The Avatars Series: Books 1-3

by Blackwood, Lisa

  The hands squeezed gently as Gregory’s voice washed over her. Calming, soothing, peaceful. “I’m here. My strength is yours. Think of your tree growing tall, casting her gentle lacy shade throughout your glade. Your escape from the world. A place to rest and heal. A dryad’s haven. Remember what it is to be a dryad.”

  Even if he had spoken in a language she didn’t understand, she would still take comfort in his voice. The tension in her shoulders and belly eased.

  In truth, she knew no more about being a dryad than she did about being a gargoyle. But forests and glades, the scent of loam, the sharp sweetness of sap, and the ability to feel the land—all those things were a natural part of her existence. When she opened her eyes, her vision came into focus. Lights and sounds returned to their normal levels. She released a ragged sigh and tilted her head up toward Gregory.

  Muscular and towering to a lofty eight and a half feet, he dwarfed her smaller frame like a great hulking shadow. His wings, even folded against his back, arched high above his shoulders, framing his horns where they brushed the ceiling in two long elegant spirals. His fearsome exterior housed a gentle heart, as well as the other half of her soul. When he’d first explained they shared one soul between them, that they were the mortal Avatars of the Divine Ones, she’d been doubtful, but no longer.

  Her heart still pumped with fear, but whatever was happening to her, she knew they would face it together for they were one being in two bodies, far stronger together than alone. She loved him unequivocally. There was no questioning it. She only wished fate had not been so cruel to ban them from a more physical side of their love, but it was impossible for many reasons, not the least of which was their difference in forms.

  “Hmm.” Gregory leaned forward and sniffed along her shoulder. “Entirely too close. The tight, narrow confines of the kitchen is no place to learn to shape shift.” His nostrils flared as he inhaled a second, deeper breath. With a snort, he shook himself, his thick black mane flying in all directions. The shiver continued down his body, morphing into a full body stretch as it worked its way to the tip of his tail.

  “Yes, don’t break the china,” Gran injected with a chuckle. “You know how much I hate shopping.”

  Gran’s lighthearted banter dispelled some of the nervous tension, and Lillian was able to slow her breathing into something resembling a normal pace. Sweat trickled down her back and along her temples, but otherwise she was unharmed. However, something in Gregory’s comment about the narrow confines of the kitchen made her think he downplayed the danger. She doubted he was worried about the kitchen, more likely he was concerned about the other people in the house.

  As if Gregory knew her thoughts, which he probably did, he leaned closer until his muzzle brushed her hair and whispered, “Later, we’ll go into the forest and I’ll assess your abilities and teach you control.”

  Lillian only hoped it was half as easy as he made it sound.

  With a rattle of dishes, Gran brought over a steaming plate of French toast and warmed maple syrup. Next came a plateful of steaming muffins slathered thickly with butter and an assortment of jams and jellies to pick from.

  “Let me help.” Lillian stood and skirted the table. Guilt pricked her consciousness, if a tad bit belatedly. She’d sat staring at her cooling coffee, oblivious to everything going on around her when she could’ve as easily spent the time helping Gran with breakfast.

  “No need, dear,” Gran said with a snort. “The day I can’t whip together a quick breakfast will be my first day in the afterlife.”

  Regardless, Lillian helped set the table, laying out settings for three even though Gregory disdained cutlery, preferring to use his three inch claws. Surprisingly, he was a dainty eater for an eight foot behemoth with wings, claws, and horns.

  The mindless routine of minutia helped Lillian conquer the last vestiges of the strange wildness surging through her blood. Calmer, she returned to her seat next to Gregory. She’d barely sat down on the tall stool before the warm weight of Gregory’s tail snaked its way around her waist. The spade-shaped tip landed heavily in her lap. With a chuckle at his predictability, she obliged him with a firm pat before turning her attention to her food.

  “So,” Lillian said around a mouthful of French toast. “Let’s talk about what we’ve all been avoiding since Gregory and I first awoke.” She didn’t bother looking up from her food. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gregory’s right ear swing in her direction, but he didn’t move otherwise, remaining hunched over his meal, eating with the single-mindedness of a hungry male.

