Gryphon's Quest

by Candace Sams

  ***

  Heather leaned forward and placed the cool cloth against Gryph's forehead. He wasn't responding to her voice any longer. "Please, let me take him to a hospital. I'm begging you. He isn't getting any better here."

  "There are reasons why he can't go, Heather. Gryph understands this," Gwyneth sadly responded.

  Heather turned back to Gryph, got out of the chair by the bed and sat next to him. "He's in so much pain. I know it. I wish there were more I could do." She crossed her arms and gripped her own shoulders in frustration.

  "You're doing more than you can ever imagine. Gryph doesn't make a habit out of getting close to people. In the short time he's known you, he's become closer to you than to anyone else in his life besides his father and me," Gwyneth told her, watching how carefully Heather reached out to touch him.

  "Why? What's made him that way?" Heather looked at Gwyneth, wanting to know why a man like him would be so alone. His character led her to believe he'd have a great many friendships. Many of those would probably be relationships with beautiful, seductive women.

  "It's a long story. Maybe I'll ask Gryph to tell you one day." Gwyneth left the room.

  Heather saw tears and abject sorrow in the woman's eyes. If she was that afraid for her son, then why wouldn't she let him have proper medical care? Why wouldn't Gryph let her call the damn ambulance? It was crazy. The man was getting progressively worse. Even Heather's limited first aid experience told her so. She looked at him lying so still. Occasionally he would moan softly, unable to suppress the pain.

  The night went on. Gryph's parents stayed in the room with him. They would touch him and talk to him, give what words of comfort they could hoping he could hear them. By the next morning, Heather knew he would die if the situation persisted. Pleading with Gwyneth and James had done no good. She was almost hoarse with her efforts and was surprised they didn't send her away. Perhaps they realized that she wouldn't go if they tried.

  By mid-morning, Heather was beside herself with fear. Gryph had gone even more pale than he had been from the loss of blood. She tried to cool his heated chest by placing wet compresses against his flesh. Having no care for the liberties she was taking, Heather stroked his shoulders, arms, and legs. She ran her fingers through his long hair, speaking softly to him as his parents had. She talked about her life as a child, her schools and friends. She told him about her job and the death of her parents. Anything, just to give him something to listen to and to keep him from drifting away for good. Afraid and exhausted, she finally began to cry.

  "Gryph, why is this happening? Why does everyone I care about have to die? First, it was my parents then Ned, now..." her voice trailed away as the realization struck her. When did I get so obsessed with him! Why couldn't she just walk away? After all, Gryphon was a complete and total mystery, a stranger really. Yet, in her heart, Heather knew he was a kind and decent man. He was losing his life because he had tried to do an honorable thing. How many people were noble enough or had enough courage to give so much? At first, he'd frightened her beyond reason. But Gryph had never hurt her, had even tried to protect her. And he'd always been gentle. There was something so lonely about him. So lost. But he had more dignity and gallantry than anyone she'd ever known. He believed in what he was doing and wanted to keep people from being harmed. She'd never met anyone like him. Heather looked at him and stroked his cheek before she leaned into his shoulder, crying. Heroes shouldn't have to die, and that's what he had become to her. No book image. No myth.

  SEVEN

  The door opened behind her. Gryph's parents and a beautiful, strangely dressed woman entered the room. Her long white hair was braided and fell down her back. She wore robes a Druid might wear. Heather recognized the clothing from her studies. Had she been less frightened for Gryph and more coherent, she may have guarded her behavior. The woman emanated some kind of power. Tall and stately, she embodied mysticism and magic. Gwyneth and James moved forward at the same time. They gently pulled Heather away from Gryph, though she tried to fight them.

  "Come, Heather," James implored. "Someone is here who may be able to help. She needs to see Gryph alone. Come along." He walked Heather toward the door and into the hallway. Gwyneth followed.

  "She's exhausted, James," Gwyneth said as she pulled Heather into her arms and held her.

  "Yes. We all are. But we should know soon enough. One way or another." James ran a weary hand over his face.

  Heather let herself fall into Gwyneth's arms. All she wanted was not to be afraid for Gryph any longer. His parents could help ease her pain.

