sneering at me. "Thought you'd stopped to vomit some more."

  And then the moment was gone, and they were peeling off their gear and getting into the jeep.

  As we drove back to town, the thought of telling them became less and less ideal. Roland would tease me about it, and call me Samantha like he used to. The others might not believe it'd come from the cave. And even if they did, Andy would probably insist I turn it in to the locals.

  Honestly, that's what I should have done. If the object was ancient, it was probably a crime to steal it and take it home. The Boy Scout in me knew turning it in was the right thing to do.

  But it felt like it belonged to me. And the thought of giving it away filled me with a strange pain.

  As soon as we were home, I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. The figurine was even more incredible in better lighting; the details in the feathers and body was extraordinary for a piece of stone, and even though the gem no longer glowed--had it ever really glowed at all?--it was as beautiful as any I'd ever seen. And it was so large that it had to be fake.

  Fake. That's what my mind latched onto: this was some trinket from a gift shop tourists bought. Hell, a tourist had probably been the one to lose it in the cave. Or had hidden it behind a rock as a joke to fool someone gullible.

  Yeah, that made the most sense. And of course telling the others would just make me look stupid. I pictured Roland laughing his ass off and explaining how he'd seen a shelf full of them at an airport kiosk. Definitely best to keep it to myself.

  When I left the bathroom, I found Orlando waiting for me just outside the door.

  "Well?" he said expectantly.

  I gave a start. "Uhh... what?"

  "You practically sprinted in here," he explained, sniffing the air. "You still throwing up? Or should I be worried about food poisoning from breakfast?"

  "Ahh." I ran my hand through my hair. "Nah, I thought I was gunna be sick again. False alarm."

  Orlando hesitated, and for a moment looked like he was going to ask me something, but then shook his head. "Glad to hear it pal."

  I kept the figurine in my pocket while we relaxed in the sun on the beach, and again when we went out to dinner. It was a warm comf
ort against my hip, making me feel safer with its presence. And when we went to bed I kept it with me, underneath the pillow like some teenager's diary.

  We all had different flights out the next morning, so we said our goodbyes at the villa, exchanging hugs and kind words and assurances that we should do this again sometime. But as I took my taxi to the airport, I knew they were just words. We were all too old, and too spread out around the country to make this a regular thing. Hell, it'd been a hassle just coordinating this trip with everyone's schedules.

  It was sad, but I'd probably never see any of them again.

  When I got to the airport, I stopped in the bathroom to transfer the figurine to my carry-on bag. It was probably my imagination, but even having it that much farther away from me, the bag on my shoulder instead of my pocket, filled me with unease.

  Nobody said anything as it went through the metal detector, and then I hurried to the first bathroom I saw on the other side and transferred it back.

  As soon as the plane was in the air, I slid it out of my pocket and held it between my legs, holding it so that nobody could see.

  It felt right in my hands. Like it was meant to be held, not hidden away, whatever that meant. A silly thought, but it forced its way into my head nonetheless. I was transfixed by it, every detail and carving, the legs and talons and even the curling tail that looked like it would snap off if I weren't careful.

  Mountain climbers carried totems with them for good luck. A tradition started by the Nepalese Sherpas, I think. I'd always laughed whenever my colleagues did the same, dismissing it as a silly superstition. But as illogical as it was, I found myself understanding it then.

  I finally put it back in my pocket, feeling sad as I did. I replaced it in my hands with my cell phone, which had cached a week's worth of emails in Belize that I'd avoided reading. Most were unimportant, stuff I'd been CC'd on without needing my real attention, but I had a cluster from my boss.

  I groaned as I read them. We were setting up a new radio array in the Rockies, and the install dates had been moved up by two weeks. He was already up in the mountains beginning the construction, and I would need to join him as soon as possible.

  I did some mental math: if I landed at noon, and went straight home to change the clothes in my pack (Belize was about 100 degrees warmer than where I'd be going) I could be on the road at 1:00. I didn't know the exact location of the array site, but it was in the range near Mount Antero, three hours or so outside Denver. I could be there before sundown, but only barely, which meant I wouldn't be able to help with any of today's work. Might as well relax and drive up first thing in the morning.

  I shook my head. My boss wouldn't accept that; if he said to be there ASAP, he meant ASAP, even if I couldn't help on the array itself. Plus there was programming work that could be done at night. Best to head up there as soon as I had a changed bag.

  And as I scrolled through my emails, I saw that my boss had forwarded the email to me half a dozen times, asking if I'd gotten the email and insisting I confirm my arrival time. I considered paying $49.99 for the in-flight Wi-Fi to respond to him, but decided that was stupid. I would email him back the moment we landed.

  No, I would call him. That would set his mind at ease better. Thomas loathed the slowness of email communication.

  My hand went to my side automatically, resting against the figurine in my pocket. I didn't realize what I was doing until I felt it; I had to fight the impulse to pull it out and stare at it some more.

  "You'd better bring me luck in the mountains," I muttered to myself, counting down the minutes until we landed.

  2

  EZRA

  I was a thief, and I was good at it.

  I stood in the baggage claim of the airport, slouching to pretend I was bored while holding a cardboard sign with "Joziah" written on it in black sharpee. That's Joziah with a Z. I'd learned always to use some weird spelling to keep passengers from approaching me, thinking I was there for them.

