The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

by Trisha Telep

  He sprang onto the street, didn’t pause as he leaped again, his thighs propelling his body upwards, his wings, straight and strong, keeping him on track. He shot into the sky, saw the car -the same one that had tried to run her down earlier - hurtling down the road. Its lights were off this time, making the driver’s intention all the more clear.

  Kami. Where was she? An icy coldness wrapped around his chest, startled him. He’d heard humans describe the sensation. They called it fear. But gargoyles didn’t fear, didn’t feel any emotion. They did their job because they did - they got no joy from their acts, suffered no loss at their failures. They just “acted”. Which is what he had to do now, if Kami were to survive.

  He landed beside the car, facing the attacking vehicle. His feet crunched through the road’s surface. He spun, ignoring the debris he’d created. “Kami,” he called, intending to scoop her up, whisk her to safety.

  “Here.” Her voice was rough, afraid. She’d rolled under the car, lying with her face inches from the pavement; her keys were clasped in her hand. “Get out of here. The car - it’s—” Her eyes widened.

  Mord spun, faced the car. He could see the driver again — a man, small with a hat pulled low over his brow. The human grasped the car’s wheel, his knuckles white. There was fear in his eyes. He knew he was going to die.

  There was no time to stop the inevitable. Mord stood strong, let the man-made mass smash into him. The front of the car bowed inwards. Tyres squealed, metal screamed. White balloons of cloth billowed into the windows, muffling whatever noise the man emitted.

  Mord thrust his fist through what remained of the car’s windshield and grabbed the human by the front of his shirt. He hung there, limp.

  “Is he ... ?” Kami whispered from beneath her car. Her voice shook, but Mord could hear her scrambling beneath the vehicle, scooting her way to the other side. Within seconds she stood beside him.

  He pulled the man who would have killed her close, stared into his blank face. “I don’t know him,” he muttered. He’d thought the man might be someone from his past.

  “It’s the Mason,” Kami murmured. She stepped over mangled pieces of metal, didn’t stop until she stood right next to Morel. She lay her hand on his arm. “Put him down. Is he—” she swallowed “—dead?”

  “I—” Mord started to answer, but other voices cut him off.

  “What’s happening out there?”

  “Dear God. Call 911.”

  Kami gripped his arm tighter. “The police, they’ll be coming.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance. On the horizon the first pink strip of the coming sun appeared.

  Mord glanced back at the man in his grasp. Blood stained his face, and his breathing was shallow - but it was there. He was alive.

  Kami saw it too. “Put him down.” Her touch was warm and insistent.

  There were only minutes until Mord would turn to rock. If he didn’t leave, take his place back on the building, he’d be found here. Then what? He didn’t want to leave the man alive, but he also wanted to question him, find out what he knew about the gargoyles and their enemies, why he was hunting Kami.

  Kami pressed her fingers into Mord’s skin, nodded towards the ground. “Put him down. I’ll be OK. I know now, and he’s in rough shape. He may not make it, and if he does it will be a long time before he can try again.”

  She was right, but setting the human down, not crunching her would-be killer’s throat under his foot was one of the hardest things Mord had ever had to do.

  And he had to do it because Kami asked it of him. She’d brought him back to life - he owed her, but it was more than that. He wanted to do it because to do otherwise would cause her pain.

  He never wanted anything to cause her pain again.

  He set the man down.

  Relief washed over Kami’s face, and she smiled. “It’s right. I couldn’t . . . thanks.” And she smiled again at him.

  Then she leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Go back to my apartment. I’ll talk to the police, then later ...” She squeezed his arm again, her eyes glowing. “We’ll talk.” She ran a finger along his chin. Mord’s hands rose. He had to fight to keep himself from gathering her to him. He could already feel his skin beginning to harden, his blood to slow. Her magic wasn’t working, or had run out. With the sun, he would return to stone.

