Stone's Kiss

by Lisa Blackwood

  Everyone at the table fell silent.

  “I could not trust you because of where I found you.”

  “Yesterday you told me you rescued me from my abductor, the Lady of Battles. You saved me from whatever she had planned.”

  “I said I had rescued you from her, not that she had abducted you. And I’m not even sure if I’ve thwarted her plans.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A gargoyle stays in his mother’s tree for ten years before he is birthed fully mature. A dryad carries her daughters for only three. When we were both eight, you called me from my mother’s tree early, so I could rescue you from the Lady of Battles’ domain: the place where you had been conceived, born, and lived for eight years.”

  Conceived. Born. Not kidnapped. His word shook her soul like felled trees crashing to the ground.

  He continued, unaware he was trampling her fragile sense of truth. “From the time of your birth, and perhaps while you were still within your mother’s tree, you were shaped to become a tool for the Lady of Battles. I escaped with you, and then too weak to return home to the Magic Realm, I came here.”

  “Oh my God. You couldn’t trust me,” Lillian said as she thought of something worse. “You were afraid of me, of what the Lady could make me do.”

  He didn’t answer her right away, and that was enough to start a chill crawling up her spine.

  “The Lady of Battles might have been using you as bait to lure me to her. Once she had us both, she may have planned to make us serve her by threatening the other. I don’t sense any evil upon you. When first I found you in the Black Kingdom, there was a dark taint, but here in this place, far from the dark one’s influence, you may have managed to purify yourself.”

  She heard the doubt in his voice. “But you took my memories and still haven’t given them back. You’re afraid.”

  “I can’t risk this world until I know for certain what she did to you.”

  Lillian grabbed the edge of the table to stop her hands from trembling while she calmed the churning in her soul. It made sense now. Gregory hadn’t betrayed her; he’d done what he could to protect her—but not just her, everyone else too. If she wasn’t such a fool, she’d have seen that sooner. They were two halves of one soul—she could only imagine what keeping this secret had cost Gregory. Placing her hand in his, she touched his thoughts and projected her understanding and thanks, and then intertwined their fingers. “How will you find out if I’m a threat, and how will you deal with it if I am?”

  “We need time.” He squeezed her fingers and then turned on the others sitting at the tables. “If I am given time, I think I can heal whatever was done to my Mistress. In a way, being trapped in this realm was a blessing. The Lady of Battles cannot reach into this realm from her prison, and likely has no idea what happened to the Sorceress. As long as we stay here, I think Lillian will be safe. At least for a little while.” He paused with a long look for the silver–skinned leader of the sidhe. “For the first time in many, many years I find myself in need of allies. I cannot defeat the Riven if I’m too busy protecting Lillian from both the Clan and the Coven. I must put my trust in you here today. Know I will fight your enemies alongside you if you agree to continue to shelter Lillian.”

  Another silence stretched by, longer this time than the last, until the banshee pushed back her chair and stood. “Why should we help you? For all we know, when you breeched the Veil between the Realms, you opened a way for these evil creatures to enter our world. For the matter, it might have been your precious mistress who opened the way for them. You claim you don’t know what happened to her. How can you ask us to protect her when you don’t even know if she’s the one who betrayed us all?”

  Greenborrow rapped on the table. “I say we give the gargoyle what aid he needs and then we accept his aid in turn. We grow fewer with each year. How much longer can we go on if we will not work together?”

  With a nod, Whitethorn stood. “You both have good arguments. I say we give the gargoyle our aid, but make certain this Sorceress is no threat.”

  The banshee’s gray eyes turned stormy. “How will you be certain of her innocence? If this was as easy as you make it sound, I’m sure the gargoyle would already have done this. Yet he, one of the greatest workers of magic in the Magic Realm, has not done this. Why?”

  Greenborrow chuckled. “Because the poor fellow hasn’t been given two free minutes to rub together, methinks. That, and it’s not a task he’ll be looking forward to performing.”

