by Rosalie Redd
Head bowed, shoulders slumped, Victoria stared at her empty hands. “As you command.”
Wynne gasped. “Mom, what are you doing?”
Gwawl laughed. “Demonstrating her power.”
Wynne reached for her mother, but Zain grasped her wrist.
She tugged against his hold, but he drew her against him.
Scowling, Wynne fisted her free hand and pounded Zain’s chest.
“Stop fighting or you’ll only make it worse for your mother.” Zain’s urgent whisper stopped Wynne cold.
She peered at him. He pursed his lips, and his nostrils flared. For some strange reason she couldn’t identify, she believed him. Tension drained from her shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to cause problems for her mother.
Wynne focused on Victoria who had moved during Wynne’s struggle with Zain and now knelt before the large crystal mass. Palms outstretched, she glided her hands above the water’s dark surface then rose. A slow, muffled spell, barely audible above the moans from the crates, slid from her lips.
Ripples, tiny at first, built along the water’s edge, growing taller with each second until three-foot waves crashed against the crystal’s shiny surface. The green pulsation at the core increased in speed, as if excited and greedy for more power.
“No, no, no…” Wynne took a step back, unwilling to believe the amount of power building within the crystal.
Victoria raised her arms. Her hands shook, and the tremble rippled down her arms until her entire body vibrated. Spittle flew from her lips as she continued the chant.
A low buzz emanated from the crystal, gaining in frequency and intensity. Sparks flared from the crystal’s tips, casting a green glow throughout the large cavern and onto the crates. The blaze seemed eerily similar to the aurora borealis.
Static electricity crackled loud in the room. The ends of Victoria’s gray hair floated from her shoulders.
“Mom!” On a surge of adrenaline, Wynne broke from Zain’s grasp and rushed toward her mother.
“Wynne, no! Dammit.” Zain bolted after her, caught her midway, and wrapped his arms around her waist.
Fear smothered her like a cloak, and she struggled against Zain’s hold, desperate to reach her mother.
A loud snap echoed through the room.
Light burst from the crystal and pulsed along the chains while crates jolted a foot in the air then crashed to the ground.
The pulsing light ceased.
The water stilled.
The soft, eerie glow surrounded the crystal once again, and a heavy silence filled the air.
Wrapped in Zain’s embrace, back to front, Wynne tightened her grip on his arms. Dread formed a knot in her stomach, and she tracked her gaze to her mother.
Curled in a fetal position, Victoria lay motionless on the cold, stone floor.
Wynne’s heartbeat raced. “Mom!”
A tremor surged through the floor and up the side of the nearest wall. Pebbles from the ceiling pinged at Wynne’s feet.
“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.” She clawed at Zain’s arms, and he released her.
She raced to her mother’s side. With trembling fingers, she brushed the hairs away from her mother’s face. The lines in Victoria’s cheeks seemed deeper, more pronounced, but her breath fogged the cold floor.
Wynne choked on an exhale. “Oh, Mom.”
She stroked her mother’s cheek and gently rubbed her shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Did you enjoy the demonstration, little one?” Gwawl’s hard voice split through the air.
Heat flushed up Wynne’s neck and into her cheeks. She pushed to her feet, spun to face the god, and pointed at him. “How dare you force her to do this.”
“Dare? Force?” The god crossed his massive arms and raised an eyebrow. “I dare because I can. As for force, she does this of her own volition.”
Wynne lowered her hand to her side. “What?”
Still on her side, Victoria rose onto her elbows. She flicked her gaze from Wynne to Gwawl and back again. Her lip trembled. “Please forgive me, daughter. I did it for you.”
Wynne’s world shrunk, her vision dimming into a tiny speck of light, and she swayed toward the ground.
Zain caught her in his arms. “Steady now. Breathe.”
A low, dark chuckle eased from Gwawl’s lips.
Wynne closed her eyes and inhaled several long breathes. Slowly, the world returned along with a firm knot of unease in the pit of her stomach.
She yanked away from Zain’s grasp and stared at her mother. “Why?”
