by Jex Lane
She narrowed her eyes.
He laughed. “Alright little vampire, I’ve been ordered to stay away.”
“Since when do you follow anyone else’s orders?”
“When they come from the guardian of my goddess.”
“Devak ordered you to stay away? I don’t believe that. And even if he did, you’d never follow those orders. No. Try again.”
“This is tiring. Take us home,” he ordered the driver.
But…Krampus…
She grabbed Tarrick’s wrist. “My father is stuck in his transformation. You’re staying away because you’re scared.”
“Scared?”
“Yes.”
“You are mistaken, Oracle.”
“I am not.”
Jet frowned as Krampus’ scent began to fade. They were going the wrong direction.
Tarrick plucked Fate-Pebble’s hand off his wrist. “Devak has informed Warlord Bryson that Matthew’s transformation is proceeding normally.”
“Devak doesn’t really know. He’s never seen one of Ilertha’s children escape the Judge long enough to go through a transformation. I think—” she paused for a moment. “I think my father doesn’t want it to end. Right now, he doesn’t have to worry about the war or his responsibilities. He gets to be with a man he loves all day long. He gets to fuck and feed with no troubles or concerns. After everything he’s been through the past few years—everything you and the High King put him through—can you blame him? I can’t. But, I need him back. I’ve been without a sire way too long. I’ve been alone most of my life…and you need him back too. If only so he can be your weapon again.”
She pressed her hands to her eyes. When he reached out, she said, “Don’t you dare try to put a hold on me.”
He lowered his hand.
“He loves you.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“I agree. You’re a terrible person.”
“Terrible is relative.”
“Not in this case. You’re awful and I hate you,” she said, looking up at Tarrick. Blood tears collected in her eyes. Jet didn’t like seeing her cry, but Fate-Pebble would yell at him right now if he tried to comfort her. She’d let him know when she needed him. “I hate that you beat him. Imprisoned him. Lied to him. Used him. I hate that he probably only loves you because you manipulated him. And that his love is a near obsession now. I hate that he was raped and you did nothing but watch it happen from a window.”
“If I had stepped in—”
“Malarath would have killed you and I don’t care. I think you should have tried to save him. You stood at that window and watched, heard his cries, and did nothing. You only finally stood up for my father when you learned what he is. Who he is wasn't enough for you.”
She pointed her finger at Tarrick. “You don’t deserve him. But he won’t see that. He never will. And I know because I have the grand privilege of seeing the future. So grim up, stop trying to avoid Devak, and go bring my father out of his transformation. Because you’re the only one who has that power over him. And after, you’re going to put his shattered soul back together and teach him how to lead because everything we’ve been through so far is the easy shit. It gets worse from here on out. Warlord—”
He met her fierce gaze.
“—I need my sire back. If you deny me this, I’ll do everything in my power to destroy you.”
For the first time that Jet could ever recall, Tarrick sat speechless.
So Jet spoke. “Krampus?”
Fate-Pebble didn’t answer him, keeping her attention on Tarrick.
Any farther and Jet might lose the scent.
Something was out there and he needed to find out what.
Jet got out of his seat and opened the door.
The driver slammed on the brakes, but Jet didn’t wait. He jumped out of the still-moving car and tumbled across the asphalt. When he recovered, he shredded off all the irritating clothes moments before his body changed back into his true gargoyle form.
With a powerful leap, he became airborne and his wings took over.
If Fate-Pebble and Tarrick weren’t going to go kill Krampus, Jet would.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jet landed on the balcony of a tall apartment building. The whispers coming from it told him it was newer in construction. It hadn’t had time to gather stories yet, and no gargoyles watched over it—they didn’t need to. Not yet. Maybe in a few centuries.
The balcony doors to this particular apartment were solid wood, not glass like the others. And reinforced too. The faint scent of oily death emanated from within. A camera pointed at Jet.
He considered ripping it out but then the owner would never let him in and he’d have to break down the doors.