  People didn't care who came and went in a baggage claim. It was downright normal in airports, a constant flux of bodies passing through and meeting relatives and having their own little mini-reunions in front of the world. I could walk up and take a suitcase from the carousel if I wanted. Hell, I could plant a bomb! I always wondered why you didn't see that happen more often: all a terrorist had to do was double-park, walk inside, and add their bomb-bag to the others on the belt. Nobody would be able to stop them before they were gone. There were too many people, too many bags, too much chaos.

  But anyways. Stealing bags off the carousel was a good way to get caught. That shit would get picked up by the cameras, and as soon as someone filed a missing bag report my crime would be discovered and my description plastered across every security desk in every airport in the midwest.

  Not only that, but what was usually in suitcases? Clothes. Good for a hundred bucks at the thrift shop, especially if I pinched one with expensive suits inside, but still a lot of middle-men for a payday. It was sometimes worth doing as my last pinch before heading to a new city, if I spotted one that was especially juicy.

  But I'd only just arrived in Denver, and I had giant gold dollar signs in my eyes.

  "Joziah?" I called out, looking around as if trying to find my fare. A few people glanced over, but none approached.

  Nobody was coming out of the security doors, and I was getting impatient, so I meandered over to the baggage carousel to my right. People were idiots, you know? They had the entire damn loop to stand around and wait for their bag, but everyone crowded and crammed around the part where the bags come out. Nobody could wait the ten fucking seconds for their bag to make its way around the loop. Which was good for me, and bad for them.

  A pink hardcover suitcase slid down the ramp.

  "Oh, excuse me!" I said, squeezing through the crowd. I snipped the wallet out of the dress pants of the guy in the back, who never even looked over. I turned myself sideways as I jockeyed for position, sliding an iPhone out of another man's coat pocket. Leaning forward to grab the tag of the suitcase, I shook my head in a show of disappointment and pushed away from the crowd.

  When I was a safe distance away, I moved my loot to the matrix of pockets I'd sewn into the inner lining of my heavy coat, each pocket spaced out so as not to appear too bulky to anyone looking at me.

  Two pockets out of ten filled within the first few minutes. Not bad.

  The security doors opened, and a trickle of newly-landed passengers made their way into the area. I walked back to where the other drivers stood and held up my sign again.

  Jackpot. This looked like the flight I'd been waiting for: the direct from Las Vegas, faces exhausted and eyes still bloodshot from the casino. Vegas flights were the whales of the airport thief industry: lots of people carrying cash, who hadn't had a chance to stop by a Las Vegas bank before catching the early flight out of the city. And nobody trusted thick bundles of cash to their checked bag, or even a carry-on. That shit needed to stay at your hip, where it was warm and safe.

  Vegas took more than they gave, but they still gave a lot. I watched the crowd stream through, looking for a mark.

  Most of them walked straight toward the exit; very few made their way to the carousel on the left to get a bag. That was disappointing; it was harder to pinch a wallet from someone who was moving. Hard, but not impossible.

  Fortunately, I liked a good challenge. It made the payday all that more satisfying.

  And then I saw him. One guy with dirty blond hair and his phone to his ear, not paying any attention. He had a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and wore khaki shorts and a T-shirt, which showed off an intricate tattoo sleeve on his arm.

  And his right pocket held a bulge that was thicker than any normal wallet.

  I strode forward with malicious purpose, stretching on my tip-toes to pretend like I was identifying someone farther back. My mark walked to the right, and I set a diagonal path that would intercept him before he reached the door.


  "Joziah?" I called, looking in a different direction than the one I was walking.

  Twenty feet. Ten. The mark's loot was in the pocket facing me, and he was so engrossed with his phone call that he wasn't paying attention to anything around him, brushing through people without so much as a second glance.

  I darted forward, still not looking in his direction, and bumped into him from the side.

  My fingers slid in, closed around the prize, and came out smoothly.

  "Sorry," I muttered, already moving past him and beyond with my momentum. I didn't look back, but I could tell the idiot barely noticed.

  But my elation at a successful pinch faded as I ran my fingers over the object in my pocket. It wasn't cash, or a wallet. It was cold and heavy, like stone, with bumps all over it. I fondled it as I held my sign in the other hand, keeping up the facade while I returned to my original stakeout place.

  I turned away from the crowd to move the object from one pocket to another, and couldn't help but steal a glance.

  It was a stone carving, about four inches long. Some bird-cat thing, with wings poking off the back and feathers etched into the stone. My heart sank; all that effort for some trinket from a gift shop.

  Until I turned it over.

  I knew gems. You had to in my business: being able to identify gemstones at-a-glance was critical, especially whether they were real or fake.

  The sapphire set into this stone carving was round cut, and larger than one of my fingernails. 12 carats, my brain estimated. Give or take.

  And it was real. As real as real could get.

  Fake sapphires were brighter than this, a more satisfying shade of blue. This one was dark, and I could see imperfections deep within the stone. I didn't have time to perform a breath test--fogging up the gem and seeing how long it would take to clear--but I didn't need to.

  Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

  I wanted to stare at it longer, but I made myself tuck it into one of the hidden pockets inside my coat. Stick with the plan, Ezra. Thieves got caught by being stupid.