Locked in Stone

by Tory Michaels

  Her enemy is her only hope...

  Rose Johnson’s adoptive mother was murdered, and Rose is next. She may be the last gargoyle in the world—the last being who stands between this world and the evils of Otherworld. In order to keep her existence a continued secret, Rose needs to find the stone that holds her adoptive mother’s soul. Which means enlisting the help of her enemies the Sentinels...

  Sentinel Cal Levesque never forgave himself for failing Rose’s family years ago. Seeing Rose alive is shock enough, until the stunningly beautiful gargoyle attacks him upon sight. As they strike an uneasy peace—and unexpected and escalating attraction—Cal knows he’ll have to tell Rose who really betrayed her family. And with Rose’s life in greater danger than ever, Cal has a chance to make up for the past...as long he doesn’t fall in love.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Glossary of Terms

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more paranormal romance titles from Entangled… The Demon’s Song

  Beg Me to Slay

  Dragon Her Back

  Ashes

  One Hot Knight

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Tory Michaels. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Covet is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stephanie Staton

  Cover design by Curtis Svehlak

  Photography by Thinkstock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-236-8

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition February 2015

  To Blondie, Pixie, and Shrimp – I love you!

  Glossary of Terms

  Clutchmate — Gargoyles born in the same hatching (8-16 eggs are hatched at once).

  Egg-Sister (Egg-Brother) — Twin gargoyles born from a single egg.

  Queen Sacred Mother — The Sacred Mother able to channel energy to close a Rift.

  Protectorate — The organization to which all Sentinels belong, devoted to the gargoyle cause.

  Rift — A hole between Earth and Otherworld which will allow the denizens of Otherworld to live on Earth if left open long enough.

  Rift Cycle — The series of Rifts opening across the six inhabited continents, and the century of time between.

  Sacred Mother — Guardians of the gargoyles, able to take on human or gargoyle shape at will.

  Sentinel — Usually (but not always) born from an angel/human crossbreeding.

  T’chan — A crack between Earth and Otherworld, allows limited energy and creatures to pass between the worlds.

  Twisted One — Usually (but not always) born half-demon from a demon/human mating.

  Witch/Warlock — Descendants of angels or demons, usually only a quarter or an eighth-demon.

  Chapter One

  Sentinel Truth #1: Never let anyone know what you are. They have spies everywhere.

  After a lifetime of seeing ghosts, it no longer surprised Cal when one showed up to chat. He didn’t necessarily like their comings and goings, but by age five, he’d stopped pissing his pants in terror when they nonchalantly waltzed through the walls to talk to him. It had all gone downhill from there.

  He ignored Tom, his current ghost-in-residence.

  Crouched on the roof of the crudely built structure, his finger tightened on his rifle’s trigger as he returned his attention to his quarry.

  The target inched closer.

  Just a few seconds more and you’re a dead man.

  He let out a silent breath and then held it, his heartbeat slow and steady in his chest. The crosshairs of the rifle scope remained fixed on the kill spot. At one hundred feet out, it was at the edge of the range of his admittedly crappy loaner gun. He’d been tricked into accepting inferior weaponry when dragged out on this little exercise.

  His eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Three.

  Two.

  “Yo, dude. Get home. There’s a woman waiting.”

  When the ghost’s words touched his mind, Cal’s finger jerked, sending the missile hurtling through space a half-second too early.

  “Fuck!” Cal swore.

  Neon-green paint splattered on the boot of his target.

  Lucas, his fellow Sentinel, roommate, and leader, all in one, snarled, yanked his weapon around and took aim as an invisible presence whacked Cal, the silent reminder that the angels of Otherworld were always watching, even though their influence on Earth was limited to head slaps to those directly descended from them. Obscenely bright orange paint blossomed on his chest in the instant following the slap to his head.

  Slumping to the ground, he buried his face in his arms. “Son of a bitch.”

  Another bonk to his head. His father in particular objected to profanity. Not all angels were quite so bad.

  Blasted angels didn’t like swearing from the members of the Angelic Protectorate’s Sentinel Corp, their half-angel, half-human descendants.

  He sighed, admitted defeat, and called out, “Got me.”

  A loud whoop echoed over the clearing. Four other Sentinels burst into sight. He and Lucas had been the last members of their respective teams in this impromptu paint-ball match. It had been his first real chance at a victory over the much more experienced Sentinel, and he’d been screwed by a ghost.

  Just my luck.

  “Good try,” Lucas shouted out to him, slapping the back of a slightly built female Sentinel. The perky blonde drove up regularly from Jacksonville to hang with them and had been in town for a few days now. She’d been the one with the harebrained idea of the paintball match. “You almost had me that time.”

  Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and thermonuclear war.

  If he hadn’t been ghost-walked, or rather ghost-talked at the wrong moment, he would have finally nailed Lucas. He rolled onto his back and turned a baleful stare on Tom. The ghost casually floated just above him as if utterly unaware he’d just ruined Cal’s day. Well, if one discounted the self-satisfied, dopey grin.

