Gargoyle's Embrace

by Delilah Devlin

“Try the door.”

  Petra climbed the stairs to the French doors. She tried the handle, but it didn’t turn. She pulled a key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock, but the mechanism didn’t unlatch. She wiggled the key and jiggled the doorknob, but still it didn’t give.

  Turned toward the garden because of his niggling fears, he said over his shoulder, “Did you lock the door when you left?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Stand back.” He climbed onto the porch and thrust his fist at the pane next to the lock. The glass didn’t shatter beneath the force.

  Her eyes widened.

  “Wait here,” he said, and stepped off the veranda, pushing down his wings to catch the air, and flew to the second floor, to the large window that looked into the library.

  Inside the library not a single glint of moonlight penetrated the murky darkness. Octavius smashed his fist against the glass with the same result. His knuckles bruised, he cupped them and swore. Perhaps after all, the demon still protected the house, which might mean that Gazsi had been unsuccessful in his quest.

  Then he heard a sound that didn’t belong—like snakes slithering in grass, hundreds of them coming from the garden behind them.

  “Octavius, did you hear that?” Petra whispered from below.

  “I did. We can’t stay here,” he said softly, stepping off the roof. He set down on the veranda, grabbed her arm, and pulled her behind him. “We have to run.”

  With fear choking the back of her throat, Petra followed in Octavius’s wake as they skirted the house.

  The mansion looked no different than it had earlier except for subtle things. The exterior gleamed as though freshly painted. No shutters hung limply on single hinges.

  Vines trailed up the sides, choking the windows. They stretched upward, lengthening even as she and Octavius raced toward the drive. But here was proof of yet another change. The paved half-circle wasn’t black tarmac, but a fine, pea-sized gravel.

  “What’s happening?” Her voice tightened with her alarm.

  Octavius didn’t slow his pace. He plunged across the road and into the dense brush on the other side. “We aren’t in the same place we were,” he said, his voice rising.

  “Again, I don’t understand,” she shouted because now the crackling, slithering noises were louder and closer.

  “Did you feel anything happen, maybe something slight when you entered the garden?”

  “No.” She shook her head even though he couldn’t see. But then she remembered the odd feel of the air. “Maybe…when I stepped off the veranda, the air brushed over me…like velvet…like I’d passed through something.”

  Pausing, Octavius glanced behind them and nodded. His expression tightened, appearing as hard and immoveable as granite. “We’ve passed into another realm. One that resides in the same place, just ‘shifted’ slightly.”

  Oddly, what he said made sense and didn’t surprise her a bit. This whole night felt like a dream. Unreal. Magical. “Another dimension?”

  His nod this time was short, sharp. “I’m not sure what resides here, but I don’t have a good feeling.”

  Nor did she. The air felt different, heavier, the sounds crisper. Petra shivered. “What can we do? How do we get back?”

  “I don’t know, but we can’t stand still. You do hear it, don’t you?”

  “That rustling?”

  “It’s growing stronger. Something comes.”

  “But where will we go?” she asked, looking around them. The noise seemed to come from every direction.

  “We let them herd us. To confront whatever has brought us here.”

  “They were coming from the back of the house when it started.”

  “Then we forge ahead.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  He gave her a crooked smile, a limp reassurance. “Of course not. But it’s a certainty we can’t allow whatever that is to catch us.”

  As if on cue, dark undulating stripes streaked around the side of the house, crackling and popping as they exploded, sending tendrils outward to cover the drive.

  Petra stared, her mind unbelieving despite the many revelations this night had already unveiled. Vines were rushing after them like long, slender snakes.

  Remembering how they’d covered Octavius’s body before, choking him, she had an inkling what they might do to something living.

  “Damn!” He grabbed her hand. “No more time to talk. Run!”

  Trusting he knew more about this other realm, she ran behind him, quickly growing winded. They passed a gravel track and entered another thatch of trees which covered a downward slope. The sound of water lapping against banks came from just ahead.

