She frowned at the invitation.
One week of misery, which her grandmother had called riding lessons, had been enough to convince Lillian horsemanship wasn’t one of her skills, and riding gargoyle–back probably wasn’t one either. She most definitely preferred her own two feet on the ground. The horse liked it better that way too.
But here she was eyeing her gargoyle’s broad back with mild curiosity.
Riding bareback. On a gargoyle. In a skirt. Oh boy.
Of all the times not to have a pair of comfortable old jeans. Stupid dryads and their lack of common sense. After a moment she counted herself as one of the stupid dryads. In the future, she was going to flat out ignore anything they said. She didn’t care how boorish she appeared.
Apparently tired of waiting, Gregory wrapped his tail around her waist and dragged her closer. The nervous excitement fluttering in her stomach revved up another notch.
No other alternatives presented themselves, so she swung a leg over his back and settled in place. As she’d feared, he was all firm muscles and delicious heat. She gripped his sides with her thighs and knees to hold herself in place. It was impossible not to feel the delightful brush of skin against skin. She shivered, both hot and cold at the same time. To hide her reaction, she pretended nothing was wrong as she leaned forward to circle her arms around his neck. When she stretched out along his spine, he folded his wings back into place.
His flight muscles made a nice cushion and his back wasn’t bony like she’d half expected. Perhaps riding gargoyle–back wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as she’d imagined. The heat of his body sank into her bones and the subtle scent of gargoyle surrounded her. Her jaw unclenched, and the nervous fluttering in her stomach transformed into heat. She rested her head against his mane; it was easier than straining to look up and around. Inhaling his forest–and–musky–male scent relaxed her another degree. Ah … this was altogether too nice.
“Try to find your balance,” Gregory rumbled. “I’ll start slow and you might remember the way of it. I used to carry you on my back when you were born into a form lacking wings.” His gait changed as he moved sideways and then in circles, shifting his weight from side to side as he switched directions and speeds.
“Okay,” she mumbled into his mane, “I still haven’t fallen off, so I suppose that’s a good sign.”
Gregory changed directions sharply. She squeaked in alarm when she slid sideways. His wings steadied her while she regained her balance.
“Not funny. Warn me next time you do that.” She swatted his shoulder without much force.
He chuckled, shaking her insides with the movement.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“Perhaps a little. Returning your gift of mischief during the dance.”
Lillian blushed. “I wasn’t the one who completely lost it.”
“I did not ‘lose it.’ If I had, our positions would now be reversed.”
She laughed even as she flushed hotter. “You’re a terrible, terrible gargoyle.”
“Blame the dance for its wicked influence.” He chuckled and lengthened his stride into a lope. She tightened her grip on his neck, not knowing what else to hold. Her death grip didn’t seem to bother him and he took off at a bone–jarring run as he zigzagged his way across the vast floor space. She kicked off her shoes, and curled her toes under his belly. After a few moments her muscles grew used to his rolling strides and she started to flow with the motion. Her lips curled up at the corners. She might get so she liked riding on the back of a gargoyle.
The gaping maw of the loading doors loomed up ahead of her. Beyond them, the strange and wild night waited. Almost clear of the building, Gregory flexed his muscular hindquarters, and launched himself off the edge of the loading bay, out into the night. She’d thought he’d run fast before. She’d been wrong.
Her stomach plummeted each time his talons struck the ground. Such power. It felt like he floated in the air a brief moment between each stride. Nothing like riding a horse, more like harnessing the power of one of the big cats. Laughter bubbled up, followed by intense joy.
Gregory’s long strides ate up the ground between them and the distant Wild Hunt. The night was soon filled with the baying of hounds and the cadence of Gregory’s rapid footfalls.
They caught up with the rest of the Hunt on the outskirts of the forest. Spreading his wings, the gargoyle soared across the expanse of gravel road in one leap. A cry of surprise broke from her lips. Coming to the ground again, he resumed his rapid pace. She was about to beg him to fly again, but he’d already overtaken the vanguard of the Hunt and slowed his pace to come alongside Gran, her elk and three silent dire wolves.
