My Guardian Gryphon (Sanctuary, Texas Book 5)

by Krystal Shannan

  I kept my voice light and fun, and I returned his invasive stare with a bright smile. “You’re my personal heater. The last thing I need when I’m with you is a cloak.” I couldn’t help the laugh that rose inside me. I loved that he called a sweater or cover-up a cloak, so old-fashioned. I’d never seen anyone in Sanctuary wear an actual cloak, but I didn’t get out much. Alek said people rarely wore them anymore.

  Cloaks were from the old books we read, old stories of times so different from what existed now. At least that’s what he told me. I had to take his word for it, having never set foot outside the castle walls.

  Alek shook his head ever so slightly, amused again, but still no show of emotion.

  I didn’t get him to smile or laugh often, but it was worth it to try. His laugh made my insides melt and my stomach do a somersault. And his smile...Damn. There wasn’t another man in town with a smile as perfect as Alek’s. A smile that filled the void in my soul.

  He opened the book and began reading the opening to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. His accent morphed after the first few lines. Listening to him read Shakespeare was heaven. The lilt of his voice as he read the words from the page was enchanting. Like a vision, it carried me away into the story, blocking out all reality. Blocking out the situation I had facing me again tonight.

  Suitors.

  Men came to the castle every weekend. Men approved and vetted and offering themselves to the Sisters of Lamidae in exchange for a night of mutual pleasure—called joinings. A night they would not remember after they left. It was all part of the contract.

  They knew their memories would be wiped, and yet they still agreed. We were an experience they couldn’t get anywhere else. A lot of the men came back multiple times, and the same Sister would take him to her bed week after week, month after month—a twisted way of pretending they had a relationship with their sperm donor.

  Even though the men didn’t remember.

  We did.

  It may have been a one-sided relationship, but it worked for many. Some Sisters didn’t care and chose a new bed partner each time they were ready to conceive again. We were asked to have at least two children during our lifespan, but many Sisters found refuge in having many children—at least the ones who could manage it. It filled their days with happiness and laughter to have baby after baby.

  While others viewed it as I did—cursing a new generation into exile and a lonely existence. And then there were those who were never able to conceive. Through the years, more and more of the Sisters were plagued by infertility—or the men they chose were the culprits. No one really knew for sure.

  Choosing a man to lie with over and over again until we had our minimum of two children was required. One might say it was ingrained in us by something so powerful that it consumed our every thought. We didn’t just need to have children. We would lose our minds if we didn’t. Several Sisters, who were never able to conceive, fell into a deep depression, ultimately taking their lives. A fine display of magick gone terribly wrong.

  There always had to be a new generation of Sisters. Our power would deplete if our numbers got too low. They were too low right now.

  It was our destiny. My destiny. One that I refused to accept, regardless of the burning agony deep in my gut that demanded I conceive.

  But the child I wanted…the relationship I wanted…was a dream I’d never be allowed to make reality. Playing in the dungeon of the castle was permitted with the supernatural citizens of Sanctuary as long as no penetration was involved. Many of my Sisters enjoyed a little kink—or a lot, especially the ones who were hopelessly childless. Their fascination for play was just a way to distract them from the pain and depression that haunted them every month when their cycle started yet again—reminding them of their barrenness.

  But playing was a pastime, not a path to children. We weren’t allowed to have children with a supernatural. It was genetically impossible.

  Or so Rose said.

  It made logical sense in a way. Most supernatural species could only have children with their species. Though there were a few that could cross the genetic barrier—Lamassu being one—it was not common. At least from what I’d overheard through the years.

  I leaned my cheek against Alek’s strong arm. The rise and fall in his voice carried my imagination into the lyrical lines of Shakespeare. Everything fell away. All the worry and concern about tonight. None of it mattered. I wouldn’t be forced to choose a suitor. Not today, perhaps not for many more months. I was only twenty-six, still plenty of childbearing years ahead of me, but the time was coming. I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid making a choice much longer.