  The gargoyle grunted in way of answer; his “yes” to all things nasty.

  Lillian swallowed hard as nervous sweat made it way down her back. That she might be evil scared her, but the thought of losing Gregory because of that evil was far worse. She needed to know. “I’ll agree to this if it will prove I’m not a threat.” Her rushed statement turned several heads. Before they’d talked about her like she wasn’t there, but now each eyed her like a snake studying its next meal.

  Not an improvement.

  Whitethorn nodded, his lips forming a stiff line. “Then, with the gargoyle’s aid, we shall bind your power and read what resides within your soul.”

  “No,” Gran cried, “She’d too young and doesn’t have the mental discipline needed to survive without being damaged. She’ll go into shock. She could die. Let the gargoyle and I give her the training she needs to prepare.”

  “We can’t risk the wait,” Whitethorn said. He looked to the gargoyle. “We do this tonight if you want us to shelter her while you deal with the evil ones.”

  Gregory glanced down at her, his dark eyes turbulent.

  Surprisingly, Lillian’s own soul was serene, fear a distant thing. She didn’t fear death. This was a battle, and she never ran from a challenge. Her only concern was for Gregory and her family. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’s okay. We need to do this. I need to know. I couldn’t live with myself if there was something evil slumbering within me and it harmed those I love because I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The unfamiliar feeling of worry gnawed at Gregory’s stomach all the way back to the house. If Lillian knew what binding her power and reading her soul involved, she wouldn’t have agreed so readily. After a quick discussion, the Council decided the house would be the best location, familiar and more defendable. Gregory pinned his ears against his mane. By that the Council members meant they would have a better chance at containing Lillian if something went wrong. A low growl built in his throat; he clamped his teeth to prevent its escape.

  Some other sign must have given him away because Lillian stepped closer until her arm brushed his. “It’s alright, Gregory. You said I lived in the Black Kingdom for years. If it’s as nasty as you implied and I survived it, I must be tougher than you think.” She skimmed her fingers down his arm until she laced them with his. “And I understand why you had to take my memories: you had no choice. I was a little taken aback at first.”

  “You lived because the Lady of Battles wanted you for some purpose. That is why you survived.” Even as he said the words, they lacked the harsh edge he’d strived for, and his ears relaxed. He whispered a prayer to the Divine Ones thanking them that Lillian had forgiven him for stealing her memories.

  “Then I am tough because I survived whatever she did to me. Can you deny I stand before you with my mind intact and my heart beating?”

  He sighed with exasperation even as a grin tugged at his lips. “Yes, you are a tough little dryad. But it doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

  “I know.” She squeezed his hand.

  While they talked, they had entered the house and arrived in the living room. Lillian looked around at the other fae. “Now what?”

  Vivian stormed into the room, the old woman’s fierce expression focused on Whitethorn. “You can’t toss me out of my own house. If we’re going ahead with this foolery, then I’ll be at my granddaughter’s side.”

  “The
ceremony’s rules are clear. There will be no family present.” Whitethorn’s tone was as unforgiving as Vivian’s stubborn streak.

  “Fine,” Vivian replied. “She isn’t related by blood. I’m staying.”

  Whitethorn did looked ready to toss Vivian out of her own home, Gregory decided, but the fae kept his composure.

  “No. You are bound by the rules the same as we all are. We cannot change them just to suit our own needs. Go. I will keep you advised as to the gargoyle’s progress and our findings.”

  “Gran,” Lillian said. “I must do this. It will be easier if you’re not present.” She stepped away from Gregory, her hand sliding from his. Immediately, he missed the contact. With an act of will, he focused on the tension in the room.

  Vivian’s knuckles whitened against her staff. After a count of ten seconds, she relaxed her fingers. “Fine. But I will be near if you have need of me.”

  “Thank you.” Lillian hugged her grandmother. Gregory had a surprising urge to embrace the old woman for her protective streak, too.

  Vivian released Lillian, then caught Gregory’s eye. Her look told him to kill anyone who attempted to harm her granddaughter.

