Key to Justice

by Talia Gryphon

  “Gillian.” Csangal’s voice penetrated her reflective thoughts. “I am very glad you are so sensitive. It gives me more confidence in you than you can imagine.”

  His slender, elegant hand reached out and he caught a single tear on her cheek. She hadn’t realized that she’d been crying.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that I do understand your cultural differences, and while I don’t agree with all of them, I will support your decisions to the best of my ability,” Gillian said firmly, shaking off the sad feeling that remembering that incident always brought.

  “No apologies, please,” Csangal said adamantly. “I am grateful that you want to take the time to explain why you feel a particular way, or what drives your concepts of our lifestyle.”

  “Time . . . time! Shit! I have to go, Csangal. I’m sorry but I’m supposed to pick up someone at the airport in Brasov and I have to cut this short for the time being.” Gillian leapt to her feet, panicked that she might have really lost track of time and would make Perrin miss his flight.

  He laughed, to her surprise, and rose to hug her quickly. “It is all right; please do not be worried. I will be here tomorrow night and we can continue then, if you are available.”

  “Yes, I will make sure I am here. Thanks for understanding, Csangal. I do appreciate it.” She nearly screamed when he impulsively hugged her. His charisma was overwhelming and she felt desire slam into her, hard. Pushing away from him, she backed up a step.

  “Sorry, Csangal, but you’re lethal.” She laughed and shook her finger at him before bolting for the car.

  He watched her as she hurried off. Delightful, simply delightful. What was it about her scent that was different? He knew he had affected her sexually just by hugging her, but he really couldn’t help it; it was just part of who he was. It was interesting that he could affect her so strongly. She had allowed herself to be very open to him and his feelings.

  Yes, Gillian was an interesting woman: Guarded, beautiful, compassionate and a little naïve, despite her professional knowledge. And with no idea of just how lethal he could be.

  Gill skidded the car into the gravel parking lot, fishtailing it around to face the other direction. The adrenaline surge cleared most of her empathy circuits of the sensual appeal Csangal had left her with. It would have been hell to be in the car with Perrin and Trocar for several hours like that. Kimber and Aleksei stood with the other two, waiting. Perrin had his mask on, but that was fine. He was handling everything much better since the healing.

  “Sorry! I’m sorry—that took longer than I thought it would,” she exclaimed as she leapt out of the car, popping the trunk and unlocking the doors in the process. She started to grab Perrin’s bags, but he stopped her with an arm around her waist, pulling her back.

  “No, Gillian. I am a nineteenth-century man and always will be. A gentleman would never permit a lady to fetch and carry for him, and I will not start now.”

  “Dammit, Perrin, do you ever get tired of being a sexist?” Gill snapped, then smiled up at him.

  He looked good. He was even dressed in a more modern way: collarless black silk shirt, black trousers and black loafers. Only his mask was in stark white contrast. That perfect left eyebrow rose.

  “Do you ever get tired of being a pain in the derriere?” But he smiled when he said it.

  Everyone laughed at that. Perrin had definitely found his more assertive side and was capable of wielding it freely and confidently. Charming.

  “I do not believe she does, actually, since she has rendered it into a fine art form.”

  Thanks a lot, Trocar.

  “I would agree,” Aleksei offered. “As she has said, ‘it is a gift.’ ”

  Gillian stared at all of them incredulously as they secured Perrin’s luggage inside.

  “I am in testosterone hell.”

  Kimber smirked covertly behind her hand at Gillian’s reply.

  Gillian spun on her heel and yanked open the driver’s side door, ordering, “Get in, whoever is going.”

  Perrin opened the passenger side and leaned in. “Are you certain that your emotions are not going to influence your driving abilities?”

  “Get in the goddamn car, Perrin.”

  Chuckling, he slid in, tossing a leather jacket onto the top of the dashboard in front of his seat. It was a gift from Trocar and he wanted the Elf to see he was appreciative of it. He buckled his seat belt and pried her hand off the gearshift to kiss it.

