Magic uncurled within her blood and flowed into her mind. She paused at the foreign sensation of her magic whispering knowledge into her mind, then she listened without question.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned her thoughts to the blade. There was a sense of presence about the dagger. Self–awareness.
“I know what you are. If you don’t stop feeding and release my gargoyle, I will consume you.” She pushed her thoughts ahead of her as she leaned down to glare at the blade, forcing it to listen and become aware of her and the danger she represented. “If my gargoyle dies, I’ll destroy you. I’ll take you apart until your soul is bare before me. Then I will torture you. When I am finished, I shall remake you and drive you into the hearts of your masters. This I promise.”
The demon blade shivered and leapt free of Gregory’s flesh. It imbedded its tip three inches into the ground next to her. The dagger vibrated for several seconds before it stilled.
She paid the blade no more mind. Instead she pressed her hand against the wound. For now, there was nothing she could do for his physical injuries, but she sensed his greatest danger lay in his lack of magic. He’d been bled out magically. She hadn’t a clue what she was doing, but her magic stirred again, calming and guiding her panicked thoughts as it sorted through her memories.
Clear as if she was hearing the tale anew, she remembered the story of how the dryad queen had saved the gargoyle after he’d been wounded by demons. The queen had healed the gargoyle by sharing her magic through blood. And after Alexander had injured Lillian that day in the grove, Gregory had healed her, but he hadn’t said how at the time. Now she thought she knew. He’d shared blood with her. If Gregory’s blood could heal her, then it stood to reason her blood might restore him. And tonight she was full to brimming with magic. It still churned below her skin, calling for her to release it.
“You can save him,” it whispered.
If her magic–laced blood was the best chance she had to save her gargoyle, she would give as much as required.
Dabbing at her bloody wound, she winced. Her finger came away bright red. When she held them up to his mouth, his nostrils quivered, but he didn’t go for the bait. Instead he turned his muzzle away as he curled tighter into himself. He broke away from her thoughts. She fought back, unwilling to let him go.
“I don’t want you to feel me die,” he said into her mind, his mental voice weakening.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Rocking back and forth with him in her arms, she tightened her grip on his muzzle and guided his nose to the wound on her arm. He was too weak to fighter her, but he wouldn’t lick at the blood running down her arm either. Well, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She stuck her fingers in his mouth. “Take a little taste, my darling. That’s it, just a bit more.” As she’d hoped, he wasn’t able to resist and his tongue started lapping at her bloody fingers. Growing stronger, he sucked on them and then sniffed his way up her arm. He pushed the mossy–green sleeve out of his way and started lapping at the wound to clean it. Her magic rushed from her into him, draining her. But she didn’t care. Anything to save her gargoyle.
As more and more of her power spilled into him, her mind became foggy. She drifted for a time.
The surviving members of the Hunt found her there, holding the gargoyle’s head in her lap as she fed him her magic. Gran’s expression was a strange mix of fear and relief. Instinct told Lillian to keep what had happened to herself until she understood what was going on. So she didn’t tell them about the Death Hounds … or other things.
What other things? she asked herself as she scrambled a moment for an answer. None came. Her memories were unclear, chaotic and sprinkled with holes. The Riven’s blade still glittered darkly beside her. There was something important she should remember about that too. As with her other memories, it was like someone had come in and stolen them while she’d healed her gargoyle.
When Gregory healed fully, he would have a lot to tell her.
More of the Hunt arrived as the minutes slid past. The other dryads entered the clearing. Seeing the downed gargoyle, they hurried to Lillian’s side. Sable offered to share some blood with the gargoyle to help him heal. Lillian nodded, and let each of the dryads share blood with Gregory.
When he started to stir awake, she leaned down and made a show of kissing him on his broad forehead, and then looked up at each of the dryads, making eye contact in case the others didn’t understand her claim.
Chapter Fourteen
The wait for Gran’s pickup was worse than Lillian imagined. Sitting helpless and cursing the Riven wasn’t the most useful endeavor, but it made her feel better knowing she was going to do them harm. The power which had reared up within her soul was receding, but it wasn’t gone. She could still feel the potential as it simmered below the surface.