  Sable came up next to Gregory. “I’ll help Lillian get ready.”

  “Thank you,” Lillian replied.

  He touched Lillian’s shoulder and sent thoughts of peace and comfort. She smiled, broadcasting love back at him before she broke contact and followed Sable.

  Gregory called the shadows to him and vanished to make his own preparations. He would need more power if it became necessary to overwhelm Lillian’s shields. No matter how much he didn’t want to face the possibility, she could be a host to dark magic.

  Closing his eyes, he began summoning magic, drawing chilled power directly from the Spirit Realm until his skin took on a patina of frost.

  ****

  So far the ceremony was pleasant enough. It had begun with a purifying bath, the hot steam scented with lavender oil and sage. When Lillian finally exited the bathroom, she found Sable had lit candles in the four corners of the bedroom. A small fire burned in the fireplace. The air was heavy with sage, sweet grass, and cedar. The heat, low light and fragrances helped Lillian relax. At least she’d gotten over her initial fears—mostly. Some still fluttered annoyingly at the edge of her consciousness—like what she would do if there was darkness inside her.

  Might it not turn Gregory against you? The small internal voice of her consciousness nagged at her like it had since Gregory first told her why he’d taken her memories. She pushed that worry away. She’d already covered every possible disastrous outcome a hundred times.

  While there was the possibility of losing him and everything she cared about, she imagined it was a slim chance. Gregory loved her too much to give her up; or at least, he loved his Sorceress too much to allow the Lady of Battles to win.

  A breeze flowed in an open window. The singing of frogs and the scent of night filled her bedroom and relaxed her further. With nothing else to do but wait, she stretched out on top of her comforter and worried at the drawstring of her satin pajamas. When she caught herself fidgeting, she folded her hands across her midriff and stared at the ceiling. While her present sexy attire wasn’t something she would have chosen for herself, she’d not been given much of a choice: satin pajamas or a silky, thigh–length nightgown which hadn’t been much more than a slip. Pajamas had won, no contest. A shy smile touched her lips; Gregory might have preferred the slip.

  A soft knock at the door startled her from thoughts of Gregory in his human form. She sat up and tucked her legs underneath her. “Come in.”

  The door pushed open and Gregory entered, as human as he had been in her thoughts. He paused when he caught sight of her on the bed. His look traveled the length of her, lingering in some places longer than others. Mild shock changed to blood–warming desire, his human face betraying far more than his gargoyle countenance ever did.

  Warmth suffused her, and tension fluttered in her belly. The door opened further and the pooka trotted in after Gregory, followed by Greenborrow, Sable, and Hyrand. Heat died and the nervous fluttering in her stomach turned into a rock

  All Lillian knew about the ceremony was that Gregory would peel her shields away like the layers of an onion and lay her soul bare, so the others would be able to read her thoughts. Sable had made it sound like the binding of the magic would be done with only Gregory present. Which didn’t sound so awful. But magical binding sounded a whole lot less appealing with an audience. What if she panicked or worse? She wasn’t sure what the “or worse” could be, but knowing her luck, it would be spectacular.

  With her best impression of a serene mask she continued to watch Gregory. A better alternative than looking at the others where they’d lined up at one end of her bedroom. The gargoyle sat on the edge of the bed, and after glancing down the length of her satin–covered legs to her bare ankles, he looked back up. His eyes settled on the plunging neckline of her camisole a moment longer than polite. Now she wished the little satin cami was less revealing and that one of the stupid straps hadn’t slipped down off her shoulder.

  His one eyebrow arch up in question and a mischievous grin lifted the corners of his lips. If there hadn’t been other people in the room, she’d have seriously thought about kissing him. Heat mounted her cheeks; she was thinking about kissing him anyway.

