A tall, elegantly boned man raised a horn above his head. He met her eyes across the distance. She’d never seen such old eyes in a young face. One slightly pointed ear peeked out between his hair.
“We Hunt for honour.” He gave the horn a little shake. “We Hunt for duty. We Hunt for life.”
“We Hunt!” the crowd screamed back.
“Ride until dawn greys the sky.”
“We Hunt.”
“Let the Wild Hunt ride until the moon is long vanished.” He raised the horn to his lips.
With the first blast, a haunting note sounded through Lillian’s soul. The crowd roared. “We ride.” Lillian screamed the words out along with them. Then again, hard enough to hurt her throat.
The brown-furred hounds bayed madly, yipping and barking as they darted through the crowd and headed for the loading bay doors. Outside, magic pooled in little eddies, hanging above the ground like fog. It hadn’t vanished as she’d thought.
It was waiting for the Hunt. Like a moonlit path paved with white stone, magic gathered, forming into a silver road. She held her breath as people vaulted upon the backs of ponies, wolves, and elk.
Gran was already astride a white stag, her quarterstaff balanced across her lap.
“Shall we Hunt?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lillian replied. “Though I don’t know what I’ll be hunting. Or what I’ll be riding.” Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She glanced around, and most everyone else had already exited through the loading doors.
“We Hunt and gather the magic we summoned from the Magic Realm. And never in my lifetime have I seen such bounty as what you and the gargoyle summoned.”
Lillian didn’t reply, too embarrassed by what her grandmother and the rest of the family had seen.
“Mount, so we can catch up with the others,” Gran said with a note of impatience.
“On what?” Lillian asked at last.
“The gargoyle will make a fine steed.” Gran looked at Gregory and raised an eyebrow. “And he looked willing enough to let you ride him earlier.”
Lillian’s jaw dropped at her grandmother’s words. Gran urged the stag into a trot, forestalling questions.
Chapter Eleven
When the building emptied of everyone else, Lillian turned to Gregory in time to catch a blur of shadows and light as he resumed his true form. After he dropped to all fours, he came to her side and nudged her hand with his muzzle. She held her breath, frozen in place, uncertain. At her sign of reluctance, he moved forward until her fingers rested in his mane. Then, shifting his wings away from his sides, he exposed his back so she could sling her leg over, just like mounting a horse.
She frowned at the invitation.
One week of misery, which her grandmother had called riding lessons, had been enough to convince Lillian horsemanship wasn’t one of her skills, and riding gargoyle-back probably wasn’t one, either. She most definitely preferred her own two feet on the ground. The horse had liked it better that way, too.
But here she was, eyeing her gargoyle’s broad back with mild curiosity.
Riding bareback. On a gargoyle. In a skirt. Oh, boy.
Of all the times not to have a pair of comfortable, old jeans. Stupid dryads and their lack of common sense. After a moment, she counted herself as one of the stupid dryads. In the future, she was going to flat out ignore anything they said. She didn’t care how boorish she appeared.
Apparently tired of waiting, Gregory wrapped his tail around her waist and dragged her closer. The nervous fluttering in her stomach revved up another notch.
No other alternatives presented themselves, so she swung a leg over his back and settled in place. She gripped his sides with her thighs and knees to hold herself on. It still felt like she would fall off at his first step. To hide her trepidation, she pretended nothing was wrong as she leaned forward to circle her arms around his neck. When she stretched out along his spine, he folded his wings back into place.
His flight muscles made a nice cushion, and his back wasn’t bony like she’d half expected. Perhaps riding gargoyle-back wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as she’d imagined. The heat of his body sank into her bones and the subtle scent of gargoyle surrounded her. Her jaw unclenched, and the nervous fluttering in her stomach eased. She rested her head against his mane. It was easier than straining to look up and around. Inhaling his forest-and-musky-male scent relaxed her another degree.
