Knights of Stone: Gavin: A gargoyle shifter rockstar romance

by Lisa Carlisle

  “I don’t have to rush anywhere this morning,” he said. “Why not enjoy it with the most fascinating woman in Inverness?”

  The way he looked at her was unlike anyone ever had—a potent mix of desire and admiration. “Fascinating?” she replied. “How?”

  He didn’t know her well—merely through brief conversations they’d had. Most of the time they’d spent getting to know each other was at a physical level.

  “You’re independent, smart, beautiful, and kind. You’ve built a career doing something creative which, as an artist, is something I particularly admire.”

  She glanced down, reddening at his praise. She fixed her gaze on the blue and white floral plate and pushed her scrambled eggs around. The plates were one of the few things she’d had from her grandmother—the one person who’d listened. Her grandmother had warned Fiona not to pursue the truth about what had happened with her friend, Angie, though. It would upset people, especially when it was something they couldn’t understand or control. Fiona had heeded her grandmother at the time, but as she grew older, she’d veered off from that line of thinking. Burying the truth didn’t change anything.

  And now, with Gavin complimenting her creative side, a twinge of guilt flickered within her. Her throat felt thick and she swallowed. She’d told him she was a reporter for a regional news site and had evaded questions about what else she wrote. She’d mentioned short stories and left it at that. People often thought her articles on the supernatural were odd and her interviews with those who claimed to have experience with it even stranger, as if both the interviewer and interviewee were out of their minds.

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  “I also love how you’re brave enough to come alone to our shows. Not too many people do that. They’re so concerned with what other people think.

  She brushed it off with a wave of her hand. “The first time, I was working.”

  It had just been a short piece covering local music acts, nothing like the articles and interviews covering supernatural myths and legends. Those investigative pieces took weeks, if not months, to explore. She’d covered the Knights of Stone in a short paragraph basically noting their musical style and stage presence.

  “Lucky for me,” Gavin said.

  Perhaps. She rolled her shoulders as if she could shake off the twinge of guilt. Her interest in him had grown beyond just physical attraction. Yet, after that guy, Mark, had unnerved her last night, the questions had returned. Was Gavin hiding something? He was evasive about where he lived and his personal life, which he often redirected to music and the cities where he’d traveled. With a hint of mystery, Mark had handed her a piece of tangled string that she’d be unable to resist unraveling to see what she’d find.

  Where would it lead? And would she feel compelled to expose the truth? She’d been driven to do so ever since she was nine years old and her report of an attack on her friend had been dismissed as impossible. Angie had died, and the truth had to be revealed. If not, others could be injured or killed.

  Her research had convinced her of the dangers of beings like vampires and werewolves, yet other supernatural creatures lived peacefully. Like Nessie. If she existed, she wasn’t harming anyone. Fiona had delved into the mystery of the legendary Loch Ness Monster when she’d moved to Inverness, yet she’d found nothing more than what other researchers had uncovered. Still, with her storytelling skills, she’d written a piece about the legend and had netted a nice fee.

  “What’s wrong?” Gavin asked. “You seem distant.”

  “Nothing,” she lied. “Just a bit light-headed.” That part was true. With a smile, she added, “Probably from all that early morning activity. I’m not used to it.”

  After walking to her fridge, she pulled out a carton of orange juice. Once she poured it, the scent was overpowering. “Yech! It’s gone off.”

  As she was about to pour it into the sink, he said, “Let me see.” He sniffed it. “It smells fine.” He checked the expiration date. “It should still be good.” He took the glass from her. “Let me taste it to see.” After he sipped it, he confirmed, “Aye, it’s fine.”

  “Hmm, that’s odd,” she said. Could guilt affect her in other ways, too?

  They chatted about the day ahead as they ate breakfast. He’d meet up with his brothers later that afternoon and she’d write.

  “What are you working on?”