  Her foot struck a rock, and she tumbled to her knees. Octavius cursed and swung back toward her, his gaze widening on something behind her as he hefted her into his arms and continued to run down the hill.

  Petra clung tightly to his neck, pressing her face against his skin. Branches bent and slapped them. At last, he came to the edge of the river and halted. The crackling, popping sounds didn’t diminish, seemed to be closing in.

  “Do we have to swim?” she asked, raising her face. “If this is anything like where we came from, there might be alligators…”

  “We won’t have to swim.” His voice was devoid of emotion.

  She glanced up at his impassive face then followed his gaze down the river.

  Beyond the bend came the sound of something striking water, something that creaked and groaned. Then the dark silhouette of a boat, like a large flat-bottomed pirogue, came into sight. A tall figure, his shape concealed by a cloak, stood in the boat holding a long pole, which he used to push the boat along. His movements were unhurried while her heartbeats raced, hoping he’d arrive before the dark, menacing vegetation chasing after them.

  “You know him?” she asked, clamping her jaws together to keep them from chattering.

  “I’m afraid so. And I know where we are.”

  “Where?” she asked, although by his deadened tone she didn’t really want to know.

  “Home.”

  The boat slid silently through the water, gliding along the bank of the bayou before coming to a halt directly in front of them.

  Octavius cast a glance over his shoulder, calculating the odds of escaping the vines that quivered in menace at the tree line. He had yet to test their strength. Perhaps they were a bluff. His gaze rose, and he contemplated taking to the skies, but what other menace would set chase? Several winged creatures came to mind, each with its own grisly appetite.

  A soft tsking sounded from inside the dark hood.

  Octavius let out a deep breath, resigned that there really was no escaping. The boat was the most benign choice. “Hello, Charon.” He let irritation bleed into his tone as he set Petra on her feet beside him.

  “Octavius, old friend, how nice to see you.” The ferryman set his pole into a loop and held out his hand to Petra. “And you didn’t come alone this time. How delightful.”

  Petra eyed the hand extended toward her, but didn’t take it, easing closer to Octavius.

  Gratified that she’d rejected Charon’s touch, Octavius settled his arm around her shoulder. “This is Petra. She doesn’t belong here.”

  “And yet, here she stands,” Charon said, his tone wry. “Would you leave her to be consumed by those following you?”

  “No, but perhaps you could drop her elsewhere. Return her home.”

  The head beneath the deep hood shook slowly. “You understand the rules, old friend. It matters not how or why she arrives here. Only that she travels.”

  “What’s going on, Octavius?” Fear lent a quaver to Petra’s voice.

  Octavius ground his jaws together, frustrated they really had no other choice. “Step into the boat, love,” Octavius said, softening his tone. “This may be a long ride. We’ll get your situation sorted once we get across the river.” He aimed a glare at Charon. “I haven’t any gold to pay you.”

&nb
sp; Charon’s hands lifted, and he peeled back the hood and shook his head. Pale hair shivered around his head and shoulders. “That does present a problem.”

  Petra’s jaw dropped as her gaze swept Charon’s broad, muscular frame. Was she comparing him to the boatman?

  Octavius flared his wings but folded them quickly when he noted the amusement glinting in Charon’s pale eyes. He snorted, admitting to himself he’d felt a twinge of jealousy.

  Why shouldn’t she be attracted? Charon wasn’t the specter of myth. He was a halfling god and handsome.

  Charon’s pale blue gaze raked Petra’s tall frame. “Perhaps we can work a trade.”

  While Petra’s blank expression indicated she didn’t understand, Octavius knew exactly where the bastard’s mind had gone. “I don’t think so,” he growled in warning.

  A single brow rose. “It isn’t as if she’s innocent, friend. She bears your scent.”

  Petra gasped again and stiffened, at last understanding his meaning because she stepped closer, her hand clutching Octavius’s forearm. “You won’t let him have me, will you?”

  Charon’s lips curved downward in exaggerated hurt. “I don’t know what Octavius has told you about me, but I assure you that you needn’t fear me.”