  “What the hell, man? It couldn’t wait five seconds? You knew I was aiming!”

  In the company of other Sentinels, he never worried about people thinking him crazy for talking to what appeared to be thin air. Well, at least they didn’t consider him totally crazy. A man had to be a little insane to be chasing promotion within the ranks of the Protectorate.

  Tom shrugged. “It must be important for her to show up at your house. She doesn’t look like the normal floozy type who pants after Lucas.”

  “Five seconds, Tom. Five!” Heck, even two would have sufficed.

  Another ghostly shrug, but a glimmer of a smirk crossed Tom’s face.

  Lucas trotted over to the lean-to. �
��What’s up? Tom show up?”

  Cal heaved himself up and slid off the roof, landing easily on his feet, paintball rifle clenched in his right hand. “Yeah.”

  Dark brows lifted in question. All the local Sentinels were used to Cal being distracted by his phantom friends. As head of the North American Sentinels though, Lucas expected every one of his subordinates to be at the top of their game, whether in a round of paintball or a battle with demons.

  “He decided to drop the fact that there’s someone waiting for us at home just as I was about to fire. It startled me.”

  “Ah. Do better next time.” Slinging his paintball rifle over his shoulder with a tiny scowl, Lucas glared around. “Tom, don’t screw with my men again or I’ll destroy your charm. Got it?”

  Floating two feet from Lucas when the words were uttered, the ghost jerked back and turned pale. Pale might be the wrong word, given Tom was already pretty white. But he shimmered a wee bit more transparent at the threat.

  “Tell the man to lighten up. It’s just a game.”

  Cal wouldn’t be repeating that in this lifetime. Or any other.

  “What can you tell us about the woman?” Lucas asked.

  “Other than she’s somehow in your gated community? Not a dang thing, really. She’s not my type, but she’s got a great backside.”

  Feeling a bit like a TV antenna, he relayed the information before asking a question. “Has she done or said anything?”

  “Nope. She just pulled out her phone and started playing Candy Crush when no one answered the door. I checked her car and there’s a suitcase in it. She’s banged up and looks, er, haunted. You know the look. Same as that group of vampire chew-toys you rescued last month.”

  He nodded shortly. Tom made an excellent scout when Cal went about Sentinel business, which was one of the reasons why he put up with the ghost’s antics. Vamps and demon-kin couldn’t detect specters unless they harbored talents along the lines of Cal’s own, so Tom could scout ahead and count heads before anyone risked their life on a mission.

  “Got it,” Lucas said. He used his security company’s resources to run the Protectorate in this part of the world. Only those affiliated with the Protectorate knew he wasn’t pure human, nor were many of his staff members. It was a matter of survival; anonymity guarded all Sentinels from random drive-by demon attacks by the Twisted Ones and their vampire allies.

  “How the fuck did she get in?” Lucas muttered under his breath.

  He scowled when, once again, his roommate got to curse without repercussion. There were bets among the Protectorate as to the reasoning for it. Still pissed him off, though, that Lucas didn’t have to abide by the same rules the rest of them did. Still, Cal was just as concerned that someone had gotten past the gatehouse. “Think she bribed someone?”

  His boss’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If she did, a new guard will be hired by sunset.” He glanced over as Ang meandered to them. “Need you to talk to the guards back at the community. Find out what’s going on.” Without waiting for a response or even explaining the reason for the request, he looked back at Cal. “She didn’t go in back, did she?”

  Lucas’s backyard sheltered a few of the Protectorate’s most valuable assets.

  Tom answered without prompting. “Nope, just curled up on the swing.”

  Ang cleared her throat, fidgeting as Lucas’s gaze turned back to her in polite question. The Sentinel leader didn’t take well to contradiction and Ang had a look about her that said she was going to do just that. “I can’t stay. “Slave Driver” expects me back tonight. We have a big client coming in next week and he wants some documents prepared for them.”

  Cal rolled his eyes at Ang’s comment, which included little air quotes around the words “slave driver.”

  Lucas scowled. “Sentinel duties…”

  “Trump employment issues. Yeah, yeah, sugar.” She flashed a chipper smile and twirled a strand of her blonde hair around one finger. “I’ll remind him, but you know how he is. Anyway, can’t stay.”

  The glower faded as Ang played up the dumb-blonde attitude. She managed the big man in a way none of the other Sentinels would ever dream of doing. Cal wanted to roll his eyes at her performance but refrained. He had to live with Lucas after all.

  “Fine. I’ll deal with security. As to your boss, drug him and drag him with you next time. That boy needs to get his head out of his butt.”

  Yeah, someone was in for a strong ass whooping when Lucas got his hands on whoever let the stranger in. Add in the continuing Jacksonville Sentinel Saga and tonight would suck if Lucas didn’t relax soon.

  Ang giggled and turned toward the parking area. “I won’t let him sulk too long. Besides, he’s got other problems.”

