He wiped some glasses and shelved them. “Can’t help you. Never saw him before tonight. The only reason I remembered him was the accent.”
Not knowing where to go, she slipped into the ladies’ room. Slumping in a stall to figure out her next move, she closed her eyes.
You’ve totally struck out. And now look at you! Hiding in a bathroom stall without a damn clue what you’re doing.
She pulled out her iPhone, ready to search for “Hot guy at the Rue Morgue,” and then snorted. Not likely it would yield the results she wanted.
Staying in a club bathroom wouldn’t find him either. She stepped out and glanced at herself in the mirror. Good God, had she actually left the hotel like that? Her hair was still mussed up from rolling around in the sheets with Roman earlier. Had she talked to the bartender advertising that she’d just been fucked? Professional. Real professional.
And if she had found Roman looking like a lunatic like this, she’d have had a fat chance of him even listening to her half-assed apologies for being such a closed-off freak.
Larissa ran her fingers through some strands to try to coax them into a more natural position. No luck. Turning on the faucet, she added a few drops of water to aid in this hapless endeavor. Right when she was satisfied with modest progress in the attempt, a blinding pain hit her in the gut, making it difficult to breathe. She bent forward, clutching the edge of the sink, breathing heavily.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. She hadn’t experienced anything like this since the time…the time of the bombings.
The pain crushed her. Knowing something horrible was about to happen, but having no idea of what, or how to stop it.
She forced herself upright. Her pain-filled eyes stared back at her from the mirror. She forced breathed some air into the corset-like grip wrapped around her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Taking a few deep breaths to center herself, she closed her eyes and reopened them. She wouldn’t cower to the pain, wouldn’t bend under the fear of not knowing what lay ahead. When she reopened her eyes, they stared back at her with determination.
She’d thrown the door open to make her way out of the club when pain clutched her stomach again. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die, but if the staff discovered her like this, they’d call an ambulance, which would make things a thousand times worse. Something bad was about to happen. Soon. If she was in some hospital, she couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
A door marked Staff Only appeared in her kaleidoscope line of vision. She walked to it like she was trying to balance on marshmallows. Although it was only ten or fifteen feet away, the distance seemed to stretch the length of a football field.
Clawing her way forward inch by miserable inch, she finally reached the door. When she turned the knob and found it unlocked, she cried out in joy, but quickly stifled her voice. Slipping into the room to see the rows of shelves stocked with cans and white folded garments, she took shelter behind some hanging aprons.
What the hell are you doing?
Waiting it out. Something bad is about to happen. You must find out what it is. And stop it.
Now she was arguing with herself like she had two personalities. Awesome.
She took deep, purposeful breaths to try to breathe past the pain, but it didn’t help. It had expanded from her gut up to her head, pounding like a drill penetrating concrete.
Breathe through it, breathe through it.
It didn’t help. Blackness slipped in and she was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Although he tried to brush Larissa out of his mind, her presence dug into a space there so he barely went five minutes without thinking about her.
More important things to do tonight besides pursue a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with you.
True. But he’d spent the evening watching, waiting—even wondering if Larissa was someone he needed to watch out for—and nothing had happened.
That was the worst part, the waiting, not knowing what he was up against. Battles themselves were more clear. Fight the enemy or die.
He wandered through Copley Square, back up Boylston Street, and spotted gargoyles on watch, on churches near the Boston Public Library. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
When he passed the willow trees in the Boston Public Garden, they hung like oppressive cloaks around the dark pond. What was wrong with him? He should relax. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Back in the Common, he circled the dome. That was where he’d flirted with her; where she’d invited him home.
There you go again. How long has it been since she was in your head—ten long seconds?
He preferred to observe the city from above, the way the other gargoyles were doing, perched on buildings. Maybe he should go up and join them. At the very least, he could rest while he perched in stone form. Better than wandering the streets without any leads.
Roman returned to the club where he’d patrolled earlier—the same place where he’d met Larissa.
Focus.
He’d chosen that building for a reason—it had a great view of the city. He glanced at his watch. It was past two a.m. They’d likely be closed. Perhaps he would slip unnoticed onto the side of the church where his clan frequently perched. People seldom noticed gargoyles unless they were at eye level.
Roman ascended the stairs only to find the club entrances locked. Time for plan B. He crossed over to a building on the other side of the street. Since it was residential, he had to use a different approach to get buzzed in. If he rang doorbells at that hour, he’d be told to fuck off. He broadened the prospects, pacing in front of a few complexes near each other. Someone was bound to come home sooner or later.
The easiest way would be to cloak himself and shift into gargoyle form to fly to where he wanted to go. He snorted. A man disappearing into thin air wouldn’t go over well in a city full of people, eyes everywhere. He needed to stay in human form for now until he found a place to hide.
After twenty minutes, a guy stumbled home who’d had a few too many. Roman followed him to his building.
