by Ruby Ryan
As we left, I definitely got the impression that it wasn't concern for my stomach that made the others leave. Even Andy seemed in a rush to leave the chamber, casting aside all concern for me as I went through the crevice.
I took up the rear, and as I approached the exit to the chamber I slipped and fell.
My knee hit the wall hard, sending jolts of pain down my leg. I hissed, then jumped back as a foot-wide section of the wall fell away! It crumbled to the ground, kicking up dust into the air.
"Hey guys?" I said, but nobody heard me.
And before I could follow them, the blue mote of light returned.
It came from the part of the wall that had broken. There was a small pocket of air inside the rock, now cut in half by the piece falling away. A rock inside the pocket glowed blue, exactly as I had seen before, but now close-up. But that didn't make any sense; if it had been inside the rock I wouldn't have been able to see it before.
The air pressure sensation was back, but instead of making me nauseous it pulled me toward the rock. And my own curiosity demanded I see what it was, so I reached out and picked it up.
It wasn't a rock, but a stone carving. I immediately recognized it as a gryphon, the mythical animal that was half-lion, half-eagle. The details carved into it were incredible: individual talons on the feet sticking out sharply, and the bumps of feathers all along the back. The wings were folded against its body, but one of the joints poked up above the back.
And the light...
The source came from a sapphire set in the gryphon's neck, just between the shoulder blades. It was a round cut stone, too perfect to be natural, every facet and face designed with artistry.
The entire figurine fit into the palm of my hand, but felt like it weighed much more.
And then the light dimmed on the gem, returning the room to darkness.
Suddenly conscious that I was alone, I shoved it in my pocket and flicked my flashlight back on. I scrambled into the gash within the rock, following my friends out of the caves.
I was excited to tell them about it, but as I exited into daylight I hesitated. A strange mood had fallen over the group. Everyone seemed quiet, and brooding. But the object in my pocket was so unique, I wanted to pull it out and show them...
"Bout time," Roland said, sneering at me. "Thought you'd stopped to vomit some more."
And then the moment was gone, and they were peeling off their gear and getting into the jeep.
As we drove back to town, the thought of telling them became less and less ideal. Roland would tease me about it, and call me Samantha like he used to. The others might not believe it'd come from the cave. And even if they did, they might insist I turn it in to the locals.
Honestly, that's what I should do. If the object was ancient, it was probably a crime to steal it and take it home. The boyscout in me knew what was the right thing to do.
But it felt like it belonged to me. And the thought of giving it away filled me with strange pain.
As soon as we were home, I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. The figurine was even more incredible in better lighting; the details in the feathers and body was extraordinary for a piece of stone, and even though the gem no longer glowed--had it ever really glowed at all?--it was as beautiful as any I'd ever seen. And it was so large that it had to be fake.
Fake. That's what my mind latched onto: this was some trinket from a gift shop tourists bought. Hell, a tourist had probably been the one to lose it in the cave.
Yeah, that made the most sense. And of course telling the others would just make me look stupid. I pictured Roland laughing his ass off and explaining how he'd seen a shelf full of them at the airport gift shop. Definitely best to keep it to myself.
When I left the bathroom, I found Orlando waiting for me just outside the door.
"Well?" he said expectantly.
I gave a start. "Uhh... what?"
"You practically sprinted in here," he explained, sniffing the air. "You still throwing up? Or should I be worried about food poisoning from breakfast?"
"Ahh." I ran my hand through my hair. "Nah, I thought I was gunna be sick again. False alarm."
Orlando hesitated, and for a moment looked like he was going to ask me something, but then shook his head. "Glad to hear it pal."
I kept the figurine in my pocket while we relaxed in the sun on the beach, and again when we went out to dinner. It was a warm comfort against my hip, making me feel safer with its presence. And when we went to bed I kept it with me, underneath the pillow like some teenager's diary.
We all had different flights out the next morning, so we said our goodbyes at the villa, exchanging hugs and kind words and assurances that we should do this again sometime. But as I took my taxi to the airport, I knew they were just words. We were all too old, and too spread out around the country to make this a regular thing. It was sad, but I'd probably never see any of them again.
When I got to the airport, I stopped in the bathroom to transfer the figurine to my carry-on bag. It was probably my imagination, but even having it that much farther away from me, the bag on my shoulder instead of my pocket, filled me with unease.
Nobody said anything as it went through the metal detector, and then I hurried to the first bathroom I saw on the other side and transferred it back.
As soon as the plane was in the air, I slid it out of my pocket and held it between my legs, holding it so that nobody could see.
It felt right in my hands. Like it was meant to be held, not kept away, whatever that meant. A silly thought, but it forced its way into my head nonetheless. I was transfixed by it, every detail and carving, the legs and talons and even the curling tail that looked like it would snap off if I wasn't careful.
Mountain climbers carried totems with them for good luck. A tradition started by the Nepalese Sherpas, I think. I'd always laughed whenever my colleagues did the same, dismissing it as a silly superstition. But as illogical as it was, I found myself understanding it then.