  Would he wake again? Or was this it? His one chance outside the sorcerer’s curse? He should be happy that he’d had this night with Kami. He could feel the sadness that leaving her was causing him.

  Up on the building, perched on the ledge, he stared down at her as he began to lose feeling in his feet. All he could think of was how much it hurt to leave her, to know he might never see her again.

  Kami had awakened him more deeply than he’d thought, changed not just his frozen state, but his heart - his soul.

  Impossible as it seemed, he loved her.

  And the next time he woke might be one hundred years in the future. Or perhaps, he’d never wake again.

  Kami spent hours at the accident scene, telling her story over and over, or the one she’d made up. The bowed hood of her attacker’s car was hard to explain, as was the passenger door that Mord had torn off her vehicle. By the time an officer discovered the footprints broken through the asphalt, they quit asking, just shook their heads and snapped photos.

  It was almost ten the next morning when she was finally released. The Mason had been rushed off as soon as an ambulance arrived. She’d learned he was alive, but in critical condition. No one would say if they thought he would make it or not.

  Kami wanted to get home, to be with Mord.

  She hurried inside, but the place was empty. Belatedly, she realized she’d locked the door. He’d had no way in. He must have gone somewhere else to wait, but where?

  Realizing exactly where he would go — the only other place he could go - she raced back out of the door without bothering to pull it closed behind her. She wanted to see him. Needed to see him.

  Beneath his building, she paused, shielding her eyes from the bright light. He was there, right where he’d always been, in all his gargoyle glory. She smiled. All these people walking by and none of them realized he was alive.

  She jumped up and waved to grab his attention.

  He didn’t move.

  She jumped again.

  Nothing.

  He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t pretending. He was rock. Solid, hard rock. Just like the lump that had formed in her gut.

  She raced towards the building, flew past the doorman who tried to stop her from entering and made it into the elevator. The other occupants stepped back, stared at her. She caught a glimpse of herself in the polished metal doors - hair tangled, eyes wild. She looked like someone who’d missed her meds, someone who believed in gargoyles.

  She ignored the thought, darted from the elevator as soon as the doors opened. The room that led to Mord’s ledge was empty. It was easy to get in, to slide up the window and crawl along the ledge.

  He was there - beautiful, perfect. She whispered his name, reached out to touch him, and felt a hand wrap around her ankle. She heard a woman’s voice shrieking, a man speaking softly as he pulled her in off the ledge. “You’re fine now. Someone is coming.”

  But she wasn’t fine. They didn’t understand. She wasn’t fine because Mord wasn’t with her. She was alone. Again.

  Months had passed. Months filled with medications and doctors, telling Kami gargoyles were just statues, that her vivid fantasies had caused her to somehow crash her car and cause a terrible accident that had almost killed a man.

  She’d taken to walking the streets at night, staring up at the building, at Mord. He was always there, never moved.

  The doctors were right. He wasn’t alive, but it couldn’t have all been a dream. It couldn’t have.

  The wind whistled past Mord’s face. Another night, awake, alone. He’d travelled the city, searched to see if other gargoyles were awake, if the c
himeras were awake. None were. He was alone.

  His search for the sorcerer had also been futile.

  Then he’d turned his attention to the Mason. The man had a warehouse full of statues, each intricately crafted, each a mix of man and beast. An army of chimeras, but locked in stone. Mord had walked among them in the deep of night. None had stirred. The Mason had to be building a force of chimeras, planning to use Kami to bring them to life. Was he alone? Or were there others in on his plan?

  If Mord hadn’t been so fixated on saving Kami, he might know the answer. But he’d reacted to the danger to Kami with no thought of saving the one man that might have the information he needed to keep the world safe - The Mason. He’d risked everything for one human: Kami. It couldn’t happen again.

  He gazed down, only his eyes lowering. Kami was below on the street, watching again. Every night she’d watched, appeared at erratic intervals. She needed to give up, move on. He couldn’t be with her. A part of him said he couldn’t even afford to allow her to live. Yes, she could bring the gargoyles back to life, but she could also be used against them. If she were dead, that risk would be gone.