  Waving a butter knife in Gregory’s direction, Gran eyed the gargoyle with a smile large enough it crinkled the skin at the corners of her eyes. “First off—no more wandering around buck ass naked in gargoyle form.”

  Gregory glanced first at Gran and then down at his attire, which consisted of his usual beaded loincloth and the wrist and arm bands that Lillian had been quick to learn were anything but vane ornamentation. His ears swung forward in question then flattened along his horns in confusion, or more likely, annoyance. Gregory could be a little touchy about his appearance. And she was unsure of Gran’s line of thought herself. If they were to compare prudish personality traits, Lillian was certain she’d come out ahead as far more prudish than her grandmother.

  A full-bellied laugh escaped Gran. “If you two could see your expressions. I haven’t lost my mind or suddenly turned into a dried-out prune. If our little town was as sleepy as it used to be, I’m sure Gregory could walk through the forest in broad daylight and no one would be the wiser, but things have changed.”

  Lillian arched an eyebrow. She’d known by the underlying tension something was bothering her grandmother, something more worrying than the possibility of the Lady of Battles invading sometime in a vague and distant future.

  “In the last three months,” Gran’s voice soured. “Gods, I can’t believe it has only been three months—what must be half the membership of the RCMP, the OPP, CSIS, and a whole multitude of military acronyms, have trampled through every fen, stream, bog, glen, marsh, and game trail, all in the name of collecting evidence. With, I might add, a total disregard for the delicate balance in some of those places.” Gran snapped her teeth together. “And don’t get me started on the more recent addition of the media hounds—they’re worse than Death Hounds!”

  The memory of a Death Hound, its steel grey teeth exposed to rent and tear flashed through her mind’s eye. Somehow, she doubted simple reporters could compare to those deadly destructive, unnatural creatures, but she remained silent, levelling Gran with a probing look instead.

  Gregory bolted to his full height and bumped the table hard enough to rattle dishes. “What form of creature is this Media Hound? I sensed no immediate danger to Lillian when I first woke.”

  She laid a restraining hand on Gregory’s arm. “They…” Lillian frowned, trying to explain in a way that wouldn’t end with innocent humans being hunted by her gargoyle. “They’re…harmless truth gatherers.”

  “Harmless truth gatherers? Really?” Gran rolled her eyes. “Gregory, don’t believe one word of the rubbish that just exited my granddaughter’s lips. The media is far from harmless. The local human population saw something in the sky the night the Riven nearly sacrificed Lillian—a bright swirling power dancing in the sky. It was snapped, filmed, tweeted, Facebooked and YouTubed to every corner of the internet before we even had a hope of containing the damage.” Gran stopped to pour herself some tea. Once she’d stirred in the perfect amount of milk, she glanced back up. “If that was the worst of it, we could have mesmerized scientists and officials into believing the event was nothing more sinister than the northern lights fluctuating in response to a solar flare, or some such web of lies. That would have been within the Coven’s power. But no,” Gran said with an uncharacteristic snarl, and waved her tea spoon for emphasis. “Human authorities reached the site first, they found bodies. The bodies of cottagers and campers the Riven had fed upon and discard
ed.”

  Lillian shivered as a boy’s image surfaced from the morass of her chaotic memories—a beautiful boy, his expression cherub-like and sweet. Her stomach soured. She might never know if the Riven’s host body was a child he’d possessed or merely shape shifted to appear as one. He and his fellows were the cause of so many deaths, she doubted if the demon would have spared a child.

  “We tried to slow the humans.” Gran took a sip of her tea and then continued, “The remaining dryads, with the help of Greenborrow, Whitethorn, and the dire wolves laid false trails, but the humans were persistent. They found some of the Rivens’ remains, even in death those misbegotten monstrosities manage to threaten our people. And science—ever the nemesis of magic—may yet be our undoing. Two weeks ago, some of those images leaked onto the internet.”