  Petra’s chin tilted, and a scowl drew her brows together. “He hasn’t had a chance to tell me anything, but already I don’t like you.”

  Charon laughed, his teeth gleaming brightly in the moonlight. He bowed, sweeping out an arm. “Sweetling, join me. I promise not to inflict myself on you however long the journey.”

  Petra glanced up at Octavius, and he gave her a small nod, but she tugged on his arm and stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Why can’t we just fly across this river?”

  “Because there are rules,” he answered just as quietly, “and they have dire consequences. We are well and truly trapped.”

  “Is there more to fear than alligators in the water?”

  He didn’t answer but gave her a steady glare.

  She swallowed then cast a wary look at Charon. “Where are you taking us?”

  “Somewhere your protector knows very well,” he replied, his gaze meeting Octavius’s.

  Octavius knew Charon thought it amusing that the woman had no idea she had entered Hell.

  Her lips firmed into a straight line. “And neither of you is going to elaborate?” When both men remained silent, she blew out an exasperated breath and squared her shoulders. She stomped onto the boat.

  Octavius took a seat on a worn wooden bench and patted the space beside him. “Sit, Petra. This is going to be a long ride.”

  “Because we haven’t any gold?” she said, settling beside him then gripping his thigh and the side of the boat as Charon shoved off the bank.

  Octavius eyed her, suspicious of her even tone. “Yes. Gold is the price for a swift trip.”

  “How long might he keep us floating on this river?”

  “Perhaps ages.” Perhaps, eons.

  Her head shook, a look of frustrated desperation creasing her brow and tightening her mouth. “How do we know he would deliver us quickly if I gave him what he wants of me?”

  Charon chuckled. “Doesn’t sound as if she’s opposed to my price.”

  Octavius narrowed his glance on Petra’s face, but she wasn’t looking at him. How had her shy embarrassment so easily fled? “Petra…?”

  She cleared her throat and looked studiously away.

  Again, Charon chuckled. “I find myself convinced to end this journey sooner than later.” He struck his pole into the sludgy bottom of the river and pushed off from the bank.

  As soon as they entered the main channel, Octavius felt the familiar, velvety brush of air that signified they’d passed from one realm to another.

  He knew Petra felt it too because she inhaled sharply. Her last experience had gone almost unnoticed, but she understood the significance now. She travelled farther and farther from her home.

  Her presence here was a complication. And all his fault. Her touch had awakened him, but his punishment had opened the doorway and trapped her.

  Now, he had to figure out how to get her back, and how to convince the powers that be that he should be returned to complete his mission.

  Which might be a hard bargain to make. He’d failed miserably before—his desires used by Gazsi to trap him. Loneliness wasn’t an excuse. It was part of his sentence. Cast adrift in a world where creatures like himself were foreign and frightening to the inhabitants, he’d been relegated to the shadows for centuries.

  The current quickened, tugging at the boat until Charon pulled up his pole, only using it to turn the boat in a slow zigzag. They rounded a bend, and Octavius tensed, recognizing the dock—the end of this particular journey, the beginning of the next.

  Petra sat forward, watching the long, narrow dock grow larger as they approached. A peaked roof covered most of the length of the dock, and Octavius knew that would be where Charon would demand his payment.

  Wanting to caution her, Octavius clamped his hand around her forearm, but she glanced down at it, her gaze narrowing until he let it fall away.

  So, she would choose expedience over her supposed fear. Was her need to find a way home greater than her need for his respect? Octavius sighed. He’d given her no reason to think his feelings should matter.

  She would make her own decision then. Enter the bargain without his protection. So be it.

  They skimmed toward the end of the wooden dock with tall poles bracing both sides. Charon reached out and looped a rope around one post and pulled until the boat sidled close enough to the dock for them to disembark.

  Petra stepped onto the dock then glanced over her shoulder at Charon.

  Charon stepped past Octavius, leaving him to drag his feet as he followed, his stomach sinking.