“Hey, mate, I had too much to drink tonight and lost my keys. Can you buzz me in?”
The guy assessed him from bloodshot eyes. “What floor are you on?”
“Fourth.”
“I’m on the fifth. Why haven’t I seen you before?”
“I work all the time. Overtime.” He nodded. “You know how expensive the rent is here.”
“Yeah, for a shitty apartment.”
He had him. The guy buzzed him in, and Roman wished him good night. As he walked away, he smirked. If the guy had been a little more sober, he would have realized Roman couldn’t get into his own apartment without a key, even after being buzzed in.
Once he’d ascended to the rooftop level, he resumed patrol. The odd tingling returned, more distracting than before. Something was up. Time to observe from the skies—easier to see into hidden alleys, where trouble often occurred.
He prepared to shift into gargoyle form to take flight.
* * * * *
When Larissa awoke, it took her several moments to remember where she was. Why was she lying on the floor with aprons in front of her?
When the memories surged back, she jumped to her feet. The pain was gone, but that didn’t mean the trouble was. She ran out of the closet. The club was empty. Had something happened while she was out? How long had she been unconscious?
The moon was a mere crescent now, a red sliver holding on to its final breath before being swallowed by the night shadows. Spectacular, but she didn’t have time to admire the brilliant eclipse.
She scanned the street below. A few stragglers stumbled along the sidewalk, but nothing stood out. She paraded across the rooftop to get other angles of the city. She had to get to the ground to see what was going on in the streets.
As she approached the stairwell, movement on the rooftop across the road caught her attention. A male with long black hair that flutter
ed in the breeze.
Her eyes widened. It was Roman.
Holy shit.
Her chest swelled with optimism. Maybe she’d misread the signs earlier. Perhaps the universe was leading her back to him, giving her a break for once.
Roman’s body twisted, contorting into strange proportions. What the fuck?
His limbs shortened and expanded, reshaping as he crouched into a stout, wider form. And his skin. What the hell was happening to the color? The delicious olive shade faded, taking on a stone-gray hue.
His beautiful face with its perfectly proportioned features distorted into a caricature of itself. Eyes widened, nose extended into a snout-like shape, and lips reshaped into a wide mouth. All had transformed to that gray pallor as well.
Protrusions rose from his back, tipped with slate-gray feathers. They spread up and around him, surrounding his now crouched form like a dark, twisted aura.
Oh hell, she was drugged. She had to be. Which fucker had slipped something into her drink? She’d always been so careful, the way she warned other women.
Was it Roman? Had he given her some sort of date-rape drug?
Unreal! That would explain her lack of inhibition earlier. Figured she’d only had the hottest sex of her life because some asshole had drugged her. Ugh.
She closed her eyes. No, that wasn’t it. Her senses weren’t clouded or magnified. She didn’t feel off in any way, aside from the premonition she’d had earlier. She wasn’t drugged.
When she reopened her eyes, he had enormous gray wings surrounding him, flapping with long, slow beats. He ran to the edge of the building, wings flapping, and leaped off.
Before she could stop herself, she shouted, “Roman!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The man she’d slept with earlier had sprouted wings. With a leap, he’d disappeared over the edge of the building. She ran over, searching for him below, raising her gun out of instinct. Had he plunged to his death? Wait, he had wings, so he’d fly, right?
Fly? Listen to yourself. People can’t fly. Not unless they have jetpacks or something, like you had earlier.
She had to be imagining it. Creatures like that existed in video games or the movies—not in real life.
Roman floated up, hovering in the air before her while his wings beat. “You can see me?” His voice no longer had a dark, smoky tone that held a hint of amusement. It had deepened, but was still recognizable as his.
Although his features were exaggerated, barely resembling the ones she was used to, she still made out his surprise. The brilliant amber of his irises was now buried under the same gray hue as the rest of him. The texture itself appeared to have changed, no longer soft, pliable skin, but hardened. If she touched it, she swore it would not feel like human flesh.
Shivers ran up her spine, but then they fear subsided. Despite his shocking appearance, he didn’t appear hostile. She’d been in enough close encounters on the job to sense aggression. “Of course I can. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Most humans can’t.”
Humans? Questions swirled in her mind, but none coherent enough to form into actual words. Another sign she was different. Was she not even fucking human?
She closed her eyes and exhaled a drawn-out breath. Despite all the confusion, one thought pierced through. “Is it because— Could it be—” Slow down, breathe, relax. “Is it because you think I might be a witch?”
There. She’d said it. A tiny step toward being more open to the idea.
He nodded slowly. “It could be.”
Now that she had that question out of the way, the others roared for answers. She put her hands on her hips. “Now, what the fuck are you?”
“Larissa, go home, and we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“No.” She stepped closer to the edge. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He didn’t reply for several pounds of her heartbeat. “What are you doing here?”
“I came looking for you.”
