He shook his head.
“She knows what I am. All of it. She still loves me.”
“I—” he began, then words failed. There’d been a time when he’d done terrible things. The time was long past, yet it haunted him. “Being friends with the leader of the light is far different than sleeping with... me.”
“I’d hope so,” Liz muttered. “Otherwise you aren’t doing it right.”
He wanted to smile at her jest, one she’d made before, but he couldn’t.
“She’s going to find out. Better that she knows before she sees.” Her gaze went to the cottage. “Believe me.”
Her eyes, her voice, her face were so sad. She’d been lied to. Who hadn’t? But Quinn thought the lies that had been told to Liz Phoenix were earth shattering. Literally.
“I could be human before she need ever find out.”
“Could be,” she agreed.
She sounded no more convinced than he was. Probably because she still planned to kill him.
“I have to go. There’s bad things happening. They might spill onto you, onto her, onto all of us.”
“Don’t they always?”
“Yeah. Keep her safe. Keep her here. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”
“The children are only with their grandparents for two weeks.”
“It’ll be over before then.”
“What will?”
She smiled sadly. “Everything.”
He wanted to ask more but suddenly the wind returned and lifted her off her feet, then dragged her backward and away, though the same wind only ruffled the ends of his hair.
Chapter 9
I awoke from a dream of Max. Considering I was naked in another man’s bed, that should have bothered me more than it did. Except in this dream, my dead husband had been saying goodbye.
He’d seemed okay with it too. He’d been smiling and behind him had been this golden, sparkling, blinding ray of light.
You had to move on so I could, he said.
I’d called his name, tried to run after him, but I couldn’t.
“I can’t stop loving you, Max.” Not when Anna had his eyes and Aaron his nose and Benji his hair.
You don’t have to. The more you love, the more you love.
“I have no idea what that means.”
You will.
He turned, walked into that light, and I woke up. I waited for the usual despair to wash over me at the realization that I’d only dreamed of Max, would only ever dream of him because he was gone. Instead, I felt...
Better than I had in a long, long time.
I sat up. I was not only naked but alone.
“Quinn?”
No answer. Unless you counted the rustles and thumps from the living room. What was he doing?
I climbed out of bed, considered dressing, decided I needed a shower and wrapped the sheet around me instead. It was already torn off the bed anyway. Considering last night’s activities I wasn’t surprised.
I walked into the next room. “What are you—?”
Ben Skrewd turned from his perusal of the back door. Since he held a hammer, I assumed he meant to fix it. From the looks of the thing, he wasn’t having much luck.
His gaze swept over me; he colored and spun about again. I glanced down. I was covered, but considering the sun glaring in from the front window behind me and his reaction, I was revealing more than I wanted to. I stepped into the bedroom and snatched up my clothes.
“Where’s Quinn?” I called, trying to put them on without dropping the sheet.
“I’m not his keeper.” Thud. Crash. Bang.
“Have you seen him?”
Crack. What was he doing out there?
“How do you think I knew to come and fix the door?”
“He called you?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
And that didn’t even seem odd any more.
“Where is he?”
“Still in town I suppose. I’m not his—”
“Keeper,” I finished. “Got it.”
I joined him as he shut the door. It creaked open once again, and he cursed in a language I didn’t know. Which meant it was anything but English.
“Problem?” I asked.
“I know how to fix a bloody door.” He tossed his tools back into their container with more force than necessary. They clattered and clanked, the sound making me wince nearly as much as the idea of a “bloody door.” “I’ll have to order a new strike plate. This one’s busted beyond repair.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
He turned away.
“What did you do with the box?” I blurted.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his toolbox and, for an instant, I thought he’d leave without another word.
“Quinn said it was gone,” I continued. “So you must have taken it.”
He turned back. “It was an old box, why wouldn’t I?”
“It wasn’t an old box when we got here. It was a box full of something with claws.”
“If there was something alive in there, it wouldn’t have been for long without air holes.”
I tried to remember what the box had looked like the first time I’d seen it. Not that large but seemingly heavy. I couldn’t remember if there’d been air holes or not.
“Why do you care about some old box?”
I didn’t care about the box; I cared about what had been inside. It had to be some kind of Nephilim.
“You gave me the sickle to kill it.”
“Kill what?”
“You tell me.”
“I have no idea what yer gettin’ at.”
The weapon lay across the table. “Why did you give me that?”
“It was all I had, and you seemed nervous.”
“You want it back?”
“Don’t need an old farm tool any more than I need an old box.”
He left. I was glad. I didn’t want to give him the sickle. Whatever had clawed its way out of the box was still loose. Ben could deny all he wanted that there’d been anything inside, but I knew better.
Quinn had no idea what was out there, but I did. The idea of that beautiful, sweet, klutzy man fighting a creature of hell, dying because of it, because of me, terrified me nearly as much as the creatures themselves. So I’d protect him from death-by-half-demon with whatever I had, even if it was only an old farm implement and the iffy magic of a painted red door. It was the least I could do.
