by Rach Elle
“Oh,” Rue looked back to her classifieds, “I’m not really sure where to look though.”
“I’ll help you.”
Rue’s breath caught. She tried to hide it, but she was suddenly filled with anticipation. Someone was actually offering to spend time with her. She was torn. On the one hand she hated the fact that this is what she had become; a lonely puppy that just wanted someone to be nice and scratch her behind the ears. On the other hand, she was too excited to have some form of companionship to really care about her dignity. Her lips softly curved upward, “Okay,” she smiled.
Sunders exited the break room with Rue by his side. They didn’t speak a word to each other as the noise from the fourth floor grew louder and louder. Before they knew it they were fully immersed in the chaos.
“Sonny, can I talk to you for a moment?” Madge called as the two passed her desk.
Rue shot a casual smirk at Sunders before continuing her trek to the office she shared with Corey. Sunders casually placed his hands in his slack pockets and stepped toward the overweight receptionist.
Madge looked uneasy as she stood from her chair. She adjusted her thick rimmed glasses and looked around to make sure no one was listening. She leaned forward and whispered, “Marvin wants to see you.”
Sunders crooked his brow. He was about to ask her what it was about, but he stopped himself. He already knew. With a heavy sigh he nodded in acknowledgement and turned to take the elevator to the eighth floor.
Sunders stepped onto the eighth floor to see Marvin’s nurse sitting at her desk. She looked up and smiled. He approached her with ease and flashed a crooked grin. “I’m here to see Dr. Handler,” he announced.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Um, well, no… I…”
“Ah, Mr. Harper!” Marvin’s loud, thickly accented voice boomed from the end of the hall. “So glad you could make it.” He turned toward the receptionist, “Jessica, pencil Mr. Harper in for a routine exam, will you?”
“But you have a scheduled appointment in five minutes.”
“This won’t take long; just pencil him in, please.”
“Sure thing,” Jessica happily tapped on her keyboard.
Marvin led Sunders into the last exam room down the hall and nonchalantly closed the door.
“What did you need to speak to me about Marvin?” Sunders asked once they were closed inside.
Marvin turned to face the Scotsman, beads of sweat forming above his brow. His expression was suddenly riddled with anguish and fear, “They know,” his voice quivered.
“Who knows what?” Sunders asked, refusing to allow his adrenaline to spike.
“The Protectors; they know about,” Marvin looked around the room with paranoia before lowering his voice, “the surgery.”
“How could they possibly know that?”
“I don’t know, but somehow they do. That’s what my next appointment is; they’re coming here to talk to me about it.”
“Alright, slow down,” Sunders pinched the bridge of his nose, “Start from the beginning. What exactly did they say to you?”
Marvin tried to regulate his breathing. “They said that two of the Protectors have seen gargoyles firsthand and know what they’re strengths and weaknesses are.”
“So?”
“So they want to go over their anatomy with me. They want me to try to give them some information on how to kill or incapacitate gargoyles.”
Sunders relaxed his shoulders and smiled, “Well that’s great news!” He laughed under his breath at the silly state Marvin had worked himself into.
“How is that great news?”
“They don’t know jack. Don’t you see? They’re getting so restless and agitated that I’m not finding anything that they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel, hoping to find some sort of lead for themselves. They don’t think you know something, Marvin. They think I know nothing!”
“Well what am I supposed to tell them?”
Sunders shrugged, “Tell them whatever you want; except the truth, of course.”
“They’ll know I was here that night. There are security cameras everywhere.”
“Not on this floor.”
“Well, no, but they’ll be able to see that I took the elevator up here.”
“Of course you did,” Sunders smiled, “You woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because you realized you hadn’t filed that last Protector’s accident report. You know; the one with the broken arm. What was his name? Oh yes, Wade, that’s it. Anyway, the feeling of not knowing was just dreadful so you threw on some clothes, hopped in your car and got here as quickly as you could. And wouldn’t you know it,” Sunders laughed giddily, “after tearing your office upside down for an hour looking for it you finally checked the database and realized you actually had filed it!” His laughter died down and his expression suddenly became stoic. “You’re losing your mind doctor; happens to the best of us.”
“Wow,” Marvin breathed, “you came up with that lie on the spot?”
“It’s a gift.” Sunders’ ears perked at the sound of heavy footfalls making their way down the hall. “If you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to the fourth floor; sounds like your next appointment is here.”
Sunders passed Marvin and opened the exam room door to see Chase and another Protector he didn’t recognize on the other side.
Chase crooked a brow, “What are you doing here Harper?”
“Just getting a clean bill of health,” Sunders smiled.
“Surprising; considering you’re probably eighty percent alcohol at this point.”
“With the cholesterol of Mr. Universe.”
Sunders exited the exam room and headed down the hall toward the elevator, leaving Marvin to fend for his self.
15
“Will you at least hear me out?” Bawli pleaded.
“No,” Cooper huffed.
“What’s going on?” Junior asked as he descended the staircase into the living room. Zeff sat at the wet bar, and Tauggle lounged on the sofa as Cooper and Bawli argued.