  “Settle down, amoureux. You do not have to make yourself angry with me to distract yourself from the fact that you will miss me after I am gone.”

  Her wide-eyed, openmouthed stare told him he’d hit a nerve. Kimber didn’t help since she’d climbed into the back with Trocar during Perrin’s remark.

  “Hey, Gillian, did you include psychology lessons in his therapy? He’s really good!”

  Gillian viciously shoved the car into gear and floored it, throwing gravel in an arc behind her. Aleksei blurred out of the way of the multiple projectiles and strode off toward the castle, chuckling to himself. Trocar reached out and snapped his door shut before they reached the end of the drive.

  “Yes, indeed, he is. I am impressed with how Perrin’s perceptions have expanded during his stay,” the Dark Elf observed.

  “Shut. Up,” Gillian said in a low, dangerous voice.

  She flicked on the car’s stereo and the soaring music of Howard Shore’s Return of the King soundtrack squelched the sounds of her friends’ and her former patient’s laughter. Soon she was smiling too, warmed by their gentle teasing.

  Perrin studied the scenery as they drove, a mixture of fear and anticipation growing in his stomach. Every kilometer that would take him farther from Gillian and the Institute was a kilometer that took him closer to his own personal destination of life and living.

  Something was different about her tonight. She felt off to him, but that could be attributed to her tenseness over his leaving. Her scent was slightly dissimilar. The sexual receptors he had from his Gargoyle lineage were firing at an alarming rate, and he couldn’t figure out why.

  What was it about her scent that was wreaking havoc on his system? He’d been in close proximity to her for months and hadn’t been this turned on.

  Gingerly, he crossed his legs, lifting the leather jacket over his lap, hoping Gillian hadn’t noticed the straining erection he was now sporting. Turning his face to the window, he wiped the sweat from his upper lip unobtrusively, jostling his mask a little. What the hell?

  He nearly jumped out of his skin as Gillian’s warm hand reached under the edge of his jacket and squeezed his thigh briefly, her fingers lightly brushing the inseam of his jeans.

  Oh, sweet darling, do not do that now, he thought as his blood surged, filling his cock tighter. Spots swam in front of his eyes.

  “Are you cold, Perrin?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the road and returning her hand to the steering wheel, much to his relief.

  “No, just a little nostalgic,” he managed to say in a level voice.

  “Okay, just wondered. You seem a little tense.” She reached toward him again but he grabbed her hand frantically before it reached his thigh, recovered, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. Dear God, if she touched him like that again, he was going to spill inside his jeans.

  “I am a little . . . excited,” he said honestly, hoping she wouldn’t comprehend the true meaning of his words.

  “That’s understandable. You’re embarking on a wonderful journey into your new life.” She glanced at him and winked, taking his meaning as he hoped: that he was excited about his journey home.

  Perrin squeezed her hand, then reached over to put it back on the steering wheel. “Hands on the wheel, please. I do not care to die on my way to my fabulous new life adventures,” he teased her.

  She laughed, then changed the CD to some raucous rock and roll, which she and Kimber began to sing. Strange, she sounded good singing like this; not like before when she s
ang for him in the cottage. But dear God, her scent was still driving him mad. He had to fight not to allow his hips to thrust. All he seemed to be able to picture was her lying beneath him, writhing in ecstasy as he drove deep and arched into a climax . . . spilling . . .

  Merde! He swore viciously in his own mind. He couldn’t think about her in that way now or he would embarrass both of them by reaching over to turn the wheel so she would pull over and stop the car. The woods were close and thick. They could run in there, away from the road, where he could brace her against a tree, wrap her legs around his waist, plunge hard and deep . . . Dammit!

  Deliberately he tamped down any sexual feelings. He was trembling with need and he had to get it under control before they got to the airport. It wouldn’t do to get out of the car with a hard-on of his dimensions. She’d surely notice that. Forcibly he turned his thoughts toward Paris.