Gregory reclined on his haunches, his legs folded under him and his wings limp at his sides. Even though he lay quiet, with his head resting on her lap and his eyes closed, he wasn’t asleep. His ears twitched at every sound, on the alert for danger even in his weakened state.
This was her fault. Had she not distracted the gargoyle, he might have defeated Alexander without getting injured himself. She looked up while she continued to stroke Gregory’s mane. Other members of the Hunt had arrived and stood guard at the edge of the clearing. The dryads hung back as well, giving Lillian a wide berth, but they remained within earshot should she need them again.
Gregory huffed out a loud expulsion of air in a very horse–like fashion. He lifted his head, and his ears swiveled forward.
The rumble of her grandmother’s truck reached her ears a moment before its headlights cut through the clearing. Blinded, Lillian shielded her eyes with one hand until her vision adjusted. Stiff muscles complained about the cold, damp ground when she stood.
The truck rumbled to a halt next to her. Lillian lowered the tailgate, then turned to help Gregory. He was already on his feet and making his way to the truck. He moved like a joint–sore old man on a rainy day, but he limped his way over and heaved himself into the truck bed. Lillian jumped up after.
There was precious little spare room in the back of the truck and Lillian settled cross–legged in one corner and braced her back against the cab, then patted her lap. Gregory lowered his head, cautious of his horns. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again.
The ride back took twice as long, but thanks to Gran’s driving, they were saved from the abuse of potholes. Lillian thought she might cry from happiness when the truck turned onto their driveway. Soon, she and Gran would be able to attend to the mess of Gregory’s wounds. While the deep knife wound was the most worrisome, she didn’t like the raw–hamburger look to his shredded wing. He might never fly again.
The truck rolled to a stop and Jason appeared and opened the tailgate. Gregory sighed and gathered himself. His legs shook with each step and she wanted to help, but there was nothing she could do for him. So she shadowed him, encouraging him along with each step.
Gran hurried ahead of them and vanished into the house. Lillian stayed by Gregory’s side while he made his painful way up the back steps, through the kitchen, and into the living room. She would have stopped there, but the gargoyle limped on up the stairs. Lillian followed him until he collapsed next to her bed.
An array of first–aid supplies lay in orderly rows at the foot of her bed. Gran held a plastic squeeze bottle of sterile saline in one hand and was reaching for a roll of cotton when Lillian came alongside. “How can I help?”
“Blankets to keep him warm and something to rest his head on.”
Lillian bobbed her head and hurried to grab a pillow off the bed. She placed it under his head with gentle care and went in search of clean blankets. When she came back, Gran was already cleaning some of Gregory’s wounds.
The older woman mumbled to herself as she probed at the wound at the base of his wing joint and then examined the rips in his wing. “I think our gargoyle got banged up right and good, but he should recov
er.” She patted Gregory on his shoulder and smiled. “Besides, you’re too stubborn to stay wounded for long. Too much evil out there that needs killing, if I know you.”
Gregory snorted, but his laugh turned into a grunt of pain.
“Easy there,” Gran said. “Cleaning your wounds will hurt. A lot. And I don’t want to risk giving you something for the pain that might cause a reaction. You ready?”
Gregory nodded agreement while Lillian shook her head. No, she wasn’t ready to see her gargoyle in pain again. She still couldn’t banish the image of him twisting, writhing in agony, unable to reach the dagger embedded in his back. Nausea rolled through her stomach in a hot wave. She ignored it and placed her hand on either side of his head.
At the contact of skin on skin, she linked with him like he had when she was showing him her language that first day. Pain. He ached everywhere. But his lady’s small, cool hands soothed his throbbing headache and her scent calmed him. If he had to be injured, this was the best he could ask for. Though, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to have been beaten so badly. Embarrassment tainted the link.