Cooper turned toward Junior, “He’s actually entertaining the idea of revealing ourselves to that Bill guy.”
“Bill guy?”
“Yeah, the one Sunders works for.”
“All I’m saying is it’s not as barmey of an idea as you think it is,” Bawli defended.
“How can you say that?”
“Look,” Bawli took a deep breath, “we all know what’s coming. We don’t know in what capacity and we don’t know what we’ll have to do to stop the prophecy exactly, but we know it’s going to be big. Don’t you think the last thing we need is a group of Protectors thrown into the mix?”
“He’s got a point there,” Zeff said before taking a swallow of rum.
Bawli looked to Junior, “If Awilda is going to make it out alive; hell, if any of us are going to make it out alive, then we need to be focused and not worrying about any outside interference. We’ve trusted Sunders up until this point…”
“How many times do I have to say it?” Cooper placed her hands on her hips. “Without him we wouldn’t have the Protectors on our trail in the first place.”
“But James still would have shown up,” Bawli countered. “Without Sunders we wouldn’t have found Awilda in time to stop him. We wouldn’t have gotten to the hotel just in time to catch Mason before he…”
Zeff’s growl resonated in his throat and echoed throughout the room.
“And then there’s Zeff; without trusting Sunders he would be dead right now.”
“You’ve really got a hard on for this guy,” Cooper said flatly.
Bawli rolled his eyes, “I’m just trying to think of a solution and waiting around, hoping the Protectors will back off before the prophecy gets underway isn’t it; especially if the prophecy is as close as Tauggle says.”
“Hate to say it,” Zeff grumbled, “but I think he’s right.”
Cooper dropped her arms, “You can’t be serious.”
Junior nodded, “If Sunders thinks it’ll get the Protectors to leave then it might be worth a shot.”
“How do you know this wasn’t all an elaborate rouse to get us all killed in the first place?”
“We don’t,” Junior said sternly, “That’s why we need to go about this very carefully.”
16
Sunders sat in his wingchair mere centimeters from his bed. The box was on but he was only half watching it. His mind kept racing with stress, paranoia, and then lust. The protectors were making him tense; always watching over his shoulder and occupying the one place in this world that made him feel like he wasn’t just a complete waste of flesh. Marvin was making him nervous; losing his cool over such little, simple things that one could easily lie themselves out of. He couldn’t imagine how the doctor would react if the Protectors did actually interrogate him. He’d probably crack instantly.
Finally, his mind rested on an image of Rue. He had come to the realization that for the past week he’d been lusting after her, unknowingly, of course. He tried to rationalize it. When he would wake early enough to watch his jogger move so swiftly past his flat he would imagine the things he could do with her; to her. But he was imagining her as a submissive puppet. She would do everything he wanted; and she would do it happily; all give and no take. Rue, on the other hand, he figured would be an entirely different story. She was stubborn and opinionated and would undoubtedly take charge. She would take more than give. She would tease him, bring him to his knees and make him beg to be inside of her. But she wouldn’t let him; not unless he pleasured her until he was blue in the face.
Sunders furrowed his brow. Rue would be a handful. She would make him work for any ounce of attention. The problem was, as he sat in his wingchair, ignoring the television and getting lost in his own thoughts, he imagined he would like it. He imagined how charged up he would become hearing her moan; the satisfaction escaping her lips in the form of his name.
Sunders quickly shook his head and wiped the thought away from his brain. He realized the heated sensation that was growing in his groin and quickly reached for the scotch. He opened the bottle and pulled three long gulps from the neck. The alcohol hit him almost instantly and made his head hazy. The heat began to dissipate and he leaned back in his chair, grateful.
Truth was; he hadn’t touched another woman, been touched by another woman, or even touched his self since he and Darla split nearly a decade ago. He had always been a family man, so it came as no shock that the day he lost his family was the day he died; figuratively, of course. He couldn’t feel anything; he had gone completely numb and his self worth plummeted dangerously low. The only thing he could do was throw his self into his work during the day; and drink his way into a stupor at night. His family was gone; the love of his life was gone. He didn’t deserve happiness. No, he’d lost that right the moment he allowed Darla to leave and never come back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d become fully aroused. But he was okay with that. The last thing he had control over was his own body. And like hell he was going to let Rue take that away from him.
17
Paris, France…
Viattrice wriggled herself into her black tube top; pulling the fabric over her legs and hips and positioning it over her breasts. She looked down at her body, annoyed at her regulated temperature. Considering everything she had just done she should be drenched in sweat right now. Instead she looked like she hadn’t lifted a finger for yonks. She pulled on her tube top only slightly to reveal just a tad more cleavage but keep her tight midsection bare. She grimaced as she stared at the way her six-pack showed through the fabric. She was thick and strong, there was no denying that.
Viattrice heard a slight moan behind her and a devilish smile played across her lips. She looked over her shoulder to see BeStone lying on the bed, sprawled out and naked. She admired the way he was built. His muscles piled on top of one another. His shiny, black hair spread out over his pillow and he was too tall for the bed; his dinosaur-like feet hung over the edge along with his tail. Her eyes wandered the length of his legs, growing wider at his large, structured thighs until they landed on his manhood. He was still completely aroused. She licked her lips at the thought of taking him into her mouth.