  Humor glinted in his dark eyes. He leaned closer and whispered, “You’re punishing me.” He touched a lock of her brown hair for a moment, then brushed it out of his way and slid his hand over the curve of her shoulder in pursuit of her camisole’s fallen strap. Catching the errant bit of satin, he hooked a finger under it and drew it back up into position, the pad of his thumb stroking along her skin the whole time. “As if I needed more distractions. I took this human form because it’s almost nose–dead, and thinking is easier when I’m not half–drugged by your scent. But I didn’t anticipate increased visual temptation from my demure little dryad.”

  “I swear I didn’t have much of a choice. Blame Sable.”

  “I must remember to thank her.” Merriment glinted in his eyes as he fought a grin. Then he lost the battle and started chuckling in earnest.

  “Oh …” She swallowed back a retort. Her face burned with heat and she was surprised the room hadn’t taken on a pinkish hue.

  “We will continue this conversation later.” He leaned in closer and tucked the blanket from the foot of the bed around her. Warm breath washed along her neck and his lips brushed her ear.

  A throat being cleared alerted Lillian the others were no longer conversing among themselves. Whitethorn was standing off to one side, his lips pursed and brows furrowed. Apparently, he wasn’t overly patient.

  “Why did you have to interrupt them?” Greenborrow grumbled. “I haven’t seen any action in a long while.”

  Sable muttered something about men and old idiots, and left the sidhe and the leshii behind as she came to the end of the bed. “Ignore them. Vivian is a very good judge of character. If she trusts you, so do I. Is there anything I can do?”

  Kick the audience out, or get me away from this madness. “No, but thank you. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Can we get this over with?”

  “Of course, dear. I’ll keep the others in line. There will be no more distractions from us.”

  Gregory nodded and Lillian tried to relax while she waited for the gargoyle to do his thing.

  The thought had barely crossed her mind when a chilled magic blanketed her. “Ah! Cold. What the … ?”

  “Magic from the Spirit Realm. The strongest weapon I can call upon.”

  “Well, it’s damn cold. I thought I was supposed to relax. How can I do that with my knees whacking together and my teeth trying to rattle loose from my jaws?”

  “Try,” he rumbled.

  “Right—oh,” she broke off as his fingers settled on the temples and massaged the tension away with a firm touch. He moved back into her hairline, massaging her scalp.
Caught up in the mild pleasure, she missed when he started filling her with that cold power. Its chill lessened as she adjusted to the invasion. “Okay, this isn’t so bad.”

  The words had barely left her mouth when the chill intensified and his magic reached into her mind and tried to claw the first layer of tissue from her brain. She screamed. Her eyes flew open as her heart jumping into gear. She batted at the gargoyle, but she could have been slapping a statue for all the reaction he showed. Screaming had no effect on him, but she didn’t care and drew another breath.

  Warm lips closed upon hers, capturing her yell. The pain in her mind vanished, the cold replaced by heat.

  “I’m sorry.” He broke away, and his breath came in pants. “I’m sorry, love. Forgive me. Do not fight me.”

  “What the hell? I—”

  The pain engulfed her in another flow of lava. A whimper was all the emerged. Ragged breath filled the silence. His talons of magic and power slashed across her mind. She arched off the bed, struggling with everything in her. She punched him under the jaw and clawed at his bare shoulders. He took the abuse like he didn’t feel it. Leaning his weight against her, he pinned her to the bed so she couldn’t fight him. With a tearing sensation in her mind, another barrier shred under his attack. Pain receded into numbness. She floated above the pain, praying she would not fall back into her body lying upon the bed. Surely that was death. Where the hell was her magic when she needed it?

  “Lillian, don’t call your magic. Please don’t fight me; it will make it worse.” His voice shook. “If you call your magic, it will repair your shields … please … I cannot do this again.”

  The agony in his dark timbre pulled her back into her body. To her surprise, there was no blinding–sharp pain eating away at her brain. She looked beyond the barrier of her mind, out into the world. Gregory hunched next to her. Pain etched across his face, a tattoo of his horror. Dampness streaked his cheeks. Shocked, she reached out and gathered a tear on her fingertip.