Locked in Stone

by Tory Michaels

  He hated the look of hope that crossed her face at Mr. Ray’s words. Knowing what he did about Gwen, it sickened him to think that Rose might genuinely love the woman. Maybe there was some way they could keep her from finding out the truth, save her more pain. She’d already suffered enough for any lifetime.

  “Trust me, even if you don’t yet trust your Sentinel guardians, little Rosie. If they find a lead on Gwen and the ones who killed her, they will tell you.”

  A huge “if.”

  …

  “So that’s it?” Rose asked. Why wasn’t there a book she could read? There were books on every other topic in the world, why not this?

  Oh, right. The general publishing community didn’t know what walked among humans each day. Humans would shit their pants if they knew. Cowering behind closed doors wouldn’t stop a vampire that wanted to eat them, or a demon who wanted to sacrifice. Well, unless their homes were on holy ground, she amended thanks to her newly gained information. Still, the humans would try to hide from the truth until it literally bit them in the neck.

  Well, if any materials or information existed, she was probably in the right place to get her hands on it.

  The warmth and love that slid through where her hands connected with Mr. Ray’s calmed the worst of the marauding butterflies in her belly. “Won’t you come to wherever it is to help?”

  He gave her hands a final squeeze. “No. They have need of me in Lhasa. I came merely to see with my own eyes that you were real and to offer what assurances I could to you. Lucas indicated you were…uneasy around the Sentinels.”

  Well, um, no shit, Sherlock. She carefully kept that response behind her closed mouth. She didn’t remember more than Mr. Ray’s gentle presence from when she was a child, but she did remember Anyuka saying to never piss off an angel. She asked instead, “Will you come back?

  “Once Gwen’s soul-stone has been retrieved—and yes, Rosie, they know about the soul-stone—I will return and help, if I can, in getting her soul free.”

  That little nugget threatened to unnerve her. Well, hell. That would explain Cal’s new reticence when he came into the backyard. Still, he hadn’t flat out told her to get out, so maybe they were going to be okay with everything else.

  But Mr. Ray trusted Cal. She said she trusted Cal. So maybe she should actually try trusting him to keep her safe. And if he failed her, well, she’d be dead, and the Sentinels would make him pay when she no longer could.

  That in mind, she brushed herself off. No need to keep hanging around in Atlanta if the T’chan that needed closing was in Florida. “Shall we go?”

  …

  Six hours later, Rose wanted to scream and smash the window out of the sturdy, solid SUV. According to Cal, the Protectorate didn’t have a helicopter currently near Atlanta. Since the gargoyles wanted to be in battle-ready condition, they couldn’t fly under their own wing power. Four hundred plus miles would exhaust even the hardiest gargoyle. She tried to limit her flights to two hundred miles or less on most occasions, usually just long enough to skip customs inspections.

  Unfortunately, they still had at least a half hour until they reached the T’chan. None of the Sentinels dispatched to track it down had dared approach the site openly because of the Twisted Ones and vampires standing guard. The Sentinels wanted the strength of numbers before going in.

  She twirled several strands of hair around her finger. She’d spent more time in vehicles, first planes and then cars, in the past several days than she had at any point since she was a child. Since gaining her wings at sixteen, when she’d transformed for the first time, she’d dismissed human ways of travel if she wasn’t in a hurry. Thankfully the ride had given her time to read through a binder, unimaginatively labeled “The Training Manual,” to get up to speed on just what Sentinels and gargoyles actually did. Cal had handed it to her as they climbed into the SUV.

  While there were no copious notes on “This is how you close a Rift,” it had given her a much better idea of her place and what the Protectorate expected of her in the coming months.

  She should have been with them all along. Her gut churned with a notion that had occurred to her as she read. Everything in the manual screamed that gargoyles and Sentinels trained together, even the Sacred Mothers, from the day they were old enough to do so. Everyone knew the Sacred Mothers trained as hard as any others, on top of their, erm, mothering duties.

  Why hadn’t Gwen brought her to the Sentinels? Sure, they’d let the Hungarian compound down, but given the sheer structure of the organization presented in the manual, it didn’t seem right that she really wouldn’t have trusted them.