I propped that door closed again with the chair, otherwise it kept inching open. I caught the scent of fresh paint, sniffed, followed my nose and saw that Ben had painted a stripe of red across the threshold, from one door jam to the other.
“Superstitious old coot,” I muttered. But what did my relief at seeing it make me?
The morning waned and afternoon approached with no sign of Quinn, and I started to worry. What if his car had broken down on the way back? What if he was walking along the road and darkness fell and the cat dubh found him? Did it even have to be dark for the creature to appear? I had no idea. Regardless, Quinn was safer with me.
I picked up the sickle. And my curvy sharp piece of flint.
The house was too small, too stuffy. I stepped into the back yard, taking my sickle along for company. The sun glinted off something in the overgrown garden. I only had to take a few steps closer to see what.
The damn panther statue was there again.
I stared at it, captivated, and the yellow-green jeweled eyes blinked, just once.
“Impossible.” I took a step back. But I knew better.
I’d once seen a woman disappear into a wisp of smoke. Until recently that had been the extent of my encounters with the Nephilim. But I’d heard stories from Liz. Nephilim were evil, and they wanted to kill us just for the pleasure of it.
The thing’s tail twitched, beginning to unfurl from where it curved about the body. The muscles beneath the fur coat rippled. For the first time I noticed that the shoulders looked a bit human,
and—
Since when did a statue have a fur coat?
“Shit,” I muttered, and tightened my fingers around the handle of the sickle.
I should have run, but I was frozen with both fear and fascination.
The statue was no longer stone but flesh and fur, lengthening, growing. It glistened, black as approaching night, sleek and beautiful and deadly.
Then it saw me and emitted that same wildcat call I’d heard before. Every hair on my head, and everywhere else, tingled.
“Fuck me,” I muttered, and turned. Only to find my path blocked by something worse.
My mouth fell open as the dragon spread its golden wings and snorted smoke out its nostrils.
The panther plowed into my back, causing me to fall flat on my face. But at least the blast of flame missed me.
The grass wasn’t so lucky. I could smell it burning, feel the heat near my feet. I lifted my head just as the panther landed on the dragon’s back, its claws sinking in and causing the creature to snort fire again. I rolled, narrowly missing another burst of flame.
“There’s a dragon,” I said, as if saying it would make it more believable. It didn’t. If the flames hadn’t convinced me, talking to myself certainly wasn’t going to.
The panther’s shriek sounded like Run! Probably just my brain screaming the same word.
I was nearly to the door before I remembered the sickle. I spun, saw it on the blackened grass, considered going back for it. Then the dragon, blood flowing from the gashes the cat’s claws had opened in its neck, swung in my direction. The panther still clung, even though the creature’s wings beat furiously, smacking into the cat on its back over and over, sounding very much like an approaching helicopter.
The dragon’s scales rippled like muscles. Its onyx eyes lit on me, and the dragon drew in a breath so deep all the air around me seemed to disappear.
I dove for the cottage, knowing I was dead, still needing to try. I landed on the floor, considered covering my head, realized how dumbass that was and flipped onto my back, hoping I could kick shut the open red door.
No time. The dragon released fire. I waited for the flames to roll in and over me. Instead, the dragon squealed like a little girl as the flames seemed to hit the red door, even though it wasn’t there, then blow back the way they’d come.
The big scaly, serpent with wings got a face full of fire. The golden scales turned black and fell to the ground, one by one. My gaze dropped to the line of red paint across the threshold. Ben Skrewd hadn’t been so superstitious after all.
The panther still clung to the dragon even though the creature’s body was wreathed in flame. The dragon twisted and turned, writhing, roaring. I put my hands over my ears against the horrible sound, but I could not pull my eyes away.
In its death throes, the dragon spouted fire again, only to have it bounce off the invisible door and into its face once more. The second dose accelerated the blackening of the scales, and within minutes all that was left of the beast was a pile of ash-covered squares.
The panther landed on top of that pile and the scales broke apart like fine china, becoming dust, blowing away on a sudden ill wind. The cat stopped screaming; the lump of fur and bone and flesh stopped moving.
I was still on the floor of the cottage, up on my elbows so I could see. I lay my spinning head down for just one second. What in hell had just happened?
The statue had come to life as a panther then fought a golden dragon. I needed to tell Liz. If I could find her.
Ash swirled above me, drifted down, and outside something moved.
I sat up so fast my stomach lurched. Or perhaps my stomach lurched because the panther that had so recently been a lump of dead, wasn’t.
He rose, lithe and sleek, from the ashes. He stretched, shook and came toward me. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. There was something so familiar about them.
I should have been more afraid. A panther that doesn’t die by fire is a very dangerous panther indeed. But he couldn’t reach me. I was beyond the red door.
Closer and closer he came. He paused at the threshold, and then...
He stepped in.
