Love Bewitched (Gargoyle Night Guardians Book 3)

by Rosalie Redd

  Wynne leaned against him and enjoyed this last moment of respite. His appealing masculine scent enveloped her, warming her on the inside and giving her courage.

  He turned her to face him, traced his finger along her jawline and, with one fingertip under her chin, held her in place. Soft and gentle, he brushed his lips against hers. She threaded her fingers into the hair at his nape, his braid still wet from their shower.

  Zain tugged her close and deepened the kiss, ravishing her. Only he could quench her hunger for him. He finally released her. Their panting breaths echoed in the space between them, and she stepped back.

  He cradled her chin in his palm and stroked his thumb across her cheek. “We should go.”

  She nodded and trailed her fingers over his shirt. Through the material, the rough texture of his scar was discernible. He hadn’t deserved such punishment.

  Zain stepped to the table, grasped the dark text, and offered it to her.

  She accepted the old tome, the book’s worn leather covering no longer an ugly, scary beast. The nicks and deep scratches were marks of its long history. As her mother had once said, ‘magic was magic, dark or light was all in the intent of the user.’ She cradled the manual in the crook of her arm.

  Zain clasped her free hand. He smiled, but unease haunted his eyes.

  A swirl of energy started at their feet.

  Closing her eyes, Wynne disappeared with him in the churn.

  A moment later, they reformed outside her cell. The damp scent of wet stone and mildew permeated her nose.

  Wynne stared at her mother’s cell. “Mom?”

  “Wynne?” The squeak of the metal bed frame echoed from the room. Victoria shuffled forward and wrapped her fingers around the bars, her brows arched high above her eyes. “You returned. Why are you here?”

  Wynne rushed to her mother’s side. With the book cradled in one arm, she wrapped the other around her mother in a firm embrace, the cold, hard bars between them. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here, now, Mom.”

  Victoria tugged away. Her brow furrowed. “What are—”

  The click of a lock disengaging reverberated off the rock walls, and Wynne glanced toward the sound.

  Zain opened Victoria’s cell door. The metal squeaked at the hinges.

  He held out his palm, and a thoughtful smile tugged at his lip. “Thought you might want to give her a proper hug.”

  Like a balloon filled with helium, Wynne’s chest lightened. She bolted through the doorway, dropped the text in Zain’s hands along the way, and ran into her mother’s arms.

  Her mother’s sweet scent tugged on Wynne’s memories, taking her back to when she’d been a young girl. Warmth speared her with a longing she hadn’t realized she’d missed. She stroked her mother’s hair. Tears swept over her lashes, dampening her cheeks.

  “How I wish we had more time.” Victoria coughed, a wracking bark that left her shaking in Wynne’s arms.

  Reality, that damned beast, returned with a vengeance, claws extended, teeth bared, and tracking down Wynne’s spine. She pulled away and studied her mother.

  Victoria’s eyes gleamed in sharp counterpoint to her pale features, cracked lips, and sunken cheeks. Her mother’s illness had worsened in the twenty-four hours or so since Wynne had seen her.

  Wynne had witnessed enough sickness and death through her job. She understood on a subconscious level that her mother didn’t have much time. A wobble started in Wynne’s left knee, the shake rattling faster with each heartbeat. The spell wouldn’t heal her mother soon enough. She clamped her lips tight, sealing in the wail that threatened to escape.

  “Mom,” Wynne’s voice squeaked, “how do you—”

  The screech of metal against rock pierced the air, and Wynne flinched.

  Zain hauled Wynne’s cot into Victoria’s cell as if the thing were filled with air. He set the blanket, mattress, and frame alongside its mate against the wall. “Thought you two might like to bunk together tonight.”

  Wynne opened her mouth and closed it again. Zain had recognized Wynne wanted to stay with her mother, and he not only allowed it, but encourage it.

  Her heart swelled, love for him pouring through her on a waterfall of emotions and softening some of her grief.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Victoria rubbed her knee and hobbled over to Zain. She placed her shaking palm on his arm. “You’re a good soul, and…”

  Zain stiffened. “You’re wrong about that.”