  He couldn’t help but be excited about the idea of experiencing his beloved city of Paris as he had never been able to before. Even the thought of finding a job instead of living off his considerable investments didn’t seem quite as daunting today. It was like magic, his change of perception, his newfound confidence; being able to look forward to each day rather than dreading it—it was all so remarkable. Gillian was wrong. He hadn’t been the supernatural creature in their professional relationship; she was.

  It was a nice, relaxing drive to Brasov for everyone else. When they got to the airport, each of them grabbed a bag or a trunk of Perrin’s luggage and they got him checked in. He put the leather jacket on and buttoned it even though they were inside. It was long enough that the hem hit him right above his knee, keeping his still-urgent erection covered.

  They couldn’t follow him to the gate so they said their good-byes there in the concourse lobby. Kimber shook his hand and hugged him, wishing him well. Trocar handed him an intricately tooled, shimmering leather satchel, which Perrin admired, thanking the Grael Elf for his gift.

  Trocar explained that it was made from dragon hide and decorated with Grael protective runes. It was enchanted and would never weigh more than the actual leather it was made from, no matter what was carried inside. He showed Perrin how to untie and retie the intricate knot in the front, knowing the musician was a quick study. Opening the bag, Perrin found a portable CD player and several CDs that Trocar and Aleksei thought he might enjoy.

  There was the collection of Howard Shore’s full score from the Lord of the Rings movies and Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera on a two-disk, full movie soundtrack. Digging further, the Elf pointed to a portable DVD player and the special edition DVDs to all the movies of the soundtracks in the bag.

  Perrin was speechless and embraced the Dark Elf tightly. “Thank you, my friend. I cannot tell you what your and Aleksei’s friendship has meant to me.”

  “You still retain it,” Trocar said, serious for once, “For as long as you wish it, if you have need, we will be there.”

  Gillian watched as Trocar stepped back and gave Perrin the highest accord he was capable of bestowing on anyone. The Grael’s left arm crossed over his chest, his fist touching his right shoulder and the quick, almost imperceptible nod of the head symbolizing the trust and respect for a higher-caste Being. Perrin watched closely, remembering the last time he’d seen that gesture one night in Sacele, then deliberately mirrored it back. The Grael smiled and turned away. There would be no more words; he’d said farewell.

  It was a moment neither of them had looked forward to. Gillian glanced over at Trocar and Kimber, who had wandered over to a small airport shop to admire some local souvenirs. She smiled at her friends’ attempt to give her and Perrin a private minute in the crowded airport.

  “Gillian.” His voice made her shiver but she turned back to him and, bracing herself, looked into those remarkable eyes a final time. Damn, this sucked. No more Gargoyle crossbreeds for her as patients. Ever.

  Perrin looked down into her very green, very bright eyes and wanted nothing more than to crush her against him and kiss her senseless, but this was not the time or the place, nor would it have been appropriate, and he knew it. This was a time for them to move on, remain therapist and patient and congratulate themselves on the success of his therapy.

  “Thank you.” Two small words, yet they conveyed a wealth of meaning when spoken by a tall, dark and handsome masked man in the middle of a crowded airport concourse.

  “It was my pleasure,” Gillian said, then instantly regretted her choice of words when he smiled and stepped closer to lightly dance his fingers over her shoulder.

  “And mine,” he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that had everything and nothing to do with sex. Damn, what the hell was it about her that was so enticing at the moment?

  Awkward Moments in Good-bye Situations 101. Gillian stuck out her hand. “Take care of yourself, Perrin. Once again, I am proud of you, and you should be too. I wish you all the best in everything. The Gods know you deserve it. Be happy, Monsieur Garnier. Be happy and have a wonderful life. I have enjoyed having you as a patient.”

  There. That was so goddamn professional she ought to get an Oscar. She looked him straight in the eye with no tears, no outward reaction at all except a warm smile.

