Stone's Kiss

by Lisa Blackwood

  At Alexander’s words, one of the intruders started shedding his clothes. He dropped to all fours and fur burst from his skin with the sound of wet sand hitting the ground. In the time it took to blink, a massive dire wolf took his place. The shaggy black monster lunched at Gran in a blur of speed.

  Gran whipped her staff around. Light raced up its length and launched from the end with a high–pitched shriek. It collided with the enemy dire wolf while he was in mid–leap. Magic tossed him back against a tree trunk fifteen feet away. He fell to the ground, unmoving. Gran leveled her staff at another dire wolf.

  Underbrush and saplings quaked violently as the forest erupted into chaos. A dozen wolf–creatures raced out of the woods toward the smaller circle of defenders. The screams and grunts of battle echoed all around them. Lillian clung to the elk’s neck as he lunged sideways, away from snapping teeth. But there was no escape; they were surrounded, trapped with the rest of the defenders, forced in an ever shrinking pocket of space.

  The elk danced in place, then bellowed a challenge and kicked out at an enemy. His hoof crashed into a dire wolf’s skull with the dull crack of bone. He struck out with his deadly hooves again. Several enemies met death under his brutal defense, but more than once he was too slow. Blood showed dark against his white fur.

  The last of the enemy dire wolves crashed to the ground as a willowy sidhe woman, accompanied by a massive waist–high hound, took up the fight. The women cried out a guttural order to her hound. The beast turned silver eyes upon Lillian. It leaped to attack, crossing the distance too swiftly. Its long, narrow head snaked out and snapped steel–gray teeth at Lillian.

  The beast moved far too fast for its bulky size. Lillian brought her dagger up, but already knew she was too slow.

  Hot breath and saliva washed over her exposed arm. But there was no pain or the sensation of tearing flesh.

  The beast dropped to the ground, leaving Lillian and the elk untouched. It sat on its haunches and gazed up at Lillian with a look of confusion. The hound gave a little shiver, ruffling it ginger–frosted black fur.

  “Bring down,” the sidhe woman screamed at the beast, giving it hand signals as well as verbal commands.

  Again the beast lunged at Lillian, but twisted away at the last minute, and returned to its crouched position.

  “Bring down,” the sidhe gestured frantically now. “Bring down.”

  The beast snorted and shook its head, long neck twisting to snap at its own shoulder. It dipped its muzzle nearly to the ground and clawed at the back of its head. Something small and white glimmered at the base of the skull. The creature didn’t hold still long enough for Lillian to see it clearly, but she thought it might be a large pearl or sliver of crystal.

  “Stop.” The woman screamed commands at the creature.

  With an agonized snarl, it stopped digging at its own flesh and darted off into the underbrush, ignoring the woman’s calls for it to return.

  “You might try doggie obedience school.” Lillian gripped her dagger tighter.

  The strange woman whirled back around. Clutched in her hands, two daggers flashed silver against the darkness. She attacked. Brutal, graceful and fast, her long hair flowing out behind her, she covered the distance in a bare moment. One flash of silver vanished under the elk’s belly. His bellow of pain was cut short by a second violent stab. The elk took another stumbling stride as the woman danced out of his way. Lillian couldn’t explain it, but she felt the woman’s knife sever the elk’s soul from his body.

  Lillian glimpsed another flash of silver and pain erupted in her shoulder. The weight and power of the strike toppled her off the back of the elk. Breath exploded from her lungs when she smashed into the ground. Her shoulder screamed of abuse. She rolled to her side in time to see the woman leaping on her from above. Lillian twisted in the opposite direction and surged to her feet.

  The woman stared at her knife with a perplexed frown, then back at Lillian. “Why are you not dead?” she asked as she advanced on Lillian again.

  “No idea.”

  “She should be dead. Why isn’t she?”

  Lillian glanced around for a second opponent, but realized the stranger was looking down at the blade in her hand, talking to the knife like it was sentient. After a moment her expression darkened and she looked up at Lillian with a snarl.

  “If the demon blade won’t kill you, I’ll deal with you myself.” The stranger surged forward with a burst of speed.

