by Candace Sams
"I'll kill the damned thing and get back the stones, Father. I'm healed. The Sorceress, in her infinite wisdom, saw to that Never let it be said that we didn't honor the pact. That cursed, damned promise!" With that he leapt off the balcony and gracefully landed on the lawn below. He shed his clothing, put it in his ever-present bag, and lowered himself to one knee. Without any effort, he willed the change to happen. He felt his wings unfurl to the night sky and flew toward the waning light.
***
Heather had said nothing about her brief absence from work except that her female problems were worse than she had first thought. Neither Niall nor the professor wanted to question her about something so personal and were glad to let the matter drop. Ignoring advice not to, she was working later than usual when she noticed the security guards staring at her. They were getting tired of waiting and were anxious to get their rounds over with so the alarms and cameras could be set for the evening. Whatever danger Gryph was concerned about hadn't reappeared at the museum. But she had heard something occurred which caused the guards to be severely reprimanded. They were a great deal more attentive. At least most of the time.
But Heather had been careful not to work too late just in case. She grabbed her coat from the rack by the door and walked down the stairwell with the security guard. Habitually, he went his own way as soon as they reached the boundaries of the parking lot. Except for Ned's death, everything might have been the same as always. Only Heather knew that nothing was the same. She was now more than passingly familiar with the false paperwork McPherson was filing. She'd copied enough to go to the police with her findings. But she couldn't really prove anything, and going to the law could cost her the job she'd come to love. But she didn't see any other way to stop what the professor was doing. He was stealing a people's culture and heritage. To her, only a violent crime could be worse. A crime like murder.
She was about to put the key into her car door when a hand grasped her shoulder from behind. Crying out, she turned to find Niall Alexander standing behind her.
"God, Niall, you scared the hell out of me!" Heather moistened her dry lips with the tip of tongue.
"Sorry, babe. I thought I was making enough noise to wake the dead." He grinned, oblivious to her fear.
Heather drew her jacket closer. "You probably were. I was just a bit preoccupied, that's all."
"You've been in a daze a lot lately. I've been wondering what the deal was." Niall leaned carelessly against her car.
"It's nothing. I guess I'm just tired," she lied, not wanting to reveal anything about what was going on with the artifacts. For all she knew, Niall might leak something of her suspicions to McPherson.
"You should be more careful, honey. Whoever was attacking people might try again."
She watched as an odd expression covered Niall's face. "Yeah, you're right. I guess I should pay more attention to what's going on around me," Heather nodded. Maybe if she had, McPherson wouldn't have been able to smuggle artifacts into the country, Ned might still be alive, and a god-like Irishman with midnight eyes wouldn't have come into her life and catapulted her emotions out of control.
"Look, I'm free for the rest of the evening. Why don't we pick up a pizza and make a late night of it?"
"No, thanks. I'm anxious to get home to bed."
"That's exactly what I had in mind..." Niall put his arms around her.
"Maybe some other time." As she spoke she turned to open the car door. He couldn't have said anything less appealing. But Niall pulled her around to him again.
"Heather, I know things between us haven't been exactly kosher lately. Let me make it up to you?"
"It's all right, no big deal. Maybe we've all been on edge."
He tried to kiss her, but she pushed him away. "Niall, I'm really not in the mood. All I want to do is get home and get some sleep."
"Well, you know what they say, baby. There's no better way to get to sleep than after hot sex," Niall said as he tried to kiss her again.
"No. I mean it. I want to go home alone" Heather insisted, feeling anger rise at his persistence.
"Oh, come on, honey! You've made your point. I've been ignoring you lately, and you're in a snit over it. But this hard-to-get game is doing nothing but giving you the reputation of being a prick tease." He tried to kiss her again.
Heather pushed him away, hard. "I don't give a damn what you or anyone else thinks about me, Niall. Now let me go!"
She tried to get into her car again, only to be roughly pulled around and shoved into the side of the door.
"I thought we had a good thing going, baby. But maybe you like things the hard way. Is that it, Heather? You want it the hard way? I can oblige. Oh yeah, I can give it to you real hard."
He crushed his mouth down on hers. Heather slapped him with all the force she could muster, and the strength of it knocked him back a short distance. In his rage, his boyish good looks turned disgustingly ugly. He raised his hand and backhanded her once across the jaw, knocking her back over the hood of her car. She struggled with him, tried to scream for help, but he forced his mouth on hers again. Her knee came up and caught him dead in the groin. His eyes widened in pain and he dropped to the ground, both hands grasping his crotch as he writhed. Before he could recover, she had her car door open and the engine started. She was pulling out of the parking lot when she saw, through the rearview mirror, that he was able to sit up.
My God, what in the name of heaven did I ever see in that bastard? She drove away and felt blood dripping from the corner of her mouth where he'd hit her. It had been a small price to pay for putting Niall where he belonged. Tomorrow, when she could stop shaking so much, and the nausea wouldn't overwhelm her, she was going straight to the police. Her instincts told her to file a report with them now. Go straight to the police station and start pressing charges. But her body was telling her something else. She felt defiled and dirty. And it might come down to his word against hers that the entire incident had ever taken place. Disbelief began to mingle with rage and pain that a man she once cared for could treat her in such a way. Doubts and self-loathing about her involvement with him filtered into her brain. And whatever she did or said would certainly affect her job. Still, she didn't give a damn about the rumors that would surface among the museum staff. Nobody was going to hit her and get away with it. But getting Niall's repulsive touch scrubbed from her body was an overwhelming need that just couldn't wait.