With his almost human-like limbs, Jet knocked, using the side of his palm to avoid clawing the door.
It took a few moments, but he heard a gasp on the other side of the door. Followed by beeps coming from a phone as the occupant dialed a number.
A voice came through the phone: “Thank you for calling Rapids Insurance. How may I help you?”
“There, uh, dispatch? This is Ida in Oslo. There’s a gargoyle on my balcony,” the female occupant of the apartment whispered.
“Is it attempting to get in?”
“It’s just sitting there…but, it knocked…”
“Gargoyles don’t knock, ma’am.”
“This one did. Can you send some hunters? Please…?”
Jet decided to knock again to mess with her a little. He wouldn’t usually do such a thing but Rage-Boulder’s playfulness had rubbed off on him.
“There! It knocked again,” the woman said. Jet could only imagine her wide eyes.
“Hunter availability is limited tonight. As soon as a team is free we’ll send them your way. In the meantime, I suggest you let it in…since it’s being so polite and all.” The dispatcher’s droll words borderline sardonic.
Jet waited. He’d give it a few moments before he broke down the door.
The bolt clicked, and the door opened. A succubus with long blonde hair and blue eyes so big they looked unnatural stood there. Surprisingly, she wore pajamas that looked like something Fate-Pebble would wear—oversized and fuzzy—rather than the usual skimpy silks and laces succubi normally wore while hunting.
She looked tired, with bags under her eyes, and thin, as if she hadn’t fed for days.
“Did…you want to come in?” she asked.
Jet walked in on all fours, keeping his wings folded back so they wouldn’t brush against the doorframe. His claws clacked on the wood flooring.
Ida backed away from him until she bumped into a wall. A small gasp of surprise escaped her. Jet ignored her and followed the scent that drew him there.
The apartment wasn’t huge. A few rooms, all modern in décor but didn’t speak to the excessive affluence of a high-ranking incubus. Jet wandered down a hall to one of the rooms. The inside was painted pink and stuffed animals overflowed from webbing hung in the corner.
Krampus had been here but was long gone.
“Why are you here?” Ida asked from behind him, keeping her distance. He looked back at her. “Are you looking for my daughter? She’s—” The succubus pressed her hands to her eyes and her body trembled.
The scent of the child who occupied the room was fainter than it should have been.
From the entry outside of the apartment, Jet could hear two people exiting the elevator. One set of footsteps heavy. Marching. The other a light patter.
“Stop complaining about the sword. I’m telling you, you’ll need it,” he heard Fate-Pebble say.
“I am not complaining,” Tarrick said back to her.
“You are.”
“It’s risky carrying around a claymore without hunters to veil me. And you don’t know why I’ll need it. That has me concerned.”
“Oh, this is it.”
There was a knock on the door. The succubus—who didn’t have the same sensitive hearing as Jet,
and didn’t hear the two approaching—jumped. She scurried over to a computer on a corner desk and brought up the camera facing the outside hallway. Jet followed after her and sat down.
“Oh goddess,” she whispered when she saw Tarrick and Fate-Pebble standing there. Then she froze, as if unsure what to do. Tarrick knocked again. That didn’t get her moving. Jet growled.
Her head snapped to him and she stumbled away. Jet pointed to the door.
“Alright,” she said, crossing the room. She paused to straighten her hair and smooth out her pajamas before opening the door. “Lord General…”
“I go by Warlord now,” he said marching past her and scanning the room. He was still in his suit but he had an oversized sword strapped to his back.
Her eyes landed on Fate-Pebble and Jet could smell her fear.
Tarrick grabbed the back of the succubus’ neck. “Look at me.” She did. “Ida, right?” She nodded slowly. “We’re not here to harm you.”
“But…” She fell silent.
“You serve the High King?”
She nodded again.
Tarrick gave her a friendly smile. “I am aware. I don’t make a habit of killing civilians, no matter what side they’re on. We’re here hunting a monster.”
“The one who took Vilde?”