  She sipped tea. It was the only thing she wanted to drink after the wretched odor of orange juice had turned her stomach. “It might sound rather strange, but it’s an ongoing series on cemeteries in the Highlands.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Cemeteries?”

  “More specifically, the people who are buried in them. So many people are long forgotten, but there are some fascinating stories of family lore. I’ve been visiting the older ones and talking to the groundskeepers. They typically have some good tales. Once I hear of a couple that sound intriguing, I’ll look into it more and take it from there.”

  “Interesting,” he said in a tone she couldn’t decipher.

  She didn’t want to talk too much about her writing as it might trigger more questions that she didn’t want to answer right now. “So tomorrow you leave Inverness. Where are you off to?”

  “Home.”

  “And where is that again?”

  He grinned. She’d asked him this six weeks ago, and he’d avoided a direct answer. “An island north of here.”

  “Which one?”

  He pinned her with a knowing gaze. “This conversation sounds familiar. Oh right, we’ve already had it.” He grinned in a way that heated her from within.

  “I just think it’s odd that you won’t tell me. Do you think I’ll stalk you or something?”

  “No. My brothers and I enjoy our privacy. Our island is small. If we mention the name, who knows who might turn up?” He glanced at her plate. “You’ve barely eaten anything. Do you always eat that little for breakfast?”

  Deflecting her questions again. He was right, though. She’d only eaten the toast and had barely touched the eggs and sausage. “Something about the orange juice set me off. I don’t usually have a sensitive stomach.”

  He nodded. “Odd. I can make more toast if you’d like.”

  That was sweet. “I’m fine. In fact, I think I’ll take a shower. That might make me feel better.”

  He grinned. “I’ll clean up. And don’t worry. I’ll keep myself entertained.”

  She kissed him. “Thank you. Make yourself at home.”

  While in the shower, she lingered. The hot water felt good on her muscles, which still twinged with soreness. After she dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a long purple top, she brushed her hair and stepped into the living room. Gavin wasn’t in there. He was in her study, the second bedroom that she’d set up with bookcases, a desk, and her laptop.

  Her heartbeat quickened. “What are you doing?”

  He turned to her with an astonished expression. “Reading.” He turned the magazine in his hands for her to see.

  Ah, it was one of her pieces on supernatural lore. This one was on the legend of werewolves in the Highlands.

  She stepped back and wrapped her arms around herself. Her stomach felt tight and hard. Why did his reading her work unsettle her so? She raised her chin to offset the sudden discomfort. “It seems more like you’re snooping.”

  He snorted. “Just entertaining myself as I’d mentioned. Why didn’t you tell me you write these kinds of articles?”

  She rolled from one foot to the other, defensive. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because.” He pursed his lips. “You seem to have an unnatural interest in the supernatural.”

  She arched her brows. “And you have an unnatural pursuit of secrecy.”

  Gavin’s jaw twitched. “Secrecy.” He snorted. “I’m getting that same vibe from you.”

  “I’m a writer, Gavin. I write about all sorts of things—articles, interviews, and so on. Do you want to hear about every ar
ticle I’ve written? Or every person I’ve interviewed on their reports of fae and vampires and werewolves? Because I have loads, though I guarantee you’ll grow bored quite quickly. Your reaction to what I do for work seems a bit odd.”

  “Odd?”

  “Right. As if it bothers you because you’re hiding something.”

  “Ha.” Gavin scoffed with a doubtful sound. “I don’t think so.”

  She considered her ability to read body language pretty accurate and was certain he was lying. This was her chance to go after what she wanted—the truth.

  “I think it might be because it’s breaching into your comfort zone,” she declared. “All those spectacular stories about your band.”

  His eyes widened, and his mouth twitched. In the next blink, he wiped away that expression with his usual confident smile and teasing glint in his eyes. “We always aim for spectacular. It leaves a favorable impression on our fans.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Let’s see—statues that turn to men, who then sprout wings and fly.”