  “…take care of my daughter, okay?”

  Wynne blinked. The hair on her arms rose. “Mom, what are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see, dear. Now,” she tugged Zain toward the entrance, “I want to spend some time with my daughter.”

  A slow smirk flitted across Zain’s features. “Of course. Absolutely.”

  Wynne crossed her arms, and the cold metal of her armband chilled her skin. “Zain…”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “A big thick comforter, if you please.” Victoria encouraged him through the doorway and closed the door.

  Zain’s attention flicked from Wynne to Victoria and back again. That slow sexy smile of his lit up his features. “As you wish. I’ll return soon.”

  A moment later, he disappeared in a swirl.

  Wynne’s mind raced, thoughts of despair threatening to take her down. There must be some other spell, a potion, anything that might help her mother, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one.

  She slipped her arm around her mother’s waist and helped her sit on her cot.

  “Thank you, honey bear.” Victoria gripped Wynne’s hand and gently squeezed. “Do you remember that time…”

  Thankful for this brief respite with her mother, for it might be all she had left, Wynne leaned into the one woman who’d taught her about tenacity and delved into warm memories of the past.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Is the spell ready yet?” Damian paced from the window to the fireplace and back again.

  Neira’s nose twitched. She leaned forward in her seat on the couch and set her tea mug on the coffee table that Sasha had repaired after the fight with Zain. “C’mon, Damian. Give it a rest. Sasha will let you know when it’s ready.”

  Damian clenched his jaw to hold back his biting retort, then studied Sasha as he continued to pace.

  She sat on the edge of the couch, her brows furrowed in concentration on the black pot sitting on the coffee table. Papers were strewn about as if a windstorm had swept in and attacked a book.

  Sasha exhaled and peered at him. “Please, settle down, Damian. I can’t think when you pace.”

  Neira patted the couch, a sly smile curling her lips. “Come sit next to me, big boy.”

  Damian’s fingers jerked. “Fat chance, sweetheart.”

  “Ooh,” Neira purred, “I love it when you call me that.”

  He clenched his teeth, and his jaw popped from the strain. Gods, he wanted to strangle that female. Instead, he returned to the window, stared into the dark street, and released a frustrated breath. Lamplight illuminated the parked cars and the neighbor’s lawn chair left in the grass. No sign of fae. That was too bad. A good fight with the enemy might’ve relieved some of his pent-up energy.

  After Wynne disappeared last night with that damned fae, he’d tried to dematerialize to the Otherworld. Usually, once he’d been someplace, he could trace there again, but it seemed the fae realm had a mysterious barrier preventing his entrance. He could materialize out, but not in. Bastards.

  The long wait in his stone gargoyle had almost driven him mad. He’d had nothing to do but think about Wynne all day. She had willingly returned to the Otherworld with that fae after he’d told her he’d found a spell to heal her mother. He didn’t blame her for wanting to do everything she could to save her mom, but the thought of her in that hellhole with that fae ignited a hot, fiery ball in his stomach. He’d seen a tender look pass between them
. Had the fae seduced her?

  Dearest Goddess, he prayed that wasn’t true. But on the off chance the fae had sullied her, the guy would die by his hands. Inside his gloves, his fingertips turned ice-cold.

  He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. The now-familiar, awful smell, a blend of dirty socks and rotten fish, slipped past his senses. A headache pounded behind his eyes, spurned by his frustration and his impatience. He fisted his hands, and his leather gloves creaked.

  “Damian. Did you hear me?” Sasha’s high-pitched voice echoed through the room.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

  Sasha held up a glass filled with a thick yellow substance. “The spell is ready.”

  A jolt traveled along his arms, leaving a tingling sensation. He sprinted to her side, his footsteps shaking the floor with each step.

  He reached for the glass. “Give it to me.”

  “Not yet.” Sasha clasped it close to her chest. The liquid sloshed in the glass, and a tiny amount slipped over the rim and trickled down the side. “Remember, you have to relax. Sit.”

  “Yeah, right here.” Neira winked at him and patted the middle seat on the couch.