“To protect you. I’d hoped you could avoid this, but…” she shrugged, “here you are.”
Prickles crept across Wynne’s shoulders. “I’m here to…”
Gwawl’s laughter ricocheted through the room. “Learn the complex spells before the solar eclipse when the crystal’s power is the strongest. At that time, control over the magical gem will transition from mother to daughter, and you will replace Victoria as my crystal keeper. Then, we will infuse the gargoyles with stronger, darker power, and they will become a new weapon, a killing machine, in this war against Rhiannon.”
Wynne had guessed right about what was in the crates. She glared at the god. “What if I refuse?”
Gwawl clasped the gold chain at his belt and swung the ends in a circle. “Apparently, overexposure to the crystal isn’t good for the human soul. Victoria is deathly ill. I can’t stop the progression, but I can prolong your mother’s physical and emotional suffering for a very, very long time. However, if you cooperate, I will release her to the human realm to live out her remaining days. Choose wisely.”
Damn him. Wynne would never let Mom suffer, and the god knew it. She brought her fist to her mouth and glanced at her mother.
Victoria’s shoulders shook as her breath heaved from her lips.
Wynne knelt and wrapped her arms around the woman who’d endured so much. “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll figure this out.”
There must be another option, a way to escape, and Wynne vowed to find it. No way would she let her mother suffer. The solar eclipse would occur in a week, so she had some time to figure it out.
What if she failed to find an escape? Dread’s cold fingers slipped into her chest and wrapped around her heart, threatening to squeeze the life from her in one fell swoop.
Her mother was a more powerful witch than Wynne, at least that’s what she’d believed all her life. She glanced at Gwawl. “What happens if I can’t perform the spells?”
“That would be a tragedy. The gargoyles inside the crates would perish, and I would no longer have need of your services.” Gwawl’s unspoken threat hung in the air, heavy and potent.
Wynne’s lip trembled, and she bit the flesh hard enough to draw blood. If the captured gargoyles were turned into weapons, it would be devastating to the war efforts. They either needed to be saved or allowed to perish. The flesh along Wynne’s nape tingled, but she refused to show fear in front of this horrible god.
She released her mother, stood, and held out her arm. The gold band on her wrist glistened in the light. “How am I supposed to perform if my powers are dampened?”
Gwawl toyed with his belt, tracing his fingers along the smooth golden chain. “Your mother wore that bracelet for thirteen years. I had her brought here after one of my minions captured the second gargoyle. I’m sorry to say the first one didn’t survive. Victoria is too sick to fight me any longer, her old spells all but useless from nonuse. The crystal, however, is special and complicated. Your power over the crystal will work despite the bracelet’s muting affect. That is why you must learn how to control it.”
Gwawl swiped his hand toward the closest box. “Now that you understand the true depths of your new position, let me show you one of my valuable cargo.”
The crate’s lock thudded onto the stone floor. Metal groaned as the door swung wide.
Movement within the dark depths caught Wynne’s attention. A moment later, a large figure emerged through t
he opening. Tall, with brown hair that hung around his shoulders, the gargoyle wore a pair of ratty pants that hung loose from his hips. Tiny electrical currents surged from the crystal in the center of the room and snaked around his wrists and ankles, bringing him to his knees. Chest bare, the spark stone embedded in his skin glowed a weak red.
A lump formed in Wynne’s throat that morphed into a slow burn. She hated the fae and their horrible god. No way would she become a part of this, but she glanced at her broken mother, and her heart clenched. She didn’t have a choice.
CHAPTER 8
Z ain stared at the pretty witch and swallowed hard against the tightness in the back of his throat. A kaleidoscope of shock and empathy rippled over her features as she absorbed the gargoyle’s torn clothing that hung from his thin frame. Her open mouth turned to pinched features followed by a sheen of moisture in her eyes. She cared for these gargoyles.
Had he expected anything less? Through her birthright, she’d pledged herself to Rhiannon to aid these hellions in the war against his kind. His gaze drifted to the gargoyle.