“Why?”
“Because. Because… Never mind. What the hell just happened? Why do you look that way? How can you change? And fly?”
“Go someplace safe,” he said. “I’ll explain later.”
“No.” She spread her arms wide and sought coherence in the mind-cloud of confusion. “You’ll explain now.”
* * * * *
Roman landed on the rooftop where Larissa stood gaping at him. Her eyes widened as he shifted back to his clothed human form.
“Tell me what the fuck I just saw,” she demanded.
He inhaled and exhaled with a low whoosh. No denying what she’d seen. She’d poke at any holes in an excuse until his explanation unraveled. Better to be truthful. “You saw me shift to my other form.”
“What—how?” She pushed his chest with clear frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He raised a hand. “Look how you reacted when I said you were a witch. Imagine how you’d have reacted if I’d told you what I am.”
“What you are—damn good question.” She planted her hands on her hips. “What the hell are you?”
“No need to shout. I will tell you. I’m a gargoyle.”
She blinked. “Oh, yes, naturally.” She flipped a hand. “We have plenty of those flying around the city.”
“I’m telling you the truth and you’re not even taking it seriously.”
“Seriously? I’ve never been more serious in my life.” She paced before him, arms rising and falling as she spoke. “I’m a cop, and I’ve seen a lot of shit go down and some freaky-ass things. But I’ve never—never—seen anyone change from one form to another and fly off a building!”
“You’re yelling again. You need to calm down.”
“You need to calm down!”
For several seconds, they eyed each other without speaking. The sound of her quickened breaths seemed louder in the break.
He broke the silence. “Why is this so difficult for you to understand?”
“Because—because.” She stopped pacing and dropped her head into her hands. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Only because you’re not familiar with us.”
Her eyes darted as she struggled to take in his explanation. “Okay. What is a gargoyle?”
“A type of shapeshifter.”
Putting her hand on her face, she drummed with her fingers. “Meaning you can change forms?”
“Yes, we can shift at will from one form to another.”
She threw her arm out to the side, gesturing at the city before them. “And one of those forms can be mounted on a building.”
“Sure.”
Resuming pacing, she raised her hands to her temples. “You say it like it’s completely reasonable!”
“It is—to me.”
“So you can become…like a statue on a building?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To watch.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Watch for what?”
“Danger. Mostly to humans. We’re here to protect them.”
A shadow passed over her face, and her features froze. “Were you here during the bombings?”
Her soft tone struck a chord in him. He replied in a gentler voice. “Not enough of us. I came after the attacks.”
“Where were you?” Her voice edged on a tremble. A vast difference from the anger that had radiated from her moments before.
“New York.”
She nodded while shifting her gaze off into the distance. Possibly into her past. She’d been there. She had to have been.
“Many of us on the East Coast had pooled in New York and D.C. after 9/11. The bombings at the marathon showed us we needed to spread our coverage. I was given command of the Boston region.”
Her eyes darted across the night skies again while her expression flickered with conflict as if remembering something dark. With some sort of inner struggle, she returned her gaze to him.
“Where were you about to fly?” She’d found her way back to the present
.
“To survey the city. Something’s off. I sense it.”
She straightened her posture. “What do you mean?”
“All night I’ve known something is wrong. That’s why I was at the club earlier, so I could watch.”
“And did you find anything?”
Roman gave her a prolonged glance. If he told her the truth, she might turn defensive, as she had earlier. If he kept the truth from her, it could turn out worse. “Yes.”
“What?”
“You.”
Her mouth opened—in surprise, he guessed. “Me?” She pointed at herself. “What do you mean?”
“I sensed something different about you. And when you went to the dome, which I also found suspicious, you were someone I needed to investigate.”
She closed her eyes, but the pain still spoke through her expression. “You slept with me to see if I was a threat.”
“Yes.” What the hell was wrong with him? He ran his fingers through his hair. “No.”
She dropped her hands to her hips and raised her chin. “Well, which is it?”
He stepped forward and raised his hand, but dropped it when she flinched her head back. “Larissa, from the first moment I met you, I knew something was different about you. Instinct told me to keep an eye on you, that you could be dangerous, but I soon found that wasn’t the case. I was drawn to you, and perhaps regarding you as a potential threat was a way I could get closer.”
Larissa turned from him and exhaled a long sigh. “You were investigating me.”
He wasn’t doing the best job in reaching her. He had to find a way to connect with her so she could understand. “In your job, do you ever follow your instincts?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“And when you have a hunch about something, you look into it, right?”
She raised her eyebrows, giving him brief eye contact before turning away.
“Same thing with me tonight. My first instinct was to check out a potential threat before I could let my guard down—the same, I think, that you’d do. The same I’d seen you doing all night. And only then could I relax.”
Tempted by the Gargoyle (a gargoyle shifter romance): Boston Stone Sentries Page 8