  They waited for only a few moments. The door opened and the strange woman walked out. The look she gave Heather could only be described as threatening. Ice-grey eyes pierced through her.

  "I've determined how I can best treat the injuries. There's a poultice I have which may draw out enough poison to allow Gryphon a chance." She turned to James. "You said that one of the stones was found?"

  "Yes," James nodded. "Heather has it."

  The woman turned to Heather and glared at her hard for several moments. "What do you know of the stones?"

  "She's just a friend, Shayla. She only wants to help," James said.

  Heather could hear a kind of desperation in his voice. It was as if he spoke quickly before she could respond and utter something that would condemn her.

  Shayla looked at Heather again. "You appear to be too young to be involved in this. How old are you, girl?"

  "If it makes any difference, I'm twenty-six. And I'm old enough to know that if Gryph doesn't get medical help soon, he'll die. Why won't any of you understand that?" Heather cried out, angrily.

  "You are young. You know nothing of our ancient ways. Gryph knew the possible consequences of his actions. He has acted accordingly, as far as I have been able to determine." Shayla stared at Gryph's parents as she spoke the last part of the sentence.

  "Heather knows nothing," Gwyneth insisted. "Gryph has told her nothing"

  "We'll see." The Sorceress spoke cryptically. "I'll get the poultice. Bring me the stone and meet me in Gryphon's room, girl-Heather wasted no time running down the stairs to get her jacket. It was still lying in the living room where Gryph had collapsed. She grabbed the stone out of the pocket and ran back upstairs. Who had the stone, whom it belonged to and what should be done with it weren't issues she cared anything about at the moment. All she wanted to do was help Gryph. If his parents and the cryptic old woman upstairs wouldn't call an ambulance soon, then she'd do so against all of their wishes.

  "Here's your damned stone, now what about Gryph?" Heather glared at the older woman as she handed her the rune stone. She heard Gryph's parents gasp and had the strange feeling she'd just stepped over some kind of invisible line best left uncrossed.

  "Take this and place it on the wounds. Leave the bandages off," Shayla commanded as she passed Heather a green glass jar. "Gwyneth, you and James come with me. I must speak to you."

  As the others left, Heather walked to the bed where Gryph lay. As ill as he was, he was magnificent. She sank next to him and lifted the bedcover away from his chest. The angry, red claw marks scored into his beautiful body made her want to weep all over again, but he needed her. She opened the top of the jar and smelled herbs that reminded her of a mountain meadow. Dipping her fingers into the concoction, she found that it was cool and tingled. She began to carefully spread it on the wounds on Gryphon's chest. As she did so, he moaned softly. Whether it was in pain or relief, Heather couldn't tell.

  When she was through with his chest, she looked toward the lower part of his body where the bedcover still concealed him. Now wasn't the time to suffer an attack of Puritan prudishness. Gryph's parents had undressed him earlier. Heather knew he wore nothing under the covers. Without worrying over it another instant, she lowered the covers to his knees and swallowed very hard. Gryph O'Connor was the most exquisitely well-built man she had ever seen. His body was perfectly and muscularly proportioned. Bulk muscle met taut
sinew in a combination of raw strength. Whatever attacked him had to have been unworldly. Celtic knot designs had been tattooed on his inner thighs matching those on his arms. Heather shook her head to get her mind back on the business at hand. If the ointment didn't seem to bring Gryph some relief within a short time, she'd find a phone and dial for help. She feared his parents would refuse to let him be treated. If that happened, Gryph could die while the authorities hassled over their right to administer medical aid.

  Spreading some of the herbal medicine onto her hands, she rubbed them together to warm them. Then, carefully, she applied the salve to the cuts on his thigh and hip. Gryph moaned again. But it was accompanied by a deep sigh. Heather was almost certain that he knew what was being done and that it was having a positive effect.

  She pulled the covers gently back over him and put the lid back on the jar. A large chair had been placed by the bed. She climbed into it and curled her legs under her to make herself more comfortable. Within minutes, she was fighting a war against the exhaustion trying to claim her. It was a battle she lost. Her head fell against the wing of the chair, and her eyes closed.