EIGHT
Heather ran up the six flights of stairs to
her apartment, closed the door behind her and locked it. She tore off her clothes, stepped into the shower and almost scraped herself raw from head to toe. All to rid herself of Niall's abhorrent touch.
Castrating would be too good for him. She hastily towel-dried her hair. Looking in the mirror only provided evidence of what she was feeling. There would be a nasty bruise on the left side of her jaw by morning and her lip was cut. If nothing else, it should provide proof that she'd been attacked. Filling a small towel with ice, she sat on her sofa with her head in her hands trying to reduce the pain. Her entire body still trembled with fear and shock. The last thing she wanted was police questioning her about the incident so soon after it happened. And she didn't want a doctor probing at her like a science experiment. Not yet. Tomorrow would be soon enough to file her charges. Her mind would clear, and the sickness would pass. Things would fall into perspective, and her intellect
could outweigh her shattered emotions.
***
Gryph glided aimlessly through the ink-black sky. Tomorrow night he'd break into the museum and take it apart, piece by piece, until he found the rune stones. Afterward, he'd take care of the beast, return to Europe and hope to never hear of the stones again. Whoever had abused them was keeping them at the museum. He was sure that was why the murders had been committed there. More people would die if the creature which attacked him wasn't destroyed. Next time, he'd be ready. He would change quickly and not give the demon a chance. As Shay
la had pointed out, he'd now be immune to its poison. In
the middle of all the turmoil surrounding the stones, he prayed Heather was safe. In the short time he had known her, the woman had managed to fill his head with thoughts, impossible dreams that made his pain all the worse. She reminded him all too vividly of what he could never have. And his actions had placed her in danger. That was another reason why he needed to act swiftly. She was innocent of any wrongdoing. Because of what he was, the instinctive need to protect her was strong. It was the way of his kind. Every waking moment his thoughts had been filled with her. If she knew what he really was, her horror would know no bounds. Yet he still had to protect her.
Before he realized where his thoughts had taken him, Gryph landed lightly on the roof of her apartment building. He cursed himself for being a fool. This was the last place on Earth he should be. The darkness hid his form well enough, but he still had no business at her apartment. He should leave her alone and get on with the business at hand. Still, he couldn't resist making sure she was safe. There should be no harm in quietly checking on her as she slept. She would never know he had been there, such was his stealth.
Changing into human form, he climbed onto her balcony and walked to the French doors. He pulled his clothing out of his leather bag and quickly dressed. Only one light was on in the living room. Forcing open the door as he had before, he crept forward. He sensed her presence just before he saw her. She was dressed only in a towel, leaning forward with her head in her hands. He sensed pain and immediately drew near to help. All thoughts of keeping his distance fled.
"Heather," he spoke quietly, "what's happened?"
Startled, she jumped up. Fear darkened her silver eyes. "Gryph, you scared me! What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry I frightened you. But I..." He stopped, then immediately held out one hand and pointed at her face. "What happened? Who's done this?" His hand came forward to gently caress her jaw.
Heather saw his eyes darken with a horrible anger. She sank back onto the sofa. "It's not as bad as it looks. I'm going to report it tomorrow. What are you doing here? Breaking into people's homes is a felony, you know. I shouldn't have to keep reminding you." Her tremulous voice indicated she wasn't quite as angry as the words were meant to sound.
"Dammit, Heather! What's happened?" He gripped her by the shoulders.
She pushed him away, stood up and quickly backed toward the bedroom. "Stay away from me. No one touches me unless I say so. No one.”
"Heather, lass, be calm. I won't hurt you, and I won't let anyone else hurt you, either." Gryph stood, but made no move toward her. The last thing he wanted to do was corner an injured woman. And, by Herne, someone was going to pay for the injury done to her.
"I've heard that before. Just stay away."
The look in her eyes frightened him. Someone had placed his hands on her against her will. Had she been raped? He could see bruises on her arms, and his anger grew proportionally as the seconds passed.
Heather backed against the wall and her head fell forward. "I just...I don't understand why any of this is happening. There's no one I can trust." She sobbed.
Gryph recognized exhaustion, pain and fear in her voice. She had been through too much lately, and it was taking its toll. Part of her dilemma was due to him, but whatever had happened tonight was the act of a coward. He'd avenge her by drawing blood. He silently swore it.
"Heather, give me your hand," he softly pleaded and offered his own. "I won't hurt you. I couldn't. In your heart, you know this to be true. That's why you never called the police about me. Let me help you. You can trust me. I swear."