  A twitch pulsed beneath his eye, but eagerness to find Wynne propelled him into the seat. As he settled between the witch and the familiar, Neira leaned toward him and rubbed her shoulder against his. A soft purr escaped her lips.

  He held out his palm toward Sasha. “I’ll take the potion now.”

  Sasha frowned. “You have to relax for the potion to work.”

  Relax? How was he supposed to do that with Wynne in the Otherworld and Neira breathing down his neck? He rubbed his gloved palm over his face, leaned into the sofa, and forced himself to breathe.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’ll help you.” Neira trailed her fingers over his arm, lightly scratching him with her nails.

  “Neira. You’re not helping.” Sasha exhaled. “Why don’t you make a tuna sandwich?”

  Neira stiffened, and she raised her chin. “Fine. I can take a hint.”

  She rose from her seat and strode from the room, her hips swaying in a long, seductive walk. If she was trying to entice him, she’d failed. Only one woman captured his attention, and she was in the Otherworld.

  Sasha placed her hand on his knee and handed him the glass. “Here. Do me a favor. Take a few breaths before you gulp that down and wait until I start the chant, okay?”

  He nodded and accepted the glass. The scent of dirty socks intensified, and warmth from the potion slipped through his glove and into his palm. Memories of the nasty tasting liquid flicked through his mind, but his short-lived discomfort was a small price to pay to see Wynne again.

  “You used the coordinates I gave you?”

  “Of course.” Sasha pursed her mouth. “Your lack of faith in me is duly noted.”

  He exhaled long and slow. “I’m ready.”

  Sasha touched the crystal at her neck. “Ala toc, farna con pila.”

  She motioned for him to drink.

  “Ala toc, farna con pila.”

  He held his breath, brought the glass to his lips, and drank the foul-smelling liquid. His gag reflex bucked, but he managed to keep the potion down.

  “Ala toc, farna con pila.”

  His fingers and toes tingled. The glass slipped from his disappearing fingertips and rolled under the coffee table.

  Hope fluttered in his gut. Fighting against the adrenaline surging through his blood, he closed his eyes and relaxed into the cushions.

  “Ala toc, farna con pila.”

  The tickling numbness tracked up his arms and thighs.

  He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slow.

  “It’s working,” Sasha whispered, her voice trembling. “Please, bring my sister and my mom home safe…”

  The numbing sensation seeped into his torso, and he disappeared into the Otherworld, Sasha’s heartfelt plea echoing in his mind.

  Damian materialized in a long hallway. Familiar sconces hung from the walls every few yards, cells, most dark and empty, lined the corridor, and the dank smell of mold, decay, and fae wafted by on a slight breeze. He sagged against the wall and shifted to match the gray stone. Sasha had nailed the location like a pro.

  Soft feminine voices, one he recognized all too well, carried from the nearby cell.

  The weight on his shoulders lifted, and his pulse sped. With careful, measured steps, he approached the bars.

  Nestled side by side on a cot, Wynne and her mother were talking. She gripped her mother’s hands in the older female’s lap. A second bunk lay close by. His mind tripped over the reason for the second bed, then he focused on Wynne’s features, and a hard knot formed in his gut.

  Cheeks rosy, lips red and slightly swollen, Wynne glowed with a radiance he hadn’t noticed on her before. He pressed his lips together. She looked like a woman after a long, pleasurable night of—

  “Oh, honey bear, you can’t help who you fall in love with, even a fae.” Victoria’s comment hit Damian with the force of a sledgehammer, knocking his breath from him.

  No, no, no. He had to get Wynne away from Zain’s influence.

  He uncloaked himself and gripped the bars. “Wynne.”

  Her attention flicked to him, and her eyes widened. “Damian?”

  “Hurry, we have to leave, now.” He tightened his grip on the bars.

  She rose from the cot and approached him. “How did you arrive here, again?”

  “Magic.” He shrugged. “Come with me. Both of you.”

  Wynne’s eyebrows rose, and she shook her head. “You wasted a trip. I won’t go with you.”

  “Because you slept with Zain? Is that why? That fae,” he spit the word, “has tainted your mind as well as your body.”