“Try to find your balance,” Gregory rumbled. “I’ll start slow and you might remember the way of it. I used to carry you on my back when you were born into a form lacking wings.” His gait changed as he moved sideways and then in circles, shifting his weight from side to side as he switched directions and speeds.
“Okay,” she mumbled into his mane, “I still haven’t fallen off, so I suppose that’s a good sign.”
Gregory changed directions sharply. She squeaked in alarm when she slid sideways. His wings steadied her while she regained her balance.
“Not funny. Warn me next time you do that.” She swatted his shoulder without much force.
He chuckled, shaking her insides with the movement.
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“Perhaps a little. Returning your gift of mischief during the dance.”
Lillian blushed. “I wasn’t the one who completely lost it.”
“I did not ‘lose it.’ If I had, our positions would now be reversed.”
She laughed even as she flushed hotter. “You’re a terrible, terrible gargoyle.”
“Blame the dance for its wicked influence.” He chuckled and lengthened his stride into a lope. She tightened her grip on his neck, not knowing what else to hold. Her death grip didn’t seem to bother him, and he took off at a bone-jarring run as he zigzagged his way across the vast floor space. She kicked off her shoes and curled her toes under his belly. After a few moments her muscles grew used to his rolling strides and she started to flow with the motion. Her lips curled up at the corners. She might get so she liked riding on the back of a gargoyle.
The gaping maw of the loading doors loomed up ahead of her. Beyond them, the strange and wild night waited. Almost clear of the building, Gregory flexed his muscular hindquarters and launched himself off the edge of the loading bay, out into the night. She’d thought he’d run fast before. She’d been wrong.
Her stomach plummeted each time his talons struck the ground. Such power. It felt like he floated in the air a brief moment between each stride. Nothing like riding a horse, more like harnessing the power of one of the big cats. Laughter bubbled up, followed by intense joy.
Gregory’s long strides ate up the ground between them and the distant Wild Hunt. The night was soon filled with the baying of hounds and the cadence of Gregory’s rapid footfalls.
They caught up with the rest of the Hunt on the outskirts of the forest. Spreading his wings, the gargoyle soared across the expanse of gravel road in one leap. A cry of surprise broke from her lips. Coming to the ground again, he resumed his rapid pace. She was about to beg him to fly again, but he’d already overtaken the vanguard of the Hunt and slowed his pace to come alongside Gran, her elk, and three silent dire wolves.
“What took you so long? Lillian give you a hard time?” Gran asked the gargoyle.
Gregory grunted in response.
“I figured she’d be more agreeable to riding if no one else was around to watch her first attempt,” Gran said with a grin, then saluted the gargoyle with her staff. “Sorry I couldn’t teach her more of what she needed, but she’s progressing well regardless, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Gregory said as he continued to pace the elk. “Thank you for guiding and protecting her when I could not.”
“I’m right here under your nose, so to speak, you can stop talking like I’m not here,” Lillian interrupted. “And since I haven’t yet fallen from Gregory’s back and broken my fool neck, what am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”
Gran cast Lillian a sidelong loo
k and nodded her head. “In times past, the Wild Hunt had many purposes, but now need drives the Hunt. Tonight we’ll ride the borders of our domain, guiding the magic we raised into a defense against the invaders.”
Lillian nodded and glanced around. She frowned, taking note of the thinning herd of riders for the first time. “Are there fewer strange creat—uh, strangers here than started out at the warehouse?”
“Oh, young one, you forget you’re one of those ‘strange creatures.’”
With a twist of her lips, Lillian acknowledged her grandmother had a point. Her new view of the world, and her place in it, would take some getting used to. Besides, she still felt human, didn’t she?
“The Hunt separated to cover more ground,” her grandmother replied. “The wards and other traps must be reset to maintain the security of the Coven and Clan lands.”
“Why? What happened to the defenses?”
“The amount of power you and your gargoyle summoned washed away the wards we had in place, like a storm’s tidal surge erodes a beach. Such bounty we had not expected, and we did not prepare for it.”