  Ancient instincts reared up within Lillian, and she used her enemy’s momentum to slam her head into a tree trunk. While the woman was dazed, a dire wolf leaped at her. The two opponents tumbled off into the underbrush.

  Lillian’s body ached and her lungs burned, but she maintained her footing, scanning the immediate area and the forest beyond for the next attack. The twang of a bowstring came to her too late. Agony ripped a path through the muscle of her right arm. She screamed and pressed her hand over the wound. An archer stood off to one side, partially hidden by the night. He raised his bow a second time, but a silver–haired sidhe appeared between them, and with the flick of his wrist, he sent a small knife flying at the archer. The bit of silver embedded itself in the archer’s neck. Another enemy fell. The leader of the Hunt gave Lillian a slight nod and then turned to his next opponent.

  With a hiss, Lillian probed her new injury. She’d been lucky. It was just a graze, a non–threatening flesh would. She hoped they didn’t poison their blades. A snap of a twig told her she’d have to worry about her injuries later.

  While Lillian had been distracted by the archer and the Huntsman, the sidhe woman had finished off her dire wolf opponent and was advancing again.

  “Well, aren’t you a determined bitch,” Lillian mumbled with a bravo she wasn’t feeling. Fear was eating away at her strength, adrenaline made her muscles shake and her heart pound. She felt light headed. Where was Gregory? Please let him still live.

  The Otherness within Lillian’s soul, the same one which had first whispered the words to claim and awaken Gregory, awoke for the second time. It looked out through her eyes, taking in the scene with a calm, cold center Lillian lacked. It reached out to touch Gregory’s thoughts. He still lived.

  Lillian wanted to cry with relief, but her joy was short lived. The power gripped her mind harder. This wasn’t like earlier at the dance, this was primal, dark power. It wasn’t asking for control, it was demanding.

  Had there been another way, Lillian would have fought the power rising within, fearing it more than the enemies she now faced. But more than her life was at risk. Her family needed her. Gregory needed her.

  Lillian surrendered control of her body to that Otherness.

  An arrow embedded in a nearby tree’s trunk caught her dark power’s attention. Lillian backed toward the tree.

  The sidhe advanced, her daggers poised to strike. Lillian waited with her head bowed, her wounded shoulder pressed against the arrow still embedded in the trunk. The sidhe lunged forward. Lillian yanked the arrow free and coated the arrowhead with the blood running down her arm in one smooth motion. Her free hand snaked out and grasped the sidhe by the throat.

  Surprise widened pale blue eyes. Lillian gave her opponent a gentle smile as she reversed her grip on the shaft and jabbed the arrowhead into the woman’s eye. The stranger screamed and clawed at her face, trying to dislodge the smoking shaft. Lillian shoved the arrow deeper, then sidestepped as the woman shuddered and fell forward. After twitching twice more, the sidhe went limp. Lillian leaned down and tugged on the arrow. It grated against the eye socket before coming free.

  Immediate danger over, the power released Lillian from its grip. She gasped for breath and fought against the urge to cry. There was still danger. Her family needed her. With that thought firm in her mind, she left the shelter of the tree.

  Staying low to the ground, Lillian crawled to where an unmoving lump of white glowed palely in the moonlight. The elk’s shimmer faded in death. She hunched next to the bo
dy and scanned the area nearby, praying she’d find her grandmother alive. But there was no sign of Gran.

  Battle still raged between the trees. Pairs of dire wolves fought to the death and a dozen or more vampires jumped from tree to tree, dropping down upon the sidhe Huntsman and his three remaining companions.

  Coppery blood–scent and the stink of burnt flesh choked her. She fought the urge to gag, then forced herself to focused on the dense shadows surrounding her as a new threat wormed its way into her mind. All the muscles running along her back tensed. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught movement darting between the tree trunks. Alexander broke free of cover and sprinted toward her, his expression wild, driven mad by blood lust. Three other vampires trailed a few paces behind.