A green tinge radiated from the male’s eyes along with a stern glower. He rubbed the spark stone embedded in his chest then glanced at Wynne. His head jerked, his mouth opening in surprise. “Wynne, what is the meaning of this?”
Spots flashed in Zain’s vision. He strode behind her and placed his palm along her shoulder in a protective manner.
Wynne glanced at him, furrowed her brow, and inched closer to her mother, putting distance between them. The urge to drag her back to him tingled his fingertips.
Gwawl snapped his fingers, and a long, thin braided rope with three tipped barbs on the end appeared in his palm. “You’re here to show my new crystal keeper just how much I like to play.”
The god flicked his wrist, and the weapon’s sharp tips scraped across the gargoyle’s rib cage.
An anguished howl burst from his lips. He yanked against his bindings, the muscles in his chest and arms straining, but he couldn’t break free.
Gwawl let the rope fly once again. This time, the sharp, pointy tips ripped deep into the gargoyle’s cheek. Flesh tore, and blood sprayed from the open wound. The gargoyle snatched the rope between his fingers, a look of pure hatred embedded in his gaze.
A low laugh, one that raised the hair on Zain’s nape, burst from Gwawl and echoed around the chamber. He yanked on the braided strands, and the barbs ripped through the gargoyle’s enclosed fist, shredding his palm.
Zain’s arms and legs stiffened, and a bitter taste rose from his gut. He should relish in the gargoyle’s torment, but instead, he admired his pride and determination to fight. A strange sense of compassion for the beast swelled from the pit of his stomach.
Gwawl hauled back his hand for another hit.
“No! Stop!” Wynne raced in front of the gargoyle. Hands raised in the air, she jutted her chin at the god.
Shit. She had a death wish.
Gwawl held up his palm, and a controlled blast of hurricane-force winds swept Wynne to the ground. She cried out and cradled her elbow in her palm.
“My lord.” His heart racing, Zain put himself between his god and the spirited witch. “Your point has been received.”
Gwawl’s nostrils flared, and his dark orbs seemed to swirl. “You must not value your life, minion, but I’ll let it go this time.”
“Give me your hand,” Zain whispered over his shoulder, hoping the witch had enough sense to follow his command.
When she placed her warm palm against his and he dragged her to her feet, the ratcheting of his heartbeat slowed.
“Enough.” With the sweep of his giant palm, Gwawl sent the gargoyle flying back into his cell. The lock floated through the air and reattached itself to the door. As the latch engaged, a soft click echoed down the long room.
Zain released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and bowed his head. “My lord. I completed my task and brought you the witch. Is there anything else I can do to serve you?”
The god’s booming chuckle raised the hair along Zain’s arms. “Indeed, there is.”
Behind him, Wynne’s entire body tensed. He squeezed her hand and dared a glance at the god.
Gwawl smiled, revealing his pointed fangs. Although they were standard issue for fae, Gwawl’s were the longest pair Zain had ever seen.
Zain tugged at the collar of his too-tight sleeveless tank. “Anything you ask, my lord, I shall do.”
“I have complete faith in your abilities.” Gwawl stepped toward them. He held out his hand, and a small book encased in black leather manifested in his palm. “This manual contains the knowledge to control the crystal. You will guard the witch, ensure she learns the spells, and guarantee she’s ready to take over her new duties upon the eclipse.”
No, oh no, he couldn’t ensure she read the text, not with his illiteracy. He shook his head and backed up, forcing Wynne to retreat right along with him.
“My lord. Surely, there’s someone else—”
“Silence!” Pebbles and bits of dirt rained from the ceiling and bounced along the stone floor. “Do as I command.”
A tic pulsed in Zain’s tense jaw.
“…and on the off chance you fail me, I’ll shred your soul and let the ether take you, along with the little witch.” The god tossed the book at Zain, his unspoken threat echoing in Zain’s mind, and disappeared in a swirl of colorful dust motes.