“Send in Amelie,” BeStone’s expressionless words sliced through her dirty thoughts. He always sensed when she was ready for seconds, and he refused to allow his power to fade before giving what he had to offer to Amelie.
Viattrice scowled to herself, even though she should have been used to this by now. Reluctantly, she stood and crossed the room.
“Thank you, my one,” BeStone called.
Without saying a word Viattrice exited through the curtain partition and entered the dark corridor. She clenched her fists, trying to defer all of her pent up aggression into her hands so her face would be free of all tells. She rounded the corner into the main living space to see the privileged clan spread out.
The brothers, Cypro and Augmen; pale, brunette and lean in muscle mass, lounged in their hammocks. Parag leaned against the wall, casually sharpening his evergreen stake. She looked to the back corner; her eyes landing on Amelie sitting at a bare writing desk, writing in her journal. Viattrice had always wondered what Amelie wrote in that book. She guarded it with her life; always carrying it with her in her pack like it was a family heirloom.
Viattrice regarded the dimly lit Amelie. She sat with her legs crossed at the ankles. Her elbow rested on the desk and her hand supported the weight of her head. It tilted gracefully into the crook of her palm as her long dark hair cascaded downward, revealing her slender, pale neck. Her long, thick eyelashes sat perfectly propped along the frames of her eyes and flitted up and down with every blink. She was a different kind of beauty; widely accepted. Even in her permanently shifted state she could have any man she wanted.
Viattrice wanted to call her name to get her attention, but she couldn’t bring her mouth to form the word. Instead she just cleared her throat. Amelie snapped to attention, as did all three boys. “Stone’s ready for you,” Viattrice managed to choke out. She hated how much those words stung.
Amelie forced a small smile and closed her journal. She carefully placed it into her pack and rose from her seat. Her red dress hung gracefully over her slender body and moved elegantly as she crossed the room. As usual she walked with the end of her tail wrapped around her right ankle so it wouldn’t drag on the unsanitary floor. She hated getting dirty.
Finally she exited the room and headed down the hall where she would receive the bulk of BeStone’s lust and power; a special reserve he always kept waiting for her. Viattrice knew she was only the appetizer. For centuries she had wished that would one day change, but she knew it never would.
Viattrice waited until Amelie’s footfalls reached the end of the corridor before she allowed herself to exhale. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Parag; watching her. He was a handsome man; almost seven feet tall with smooth, brown skin and black hair just like BeStone’s, only longer. He too was muscular and preferred to leave his wings open. The massive stretch of skin along the skeletal frame made him look even larger. And he never bothered to lift his tail from the ground. He wasn’t afraid to get dirty.
He was much older than her and spoke only when he had something truly important or relevant to say; never any small talk. She couldn’t deny; the way he looked at her gave her the slightest indication that he wanted her, but he had never acted on it. She didn’t know why, but he had never pursued any woman in all the time that she’d known him.
Now, out of the corner of her eye she could see him eyeing her not with his usual reverence, but with disdain. He knew what she had just done. He knew she had just laid with a man not for love, but to give him enough of a release so he could take his time with another woman; so that he could cherish her, and focus on her. As usual, right about now, Viattrice wanted to cry. She would never be BeStone’s one and only.
“Did he say anything abo
ut our next move?” Parag asked in an emotionless voice.
Without looking in his direction, Viattrice nodded, “We head out tomorrow night.”
Augmen stretched in his hammock. “Hey Viattrice,” he smirked, “I’m feeling a little tense myself. Is there anything you recommend?”
Viattrice narrowed her eyes, “Sorry boy, looks like you’ve got a date with your hand tonight.”
“Ah, come on,” Augmen’s Canadian accent sang, “Judging by the sounds you were making I think you’d be a lot more fun, eh?”
Viattrice lowered her eyes to the floor.
“Leave her alone, man,” Cypro reached over and nudged his older brother in the shoulder.
“What?” Augmen joked, “I’m just trying to make her smile. Look at her; she looks depressed as hell. Come on over here baby, I’ll give you something to smile about. Hey!”
An evergreen stake seared through the air and embedded itself into the wall just above Augmen’s head. The sharpened tip landed directly on the rope that held up his hammock, slicing through the weaving and causing the hammock to fall to the floor; Augmen included. The gargoyle landed with a dull thud.
“What the hell Parag?” Augmen called as he rubbed the sore spot on his ass.
“Your nonsense is a waste of my time,” Parag growled.
Augmen stood and charged toward the Indian gargoyle. “You want to see how serious I can get?”
“Guys,” Cypro hopped off his hammock and ran in between them to break up the tension. “Come on, let’s not fight.” He held up his hands and lightly pushed against Augmen’s bare, broad chest; prompting him to back up a few steps as he continued to stare down Parag.
After a few moments of silence Augmen shifted his gaze to meet his little brother’s eyes. The innocence they carried reminded him briefly of why he had joined this clan in the first place. The two of them had had a fairly shitty childhood. Their parents were deadbeats and they were forced to live out their days parenting themselves. He pretty much raised his little brother.