I finally put it away, feeling sad as I did so. I replaced it in my hands with my cell phone, which had cached a week's worth of emails in Belize that I'd avoided reading. Most were unimportant, stuff I'd been CC'd on without needing my real attention, but I had a cluster from my boss. We were setting up a new radio array in the Rockies, and the install dates had been moved up by two weeks. He and the rest in our team were already up in the mountains beginning the construction, and I would need to join them as soon as possible.
I did some mental math: if I landed at noon, and went straight home to change the clothes in my pack (Belize was about 100 degrees warmer than where I'd be going) I could be on the road at 1:00. I didn't know the exact location of the array site, but it was in the range near Mount Antero, three hours or so outside Denver. I could be there before sundown, which meant I wouldn't be able to help on any of the work today. Might as well relax and drive up first thing in the morning.
I shook my head. My boss wouldn't accept that; if he said to be there ASAP, he meant ASAP, even if I couldn't help on the array itself. Plus there was programming work that could be done at night. Best to head up there as soon as I had a changed bag.
And as I scrolled through my emails, I saw that my boss had forward the email to me half a dozen times, insisting I confirm my arrival time. I considered paying $49.99 for the in-flight Wi-Fi to respond to him, but decided that was stupid. I would email him back the moment we landed.
No, I would call him. That would set his mind at ease better.
My hand went to my side automatically, resting against the figurine there. I didn't realize what I was doing until I felt it; I had to fight the impulse to pull it out and stare at it some more.
"You'd better bring me luck in the mountains," I muttered to myself, counting down the minutes until I landed.
2
EZRA
I was a thief. And it was good at it.
I stood in the baggage claim of the airport, slouching as if I were bored. The c
ardboard sign in my hand had "Joziah" written on it in black sharpee. That's Joziah with a Z. I'd learned to always use some weird spelling to keep people from approaching me, thinking I was there for them.
People didn't care who came and went in a baggage claim. It was downright normal in airports, a constant flux of bodies passing through and meeting relatives and having their own little mini-reunions in front of the world. I could walk up and take a suitcase from the carousel if I wanted. Hell, I could plant a bomb! I always wondered why you didn't see that happen more often: all a terrorist had to do was double-park, walk inside, and add their bomb-bag to the others on the belt. Nobody would ever know. There were too many people, too many bags, too much chaos.
But anyways. Stealing bags off the carousel was a good way to get caught. That shit would get picked up by the cameras, and as soon as someone filed a missing bag report my crime would be discovered and my description plastered across every security desk in every airport in the Midwest.
Not only that, but suitcases usually only held clothes. Good for a hundred bucks at the thrift shop, especially if I pinched one with expensive suits inside, but still a lot of trouble for a payday. It was sometimes worth doing as my last pinch before heading to a new city, if I spotted one that was especially juicy.
But I'd only just arrived in Denver, and I had dollar bills in my eyes.
"Joziah?" I called out, looking around as if trying to find my fare. A few people glanced over, but none approached.
Nobody was coming out of the security doors, and I was getting impatient, so I meandered over to the baggage carousel to my right. People are idiots, you know? They had the entire damn loop to stand around and wait for their bag, but everyone crowded and crammed around the part where the bags came out. Nobody could wait the ten fucking seconds for their bag to make its way around the loop. Which was good for me, and bad for them.
A pink hardcover suitcase slid down the ramp.
"Oh, excuse me!" I said, squeezing through the crowd. I snipped the wallet out of the dress pants of the guy in the back, who never even looked over. I turned myself sideways as I jockeyed for position, sliding an iPhone out of another man's coat pocket. Leaning forward to grab the tag of the suitcase, I shook my head in a show of disappointment and pushed away from the crowd.
When I was a safe distance away, I moved my loot to the matrix of pockets I'd sewn into the inner lining of my heavy coat, each pocket spaced out so as not to appear too bulky to anyone looking at me.
Two pockets out of ten filled within the first few minutes. Not bad.
The security doors were opening and a trickle of newly-landed passengers were making their way into the area, so I walked back to where the other drivers stood and held up my sign again.
Jackpot. This looked like the flight I'd been waiting for: the direct from Las Vegas, faces exhausted and eyes still bloodshot from the casino. Vegas flights were the whales of my industry: lots of people carrying cash, who hadn't had a chance to stop by a Las Vegas bank before catching the early flight out of the city. And nobody trusted thick bundles of cash to their checked bag, or even a carry-on. That shit needed to stay at your hip, where it was warm and safe.
I watched the crowd stream through, looking for a mark.
Most of them walked straight toward the exit; very few made their way to the carousel on the left to get a bag. That was disappointing; it was harder to pinch a wallet from someone who was moving. Hard, but not impossible.
Fortunately, I liked a good challenge. It made the payday all that more satisfying.
And then I saw him. One guy with dirty blond hair and his phone to his ear, not paying any attention. He had a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and wore khaki shorts and a T-shirt, which showed off an intricate tattoo sleeve on his arm.
And his right pocket held a bulge that was thicker than any wallet.