  Don’t we all.

  …

  Rose Johnson rested her head against the heavy chain links of the porch swing, tempted to close her eyes. She didn’t sleep, not like a human, but she let her mind drift in darkness. Unfortunately, every time she’d closed her eyes in the past two days, she’d seen her adopted mother Gwen’s detached head talking to her, right before the house blew up.

  Go to the Sentinels, Rose. It wasn’t normal, even in her screwed up world, that heads separated from their bodies could talk, but that’s what she’d faced. Right before the house exploded—a carefully crafted spell to destroy any trace of Gwen and Rose’s not-completely-human origins and avoid discovery by humanity.

  God only knew what dangers she might find in this upscale community, but she didn’t have any choice. There was nowhere else for her to turn. She needed protection from the demons.

  She’d cried buckets during the flight from Fairbanks to Anchorage, the tears threatening to freeze in her eyes even before they dripped free. Flying in Alaska in the early spring in her other form, the one she’d never shared with anyone since the Day of Hell, hadn’t been fun, but she’d been too freaked to even consider flight via airplane. By the time she landed on her apartment’s balcony and scrounged up a bag of stuff, the tears had been replaced by a deep, burning fury. That fury kept her from bolting blindly for somewhere to hide. She’d become very good at running over the years, and that had been in no small part thanks to Gwen.

  The demons had taken the stone that Gwen’s soul would have entered at her death, and she needed to get it back. If she didn’t, Gwen might be pulled out by a ghost-talker and forced to confess Rose’s existence. If that happened, and she couldn’t convince the Sentinels to do their jobs right, Rose would definitely be a dead gargoyle walking.

  A dark vehicle turned into the winding driveway. She straightened in the swing and peered at the blue SUV. It was the first sign of life she’d seen on the property since her arrival an hour earlier. Was it Lucas Rollins or his roommate, Cal Levesque?

  She’d been able to dig up very little on the North American Sentinels and their leader. Given she and Gwen avoided any connection to the angel-kin network, thanks to the Sentinels’ egregious failure to protect Rose when she was four years old, she’d had no direct contact with them. But, thanks to the Internet and endless hours of night she needed to fill since she didn’t sleep, she’d gathered some details. Better to be armed with tidbits of information than empty-handed when dealing with the bastards responsible for the death of her entire species.

  She didn’t want to trust them, but what choice did she have? Maybe they’d remember that they had once been sworn to protect her kind. Most specifically, a gargoyle like her. A Sacred Mother.

  She still remembered Anyuka’s lectures about why she and her sisters hadn’t looked like gargoyles when they were young. The Sacred Mothers had been created with the ability to shift between forms. The angels had wanted them to be able to move among humans and stand guard over the majority of the gargoyles while they were trapped in their stone shapes during the daylight hours.

  Unfortunately, given the eternal nature of the battle, the demons had ended up taking things further and created the vampires to hunt the gargoyles, and t
he angels had decided something more was needed. The Sentinels, hybrid human/angels were the result, and dedicated themselves to protecting the gargoyles and Sacred Mothers.

  Even though they royally fucked that up.

  Rose slid her phone into her pocket and stood. A man climbed out of the SUV wearing a tight black shirt with a bright orange splotch on it. Jeans stretched tightly over well-muscled thighs, and Rose never failed to appreciate strong legs. Wavy brown hair curled just to the base of his skull, but thanks to a pair of reflective sunglasses, she couldn’t make out his eyes.

  Still, what she saw was enough. A growl rose up in her throat. It was him!

  …

  Cal squinted against the harsh early spring sunlight as he strode for the porch. He’d left open the channel on his watch that allowed Lucas to listen in on the conversation. Safer that way, just in case their unexpected visitor proved to be a threat.

  His sensitive hearing picked up a soft noise, akin to a growl, and his eyebrows shot up. Tom hadn’t mentioned the woman brought along a dog.

  Thanks to the thick, dark mesh on the porch enclosure, he couldn’t see anyone within yet.

  “You rotten son of a bitch! How dare you be alive?” snarled a husky, yet deeply feminine voice, just before the screen door flew open and an infuriated woman exploded out from the porch, her fists swinging.

  His head snapped back under the force of the blow. He could have dodged, or maybe even blocked the blow. But right then, he couldn’t think, could barely even breathe, and that was before the blow sent blackness swirling across his vision.

  Since when can ghosts attack?

  Apparently since the ghost of a gargoyle woman dead twenty-four years found her way back to Earth to turn a monstrous scowl on him.

  Cal staggered back and this time managed to dodge the ghost’s second furious swing. “Hey, hey, I live here.”

  Another growl that barely qualified as feminine was her only response. The ghost, a figment that once again drove home his shortcomings, jerked a stick from her hair. Dark hair mixed with blue swirled across her face, falling free from the knot now that one of her chopsticks had been removed. The movement was enough to catch a glimpse of her eyes.