“So, I screwed up again.”
“No, dear. You shared a great gift with us. Do not regret it. Look there” —Gran pointed at an oak directly ahead of them, where its wide branches overhung the game trail—“and watch.”
Lillian raised her head out of the gargoyle’s mane and peered through the space between his horns. Gregory and the elk came to a stop when Gran raised her quarterstaff.
With her eyes closed, Gran chanted in a low guttural tone for a full minute before shaping it into a droning melody. Her head tilted back and she pointed her staff at the tree. Then she uttered one final word.
The world exploded with light. Lillian jerked like she’d been shot. Even the gargoyle jumped at the bright flash and turned his head away. When Lillian could see again, she focused on the tree. It still stood, but it now glowed.
“Good God! What was that?” Even as Lillian asked her question, the glow coating the tree seeped into it and vanished until only a very slight afterglow remained. It looked like moonlight shone brighter on that one tree than it did its closest neighbour. Interesting.
“That is a ward,” Gran replied as the elk began to trot again. “It will prevent lesser evil from entering our lands and warn us should something nastier come our way. Now that the magic is strong again, we will know if the ward is broken or breached. Yesterday morning, when you were attacked, the wards were weakening. I believe that’s why the Riven struck when they did. They would have known tonight was the Wild Hunt, and they wished to strike us a blow before we could reestablish our protections.”
“Can you teach me?” Lillian asked.
“If that is the gargoyle’s wish.”
Gregory tensed under her. Then a tree loomed up out of the darkness, and he darted around it, skirting more deadfall before coming back to the elk’s side. Lillian frowned. There had been room enough between the trees for both the elk and Gregory. If she was not mistaken, her gargoyle was not keen on her learning to use her magic, and did not want her and Gran discussing the topic. Suspicious, Lillian reached out to Gregory’s thoughts. At the first touch she encountered his reluctance, and then like someone had severed the connection, his thoughts disappeared from her mind. She was correct. He didn’t want her to learn about magic.
“Gregory, what are you hiding from me?”
A cry broke through the night’s calm before Gregory had a chance to answer. The gargoyle skidded to a halt. Twisting his head to the right, he looked off into the direction of the yowl. More of the Hunt came to a halt. Heads turned toward the eerie call, and ears tilted, listening for the faintest sound on the night wind.
A human scream rose above the sounds of heavy breathing and the wind. The gargoyle spun back around to face Gran so fast Lillian nearly slipped off his back with the force of his turn—she would have, had his wings not caught her.
“Take my lady to safety,” Gregory ordered. “Those are Death Hounds—beasts which don’t belong here. I must kill them before they report back to their masters.”
“No,” Lillian protested as a growing sense of dread settled in her middle at the thought of her gargoyle going into battle without her. The flash of a remembered dream stood out fresh in Lillian’s thoughts, of her grandmother swinging her staff at shadows. “Gregory, I’m not letting you battle them alone.”
“You’re not going into battle with me. It’s too dangerous. I might not be able to kill them and protect you at the same time.”
“There are too many. You can’t go alone. We’ll all come with you and face whatever these things are together.” Her power stirred, uncurling within her. In that moment she knew with a certainty she couldn’t explain she needed to be there with him.
“Get off,” he ordered, his voice no longer gentle. Fear for her had made it deep and thunderous.
“I will not let you fight alone.” As stubborn as he, she clung to his back, refusing to let go.
He growled as he reached back and grabbed a mouthful of her dress. With a twist of his head, he dislodged her and Lillian crashed to the ground.
With a curse, she rolled to her feet in time to see Gregory bolting off into the shadows. She needed to follow him with every cell in her body. Her shoulder blades itched and ached. Fisting her shaking hands, she tried to ignore the burn of power pulsing in her fingertips. Gregory wasn’t the only one with magic. She had every right to fight by his side. Fear for her gargoyle filled her belly.