  Perrin shifted the satchel Trocar had given him to his other shoulder, then took her proffered hand with a quizzical look on his face. So, she wanted this to be formal, almost impersonal. All right, that was what she would get. He shook her hand with a firm grip, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “I wish you the same, Dr. Key. I appreciate everything you have done for me, every effort you have made to ensure my success. Be safe, please. This is a difficult and dangerous profession you are in. I do not want to ever hear of you being harmed or hurt.” He let go of her hand and waited for her to turn away.

  “Au revoir, ma chérie,” he said finally when the silence and the staring at each other became uncomfortable.

  “Good-bye, Perrin,” Gillian whispered. Tearing her eyes away from his, she turned and started toward the exit, knowing that he would be all right and that she would be all right. She almost made it.

  “Gillian.”

  Shit.

  She froze, then slowly turned back. Perrin lifted the bag off his shoulder and set it down, opening his arms. She hesitated only a moment before taking the few steps back to him just as he moved toward her. They met in the middle of the empty space that had separated them. Perrin wrapped her in an embrace generally reserved for a life preserver on the Titanic and stroked her hair.

  Gillian hugged him back tightly, allowing his offer of comfort. She stiffened a little as she felt the tremendous press of his erection against her hip. Sweet Hathor, he was as hard as a crowbar. Time to go.

  “Bye, Perrin.”

  “Good-bye, angel.”

  It was Gillian who broke the hug first, putting him away from her gently, then waiting patiently as he kissed her hand. He winked at her, then retrieved his bag. Still smiling, he turned and disappeared quickly into the crowd.

  It wasn’t until later, when he was seated on his plane, staring out at the wet and sparkling tarmac, that he realized what the hell was wrong with him in the car. The seat next to him squeaked as a young brunette seated herself. She was flushed and excited from nearly being late for her flight; her hands were slender and the left one was decorated with a single diamond ring.

  The young lady turned and started chattering with him as the aircraft rolled toward the runway. Unexpectedly her scent hit him and he was at once hard and aching. What. The. Hell? Had he turned into some sort of sex fiend? The plane taxied out and lifted off just as the girl who had been talking incessantly about her upcoming wedding got to the interesting part.

  “So you see”—she blushed prettily—“he doesn’t know that I really am a virgin. I hope he is happy about it. I’m a little embarrassed. Have you ever known a virgin? Why do you have a mask on, by the way?”

  Perrin took a moment to digest what she’d just said and put
everything together in his lightning-fast mind. Virgin. Gillian carried the same scent. She was now an intact virgin? It must have been from the healing. The healing that had made such a difference in his face. No wonder his body had been so desperate to mate with her.

  Sexually mature females did not remain virgin long among the Gargoyle. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry knowing he’d just left Gillian unopened and untried. Right, he was listening to the girl . . .

  “Yes, I have known a virgin. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever known,” he answered honestly, thinking of Gillian. “I am sure your fiancé will be most pleased with you, my dear. My mask is due to my appearance being displeasing to some. I had an . . . accident, so it makes me more comfortable to wear it.”

  “Oh,” she said softly, “I hope you will be all right.”

  “I am quite fine, chérie. Now, do go on and tell me about your young man and your wedding.”

  He let himself be distracted by the young woman’s inane babble. It kept his mind off a lot of things and helped pass the time until the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. He also found that it was easier to resist the young girl’s scent. There was nothing to tie her to him emotionally. Good. That meant he was more Sidhe, more Human, than Gargoyle where it counted and could resist his baser instincts. Relieved, he hailed a cab to take him back to his home beneath the streets of Paris to begin his new life.

  Gillian had sighed in relief as Perrin walked away. He was going to be all right. It stung a little. He really had gotten to her, but she was used to good-byes and could handle it. Really, she could. She drew a deep breath and locked everything in her emotional closet back up again.

  “Are you all right, Petal?” Jesus, it was Trocar.

  “Yeah.”