  A flinch crossed her features. She took a step backward and narrowed her eyes. “You know nothing about Zain.”

  “He’s a fae. The enemy. That’s all I need to know.”

  Sparks pulsed from her fingers, tracked along the stone floor, and rippled up the bars. Smoke and the smell of burnt leather wafted into the air. He jerked his hands from the bars. If not for the protective layer, his palms would’ve burned.

  “Wynne!” Victoria’s shill voice reverberated off the walls.

  Wynne’s entire body shook, but the electric energy from her fingertips ceased. Her attention focused on her mother.

  “Mom… Mom!”

  Victoria lay on the bed, her eyes bloodshot, her lip quivering.

  Wynne rushed to her mother’s side and shook her shoulders. The elder witch blinked. A low moan echoed in the space between them.

  “Mom! What’s wrong?” Wynne cradled her mother’s head in her lap.

  “L…leave me. Go…with the…gar…goyle.” Victoria rasped.

  Tears glistened in Wynne’s eyes. “No, Mom, I won’t leave you.”

  His mouth suddenly dry, Damian couldn’t bear to see either witch in so much torment. Drawing on his incredible gargoyle strength, he grasped the bars. Warmth from the still hot metal permeated his gloves, but he gritted his teeth and yanked.

  A loud grinding creak escaped the metal like a scream. Bits of rock and dust cascaded from the post holes. The metal bent in his grasp.

  His chest swelled.

  He slipped between the bars and bolted to Wynne’s side.

  Wynne stared into his eyes. A tear slipped over her lashes. “What did I do?”

  “I’ll take you and your mother home where you’ll both be safe. We’ll figure it out from there.” He wrapped one arm around Wynne’s waist, the other around Victoria’s shoulders, and started to dematerialize.

  “No, you can’t—” Wynne struggled in his grasp.

  He grappled with her, laboring to keep his grip, but she squirmed out of his embrace.

  Instinct kicked in, and he grabbed her with both hands, releasing his hold on Victoria.

  “No, Mommmmmm!”

  His molecules broke apart, returning to the human re
alm, and he took Wynne right along with him.

  Her tormented scream chased them all the way home and rattled his nerves like nothing ever had before.

  CHAPTER 27

  Z ain clutched the comforters, the two pillows, and the extra-soft sheets tight in his arms and sifted into Victoria’s cell. He’d wanted to provide as much comfort as possible to both Wynne and her mother. Short of setting them free, which wouldn’t work anyway as Gwawl would just send another lackey after them, he brought what he could carry to ease the cold.

  An eerie silence filled the room. He halted and took in his surroundings. The cell bars were bent, leaving a gaping hole large enough for someone to escape. The hair at his nape rose. Victoria sat on her cot, hands resting in her lap. Wynne was gone.

  His gaze tracked to Wynne’s old cell. Darkness emanated from the empty space.

  An avalanche of pillows, comforters, and sheets slipped from his arms, cascading onto the floor. He blinked, tried to comprehend what had happened, but his mind fogged.

  Victoria sighed. “Hello, Zain. You just missed Wynne.”

  “Where is she?” he demanded in a tone rougher than he’d intended.

  “Home, most likely.” Victoria rose on unsteady feet. Her shoulders stooped, and patches of red mottled her pale skin. The illness had taken a toll on the elderly witch.

  An itch flared and ran across his chest. He rubbed at the scar and grasped Victoria’s arm to steady her. “Tell me what happened.”

  Victoria clasped his shoulder, her grip stronger than he’d expected. She met his gaze, her blue eyes so similar to Wynne’s. “Damian came for her.”

  His pulse sped, sending a wave of heat over his shoulders and down his back. The muscles in his arms shook, and he fisted his free palm.

  “Did she leave willingly?” he spat the bitter question.

  Victoria sighed. “She—”

  “Of course she left of her own accord. Did you think she would stay for you?” Marco’s soft chuckle slipped along the air, bringing a cool draft that raised the hair on Zain’s arms.

  Zain snarled, the deep rumble emanating from the depths of his soul. He turned toward the fae. “What are you doing here?”