  At first he’d told himself he’d use her to awaken the gargoyles, then eliminate her once the job was done. But he knew that was a lie. He knew if he allowed himself to get that close to her, he’d weaken and think of another reason to spare her. But as long as the chimeras remained asleep, all would be well. Which brought him back to killing Kami.

  But he was weak, couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Night after night, she appeared, as if to torture him. And night after night he fought the same battle inside himself, between his head and his heart; the latter, an organ he hadn’t had to deal with before meeting Kami. Which one would win?

  “One last time,” Kami told herself through her tears. She’d bribed a member of the cleaning crew, bought her way back into the building, and out onto the ledge. The crew was gone now, everyone was gone. Even the streets were empty.

  There was no one here but her and Mord.

  She inched forwards. Ran her hand down his arm. He was cold, still, stone.

  She was here. Mord tried to stop his heart from beating, tried to stay in his stony state. If he revealed that he was alive, he’d have to make the choice. Do his duty and kill her? Or go with his heart and let her live?

  Her hand grazed his arm, warm and supple. His body tingled, the feeling of life flowing into him almost painful. He gritted his teeth. Why wouldn’t she give up?

  “Mord?” Her voice caught. “Mord?” A whisper. Her fingers trailed down his side.

  He kept his gaze firm — straight ahead.

  “I love you.” She pressed a kiss against his shoulder, started to move backwards, towards the window.

  He’d won. She’d given up.

  Then he heard it, a sob. He felt the moisture she’d left behind on his skin.

  She was crying, over him.

  He tried to resist, tried to stop himself, but couldn’t. Couldn’t deny any longer that the magic wasn’t temporary. It had changed him. He loved this human, enough that he would risk anything, everything, to keep her safe.

  He stepped forwards, off of the ledge. He spread his wings behind him and hovered behind Kami. “I love you too.”

  She froze, twisted too quickly, and fell. But Mord was there to catch her. Just like he would always be.

  The Lighthouse Keeper and His Wife

  Sara Mackenzie

  She placed her hands on the man’s face. He lay still, his flesh cold, giving the impression of death. But the Sorceress knew better. Beneath the chill flowed warm blood, just waiting for the moment to spark into life. His eyelashes flickered. She began to chant the words of waking, her voice soft at first and then rising, growing louder and louder until it echoed about the high-vaulted cathedral. The incense-laden air vibrated.

  His eyes opened, one as dark and shining as jet, the other dull and sightless. There was a scar running down his cheek where the ship’s wooden spar had caught him, blinding him and tearing his flesh. He should have died in the storm that wrecked his ship, rather than later, when he was the lighthouse keeper, trying to save drowning passengers from a sinking steamer.

  “Why have you woken me?” Zek asked, his voice ragged from disuse.

  “Because you have work to do,” the Sorceress said sternly, her blue eyes burning bright, her long red hair loose about her face.

  He struggled to sit up. His dark hair was tied back in a seaman’s pigtail, his skin tanned from all weathers. This was a man who’d spent his life outside in the wind and the sun, and who relished pitting himself against the elements.

  He knew who she was: the Sorceress, the ruler of the between-worlds otherwise known as purgatory. It was her practice to choose certain mortals, those she considered had not reached their full potential during their original lifetime and, when the time was right, return them to the living world for a second chance.

  “I am sending you back to the mortal world,” she told him now. “You must put right the wrong. All those lives lost. You must save them and at the same time help me to capture the monster responsible.”

  He looked up at her, his one good eye glittering in the candlelight, the other dead and empty. She waited for him to argue with her, tell her he couldn’t possibly do any such thing. But he surprised her.

  “If I am to help you, I want something in return.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “I am giving you a second chance at life and you ask for more?”