  A fight I would eventually lose. Depression gripped my soul, and I turned my focus back to the beautiful drama Alek was performing for me. I should be enjoying the moment, not dreading the coming night.

  He reached the end of the first act and closed the book.

  “I know this is just a story, but have you known anyone who loved the way Shakespeare describes?” I gazed up at him, and he rewarded me with a quick nod. No smile, though. Gods, I wanted a smile. Please. It’d been over a week since I’d coaxed one out of him.

  “Miles, Eli, and Diana love with the same fierceness Shakespeare attributes to Antony and Cleopatra. Erick and Bailey. Killían and Eira. Charlie and her two mates, Travis and Garrett. There are many who I’ve met through the millennia who love and have loved in the way the great storyteller describes.”

  “Have you?” I asked bravely, wanting desperately to know. A part of me needed to know if he pined for a lost love or if the man was truly oblivious to every signal I’d attempted to hurl in his direction.

  “No.”

  That’s it? That’s all he was giving me, a flat single-syllabled no? Not that I wasn’t selfishly glad. I wanted his love for myself. I didn’t want to compete with some ethereal memory of a woman who’d left him or died. “So you still have that to look forward to,” I whispered without thinking.

  The second the words had tumbled from my lips, terror tightened my lungs and I waited for a response that said I’d gone too far or crossed a line I shouldn’t have.

  He handed the book to me, then tilted his head, and kissed the top of mine. His lips were so soft and caring, perfection-embodied, but I didn’t want the you’re-a-sweet-child-who-I-like-to-tell-stories-to kiss. I wanted the kiss to be on my lips, and I wanted it to say you’re-mine-and-I-can’t-imagine-living-another-day-on-earth-without-you.

  Alek was that for me already.

  “I should go. The castle begins its rumbling for the start of the weekend’s festivities.” His tone had taken on the caretaker vibe, the one that dismissed me from his presence. But I wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. And I didn’t give a flying fairy’s ass about the so-called festivities tonight.

  “We have plenty of time. I don’t have to go.” I circled my arm around his and snuggled closer to his side, reveling in the heat and hardness of his body. Thoughts of running my hand along his chest to feel the strength beneath the soft jersey t-shirt he wore flickered across the stage of my imagination, along with the vision of our bodies, naked and entwined on a bed.

  I wanted more from the life I’d been born into. And one day I was going to get it. Happiness waited for me each time I touched him. Eight seconds of bliss. Eight seconds of Alek and me lying in a bed together, smiling and laughing and in love. In the vision, he would kiss my stomach and whisper endearments to the child I was carrying. Our child.

  We would have a child. That’s why I didn’t fear the sadness and depression that typically found the childless Sisters.

  I would have a child. His child.

  He was my beast—my Gryphon warrior.

  He had always been mine. And I would be his.

  Chapter 2

  ALEK

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble with the Oracle or your other sisters.” I cupped Gretchen’s face and stroked her porcelain white cheek with my thumb. Beautiful. Hair like a rave
n’s wing and bright blue eyes that would make a sapphire jealous. I dropped my hand and pulled it away. The emotions warring in my mind would only confuse the situation.

  And right now what I had with Gretchen worked. I didn’t want to jeopardize the relationship we’d cultivated by making her uncomfortable in my presence. It wasn’t like I could act on my attraction, either.

  It wasn’t allowed.

  “You won’t get me in trouble. We have plenty of time,” Gretchen answered, squeezing my arm even tighter. “Keep reading.” She pushed the book back into my hands.

  Such a stubborn young woman, always stretching the rules—or breaking them. I hated breaking the rules. Spending as much time with Gretchen as I did could be construed wrongly, but I’d returned to the Blackmoor’s library nearly every day for the past fifteen years. Nothing short of being on a mission outside of the town had kept me from finding refuge in a peaceful few hours in Gretchen’s company. Her bright blue eyes—so full of curiosity, a young mind eager to learn, full of joy and laughter. Her presence was like a bright flame in the dark cave of my self-imposed solitude, spreading warmth and light wherever she went. Warmth and light that I needed. Craved.