  Unless… She sucked in a deep breath, trying to control her unease at the disloyalty implied with her thought. Unless Gwen’s use of the dark magic wasn’t just out of necessity.

  She threw the idea out before it could take too deep of root. No, that was just the influence of the Sentinels. Gwen was good. Sentinels were lazy, useless.

  A quick glance at Cal as he steered the car around a slow-moving minivan reminded her just how wrong that notion was, despite the initial paint-covered meeting. He definitely worked hard. She’d seen that for herself as he guided the gathering gargoyles in preparation for the drive south, making careful assignments as to who was going to attack where.

  She snapped the binder shut as her gaze skimmed over the heading “Sacred Mothers and the Choice of Breeding Partners” and blurted, “Pull over.”

  She couldn’t take the wretched noise from the stereo any longer. Cal had blasted country music since they’d hit I-75 and she was more a Carrie Underwood, pop mixed with country, girl.

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Wha— Awwww, shit!” Cal swore as he jerked the steering wheel. The vehicle careened wildly over three lanes of traffic. It rumbled to a swift halt in under ten seconds. “What’s wrong? You get motion sick?”

  Her stomach heaved again and she clamped her hand over her mouth. Babies and her. Babies with a Sentinel.

  She barely yanked the door open and unsnapped her belt before the third wave hit her. Warm, somewhat humid air swirled around her as her knees hit the pavement, and she sucked in the smell of exhaust, digging her fingers in the crumbly, sandy dirt.

  Her chest heaved and her skin itched. The need to change, to feel the wind under her wings, rose up hot, sharp, and savage. It wasn’t a Dark Night, one of the moonless nights each month when she either spent the time in agony or remained in her gargoyle form, but sometimes a girl just needed to fly.

  This was one of those sometimes.

  “I’m sorry. So sorry,” she whispered, yanking off her sweater and staggering further from the SUV. She needed away from the bright light of traffic if she didn’t want to be caught mid-change. Once in the sky, she’d blend in well enough. She’d been practicing that little trick for twelve years now.

  Gravel crunched behind her and she turned, hands already at the hem of her shirt, ready to rip it off. She’d changed clothes before leaving, since she knew they might face combat and she’d need the strength and speed of her gargoyle side. The tank top under the shirt had slits in the back for her wings to fit through and there was clever little patch held by Velcro in the seat of her leggings that allowed her tail freedom when she transformed.

  Cal tugged on her arm and she wanted to deck him for touching her, distracting her. He didn’t get it. The rational part of her mind knew that there was no reason he should. He didn’t know she hated being closed in, or being too touchy-feely.

  “Rose, stop. Think about it. You can’t shift.”

  “The hell I can’t shift. I need this. I need to fly. I’ve been cooped up for too long and I need to breathe!”

  She lurched unsteadily to her feet, her hands on her hips, to glare at Cal. Though they’d moved beyond the brightest lights, her sensitive eyesight made out every detail of his form. To her surprise, she recognized the expression on his face. She’d seen him look at Anyuka that way back when he guarded her.
The serious, pleading expression. Usually though, he’d had a harried, exasperated smile at the same time.

  He wasn’t smiling tonight.

  Not that she wanted him to smile at her. God no. She hadn’t lost her mind. While trying to save her neck, she had no business scoping out any men. Besides, he still needed to prove himself to her as a worthy guardian.

  Rose deliberately reached down and plucked his fingers away from her arm, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the contact. The look was purely for show. To her extreme annoyance, distasteful wasn’t the right word for how his touch felt. If it had been, she wouldn’t want more of it, and him.

  He held out his hand, not threatening her in the slightest, just his hand with the palm up. “It’s not safe. I’m not taking chances with you.” Cal’s Adam’s apple bobbed and pleading flashed over his face as his tone shifted to one that smacked of begging. “The last time I left a Sacred Mother who I was supposed to be guarding, she died. Don’t expect me to let you wander off without protesting.”