I scrambled backward. He kept coming. My shoulders banged against the far stone wall. My heart thundered. I should have returned for the sickle. Except then I would have burned.
Which was worse? Death by dragon fire, or death by shape shifting panther?
A hysterical burble of laughter escaped, and the animal paused. His head tilted. His yellow-green eyes blinked once and suddenly, I knew him.
“Oh, no you’re not,” I muttered.
His head tilted in the other direction, and so many things made sense.
The statue that had appeared in my garden. The one so like it that had appeared here. The box that had been torn apart from the inside. The way my bartender had suddenly stopped tripping.
“You may as well do whatever voodoo you do,” I said.
And in the next instant the beast became the man.
Chapter 10
Quinn coughed. A puff of smoke came out of his lips and drifted upward. That was probably going to happen for a while.
Megan slowly got to her feet. “What the hell are you?”
She looked furious, and he couldn’t blame her. This was quite a big secret to keep. He should have kept it. Would have if she hadn’t looked so afraid, and then...
She’d recognized him, and he hadn’t any other choice. He couldn’t keep lying to her. Not now that he’d touched her. It wasn’t right.
But then neither was he.
“Gargoyle,” he said.
“Gargoyles are made of stone,” she snapped, then glanced out the door. “Oh.”
He shrugged, realized he was naked, didn’t care. All he cared about was her.
“How could you come through the door?” she asked.
“It’s my door.”
“But the red paint protects against evil.”
“I’m not evil,” he said. At least not anymore.
“All right.” Her shoulders, which had been stiff and tense, relaxed. “I suppose that must be true since the dragon fire didn’t—” She stopped. “Why was there a dragon?”
“Paiste,” he said.
“Is that what it is or who it is or why it is?”
“Paiste is a fire-breathing serpent that’s been here since the beginning of time.” Quinn ran a hand over his face. His palm came away gray with ash. “St. Patrick tried to banish him after he’d expelled the serpents, but he died before he succeeded. St. Murrough gave it a go, but he was only able to confine the beast to Lough Foyle.”
At her frown he continued, “A part of the River Foyle in Ulster. Northern Ireland.”
“Then what in hell was it doing here?”
“’Twas sent.” Now Quinn frowned. “Released. Murrough chained the thing beneath the water. It thrashed about so that the water there has strange tides and currents.”
“Not any more,” she muttered. “Won’t someone notice?”
“Notice?” he repeated.
“That the tides are no longer strange and the currents have gone back to normal.”
“As they haven’t been normal since around the fifth century, I doubt anyone knows what normal is.” He lifted a shoulder. “People see what they want, explain it as best they can. They certainly aren’t going to conclude that the dragon beneath the waves has died.”
“Good point. Why would someone release it?”
“A panther is the top of the food chain, love. To kill me, they’d need somethin’ special.”
“You’re not a panther. Not really.”
“When I’m a panther, I am a panther. Really.”
“A panther couldn’t burn and then rise from the ashes like a phoenix.” She scowled.
“I’m not a phoenix.”
“You aren’t going to deny that one sent you.”
He didn’t answer. He had no defense against the truth.
“Liz ordered you to watch over
me even though I told her not to.”
“Liz Phoenix does what she likes, and listens to no one on this earth.”
Her scowl deepened. “She’s lost too many soldiers in her anti-doomsday army. She shouldn’t spare any to protect me.”
“She’d do anything for you.” As would I.
“What was this?” she murmured.
“A battle. I won.”
“Won’t more Nephilim come?”
“No doubt. But it’ll take them a bit to find another dragon.” Or something worse. They needed to be gone from here before that happened.
“I meant...” She hesitated, chewing on her lip before lifting her gaze to his. “What was this?” She waved her hand between them.
He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying: Love.
He’d only embarrass himself. She’d asked for two weeks, and he’d agreed. Just because he loved her, would always love her, didn’t mean she could ever love him. Even before he’d revealed himself to be inhuman, she’d murmured her true love’s name while still wrapped in Quinn’s arms.
He turned away before he said or did something even more foolish than what he’d already said and done.
“We agreed to enjoy each other while we were here,” he said.
“That was when I thought you were human.”
If he’d needed any more proof that she regretted what had occurred he would have had it. “There are times when I am.”
“I don’t think you’re ever truly human, Quinn.”
He was glad he still faced away so she could not see his pain. All he’d ever wanted was to be human, even before he’d met Megan Murphy.
“You should probably explain exactly what you are.”
“I told you—”
“Gargoyle. But what does that mean?”
He took a breath, let it out, then began. “Long ago when the angels fell, those who’d rebelled were tossed into the pit. Some that hadn’t rebelled were still too corrupted by the earth to return to heaven.”
“They became fairies.”
“Aye. They had no idea how to survive. Suddenly human—”
“Fairies aren’t human.”
He faced her. “They are and then again not.”
“Like you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“What isn’t?” Megan muttered. “Go on.”
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