  Besides my brother-in-arms, Jared, she was the only other person I considered a true friend in this town.

  I opened the book again and started into act two. She deserved to be happy. If I could give her pleasure with a simple story, who was I to deny her joy?

  Her heartbeat ebbed and flowed with the tension in the story, like the tide of the sea, pushing and pulling until the beach was smooth as satin. I kept reading, because she’d asked me to. It was all she ever asked of me, and I was grateful. Grateful that I always knew what to expect with Gretchen.

  There were no surprises. No hidden agendas. Just peace and acceptance. It made keeping my emotions to myself that much easier.

  She didn’t fear me like many in the town. Didn’t cringe every time I opened my mouth—scared that my Gryphon’s cry would punish them.

  When I’d first joined Rose’s Sanctuary, I’d had a temper I didn’t know how to control well. Anger had fueled everything Jared and I did through our lives on Earth. Rose had helped. The pixies had helped. Everyone had helped until that one day when I’d lost control on a Lycan male mistreating a female, not that he didn’t deserve the punishment I’d doled out, but after that, everyone looked at me differently. Everyone except Jared and Rose. She still believed in me, and I owed her for that.

  I read the Shakespeare through until the end of Act II and then closed the book. Gretchen’s over-enunciated sigh of exasperation brought a smile to my heart, but I was careful not to let it show on my face. Not to let on just how much her very presence gave me joy. With Gretchen, I forgot how desperately lonely it was to be the only Gryphon on the face of the Earth. How lonely it was to take care of a town that feared you.

  The town appreciated my presence, but there were still many who remembered what I’d done. What I could do if provoked. Those stories got larger each year, although they were whispered more quietly.

  “I have to go.” The clock on the wall chimed six o’clock.

  “You’ll read more tomorrow? I hate leaving it there. It was getting really good.” Her tone carried a sharp slice of annoyance that I could only attribute to her not wanting to end our time together. I took the smallest bit of pleasure in knowing my presence was desired, but letting my mind wander past that assumption would be dangerous. Therefore, I didn’t let it happen.

  Sometimes her moods changed so suddenly. I never knew what exactly triggered the changes, though they usually felt like my fault. That somehow I was disappointing her.

  I hated that feeling.

  “Of course,” I responded, adding a hint of promise to my voice to attempt to dissolve her sadness. I loathed leaving her in distress. Despised seeing and feeling the despair that washed over her every weekend. I’d asked her what made her sad, and she’d never answered. Just looked at me with this horrified expression that screamed you-should-know-without-asking. I didn’t. Sometimes I wished I could read minds like the Lycans, but honestly, it would feel too much like a personal invasion of privacy.

  “We will pick up tomorrow exactly where I left off.”

  The blue Texas sky was graying through the glass window to our right. Dusk was approaching. She needed to get back to the Sister’s quarters below to eat and dress before the castle—the club—opened for the weekend. And I needed to leave. I preferred not to be around when visitors filled these stone walls and courtyards. Vetted or not, humans and kink put my beast on edge. It wasn’t my scene. Ever.

  I’d been asked to act in the capacity of hall monitor many times, but after refusing repeatedly, they’d finally gotten the message.

  I held the book out toward her, but she shoved away from me and crossed her arms over her chest. A pout pulled at her lips, and her ever bright blue eyes shattered my expectation of ending this reading without feeling her unhappiness spill into my soul.

  “I don’t have to leave yet. There’s still two hours before I have to be present and accounted for.”