Heather pushed her hair back with one hand, continuing to move away. Not wanting to frighten her more, Gryph let her have some space. She wrapped her arms around herself, her beautiful hair a tangled mass about her shoulders. Even bruised and disheveled, she was exquisite. Her eyes were like those of a trapped doe he'd once freed from a poacher's snare. She turned, stopped, and looked straight into his face. He didn't move. Those lovely eyes held him to the spot.
"Can I trust you?" she whispered. "Can I?"
"With all Creation as my witness, Heather, I swear I'll never hurt you. Not ever!"
She unwrapped her arms from her body. It had been a defensive posture Gryph instinctively recognized. Her breathing grew deeper, and her eyes took on a pleading look that almost broke his heart. She was so alone. He knew what she felt because he'd been in that empty place before.
Suddenly, she ran to him, and he gently embraced and cradled her as if she were more precious than anything else in life. A gift of trust so given was a precious and rare thing. His heart swelled, and a large lump formed in his throat. It took a moment for the emotion to settle and he could speak.
"Heather," he whispered, "it's all right. Don't be afraid anymore. Please, don't be afraid."
She raised her head, looked into his face, and Gryph knew he was irrevocably lost. He lowered his mouth to hers, and her kiss was the sweetest thing he'd ever known. It was soft and gentle at first. But, as their tongues met, a fire ignited within him that no magic could ever extinguish. A thousand voices of reason screamed in his brain. This shouldn't happen. It couldn't. She trusted him not to hurt her. That's why she had run into his arms so willingly. But he would hurt both of them if he didn't stop. Worse, he could get them both killed.
"Heather, you don't know what you're doing. You're confused and hurt," he told her as he gently pushed her away.
"Gryph, for some reason, I know we can't have a normal relationship. You and everyone around you has made that clear. All I want is one night. Just one before you go back to where you came from, and I have to go on with my life. All I'm asking for is one memory"
"Lass, you've been through too much tonight to make that kind of decision," he said as he pulled her close.
"It's my choice," she insisted.
He touched her jaw and ran a finger sensuously across her injured bottom lip. "You may need to see a doctor about this," he murmured, trying to change the subject.
Heather smiled, then laughed. "Does this sound like a role reversal? Only, now I'm the one who's refusing to be treated."
"If you won't let a doctor look at you, tell me where there's some more ice."
"Kitchen," she sighed as she ran a hand through her hair and nodded toward her small refrigerator.
Gryph returned moments later with more ice in the towel. He carefully placed the towel over her jaw and tried to keep his voice and demeanor calm when all he wanted to do was kill the person responsible for hurting her.
"Now, tell me what happened."
"Niall Alexander decided he wanted something I didn't want him to have," she explained.
"And what was that?" Gryph asked in a nonchalant fashion. He massaged one shoulder until he felt her relax a little. Alexander was a dead man.
"Me!"
"He's the blond man I've seen before in the parking lot, isn't he?"
"Yes." Heather sighed contentedly as she leaned into Gryph's shoulder.
"And he forced himself on you?" Gryph's voice lowered perceptibly, though he tried not to show too much anger. That wasn't what she needed at the moment.
"He tried, but I incapacitated him with a knee shot to the groin." She gamely tried to smile.
"Good! That's my lass. The bastard won't go near you again, Heather. I swear!"
"Am I your lass?" she asked, holding her breath and waiting for his response.
Gryph looked at her for a very long time before he spoke. "As sure as time, if you're not mine, I'm certainly yours."
Heather wrapped her arms around his neck and began to kiss him, slow and deep. Gryph felt every word of warning he'd ever been given echo into his being. If anyone ever found out he'd even been in her apartment, the assumption would be made that they'd loved, and she would be in danger because of him. He knew he should leave. But the same need that fueled her drove him. Still, his conscience called to him.
"Heather...
" he tried to pull away.
"Gryph, shut up! Just one night. I'm not asking for you to reveal your deep, dark secrets. I want just a few hours. That's all," she said as she nuzzled his neck and kissed the corner of his mouth.
He moaned as she slid her hands inside his jerkin, stroked her hands over the wounds healing there. She seemed oblivious to the fact that his clothing was different from anything she'd seen him wear before. He was dressed in the medieval-like garb of the Order. When he had flown away, he hadn't intended on seeing her or anyone. His clothing was comfortable and kept him from feeling as if his connection to the Shire weren't completely broken. He had only wanted some space away from his parents and Shayla's ever-demanding presence. Now, he found himself in the very last place he should be, holding her small, soft form in his arms. The black leather jerkin, pants and boots didn't seem to concern her at all. Her academic mind might recognize it as the garb of a Celtic warrior. But at the moment, he just didn't give a damn. He had to hold her. Just for a while. The feel of her was intoxicating. Her body molded to his so exquisitely. It was worth any amount of punishment the Sorceress could administer. Later, he could think of this time and remember. But he didn't have the right to risk her.
"You don't know the consequences of what you're doing," he spoke softly, longingly. His hands slowly moved over her.
"Then, tell me," she entreated. All she wanted was to lay within his arms. Safety, peace, friendship and ecstasy were there.
"I can't, little one. It would cost both of us our lives," he softly uttered.
She pushed away from him so she could look into his eyes. "You wanted me to trust you. Why can't you do the same?"