  ***

  The pain had been worse than anything he could remember. Gryph could almost feel the claws shredding his flesh, and their poison burning into his veins all over again. Because of it, he could hear his parents and Heather's anxious comments and fear, but had been unable to respond to them. The intensity of the pain had seemed to go on forever. Then he felt small, warm hands cooling the burning of the wounds. The relief had been instantaneous. Sleep, unhindered by the burning poison, aided him.

  But now he was awake. The morning sun streamed through a nearby window and landed in shining rays on Heather's light brown hair. In her sleep, it had been gently tossed around her shoulders. Gryph knew he'd never seen anything so lovely. Her small form was curled into the huge chair. Her head rested gracefully against one side. He couldn't remember ever waking to anything that had enchanted him so. He rested and watched her as she slept. If only his world and hers weren't so different. His imagination took him to a place where they could spend time alone. Time learning about one another and sharing the things all men and women who were attracted to one another share. Weakly, he lifted his hand toward her and was able to touch his fingertips to hers. Such small contact was still electrifying. That she'd stayed with him touched his hard heart the way nothing else had ever done. He wanted to hold her, but his injuries wouldn't allow much movement. He had to be content just to watch her sleep. Occasionally, she'd moan and shake her head slightly. It was as if bad dreams tormented her exhausted sleep. It made him want to pull her into his arms that much more. Even though his life had been devoid of such warm and meaningful contact, he knew nothing else would ever come near the feeling of holding her as she slept. He wanted to believe he could chase away her demons. From that flight of fancy, his imagination went to other possibilities. All of them wonderful, yet impossible.

  Slowly, hours later, she awoke. Gryph watched as her eyes, gray as the sheen off a full moon, focused on her surroundings. When she saw he was conscious, she quickly left the chair to sit on the bed.

  "Gryph," she whispered as she touched his cheek with one gently placed hand. "I thought you might not make it. I was going to ignore what you'd said and call an ambulance. How are you feeling? Are you in a great deal of pain?"

  Gryph felt the icy wall he'd spent a lifetime erecting begin to melt. She seemed to truly care. Before he could analyze it further, he shored up the wall around his heart to keep from hoping. That way lay pain. There could be nothing between him and this woman.

  "I'll be fine. It was good that you did as I asked." There was nothing a doctor could have done that Shayla Gallagher couldn't. He'd been aware of the Sorceress' presence. "I'm glad you stayed. It was too dangerous for you to go back to your apartment."

  "I know it's going to be pointless to ask, but why!"

  "If there's any way you can leave the city for a short time, do so. The rest of my business here shouldn't take very long. In a few weeks, it'll be over," he lied. For him, nothing would ever be over or be the same. He would never be able to forget the beautiful, irritating American woman before him who asked too many questions and who didn't have the sense to know when to be afraid.

  "I can't. I have to know what all of this is about. Sooner or later I'll find out, with or without you telling me."

  Gryph sighed in frustration. He feared for her safety if she stayed. Those who had stolen the stone might harm her. Or Shayla would, thinking the girl knew too much. Either way he had to protect her. It was his fault she was involved at all. He reached for a strand of hair that had fallen against her cheek. The door to the room opened. He immediately dropped his hand when he saw Shayla and his parents standing there watching him. There was an accusatory look in the Sorceress' gaze, fear in his parents'. His mother rushed past his father and Shayla to sit on the other side of the bed.

  "Gryph, you're awake! We thought we'd lose you. I was so afraid," his mother spoke softly.

  Gryph touched her cheek and smiled. "I'll be well again, Mother. Don't worry."

  At his words, Gryph's father moved quickly forward and touched his son on the shoulder. Honest, open love gleamed in his parents' eyes. Heather knew she didn't belong in the picture. His parents' tears of relief prompted her to leave the room, as slowly and unobtrusively as possible.

  Shayla watched the girl rise and leave. She followed her into the hallway, slowly closing the door to the room behind her. "I would like to speak with you." She used a commanding voice to get Heather's attention.