  Gavin barked out with laughter as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard. “This again?” He arched his brows. “People will say all sorts of rubbish. We don’t mind. All publicity is good publicity.”

  “Now that’s rubbish. Because when I tried to interview you, you avoided most of my questions.”

  Gavin strolled out of the study with what appeared to be an easy-going gait, but she noted the stiffness that wasn’t usually part of his confident swagger. “It’s flabbergasting what people come up with for attention these days.”

  “Are you saying they’re not true?”

  With a grim expression, he shook his head. “Come now, you can’t believe such nonsense?”

  “Sometimes when I poke at the nonsense, I find the truth.”

  “We don’t know why our band is so popular, but part of it must be the mystique. Why ruin the magic that brings you success?” He winked.

  He likely had a rehearsed answer for all her questions. That was all right—she knew other ways of obtaining information.

  Gavin stepped closer and took her shoulders. “Listen, Fiona. I’ve dealt with these kinds of questions countless times. People say ridiculous things. With you, I don’t want to be the guitarist of the Knights of Stone. I want to be me—Gavin. Is that something you can live with? Or, do you want the mystique of the rock star with the outrageous background?”

  The way he stared at her with that deep, imploring look, her remaining questions fizzled away like a dying sparkler. That dismissal of her curiosity had never happened before. She was typically like a pit bull once she bit onto something juicy and wouldn’t let go. Then again, she’d never met anyone like Gavin before either who could distract her so thoroughly.

  And so satisfactorily.

  She nodded. “You’re right. Sorry, Gavin. Aye. For the rest of the time you’re here, you’re Gavin and I’m Fiona. Not a rock star and journalist—just you and me.”

  Gavin beamed and kissed her. “Just you and me,” he repeated.

  He stroked a lock of her hair. “Jim Morrison had his L.A. Woman with her hair burning. I have my Scottish lass. Your hair reminds me of the fieriest of sunsets.”

  She gulped. When he said things like that, how could she not fall deeper under his spell? It was foolish, though. She was setting herself up for heartache when he left.

  A part of her knew his evasiveness would unravel her best intentions. Could she resist digging deeper to discover the truth?

  After Gavin left her flat for the day, she debated her next step. She couldn’t resist the intrigue and followed him, taking care to remain far enough back not to be seen. The shame of spying on him engulfed her, but she had to know the truth. What was he hiding?

  Chapter 7

  Gavin left Fiona’s flat with mixed feelings. As he walked past the residential buildings, he searched for a shadowy nook where he could shift. It was more difficult to find a spot in daylight, but he’d lingered, not wanting to leave. And, look what it had led to—discovering her articles.

  She’d lied to him. Well, not technically—she’d omitted something, but it treaded close to that thin line. He detested lies. Always had. Or, since he was thirteen. He and one of the female gargoyles in his clan had run off through the Isle of Stone to explore. He’d had a crush on her for two years, and when they’d wandered through the forests holding hands, he’d been thrilled. She’d encouraged him to venture into the moors. She wanted to see if they could peek into the forbidden territory of the wolves and witches. They backed off when they’d scented fresh wolf tracks.

  When they’d returned, her parents were furious. They’d scolded her for venturing too close to wolf territory, even though the moors were neutral ground. She’d tried to explain but had cowered quickly. Then, somehow she’d turned the story around on him—it was all Gavin’s fault. His idea. He’d convinced her to go. She’d lied to cover her arse, and he’d been blamed for it, punished by both parents and clan. It had killed his feelings for her and sparked an intense hatred of lies.

  Too bad, he had to live his life as a lie, pretending to be a human so as to co-exist in the human world. Humans didn’t tolerate other species; they feared them. And what they feared, they destroyed.

  Gavin found an alley between two buildings. The scents of rotting food were stomach-turning, but he’d only need a moment. He glanced around. When he didn’t spot any witnesses, he cloaked himself to be invisible to humans and then shifted to winged form. He ascended into the sky over Inverness and soared over the city, glimpsing Fiona’s building before he headed to a more verdant setting.