“What took you so long? Lillian give you a hard time?” Gran asked the gargoyle.
Gregory grunted in response.
“I figured she’d be more agreeable to riding if no one else was around to watch her first attempt,” Gran said with a grin, then saluted the gargoyle with her staff. “Sorry, I couldn’t teach her more of what she needed, but she’s progressing well regardless, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Gregory said as he continued to pace the elk. “Thank you for guiding and protecting her when I could not.”
“I’m right here under your nose, so to speak, you can stop talking like I’m not here,” Lillian interrupted. “And since I haven’t yet fallen from Gregory’s back and broken my fool neck, what am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”
Gran cast Lillian a sidelong look and nodded her head. “In times past, the Wild Hunt had many purposes, now need drives the Hunt. Tonight we’ll ride the borders of our domain, guiding the magic we raised into a defense against the invaders.”
Lillian nodded and glanced around. She frowned, taking note of the thinning herd of riders for the first time. “Are there fewer strange creat—uh, strangers here than started out at the warehouse?”
“Oh, young one, you forget you’re one of those ‘strange creatures.’ ”
With a twist of her lips, Lillian acknowledged her grandmother had a point. Her new view of the world, and her place in it, would take some getting used to. Besides, she still felt human, didn’t she?
“The Hunt separated to cover more ground,” her grandmother replied. “The wards and other traps must be reset to maintain the security of the Coven and Clan lands.”
“Why? What happened to the defenses?”
“The amount of power you and your gargoyle summoned washed away the wards we had in place, like a storm’s tidal surge erodes a beach. Such bounty we had not expected and did not prepare for it.”
“So, I screwed up again.”
“No, dear. You shared a great gift with us. Do not regret it. Look there,” Gran pointed her quarterstaff at an oak directly a head of them, where its wide branches overhung the game trail, “and watch.”
Lillian raised her head out of the gargoyle’s mane and peered through the space between his horns. Gregory and the elk came to a stop when Gran raised her quarterstaff.
With her eyes closed, Gran chanted in a low guttural tone for a full minute before shaping it into a droning melody. Her head tilted back and she pointed her staff at the tree. Then she uttered one final word.
The world exploded with light. Lillian jerked like she’d been shot. Even the gargoyle jumped at the bright flash and turned his head away. When Lillian could see again, she focused on the tree. It still stood, but it now glowed.
“Good God! What was that?” Even as Lillian asked her question, the glow coating the tree seeped into it and vanished until only a very slight afterglow remained. It looked like moonlight shone brighter on that one tree than it did its closest neighbor. Interesting.
“That is a ward,” Gran replied as the elk began to trot again. “It will prevent lesser evil from entering our lands and warn us should something nastier come our way. Now that the magic is strong again, we will know if the ward is broken or breached. Yesterday morning, when you were attacked, the wards were
weakening. I believe that’s why the Riven struck when they did. They would have known tonight was the Wild Hunt, and they wished to strike us a blow before we could reestablish our protections.”
“Can you teach me?” Lillian asked.
“If that is the gargoyle’s wish.”
Gregory tensed under her. Then a tree loomed up out of the darkness, and he darted around it, skirting more deadfall before coming back to the elk’s side. Lillian frowned. There had been room enough between the trees for both the elk and Gregory. If she was not mistaken, her gargoyle was not keen on her learning to use her magic, and did not want her and Gran discussing the topic. Suspicious, Lillian reached out to Gregory’s thoughts. At the first touch she encountered his reluctance, and then like someone had severed the connection, his thoughts disappeared from her mind. She was correct; he didn’t want her to learn about magic.
“Gregory, what are you hiding from me?”