  “Now, every alien and monster hunter this side of the equator has been roaming through our forests. Even our spa is full of government types…yes, we had to reopen the spa for fear our cover story of ‘renovations’ would be investigated. No small business would willingly be closed during the cash cow this episode has become.”

  Gran sighed and ran a hand through her long hair, which strangely wasn’t in her customary braid. It appeared a touch windblown, as if she hadn’t had time to attend to it yet. Maybe she hadn’t. Lillian wondered what else had happened while she and Gregory slept three months away. There had to be more. It wasn’t like Gran to be phased by government types snooping around. In all their combined history, the Clan and the Coven must have run into a similar event in the past.

  Gregory’s thoughts brushed hers, and Lillian knew he had come to the same conclusion. He stepped closer and prodded her in the shoulder with his muzzle when she didn’t immediately ask Gran what she was hiding.

  “Something else has happened to rattle you, hasn’t it?” Lillian kept her voice gentle, for whatever could disturb her grandmother had to be something truly fierce in nature.

  Gran dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “While you both were sleeping and healing, the Lady of Battles sent two of her servants to investigate why her plan hadn’t come to fruition as she expected.”

  Outwardly, only the slight twitch of his blade-tipped tail told of Gregory’s agitation. But tied so closely to him, both physically and spiritually, Lillian sensed the cold fear slicing through him, the tension in his wings, the lengthening of his dagger-like claws. She could feel his battle readiness so clearly, it could have been her own body undergoing the changes.

  “Whom did our enemy send?” Gregory’s deep voice startled Lillian back to the present, and she distanced herself from his thoughts and emotions to better focus on the problem at hand. Later, she would dwell upon her deep connection with the gargoyle.

  “The Lady of Battles sent Lillian’s parents.” Gran fidgeted with her teacup before finally looking Gregory in the eye. “Lillian’s mother we could have handled. A mere dryad, even strengthened by dark magic, shouldn’t have been too much of a challenge for the defenses the Clan and the Coven erected to keep you and Lillian safe. But the dark lady didn’t just send a dryad, she sent her pet gargoyle, too.”

  “Lillian’s father was here?” Gregory voiced it as more statement than question. Lillian sensed he was mulling something over in his thoughts, something he wasn’t willing to express just yet.

  “Yes,” Gran answered the gargoyle anyway. “He examined you at length though we couldn’t detect if he weaved some spell upon you or not. We feared he had. Then he moved on to Lillian’s hamadryad and spent even longer with her. Lillian’s mother did the same. They couldn’t have missed the fact the hamadryad was healing her and killing the demon seed the Lady of Battles had implanted within her. They must have realized when Lillian emerged from her tree, healed and whole, she would no longer be the Lady of Battles’ tool. Strangely, they both seemed pleased with what they found.”

  “Lillian’s mother uttered one sentence. ‘We mean no harm, and will return at the turning of the leaves for our daughter and her mate.’ Then they left as quickly as they came. There was no fighting or bloodshed. They simply vanished as Gregory is able to do.” Gran shook her head in remembered disbelief. “Knowing whom they serve, I didn’t believe the ‘no harm’ for a second, and I fully expected them to return with an army at their heels. Days came and went, but no army appeared. Though I still doubt the wholesomeness of their words. Their version of ‘harm’ is likely very different than mine.”

  “And mine,” Gregory rumbled in answer. “Though, if they had indeed meant us harm, I should have awoken whether I was healed or not. That I did not, and was not even aware of the visit, worries me.”

  Lillian glanced between her gargoyle and her grandmother. “We’re both healed and awake. It’s mid-august, probably a good six weeks before the leaves start to change. However, I wouldn’t put much trust in their words either—we might see my parents long before the first shades of autumn.”

  “I fear that, too.” Gran frowned down at her plate.

  A strange, conflicting mix of excitement and apprehension swamped Lillian—though she wasn’t sure which one she wanted to win. From the few scraps Gregory had revealed to her about the time before she’d come into Gran’s keeping as an eight-year-old child, Lillian sensed both her parents had loved her, but more troubling was the fact she also thought her mother worshipped the Lady of Battles without question. She didn’t trust the mother and daughter relationship to outrank sovereign and servant.