  Where would he go to spend the day before the show tonight? He could meet up with his brothers. They were likely resting in stone form under the sun, which is what he should do. He didn’t want to listen to their ribbing about Fiona, though. He had too much to think about and preferred to be alone. He soared across the River Ness where he’d strode with Fiona last night. He passed over the impressive red sandstone towers of Inverness Castle and followed the body of water south to Loch Ness. Mist-covered mountains appeared to cascade beyond the rolling green hills in the distance.

  As he skirted along the lock in search for a place to land, he contemplated his predicament. For one glorious period in his life, when they’d performed their concerts on the Isle of Stone, he’d been able to live as himself among humans. It had been short-lived, but spectacular. Would he ever have that chance again?

  No, that was foolish. He couldn’t trust a human. Especially one who investigated supernatural lore and wrote about it.

  He spotted a remote location inland covered by trees and headed there. The scent of heather from a nearby patch filled his nostrils with nostalgia. Although this island was his home, his ancestors had lived here in the Highlands and he still felt connected to it. And now he had another tie to this land. Fiona.

  The pull to her was compelling—and inexplicable. Sure, he wanted to sleep with her, but it went beyond that. Something about her wrapped around him like a comforting presence, soothing his inner beast in a way that had never happened before. The restlessness that could only be released when performing on stage was somehow calmed.

  But, skimming through the articles slapped him with sensibility. How would she react if she’d found out she’d been sleeping with a supe? No point in thinking about that. He could never let her find out. She’d reveal their secrets, publishing it in a venue for all to read.

  Once he landed, he shifted to stone form to bask under the sun and restore his energy for tonight’s show—and one last night with Fiona. While he rested, he dwelled on recent developments. Gargoyle rest was closer to meditation than to how animals slept, since they needed to remain on watch.

  He revisited the memory of the night they’d first met at the pub six weeks ago.

  After the Knights of Stone ended their set, Gavin searched for the redhead. When he spotted her heading for the exit, he swore under his breath. Trotting over
to her, he then slowed to a normal pace when he was a couple of feet away. Despite all the overpowering odors of the club, he detected her fragrance. It had an alluring, feminine appeal with hints of floral tones and herbs. He resisted bending lower to sniff her hair and let her scent wrap around him.

  “It’s too early to head on home, isn’t it?”

  She turned to face him and smiled. Her eyes were a striking color—a sea-color blend of blue and green. His insides sizzled as if a bonfire had been lit.

  “For the guitarist in a band, maybe,” she said. “But, for a working girl, it’s my cue to leave.”

  Her voice was like a soft caress in his ear.

  Shite, he couldn’t let her leave just yet. “Any chance I can convince a working girl to delay her bedtime by having a drink with me?”

  She peered at him through her amazing eyes from under dark lashes. A flirtatious look if he’d ever spotted one.

  “Aren’t I the lucky one to have the attention of the band member most in demand? The women practically scratched their talons into your skin.” She tilted her head. “But, then again, you did encourage them with those stage antics.”

  “Antics,” he repeated with a lopsided grin. “I just aim to put on a show to please the crowd. So how about that drink?”

  She appraised him for a moment. “Why not? Just a cranberry juice, please. I’ve had a couple already.”

  Nice. He’d scored a few more minutes with her. After he ordered her drink and a pint for himself, he handed her the glass.

  “Cheers.” He raised his glass. “What do you do, working girl?”

  “I write.”

  “What do you write?”

  “Articles, mostly. For a regional news site.”

  Gavin’s skin prickled. He was wary of reporters. He had to be. The wrong person poking into his business as a shifter could be a threat. He took a sip of his beer. “What kind of articles?”

  “Local news.” She shrugged. “Events. Politics.”

  “Fun stuff.”

  “Not as fun as what you do,” she remarked. “In fact, I came here tonight to write up a piece about local music, including your band.”