“Gregory is faster. If he waited for us, more people would die.” The harsh line of Gran’s mouth softened. “You must let the gargoyle do what he was born to do.”
But Gran was wrong, Lillian’s instincts screamed. More people would die this way.
She closed her eyes and sought calm. A waft of coppery blood-scent snapped her back to attention. She relaxed her hands and found she’d cut her palms. Baffled, she studied her nails. They didn’t look sharp enough to do that kind of damage.
“Lillian, hurry. Mount up behind me. We can’t stay here. It isn’t safe,” Gran said and held out a hand.
Lillian wiped her palms on the sides of her skirt. The moss absorbed the blood without leaving a mark. She scrambled up behind Gran. The elk bounded away from the direction the gargoyle had taken. Closing her eyes, Lillian sought the peaceful darkness and embraced the magic which let her “feel” the gargoyle. A faint blurry image appeared on the back of her closed eyelids. He ran through the shadows of the forest, his movements as nimble and deadly as if he hunted under the bright light of day.
* * *
When deadfall blocked the trail, Gregory bounded over it without slowing. Dirt and leaf mould scattered under his feet as he ran. At first there was only the hunt, and then Lillian linked with him, following his progress from a safer distance. She remembered that much. Pride swelled in his heart. The emotion caused him to lengthen his stride until he was flying over the ground without leaving the earth.
Battle sounded ahead.
Cries of fear and grunts of pain drifted to him on the wind. The higher-pitched snarls of Death Hounds were easiest to make out, and there were far too many of them. Closer now, he heard the gurgle of a death’s rattle. A moment later the victim hit the ground with a solid smack. More deaths echoed through the forest.
A moonlit clearing broke the darkness of the trees and he leapt into the midst of the fight. Swiping at a Death Hound’s exposed belly, he gutted the beast before it knew he was there. Talons which had matured while he’d slept in stone now delivered quick death to his enemies, unlike the first time he’d fought the Death Hounds within the Lady of Battles’ kingdom. He’d nearly failed Lillian during that rescue twelve years ago. This time he wouldn’t let anyone or anything harm Lillian.
He grabbed a beast with ginger-and-black-coloured fur by the throat and gave it a savage twist. Claws raked at him, but he fought on—uncaring as long as he took out his enemies before they killed again. With a
second twist, the Hound’s neck broke. Gregory dropped the limp weight and moved on to the next Death Hound.
There were several more of the beasts in the clearing, each with thick black ruffs and varying earth-toned pelts. Near-perfect camouflage for a night-shrouded forest. More arrived as he watched. They far outnumbered him, but he had a few other abilities now that he hadn’t had when he was newly born. When his talons ravaged his next enemy, he released small spells of death into its bloodstream. He circled his next opponent and dispatched it in short order.
One after another, Death Hounds dropped all around him. The few beasts agile enough to avoid his talons tucked their tails tight to their bodies and fled.
When no more Hounds came for him, he surveyed his work. He was crusted with gore and dirt. But he was whole, unlike the broken bodies that lay scattered around, pale against the darker backdrop of blood. Some were Death Hounds, while others were ones he’d recently danced with. No magic could aid them now. Lillian’s sorrow touched his thoughts, and when he wished each victim’s soul a safe journey to the Spirit Realm, she joined him in silent prayer.
He was about to continue hunting for any escaped Hounds when Lillian broke away. The sharp tang of her fear shrouded her thoughts from him, and before he could calm her, she was gone.
He roared in fear and challenge. How had the Death Hounds gotten around him? He’d not detected anything near his lady’s location. Frantic, he sought to reestablish the link. Panic had taken hold of her mind and his magic slithered off her mental shields without connecting. He leapt into motion, heading back the way he’d come. With each stride, he prayed to the Divine Ones he would not be too late.
Chapter Twelve
The Avatars Series: Books 1-3 Page 12