  Heather, unused to being spoken to in such a way, turned with an angry expression and resorted to sarcasm. "I'm grateful that you were able to help Gryph. Whatever that stuff in the jar was, it seems to have worked wonders. You should bottle it and sell it. I'm sure the medical community would beat a path to your door."

  "Don't be impertinent with me, girl. My name is Shayla Gallagher. You don't know who you're dealing with. It wasn't just the herbal medicine that helped rid Gryph of the infection, it was his will to live that aided the cure. That and you."

  "What are you talking about? I barely know the man." Heather's instincts told her not to say too much about her real feelings. Besides, they were too new, too precious to share with this imperial-looking, Druid-dressed harridan.

  "Perhaps, but the heart has a way of choosing its own path. Be warned, there can be nothing between you and Gryph O'Connor. He belongs with his own kind."

  "Oh, great" Heather muttered, "another cryptic little message I'm supposed to decipher. Look, I'm sorry if I'm being rude. I'm not usually like this. It's just that over the past few weeks, ever since that damned shipment from Ireland came into my life, everything's been a circus, and I'm getting tired of it. You people can keep your little secrets to your hearts' content, but don't tell me who to choose as my friends, where I can go or what I can do. Now, I'm going back in to see Gryph."

  “You will not,” Shayla stepped in her way, her voice echoing off the walls. "None of us needs or wants you here. Go, girl! Go before you wish you had never heard of Gryphon O'Connor. If you had not distracted him, he'd have done what was necessary by now and would never have come to harm. He almost died trying to protect you."

  Heather stared at the older woman. The last statement had been true. Something had attacked Gryph in the stairwell of the museum, and he'd stood between it and her. Without another word, she turned and left. She went downstairs, picked up her jacket, walked outside to her car and drove away. She wouldn't endanger anyone any more. Gryph O'Connor was a grown man and could live his life as he saw fit. From now on, she'd do what her instincts told her and stay clear of him. New York was full of weirdos. Why she had to have romantic feelings for one of them was something she was going to have to deal with on her own. She was more sure than ever that she should have called the police when the man had first shown up. God only knew what craziness she'd gotten herself into.

/>   Tears stung her eyes as she drove. The old woman was right about another thing. Gryph didn't want her in his life. Except for the information he thought he could glean from her, he'd done everything he could to distance himself. Hadn't he told her he'd be leaving? Hadn't he been as tight-lipped as a Pentagon employee about his activities? What she knew of him and this whole affair had been dragged out of the man, or circumstances had forced him into talking to her. Well, she’d be the one doing the distancing from now on. She hadn't asked to become involved in any of this. For her own peace of mind, Heather knew she had to stay away from him. Gryph was a man with too many secrets. Most of them very dangerous.

  ***

  A week later, Gryph stood on the balcony staring at the setting sun. His parents and Shayla sat at a nearby table, discussing alternatives to the problem of retrieving the stones.

  "The other two stones must be found," Shayla declared. "While the creature can now change at will, the stones must by retrieved to keep anyone else from obtaining the same power And the being that has evolved through their use must be destroyed. This is Gryphon's task. He'll be immune to the poison the beast wields now."

  Everyone looked at Gryph. He kept his gaze on the sunset as night descended.

  "Gryph, have you heard anything we've said?" his father asked, concern making him lower his voice to a soft inquiry.

  Without turning to look at them, he responded. "Yes, Father, I've heard it all. A million times. Retrieve the stones and kill the beast. It's my task to complete. Then, afterward, I can retreat to the abbey." Back where I belong, was the unspoken thought hanging in the air.

  His parents stared at one another.

  James stood and moved to stand beside his son. "Gryphon, what troubles you? Are you still unwell? Perhaps you need a little more time. The poison was strong. A day or so more won't..."

  "Have you ever wondered what you'll do tomorrow, Da?" Gryph interrupted and paused as he saw the confusion on his parents' faces. "Of course, you don't. You and Mother travel. You have each other. Together, you see the world and all the miracles it holds. I never wonder about the next day. Never. Each one is just like the last and always…" he stopped and dropped his head in disgust at the self-pity and bitterness in his tone. The depth of his responsibilities swamped him like never before.