The manual morphed to three times the size, the tome heavy in Zain’s palms. Ever since he’d set books aside for a shit shovel, he’d hated the hard bindings, the texture of the pages, and the scent of fresh ink.
He tightened his grip around the edges. Instead of the freedom he’d expected, his new assignment entailed babysitting this feisty, enchanting witch. How well would that turn out?
What a fool he’d been following her home. Hoping for a glimpse of her beautiful features and radiant aura through the window. Toying with some bizarre fantasy that she could care for him. Nope, not going to happen. Reality had slapped him in the face, but good.
He turned to Wynne and shoved the book into her hands, eager to be rid of the damned thing.
She stumbled against the book’s heavy weight then brought the tome to her chest. “You expect me to read this entire book?”
He crossed his arms. “I suspect your mother will show you exactly which spells to use.”
Victoria’s harsh laughter reverberated off the walls. “You think I can help her?”
Zain’s scalp prickled. He glanced at the elder witch.
“Mom…” Wynne dropped the book, rushed to her side, and helped her mother stand. “Are you okay?”
“As well as can be expected. The crystal takes its pound of flesh.” Victoria laughed again, and her entire body shook from the strain.
Zain stiffened. “What’s so funny?”
She snuffled and wiped her tear-streaked cheek along her sleeve. “My vision is nearly gone. There’s no way I can show Wynne the spells.”
“Teach her verbally, then,” he barked.
Wynne left her mother’s side and strode into his personal space. Her nostrils flared. “You have no idea what it takes to learn a sacred incantation. There’s a certain knowing that comes with the written words. It’s part of the wisdom.”
She pressed her finger into his chest. “And don’t use that tone with my mother.”
Her lavender scent eased into his senses, and along with her gutsy attitude, stoked a fire within. As if she sensed his arousal, she parted those luscious lips of hers. A soft, heated breath escaped.
She blinked and took a step back, her cheeks blazing a vibrant pink.
He turned around and ran his fingers through his hair. This feisty witch would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. “You’ll have to read it yourself. One week.”
“You expect me to read this entire book in a week?”
How hard could it be to learn a spell? Harder than he’d thought, apparently. He glanced over his sho
ulder and pinned her with one of his best smiles. “If you care for your mother, you will.”
She glanced at her mother. Her lips thinned, and she focused on him. “Fine.”
Wynne knelt next to the tome. In all the commotion, the damn manual had landed on its spine and opened. Dark ink-scrolled words lined the pages, the elegant swirls and lines as alluring as they were chilling. Her exquisite eyes narrowed as her gaze roamed the text, and she flipped through several of the pages.
“Mom, this book contains incantations on water, transportation, and…healing.” Her gaze snapped to Victoria. “Is it dark magic? Who created it?”
Victoria’s features softened. “The tales of Esmerelda were true. She was a witch who turned evil many centuries ago. She pledged her vow to Gwawl and created this book, but the manual is neither good nor evil. Magic is magic, Wynne, and dark or light is all in how it’s used.”
Her attention drifted to the box imprisoning the captured gargoyle. “He’s injured. Can we talk to him or use an incantation to help him heal and—”
“Unfortunately, no.” Victoria sighed. “He can’t hear us over the hum of the crystals lining his cell, and spells won’t penetrate the thick walls.”
Wynne’s brow pinched together, and the rare beauty gently bit her bottom lip.
The urge to do the same ripped through Zain like wildfire, intense and out of control. A low, possessive growl emerged from him before he could stop it.
“Okay, you don’t have to get all irritable. I’m moving.” She picked up the book and stood, her legs and arms straining as she brought the tome to her chest once again.
She’d misinterpreted his reaction. Probably for the best. A tryst with her might result in bodily harm for one of them. Which one, he wasn’t sure, but the idea of running his fingers through her hair, along the curves of her breasts, and down to her well-rounded behind sent a rush of blood south.
He adjusted his stance and held out his palm. “Time to return to your five-star accommodations.”
“Come on, Mom.” Wynne held the book under one arm, draped her other arm over her mother’s shoulder, raised her chin and strode toward the door.