  He jumped into the air, an impossible leap. And never made it to her position. A darker shape collided with Alexander, slamming him into the undergrowth of the forest.

  “Gregory!” Lillian screamed. The primal power of the Other awoke within her again.

  Shrubs shook and snapped. The crunch of twigs and the smack of flesh on flesh dwindled into the distance as the gargoyle’s momentum carried the fighters deeper into the forest.

  The other vampires ignored her, swarming after Gregory to overwhelm him with greater numbers.

  Rage and power boiled up within her and she felt the taint of vampire a moment before she touched their thoughts. They planned to kill her gargoyle and then come back and finish off those still living.

  No one harmed her gargoyle.

  She sprang after them, rewetting her arrow with the fresh blood oozing down her arm as she ran. The wound still felt numb. It would awaken soon enough, but for now adrenaline drove her onward, her pains unnoticed. Her thoughts galvanized into one purpose. Kill Alexander. Kill the other vampires. She wouldn’t let them kill her gargoyle. Gregory had died too many times protecting her. Not again. Rage gave her strength and she ran, unheeding of her grandmother’s calls for her to return.

  ****

  Gregory’s mouth filled with the rancid taint of vampire blood, and a darker power, but he didn’t release his hold on the monster underneath him. The dead carcass was half his size, but true demonic magic gave the unnatural beast strength, surpassing what was normal for a vampire. Fear solidified within Gregory’s soul.

  If a true demon walked the land, then this undead creature was a pawn to some great master. And that darkness wanted Lillian. Gregory flexed his talons.

  The vampire heaved up from the ground, and Gregory fought for a stronger grip on the foul creature. More were closing in on him. He could hear the baying of Death Hounds as another pack approached from the west. Precious time was slipping by. He should have been able to kill this creature with ease, but demonic–aided shields wrapped the beast in layers of protection he couldn’t breach quickly.

  Two more vampires rushed out of the forest and landed on Gregory’s back. He speared one with his tail blade. At least the two new arrivals didn’t have the added protection Alexander possessed. Flexing his wings, Gregory dislodged the other vampire, but couldn’t release Alexander to kill it. It continued to circle him, nipping at him like a mad little dog.

  It came too close and he snapped his head up and caught it under the chin with one of his horns. Blood momentarily blinded him. Alexander continued to twist, managing to dislodge Gregory’s talons every time he had a grip on the vampire’s head. Gregory held on. Barely.

  Minutes ticked by as they fought until the vampire’s shields were frayed and blackened. Sluggish blood now oozed from hundreds of wounds, tinting the vampire’s pale skin bruise–dark, but Alexander showed no signs of weakening.

  Gregory heard at least two more vampires crashing through the forest, shattering the undergrowth in their frenzied madness. When they emerged into the clearing, they didn’t slow, only changed their headlong course to run at him. The first hit Gregory hard enough to knock him from Alexander. The second one grabbed a wing, its claws shredding the membrane. Gregory yowled, and wacked the vampire in the temple. It didn’t slow the creature, and it came at him again. He caught it, and wrapped his hand around its skull and flexed his fingers. The skull cracked, his talons sunk into soft tissue. Twitching death throes took it. He was turning to deal with its companion when Alexander landed on his back. The vampire raised his hand to strike. Something darker than the shadows of the night glimmered in his hand, eating all the light. Gregory blocked Alexander’s strike just as Lillian burst into the meadow, a pack of Death Hounds snapping at her heels.

  Her expression was one of rage. Blinded by her fear for him, she wasn’t using her other senses. His lady didn’t see the Death Hounds.

  “Lillian! Behind you!”

  Alexander struck with the blade a second time. The dagger found an opening, and sunk into the joint at the underside of Gregory’s wings. Shocking pain crippled one wing and then the wound turned ice cold as the blade started feeding.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Four massive hound–like beasts crashed through the forest in pursuit of Lillian, but she didn’t fear them. The Death Hounds fell in beside her. She knew them from a blurred and long–ago memory. They were hers to command. A gift from the Lady of Battles. How they had come to be enslaved by vampires was a question for another time. She touched their minds and sent them to intercept another group of vampires approaching from the north. The beasts surged forward to do her bidding. With the new threat handled, all her focus was for the two vampires still attacking her gargoyle.