Still holding her neck, Tarrick’s eyes darted around the room, gathering information. It only took a split second but he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Vilde. Your daughter. How long has she been missing?”
“Two weeks now.”
“Did you see the monster?”
“No. But I heard it come at night.” Ida’s eyes began to water. “Vilde screamed, and by the time I ran to her room, she was gone. I reported it but the hunters didn’t find anything…”
“Did you find anything useful?” Tarrick asked Jet, who shook his head. Other than the faint scent, examining the room had yielded nothing. “And you?”
Fate-Pebble, who was running her fingers over some books, looked up. “Nothing.”
“Have you fed since your daughter has gone missing?” Tarrick asked the succubus. She shook her head no, and Tarrick motioned to the balcony back door. “You two go wait outside.”
“You’ve somehow managed to fuck someone in every location we’ve been at tonight,” Fate-Pebble said.
Tarrick flashed a knowing smile. “Would you rather feed her?”
Fate-Pebble narrowed her silver eyes at him, grabbed a book, and stomped out to the balcony. Jet joined her, closing the door behind him.
She hopped onto the railings, sat with her feet dangling over, and began flipping through the pages of the book. Jet perched beside her.
“This book looks lame. I don’t think you’ll like it. I don’t get why incubi never have any good romances.”
Jet agreed. Incubi books were usually history based or too contemporary for his tastes. Fate-Pebble liked the steamy books, and Jet enjoyed them also. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, characters falling in love over the course of a few days fascinated him. It was different for his species. Love could take centuries or more. He often wondered what it was like for creatures whose entire lifespan felt no longer than a blink of an eye to him.
“Oh shit!” Fate-Pebble said and surged off the railing and back into the apartment.
Jet kept close to her, ready to take on anything that threatened to harm his stone.
Tarrick had the succubus pressed against the front door. One of his hands tangled through her hair, the other holding the small of her back. The two were locked in what looked to be a passionate kiss. Ida moaned against him, her fingers tracing his cock through his suit.
He pulled away and looked over his shoulder at Fate-Pebble, his eyes glowing purple.
Fate-Pebble pointed at a spot next to him. “There. Hunter. Enemy. Chop. Go.”
Without any hesitation, Tarrick drew the claymore from his back and swung in the location that Fate-Pebble had pointed.
An outline of a human took shape and formed into a hunter with a green flash. Tarrick’s sword made contact at the shoulder and sliced through the hunter’s body with one heavy stroke. Were he anything but an old warrior incubus, there would be no way he’d be able to cleave through the hunter’s armor and bone and body so easily. But even Jet knew how strong some incubi could get.
Not as strong as a gargoyle, but strong enough.
Behind Tarrick, Ida screamed. He reached back and touched her skin and she slid to the ground, her breath shallow, her eyes glazed over.
“There,” Fate-Pebble pointed.
Tarrick moved, once again swinging as the hunter teleported in. This time he met the hunter's arm, cutting it off. The hunter screamed, and blood sprayed out of the cut limb.
“Jet!” She pointed to a spot. Claws extended, he leaped into the air. With a green flash, Jet’s prey appeared. He dug his claws into the hunter’s shoulders, slicing through the leather armor with ease, and when they both hit the ground hard, he clamped his powerful jaws around the hunter’s neck and vertebrae snapped under the pressure.
“I’m not sure about the rest,” Fate-Pebble shouted. Jet released his dead hunter and looked up to see Tarrick sheathing his sword and grabbing Fate-Pebble by the waist. He ran with her, his leathery wings emerging.
Jet darted after him, his powerful stone limbs damaging the floor. Three more hunters teleported in.
In a fraction of a second, they had their crossbows drawn and opened fire.
Turning, Jet expanded his wings and bolts splintered against his stony body.
“Hold tight,” Tarrick said, jumping the railing and plummeting over with Fate-Pebble. His wings caught the air and they took off.