I strode forward with malicious purpose, stretching on my tip-toes to pretend like I was identifying someone farther back. My mark walk to the right, and I set a diagonal path that would intercept him before he reached the door.
"Joziah?" I called, looking in a different direction than the one I was walking.
Twenty feet. Ten. The mark's loot was in the pocket facing me, and he was so engrossed with his phone call that he wasn't paying attention to anything around him, bumping into people without so much as a second glance.
I darted forward, still not looking in his direction, and bumped into him from the side.
My fingers slid in, closed around the prize, and came out smoothly.
"Sorry," I muttered, already moving past him and beyond with my momentum. I didn't look back, but I could tell the idiot barely noticed.
But my elation at a successful pinch faded as I ran my fingers over the object in my pocket. It wasn't cash, or a wallet. It was cold and heavy, like stone, with bumps all over it. I fondled it as I held my sign in the other hand, keeping up the facade while I returned to my original stakeout place.
I turned away from the crowd to move the object from one pocket to another, and couldn't help but steal a glance.
It was a stone carving, about four inches long. Some bird-cat thing, with wings poking off the back and feathers etched into the stone. My heart sank; all that effort for some trinket from a gift shop.
Until I turned it over.
I knew gems. You had to in my business: being able to identify gemstones at-a-glance was critical, especially whether they were real or fake. The sapphire set into the stone carving was round cut, and larger than one of my fingernails. 10 carats, my brain estimated. Give or take.
And it was real. As real as real could get.
Fake sapphires were brighter than this, a lighter color of blue. This one was dark, and I could see imperfections deep within the stone. I didn't have time to perform a breath test--fogging up the gem and seeing how long it would take to clear--but I didn't need to.
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
I wanted to stare at it longer, but I made myself tuck it into one of the hidden pockets inside my coat. Stick with the plan, Ezra. Thieves got caught by being stupid.
As I turned back around with my sign, looking for a new mark, I tried to calculate the value of such a gem. The largest sapphire I'd seen a thief sell was Jamie's 5.7 carat stone, back in Argentina. She'd gotten it appraised for close to $50,000, though she ended up fencing it for half that.
And if the value rose exponentially...
Holy fuck. Calm down, Ezra. Be cool.
Suddenly, it didn't feel safe to stay here. I was hyper-aware of the carving in my pocket, like it was pulling on me with unnatural gravity. Sticking around with this much value in my pocket was stupid.
And I hadn't survived this long as a thief by being stupid.
It was time to leave.
But as I turned to go, I caught sight of the mark across the room. He stood near the next exit door over, looking above the crowd.
Looking directly at me.
I whirled in the opposite direction and tossed my cardboard sign in the trash.
Gryphons vs Dragons
Emerald Gryphon
Sapphire Gryphon (Coming Soon!)
Ruby Gryphon (Coming Soon!)
If you're looking for steamy shifter romance with a more science-fiction bend, you'll absolutely LOVE Karak Contact, the first book in my Alien Shapeshifters series. Click here to buy it, or keep reading for a special preview!
*
Where did you come from, Eric?
A mysterious satellite crash. A late-night car accident. And a stranger who looks shockingly identical to the man on the front of Joanna's book.
After hitting Eric with her truck in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness, Joanna has no choice but to take him back to her cabin. But his wounds heal suspiciously fast, and she begins to suspect his concussion is covering up some deeper secret.
She never would have guessed the truth.
When she discovers the man she's taken to bed is act
ually Arix, a shapeshifter alien from the Karak Dominion of Planets, it's all she can do not to run away in terror. But UFO hunters who witnessed the spacecraft crash begin snooping around her cabin, forcing Joanna and Arix to find a solution that keeps them both safe--which leads to them making an impossible, and downright crazy, decision.
KARAK CONTACT is the first book in the new Alien Shapeshifters romance series. It's a full-length, standalone science fiction alien shifter romance novel, with steamy love scenes that will leave you fantasizing about your own first contact. And of course, a guaranteed Happily Ever After!
1
ARIX
I do not know where I am.
Memory returned slowly; an alarming realization in itself. As photons held together with complex magnetics, we did not damage easily. Certainly not to the point of amnesiac degradation. But something was not right.
Something was abnormal.
As sight returned, I realized what had happened.
I was inside my ship, which had been damaged. The cockpit was in a chaotic state around me, electronics and metal alloys ripped open and damaged. There was gravity under me, not the artificial sensation generated by my ship but something foreign.
Something new.
I was in stasis during the trip, to be revived in upper orbit of my target planet. The sixth planet on my tour, the final one--and least promising--of the tour before returning home. A planet devoid of intelligent life, with only a quadrupedal species driven by urge and need. Primal beings that had yet to develop tools with metal or even stone.
Yet there I was, on the planet surface. It was abnormal, and abnormal was usually bad.
I used my mind to disable my magnetic restraints, allowing my photon-body to float toward the shattered plastic window of the cockpit. Beyond, the world on which I had landed was unfamiliar to the point of terrifying.