  “There is someone I have to find. My wife, Isabel. I long for her. I ache for her. Will you help me find her again?”

  The Sorceress smiled. “Ah, you speak of love. Or is it lust?”

  He smiled back, but she knew his heart was racing.

  “She has been reborn into another time, into another body. Her life with you is over. There are some rules that even I cannot break, Zek.”

  “I don’t care about the rules. I want my wife back again. I will only help you if you grant my wish.”

  “I could send you into the pit for eternity.” Her voice was a growl. “Obey me, mortal.”

  Most men would have backed down, but not this one. “Not without her.”

  The Sorceress smiled; his reckless courage amused her. She had chosen well because he would need both those attributes to complete her task. “I will find your wife and you will help me capture the monster.”

  Zek knew he’d won. He bowed his head, relieved to take his gaze from the Sorceress’ terrible beauty. When he looked again there was no one there. The flapping of wings made him look up. There was a large bird soaring into the shadows. A moment later the chapel was empty and he was alone.

  Moving slowly, he swung his legs over the edge of the tomb and dropped to his feet on the marble floor. Memory was returning to him, slow and creaky, like a wheel that hasn’t been used for a very long time. There had been a storm. No, two storms. One had taken his ship, and the second many, many lives. He died trying to save them, knowing it was his fault, the voice of the monster ringing in his ears.

  The bird was back. He could hear the flapping of its wings getting louder, and just for a moment he saw the Sorceress’ face where the bird’s should have been - her blue eyes like daggers. There was a rush and groan of air, and then he was whirling and tumbling.

  Back into the mortal world.

  Back into his own past.

  Izzy was dreaming again. The wind was blowing hard against her face, and she clung to the man beside her, afraid she’d fall. Below the lighthouse the waves were crashing against the cliffs, the spume flung high, wetting her skin and stinging her eyes.

  “There!” he shouted, his arm pointing.

  The lights of the passenger steamer were barely visible through the storm. Izzy imagined the rocks, sharp and murderous, waiting beneath the roiling sea. All those lives in danger, and it was only the lighthouse keeping them safe. Zek’s lighthouse. She was so proud of him.

 
He turned to her as if she’d spoken aloud, and she pressed into his arms, feeling the wet warmth of his skin against hers, the sigh of his breath in her ear. “Isabel . . .”

  Behind him something unimaginable was rising from the waves. Like a mountain it slid from the sea, water sloughing off slick, blue flesh, tangled white hair strewn with kelp, a face full of fury, broad shoulders, a barrel torso marked with strange designs and, instead of legs, a tail like a fish. A mythical monster from the deep. She had no words for it, but Zek did.

  “Neptune.”

  The light from the lighthouse went out.

  And that was when Izzy woke, lying dazed in her bed, reminding herself that the dream would pass. It always did.

  A finger brushed her cheek, warm, gentle, the fingertip callused. Definitely male. “Isabel . . .”

  Izzy froze. No one called her Isabel, not even her family or her ex-husband. Well, there was someone, but he was just a dream, a fantasy figure, he didn’t exist.

  The man who didn’t exist touched her face again, this time with his lips. She felt him ease his body onto the bed beside her. Izzy told herself she should be afraid, she should scream for help, but she wasn’t afraid. This was a man she knew as well as herself, and she didn’t want to scream. In fact there was a humming of desire deep inside her that was growing by the second. Dreaming of making love was all very well, but it was nothing to the real thing.

  “Isabel,” he murmured.

  She didn’t open her eyes. Keeping them closed meant the fantasy was still that - a fantasy - and if she opened them and he wasn’t really there at all, Izzy knew she’d be shattered. “Zek?” she breathed, reaching up. His face, dear God, she could feel his face. The patch over his eye, the thin line of his smiling mouth, the way his hair was tied back at the nape.

  He kissed her fingers, then her lips, and the humming of desire turned into a roar. “Open your eyes,” he commanded. “I’m here. I’m real.”