Lillian broke away. “Oh, Gregory. It’s not your fault; I didn’t listen to you. My foolish wish to fight by your side could have cost you your life. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he whispered. His words were cut short by a hiss of pain when Gran syringed saline into the knife wound.
Lillian held him, and shared in his pain as Gran worked. Time dragged by.
When finished, Gran ordered one of the hovering dryads to bring water and then make broth for Gregory. Lillian’s world narrowed down to her injured gargoyle. She didn’t know what to call him. Friend. Beloved. Soul mate. None of those words fit. He was everything to her, and it scared her.
When Kayla came with the bowl of water, Lillian took it from her and tipped it to Gregory’s muzzle so he could drink without straining himself. He lapped out of the bowl until it was gone. She worried he would make himself sick, but he finished the bowl, rolled onto his side and fell asleep on her carpet without any ill effects. She knew so little about him. That would change as soon as he was well.
****
Night advanced toward dawn. Everyone else had sought their beds long before and now the house was quiet. Lillian sat on the floor next to Gregory with her back braced against the foot of her bed. They would have moved him onto the bed, but no one wanted to risk waking the gargoyle. She smoothed her smaller hand over his and admired the finger–length talons. Yep, disturbing a sleeping gargoyle could be bad for one’s health.
They had left him on the ground and covered him in blankets. Since it hadn’t seemed right sleeping in a bed when he was curled on the floor, Lillian sat with him. By chance she witnessed the oddest thing: he was healing; she could see his flesh knitting together until the shallowest of his injuries looked like old scars, and the worst of his injuries—the knife wound and his shredded wing—seemed at least two weeks old. Whether he healed because it was a gargoyle’s nature to heal quickly, or he mended faster than normal because she kept in physical contact and shared energy with him, she didn’t know, but was ecstatic for the signs of his recovery.
Now that she knew with both heart and mind that he was on the mend, other things started to encroach upon her consciousness. She stank. For the second time in as many days, gore coated her skin and her hair was matted in rotting vampire blood and other nasty substances she didn’t want to think about.
She left the gargoyle asleep on the floor and made her way over to her bathroom, shedding the remains of her moss–and–fern gown as she went. She adjusted both showerheads for compete annihilation and cranked the water as hot as she could stand and let the steaming water soak the crud from her body. Touching it or fouling a sponge with the crap just seemed wrong. When the water ran clear, she slathered herself in soap.
She was on the third shampooing when she noticed a big, black shadow waiting on the other side of the shower’s glass partition. Their gazes locked and for a moment, without the touch of skin on skin, his thoughts flowed to her, broadcasting his overwhelming need for comfort. Her initial surprise mellowed into a warmer, deeper emotion. Knowing that her overprotective guardian would never harm her, lent her a sense of confidence she hadn’t expected. Her lips curved at the corners as he continued to wait in his silent, demanding way for her to make up her mind.
She opened the first glass partition, pushing it back until it clicked softly against the wall. It was the only sound in the room besides the slash of water. Gregory waited silently while she crossed and opened the other side. Another smile curved her lips. “When Gran renovated the master bath to include the biggest walk–in shower I’d ever seen, I thought its sheer size was obscene. Somehow it doesn’t seem so big now.” Her mind must have snapped and gone to a different place where modesty no longer existed. Was she insane? Probably. Did she care? No. Not when her gargoyle needed comfort so desperately she could sense it without touching him.
Lillian moved as close to her showerhead as she could and he still had to squeeze in order to fit. He didn’t complain. Getting rid of rotten vampire blood must be a high priority for him. She smiled. He didn’t even crowd her very much.
“This should be awkward,” she said as she applied her soapy sponge to his back. “Embarrassing. Blush inducing. But it’s not. Why? Is … is this love?”
Several seconds slid by without an answer. Since he never said much, his silence didn’t offend her. She shook her head and switched to washing a gore–splattered wing. He flexed it so she could better reach the dirt. A slow grin spread across her face at the ease with which they fell into routine. Being with him felt as natural as brushing her hair.
“No.”