  Would she really do this? Give herself to Charon, Hades’ ferryman? What had happened to her claim of fearing the strength of desire her touch could create? Had she been lying all along?

  Octavius grew annoyed with himself, angry with the woman. Sure, he’d known he couldn’t keep her, but he certainly didn’t like seeing her eager to accept her next lover.

  The darkness beneath the peaked covering enveloped Petra then Charon.

  Octavius hesitated before following, but reminded himself he was responsible, that he should be there when payment was made to assure her safety. But he’d be damned if he’d let her winsome, innocent looks get to him again.

  He heard soft male laughter just ahead and crept closer in the shadows.

  Charon’s attention was on Petra as he shrugged off his cloak and long shirt then lowered his trousers.

  Petra shook back her hair, eyeing the boatman’s body. Her glance swept his broad chest, his narrow waist, then clung to his cock, which lifted slowly from a nest of pale curls.

  Her indrawn breath betrayed some emotion—but was it uncertainty now the moment had arrived or was it arousal?

  Charon preened beneath her fascinated stare, widening his stance and bracing his hands on his hips. The peacock.

  “Don’t hesitate now, sweetling,” Charon crooned.

  Petra’s gaze lifted reluctantly. Even in the shadows, Octavius could see her bite her lower lip. She didn’t know exactly how to proceed.

  Charon’s gaze narrowed. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “No, but you might change yours.” Her head swung toward Octavius. “Hold him.”

  Chapter 4

  Charon cursed and bent to pull up his trousers.

  Octavius grinned and strode forward, happily grappling with the other man whose pants clamped his lower legs together. Quickly, he subdued him, pulling his arms behind his back.

  “Octavius!” Charon hissed. “I don’t know what the two of you hope to accomplish here—”

  “I promised you release,” Petra said, her voice soft but stern.

  “How do you mean to accomplish it?” Charon bit out furiously.

  “Not in the
manner you might have hoped, I think.” She raised her gaze to Octavius. “You said we were fated to meet. Let’s hope that’s true.” Then she lifted her hands to Charon’s face and cupped his cheeks.

  Instantly, Charon drew a deep breath, and his body convulsed, his hips stroking toward Petra.

  Charon’s body quivered against Octavius, whose jealousy lessened as he realized that Charon wasn’t immune to the power she wielded. Apparently, he alone could withstand her allure. Slightly mollified, he tightened his grip on Charon’s arms and held him immobile while Petra continued to tease the boatman.

  Her fingertips raked his chest, rubbing over flat male nipples then scraping downward.

  Charon’s head fell back against Octavius’s shoulder, and his hips pumped helplessly forward and back.

  Octavius gritted his teeth when the other man’s ass ground against his cock, unwanted arousal causing his own flesh to fill and twitch. But he attributed his excitement to Petra’s bold, stroking hands. Told himself the heat building in his loins was only in response to his own need to feel her fingers wrap around his flesh and give him ease.

  Charon jerked, stabbing his cock toward Petra’s belly, but she danced aside, amusement glinting in her eyes.

  Octavius grinned, enchanted to learn there was a devious spirit lurking inside the woman as she plied teasing touches across Charon’s bare chest, his belly, his flanks, but never touching his straining staff.

  “Witch! Are you a siren?” Charon groaned.

  “Sirens sing, you idiot,” Octavius said easily, enjoying the spectacle of the handsome Charon being bested, seduced by a frail, mostly human woman.

  When Charon’s body trembled, his groans growing louder, his pleas more impassioned, Petra stepped closer, but still no part of her body touched the ferryman. Her gaze bored into his feverish eyes. “You sought release. I’ll give it. Will you accept this as payment in full?”

  “You tricked me,” he groaned.

  “And you would have used me.” She reached up and brushed her mouth against his cheek.

  “Have mercy, nymph,” he whispered.

  She brushed his cheek again then nuzzled her nose beside his ear. “Do we have a bargain?” she asked, her voice tight and breathless. Had she aroused herself while practicing sensual tortures on the ferryman?