  “You make it sound like a prison roll call.” I regretted the words the instant they left my lips. They’d been callous and harsher than she deserved. If I’d felt like she was in a prison, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, but all the Sisters appeared happy and pleased with their life. The Blackmoors took excellent care of them. They had free reign in the castle. Their only barrier was the outside walls, but even those of us on the outside rarely ventured outside the town. Perhaps our prison wasn’t the size of one castle, but it still existed. The world outside Sanctuary—even in the Texas Republic—wasn’t safe for any supernatural being. Not really. There were still people within the Republic who would sooner shoot us all than live peaceably with us.

  Her head twitched to the side, and she jutted out her chin, defiance in both small movements. “It is and I hate it. I hate these joinings, and I hate it more that you don’t even care.” Her voice dropped on the last phrase, and she scrambled from the couch—as if burned by my touch.

  Don’t care? “Gretchen, I—”—what could I say? — “I care a great deal about you. Is someone making you feel uncomfortable?” My core temperature rose several degrees, and my beast stretched inside me, angry that something or someone was upsetting Gretchen, pressuring her in some way. “You have only to tell me, and I will make sure they never return to this town again. We may have six designated Protectors of the House of Lamidae, but I am the acting sheriff of Sanctuary.”

  She shook her head and pressed her lips into a tight angry line. “It’s nothing.” The two words slipped from between her lips barely louder than a whisper—both lies. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes, we will continue with Antony and Cleopatra.” My jaw tightened. She was upset with me again. Over something I couldn’t change. I would if I could. I wanted her to be happy. I’d do anything to keep a smile on her lovely face. I always returned from missions with a special gift or trinket. The surprise and joy on her face made it more than worthwhile, but I couldn’t make her not a Sister. That was beyond my ability.

  Beyond anyone’s ability.

  Her frame loosened, and her shoulder’s slumped ever so slightly. Defeat shone in the blue depths of her eyes. She always spoke her mind. Nothing with Gretchen was ever a mystery.

  “Is there something you need?” Just give me a task. Tell me what I can fix.

  “No. I’m fine.” She turned on her heel and walked out the door before I registered that she’d said the most dangerous words a female could utter.

  She was far from fine, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it if she didn’t tell me what to fix, or what to change. Until she did, I would remain uneasy and my beast would pace until we saw her again tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps by then she would be able to ask for the help she needed with whatever problem was vexing her.

  I placed the volume of Shakespeare on a bronze end ta
ble near the couch. No one would move it. Anyone using the Blackmoor library was expected to put away what they moved, but they all knew Gretchen and I made sure the books would be returned to their place when we were finished. We’d stuck to the same habits for years, but when Diana had arrived, I’d made sure to clear it with her also. She spent a great deal of time in the library as well, and I didn’t want to annoy her—especially with all the pregnancy hormones racing through her body.

  Diana’s pregnancy was quite the topic of conversation in Sanctuary lately. Miles and Eli couldn’t be more excited. With their first son from the Veil—Mikjáll—also taking up residence in Sanctuary, the town would soon be able to boast a population of seven Drakonae. Triplets were on the way.

  As wonderful as having children would be… the idea of having children in a time where there were so many people and creatures out to kill us was terrifying—why would someone risk it? Plenty did. The Fated mate Lycans were constantly having children. Even Eira, one of the Protectors of the House of Lamidae--a vampire nonetheless--was pregnant by her Elvin mate. No one in the history of the world had heard of a vampire carrying a child, but no one had been in Eira and Killían’s situation before, either.

  “Alek.”

  I turned toward the familiar silky voice. “Lady Blackmoor,” I answered, bowing my head in respect. She was not a queen in Sanctuary, but she’d been my queen before the Veil had fallen. My parents’ queen. My grandparents’ queen. Old habits were difficult to break, whether they were thousands of years old or only a few decades. It was hard enough not calling her majesty or her grace. She’d forbidden it. All the Blackmoors had.

  Rose was Sentinel in this town—ruler. Her word was law, not the Drakonae.

  “The library is empty now, if you were seeking privacy.”