Jet followed after, leaping over the railing and taking to the air as well. Humans wouldn’t be able to see him flying around—a gift from the Earth Mother to her stone children—but they’d be able to see Tarrick and Fate-Pebble, and that worried him. Humans could be dangerous, if only due to their sheer numbers. At least it was nighttime and the moon only a sliver.
“Dispatch—” he heard one of the hunters reporting. “Arenson and Szabo are down. The former Lord General is here. He has the oracle and a gargoyle with him. We need back up and busters.”
One of the hunters teleported down to the ground, tracking Tarrick.
“We can’t outrun what they’re going to send after us,” Fate-Pebble said.
“I’m aware,” Tarrick said. He didn’t sound too concerned, but Jet knew enough about the Warlord to know he’d maintain his composure. “How good are you at moving dirt?”
Fate-Pebble—whose legs and arms were wrapped around him tight—looked down at the ground. “Not that good.”
“Could you be?”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“I can’t lead them back to the fortress. I need that stronghold to stay hidden.”
Bolts flew past them as a second hunter team teleported to the top of a tall building they soared past. Jet moved between the hunters and his stone. More green flashes. The Wardens appeared on the rooftop and began fighting the other hunters. It wouldn’t be long before they were overrun, though. Jet hoped the small hunter commander would stay safe; her loss would upset Rage-Boulder.
Fate-Pebble didn’t notice the hunters fighting below, her face half-buried in Tarrick’s chest as she clung on.
“Even if I could,” she said loud enough to carry over the wind, “how will you mask me from trackers?”
“I have a ward.”
“Goddess. I’ll try it. But if I kill you, I’m really sorry.”
“Stay with us, Jet.” Tarrick dropped low among the buildings. He banked hard to the left, using the building to hide them until the hunters could teleport over. Then he surprised Jet by turning towards the fjord.
“What are you doing?” Fate-Pebble yelled at him.
With his free hand, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and tapped a few buttons without looking at the screen. “Jet.”
J
et leveled out next to Tarrick, keeping the same speed as they cut through the winter air.
“That favor you owe me: I’m collecting now. Pull me out when this hits zero. Take the wards off. Too early, we’ll still have hunters on our ass. Too late, I’ll be dead. Don’t zone out. Understand?”
Jet didn’t really understand quite yet but he had a feeling he would in a few moments. Tarrick tossed him the phone. On it, a timer, counting down. 89:52…89:51…89:50…89:49…
Near the beach, Tarrick spread his wings to slow, then twisted his body so they were diving.
“Wait, you need to breathe, I can’t—” Her words turned into a scream right before they crashed into the patch of sand he’d been aiming for. She held her hands out in front of her, closed her eyes, and began to move the earth below them. Jet stayed close, diving into the deep pit she formed.
The sand closed behind them, covering them completely. Jet couldn’t see anything until a bubble expanded outwards, surrounding the three of them, centering on a bent metal rod in Tarrick’s hand. Jet had seen these types of spells used before. They were designed so that anyone could activate them—even creatures that couldn’t normally use magic.
This particular spell was likely meant to protect the Warlord from gas and debris attacks.
“Is this enough air for you?” Fate-Pebble asked.
“No.”
From his pocket, Tarrick retrieved a handful of other metal rods—all only a few inches long and decorated with intricate runes. He looked them over and picked one.
“This might sting a little,” he said and bent the rod. There was a flash of green. Then he shoved it into Fate-Pebbles mouth.
She tried to pull it out but he grabbed her wrists, twisted her around so that her back was to him, and covered her mouth with his hand so she couldn’t spit it out. The more she struggled, the tighter he held. “It’ll be okay,” he said.
Even through his hand, her muffled cries were loud as her body absorbed the magic.
This type of magic—the kind from earth and life—didn’t interact well with dead creatures. Vampires usually stayed clear of the witches they couldn’t manage to kill. Usually.
Time changed things though. Around the time Rage-Boulder appeared, so had witches who were willing to work with vampires, and vampires them.