  Instinct told her Alexander was the real threat. She sprinted toward the vampire, but before she could reach him, he raised his hand and plunged a blade into Gregory’s back, close to the wing joint. Her gargoyle bellowed, twisting and clawing, unable to reach the knife. In his struggle Gregory knocked the vampire from his back. Alexander flipped through the air, hit the ground and rolled once. He lay still, face down.

  Unmoving.

  Easy prey. Her savage, rage–filled magic whispered into her mind. Whatever demonic power had given Alexander unnatural strength was exhausted. Kill him now, her Otherself urged.

  But greater need drew Lillian’s senses to her gargoyle. Through their link, she sensed his waning power. He was dying, his life force draining away through the blade. Alexander rose to his feet, his usual grace hampered by his injuries. He put himself in her path.

  Rage uncoiled in her stomach and two–inch long claws emerged from her fingertips. A ruthless need flooded Lillian’s mind. The vampire would die for what he’d done to her gargoyle.

  Power continued to expand like a long–dormant flower unfurling its petals. Her forehead burned, as did the area between her shoulder blades, but a sweet, musky scent filled her nose, distracting her from the pressure building beneath her skin.

  She advanced toward Gregory and the vampire. The undead gave her another cold smile.

  “I remember you.” Her voice came out in a harsh, grating tone. “You were called Alexander.”

  She returned his cold smile and rushed him. His haughty expression changed to one of shock as she sank her claws into his gut. She shoved with all her newfound strength, and her hand jammed up into his chest cavity, claws digging until she found his heart. The shriveled organ pulsed with a dark magic—one which anchored the vampire’s soul in the world of the living long past its natural time.

  With the sharp crack of ribs, she pulled the heart from his chest. She called a small trickle of magic and closed her hand upon the heart. After a moment, dust poured between her fingers. The vampire slumped to the ground, shock frozen on his face even in final death.

  Energy coursed within her, accompanied by a newly born strength. Delicious joy spread through her veins like the finest wine as the power built. Here was an immense magic fit to slay all her enemies. She would make certain her gargoyle and her family were safe. Starting with the Riven, she would demonstrate what happened to those who stood against her.

  “My lady, you must fight it.” Gregory’s voice shook with
exhaustion, but he continued. “Do not give in to mindless rage. Fight the darkness in your own soul or you will become what you plan to hunt down and destroy.”

  His words cut through her intoxicating magic. The rage that had fueled it melted away.

  Scattered thoughts rallied around the sound of Gregory’s voice, and the fog surrounding her mind cleared. She blinked for a moment, trying to remember what had occurred. How had she gotten here? Then she focused on the gargoyle and nothing else mattered.

  Moving impossibly fast, she glided over the earth and knelt by his side. She cradled his head and surveyed the damage. A wing, shredded and collapsed over his side, hid what she sought. Gently, she pushed his injured wing out of her way and exposed the offending object. Though she must be causing him immense pain, Gregory remained docile under her hands.

  Now she could see the wound clearly. A ridge of stone spread out around the dagger. After she urged Gregory onto his stomach, she laid two fingers on either side of the blade. Even without touching the metal, its evil burned cold against her skin. With her free hand she stroked Gregory’s muzzle and whispered nonsense to him.

  His skin quivered at her touch.

  “Easy,” she whispered as she closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his back.

  Breath still hissed between his lips, rapid and panting. The throb of his great heart slowed. Touching him, his thoughts flowed to her.

  He would turn to stone, try to heal, but it was doubtful if he would ever awake again in this Realm. There wasn’t enough magic to heal him in time to save her. The ones of darkness would hunt her down and either kill her or use her.

  The gargoyle’s despair swamped her.

  “Easy, big fellow. You’re not dead yet, nor am I.” She grasped the dagger’s hilt and pulled. The blade didn’t come free. She applied more pressure while she braced a hand against his back. Gregory grunted, but the blade refused to shift.