A cry broke through the night’s calm before Gregory had a chance to answer. The gargoyle skidded to a halt. Twisting his head to the right, he looked off into the direction of the yowl. More of the Hunt came to a halt. Heads turned toward the eerie call, and ears tilted, listening for the faintest sound on the night wind, but no one said one word into the silence.
A human scream rose above the sounds of heavy breathing and the wind. The gargoyle spun back around to face Gran. Lillian nearly slipped off his back with the force of his turn—she would have, had his wings not caught her.
“Take my lady to safety,” Gregory ordered. “Those are Death Hounds—beasts which don’t belong here. I must kill them before they report back to their masters.”
“No,” Lillian protested as a growing sense of dread settled in her middle at the thought of her gargoyle going into battle without her. The flash of a remembered dream stood out fresh in Lillian’s thoughts, of her grandmother swinging her staff at shadows. “Gregory, I’m not letting you battle them alone.”
“You’re not going into battle with me. It’s too dangerous. I might not be able to kill them and protect you at the same time.”
“There are too many. You can’t go alone. We’ll all come with you and face whatever these things are together.” Her power stirred, uncurling within her. In that moment she knew with a certainly she couldn’t explain she needed to be there with him.
“Get off,” he ordered, his voice no longer gentle. Fear for her had made it deep and thunderous.
“I will not let you fight alone.” As stubborn as he, she clung to his back, refusing to let go.
He growled as he reached back and grabbed a mouthful of her dress. With a twist of his head, he dislodged her and Lillian crashed to the ground.
With a curse, she rolled to her feet in time to see Gregory bolting off into the shadows. She needed to follow him with every cell in her body. Her shoulder blades itched and ached. Fisting her shaking hands, she tried to ignore the burn of power pulsing in her fingertips. Gregory wasn’t the only one with magic. She had every right to fight by his side. Fear for her gargoyle filled her belly.
“Gregory is faster. If he waited for us, more people would die.” The harsh line of Gran’s mouth softened. “You must let the gargoyle do what he was born to do.”
But Gran was wrong, Lillian’s instincts screamed. More people would die this way.
She closed her eyes and sought calm. A waft of coppery blood–scent snapped her back to attention. She relaxed her hands and found she’d cut her palms. Baffled, she studied her nails. They didn’t look sharp enough to do that kind of damage.
“Lillian, hurry. Mount up behind me. We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe,” Gran said and held out a hand.
Lillian wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt. The moss absorbed the blood without leaving a mark. She scrambled up behind Gran. The elk bounded away from the direction the gargoyle had taken. Closing her eyes, Lillian sought the peaceful darkness and embraced whatever magic she commanded which let her “feel” the gargoyle. A faint blurry image appeared on the back of her closed eyelids. He ran through the shadows of the forest, his movements as nimble and deadly as if he hunted under the bright light of day.
****
When deadfall blocked the trail, Gregory bound over it without slowing. Dirt and leaf mould scattered under his feet as he ran. At first there was only the hunt, and then Lillian linked with him, following his progress from a safer distance. She remembered that much. Pride swelled in his heart. The emotion caused him to lengthen his stride until he was flying over the ground without leaving the earth.
Battle sounded ahead.
Cries of fear and grunts of pain drifted to him on the wind. The higher–pitched snarls of Death Hounds were easiest to make out, and there were far too many of them. Closer now, he heard the gurgle of a death’s rattle. A moment later the victim hit the ground with a solid smack. More deaths echoed thought the forest.
A moonlit clearing broke the darkness of the trees and he leapt into the midst of the fight. Swiping at the Death Hound’s exposed belly, he gutted the beast before it knew he was there. Talons which had matured while he’d slept in stone now delivered quick death to his enemies, unlike the first time he’d fought the Death Hounds within the Black Kingdom. He’d nearly failed Lillian during that rescue twelve years ago. This time he wouldn’t let anyone or anything harm Lillian.