  “I will not sit idle and await Lillian’s parents return.” Gregory stretched to his full height, his horns once again brushing the ceiling, tail flicking in a slow measured pace. No doubt a reflection of his present mental state. “We prepare for war.”

  Chapter Two

  Gregory spun on his heels and headed for the kitchen’s back door, already expanding his power out before him, seeking both enemies and friends. As he saw it, his enemies had a three month’s head start, a possible fatal advantage he planned to void, starting today.

  He ducked and turned to ease his shoulders through the back door, forcing his wings tight to his back until he was through. The scraping of chairs and hurried footsteps followed him across the kitchen and outside.

  “Gregory, wait,” Lillian hissed, barely above a whisper. “Did you hear what Gran said about the authorities crawling all over the place? They might even have the eye in the sky trained on us!”

  Gregory continued without slowing. He didn’t know what an ‘eye in the sky’ was, though to judge by the mental images he gleaned from Lillian’s mind, he guessed it was probably some strange piece of metal and motors the humans used to spy upon their enemies. Presently, he had greater worries to attend to and wasn’t concerned about the humans. If they became a nuisance, he’d show them what an Avatar of the Divine Ones could bring down upon their mortal heads.

  “Gregory.” Lillian’s hiss had grown in strength. Her thoughts showed she worried humans would find him and somehow capture him. Inwardly, he smiled over her protectiveness. For whatever reason, in this life his lady was always trying to protect him. It was cute.

  Behind him, Lillian started to jog, attempting to match his longer strides. “Stop!” her voice came out strained. “Someone’s going to see you. You’re just remaining visible to vex me, aren’t you?”

  Gregory chuckled. Even angry, Lillian was adorable. Hmm, she sounded out of shape. Three months in the heart of a tree, cocooned in hamadryad magic had healed Lillian’s wounds, but he’d have to work on getting her fit again, especially if her gargoyle bloodline was going to assert itself within the coming days. She’d need to be strong, both emotionally and physically.

  He turned sharply at a fork in the garden path, taking the left branch. Within a few strides, he dropped to all fours and broke into a ground eating lope. He continued down the manicured gravel path, beyond the great cedar maze, and farther still, to where a long, narrow meadow was hemmed in on three sides by forest.

  This area had changed since
he’d last seen it. A fence now enclosed the meadow and the grass had been clipped by grazing. On the far side of the newly made paddocks, two shapes, one dark obsidian and the other dappled grey, grazed in the peaceful manner of horses. Though if these two were horses, he was a deer. Gregory snorted with humor and the two equines trotted over to his side.

  Neither showed the slightest hesitation at the fence and sailed over it, not bothering to hide their competitive natures. Upon landing, the dappled grey kicked out at his obsidian companion. Make that combative natures, Gregory acknowledged. At least not everything had changed while he’d slept in stone—the unicorn and the pooka still barely tolerated each other.

  Gregory frowned at the two thoughtfully. It wasn’t like them to live in a pasture, and certainly not in line of sight of each other. “Is there a particular reason you’re living on this small parcel of land?” He paused then added, “Together. Pretending to be mortal horses?” The last he found to be the more perplexing question.

  The unicorn tossed his forelock out of his eyes as he trotted closer. He halted a stride away and arched his neck until he could butt Gregory in the chest. While the unicorn nuzzled him for a scratch, he felt a slight tug on his magic—which was the real reason for the affectionate greeting. With a sigh and another chuckle, Gregory complied with both requests, both physical and magical, giving a good rub along the unicorn’s neck and withers while allowing a small trickle of his magic to flow into the unicorn.

  A quark of fate had allowed the unicorn, who had been trapped in the form of a man at the time, to steal a small portion of Gregory’s blood when they had first met. Just the tiniest sip, mere drops really, had allowed the unicorn to partake of his vast power. The unicorn, cocky beast that he was, had taken a great risk with his life when he gambled Gregory wouldn’t command the same power to incinerate him on the spot.