His belated answer felt like a kick in the gut. “No?” she prompted and continued to scrub the membrane between the stout bones so he wouldn’t know how much that one word hurt.
He paused for a long moment. Then words poured from him. “Love is the mingling of souls. A powerful emotion. And if we were like any normal souls, then yes, love would be a good word for what we share. Yet we are different. We share one spirit—a single soul between us. Like the Divine Ones, who were once one entity who chose to split into the Mother and the Father to better understand itself, we are one being in the Spirit Realm, but two outside of that place. What we share is more profound than mortal love.”
“Oh.” His words were like balm to her wounds. What he said should have been outlandish, and it was, but his words fit. She more than loved him. He was a part of her. Her other self. Smiling, she soaped up his mane.
“Gregory.”
“Yes?”
He sounded hesitant, almost fearful, and her heart turned over in her chest, expanding with emotion at his vulnerability. Poor thing. He was as lost as she in this world. “I don’t fully understand it, I’ve only known you two days, but you mean so much to me.” She was going to say more. She needed to say more, but the words wouldn’t come.
He sighed, the contented sound rumbling over the noise of the water. “As you do to me. I will do all in my power to keep you safe.”
“And I’ll try not to make your task any harder than it already is.” She ran the sponge down his back while he ducked under the showerhead and rinsed the soap from his mane. When he came back up for air, she had a bottle of conditioner at the ready. His doubtful expression told her she was walking on thin ice putting lily–of–the–valley–scented girl products on his hair. “It will make the tangles come out easier when it’s dry. Trust me, when I’m yanking a comb through it, you’ll appreciate this.”
He sighed again, but let her continue. With the dirt and gore washed away, and his hair clean and tangle free, she surveyed her work. An overwhelming need to hold him struck her—so intense she was already stepping forward. She reached under his wings and folded her arms around his waist as far as she could reach. The skin of his back was warm and slick against hers. His wings shifted, trapping her between them. The scent of
forest and male enfolded her in a blanket as soothing as his silky wing membranes. Seeing the pale line from the knife wound, she stretched up onto her toes and kissed the scar. “I believed you when you said we share one soul. It explains so much. You are a part of me. At first I was terrified by the link between us, thinking it was an enchantment or our power drawing us together. Later, I thought it was the awareness the dryads spoke of. And I very much wanted whatever was between us to be more than just a chemical reaction. I wanted something deeper, more meaningful … because it already was for me.”
There, she’d spilled her heart. She waited with her eyes closed, barely daring to breathe.
“Each lifetime, it has always been so for me as well.”
She sighed with contentment. Just standing there, holding him, made her mindlessly happy. She nuzzled that area where his wings attached. His skin was warm, his scent, indescribably wild and male.
Gregory shifted, and suddenly the muscular length of his tail was twining around her calves. Her breath escaped in a yelp of surprise. It didn’t stop his tail tip from flicking gentle caresses up and down her legs.
“Gregory, what … ?”
He continued like he hadn’t heard her.
“I care for you but … I don’t think… .”
Perhaps taking pity on her wildly fluctuating hormones, he halted the little caresses and uncoiled his tail. Though, the spade–shaped tip continued its agitated twitching, splashing water against her legs. She rested her forehead against his back.
He didn’t break his silence as he turned to her. The motion brushed his wings against her. At the contact, her breath hitched in surprise.
When the silence between them became awkward, she peeked through her lashes. He was watching her with intense heat. She couldn’t hold his gaze and glanced down.
Oh … he was … .
What was she doing?
Still, her gaze lingered a moment longer, until she forced her head up and looked off to one side. She cleared her throat. “I should … go towel dry my hair. You … can finish up in here.” The long–absent blush returned with a vengeance and she bolted from the shower. She tripped in her rush, but caught herself against the sink. The door of the vanity slipped out of her hand with a bang. She tore it open again. When she tried to get a towel, the stupid thing pulled several of its friends along with it. She left the mess on the floor and scooped up two before she fled to her bedroom.
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