He grabbed a beast with ginger–and–black–colored fur by the throat and gave it a savage twist. Claws raked at him, but he fought on—uncaring as long as he took out his enemies before they killed again. With a second twist, the Hound’s neck broke. Gregory dropped the limp weight and moved on to the next Death Hound.
There were several more of the beasts in the clearing, each with thick black ruffs and varying earth–toned pelts. Near–perfect camouflage for a night–shrouded forest. More arrived as he watched. They far outnumbered him, but he had a few other abilities now which he hadn’t had when he was newly born. When his talons ravaged his next enemy, he released small spells of death into its bloodstream. He circled his next opponent and dispatched it in short order.
One after another, the Death Hounds dropped all around him. The few beasts agile enough to avoid his talons tucked their tails tight to their bodies and fled.
When no more Hounds came for him, he surveyed his work. He was crusted with gore and dirt. But he was whole, unlike the broken bodies which lay scattered around, pale against the darker backdrop of blood. Some were Death Hounds, while others were ones he’s recently danced with. No magic could aid them now. Lillian’s sorrow touched his thoughts, and when he wished each victim’s soul a safe journey to the Spirit Realm, she joined him in silent prayer.
He was about to continue hunting for any escaped Hounds when Lillian broke away. The sharp tang of her fear shrouded her thoughts from him, and before he could calm her, she was gone.
He roared in fear and challenge. How had the Death Hounds gotten around him? He’d not detected anything near his lady’s location. Frantic, he sought to reestablish the link. Panic had taken hold of her mind and his magic slithered off her mental shields without connecting. He leapt into motion, heading back the way he’d come. With each stride, he prayed to the Divine Ones he would not be too late.
Chapter Twelve
A man–shaped shadow blocked the path twenty feet ahead. Lillian, blinded by her grandmother’s glowing quarterstaff, couldn’t make out the man’s features. It wasn’t until Gran lowered her staff to point at the man’s chest that Lillian recognized Alexander. She remembered Gregory saying some of her attackers had escaped. She’d assumed this vampire was dead since she’d injured him. But here he was—undead—and much recovered. He’d even grown his face back. Damn.
Two black–and–silver–furred dire wolves circled in front of Lillian. They positioned themselves between her and the enemy. While they advanced on the Alexander with heads low and white fangs gleaming, a wild–haired elf galloped his mount up and took flank. More of the Clan and Coven joined the
m, clustering together in a loose circle with staves, swords, and arrows pointed at the surrounding forest.
“Name yourself,” Gran challenged.
“His name’s Alexander,” Lillian whispered. Fear made her voice shake. “He led the Riven who attacked me. He wants me dead.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Alexander said with a shrug that stretched his suit across his shoulders. “In my defense, I said I wouldn’t hurt you if you came with us, but my good will wouldn’t last if you made me go through the stone ring. As I recall, you didn’t obey.”
“Go fuck yourself.” Lillian’s fists clinched, aching for a weapon of some kind. A sword, preferably. Then she’d see if he could grow his whole head back.
“How very original.”
If not a sword, another rock with her blood on it would do. She’d even have bitten her own wrist if she’d thought it would stop Alexander. The underbrush shivered behind the vampire. Eight more of Alexander’s henchmen materialized out of the forest.
Without taking her eyes from the enemy, Gran motioned for Lillian to lean closer, and instructed in a low voice, “Stay with the elk. He’ll try to keep you safe while we deal with this threat.”
“But I can fight.”
Gran shook her head, then tossed her leg over the elk’s withers and slid to the ground.
“What are you doing?” Fear made Lillian’s voice break.
“The elk will have a better chance if he’s only carrying you. Don’t worry about me.” Gran pushed the hilt of a dragger into Lillian’s hand.
Alexander chuckled. “How touching. Now if you don’t mind, I have somewhere I need to be shortly.” He gestured to the shadows behind him and more dark shapes eased out of the forest. “Bring the girl, kill the rest.”
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