  Anyuka had died while he was gone, and he’d had to live with that for twenty-four years. Her attitude softened a smidge because she knew how survivor’s guilt tortured a person, thanks to her own over Rory and Reny.

  Her eyes narrowed as she battled against that weakness. She took a step forward. Bands of pressure built, rippling through her body. Waves of flesh rose and settled along the length of her arms and legs as she maintained her focus so she didn’t shift before she meant to.

  “We’re about to waltz into a hotbed of vampires and demons so I can fix something without even the faintest hint of instruction and you don’t want me to fly by myself?”

  His mouth twisted up as his hazel eyes glinted in the moonlight. A heartbeat passed before he snorted and let out a rumbling chuckle, and she couldn’t help her own giggle. It felt good to laugh with someone, and his sank into her ears with all the rasping appeal of soft velvet. She could bask in the sound for hours.

  If she weren’t about to fly into a dangerous situation. Pay attention, Rose. Keep your eyes above the waist.

  “Yeah, put like that, it sounds stupid.” His jaw tightened as he stared at her. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “Doesn’t change the facts. You shouldn’t be unguarded.”

  Stupid, yup. But awfully sweet, she realized. It had been a long time, a very long time, since anyone cared enough to try to stop her from doing something. Gwen certainly never had. Rose had landed in juvie on more than one occasion because of the woman’s laid-back, hands-off parenting style.

  “But do you see my point? It may be silly of me to worry about you. You’re safer in the air than you are on the ground, but I won’t see you up there.” He folded his arms over his chest, clearly trying to make himself more imposing. It didn’t intimidate her, just highlighted how fit he was, draped in all leather. “I refuse to lose you again. Don’t fly off alone. Please.”

  It was the word “please” that had the biggest impact. Men like Cal probably didn’t use “please” very often, just gave orders and expected them to be followed, like he had when taking her up to see Mr. Ray.

  Rose calmed her breathing, feeling the gargoyle beneath her skin ease its strain to burst free. That one little word touched her in a way she hadn’t thought a Sentinel could, much less this Sentinel. Her gaze traveled down the length of him in a very thorough survey. The landscape was very, very fit, with tight, well-honed muscles.

  She remembered him in the sunlight that afternoon before she’d realized who he was. He didn’t look that different now, except he was encased in leather. Very tight leather.

  Okay, wow. Neither the time nor the place to wake up, hormones.

  “How much do you weigh, Cal?” She blurted the question to keep herself from lingering on the juncture of this thighs and just what might lay behind the material.

  “Huh, wha’? Why?”

  She continued to eye him closely to take her own gauge. Looking was allowed, right? As long as she didn’t do anything stupid, like drool on him. She’d always had a thing for buff men. Her Blu-ray of 300 was one of her most prized possessions, and Gerard Butler wasn’t the only man who looked good in a loincloth.

  Plus side to what she was about to offer to do: she’d be in extended, close contact with him. Maybe she could get rid of her attraction to Cal by getting closer to him for a brief time before she did something stupid, like actually grope him and embarrass herself if he objected.

  “Can the gargoyles drive? At least far enough to park the car where it won’t get towed?”

  Time to see how serious his objection to her flying alone was, and how strongly he took his new role as her protector. If he wanted to stay close at hand, he’d better either sprout his own wings or come along for the ride.

  Those hazel eyes, so expressive, widened in shock as he no doubt figured out her intentions. “No.”

  She smirked and fell back on smug sureness to cover the momentary lapse into lustful thoughts, flinging her hair over her shoulder. “You man enough to fly with me? Or does your promise to protect me only apply when I’m on the ground. Because if that’s so, you’re never going to succeed.”

  He tapped a finger on his chin, brow furrowing as he considered. Three cars zipped by in the background before he managed to say, “I, uh, I’m about two hundred,” he admitted.

  She could carry that with no problem. “You game? We’re only about thirty miles out of Orlando, right?”

  “Well, um, I’m not sure about this, but…” He fidgeted and then offered her an answering grin. His expression lit up the darkness. “What the hell. Dennis sometimes takes the wheel. He can catch up after he finds somewhere to park. We’re all headed to the same place anyway. Wait here,” he said, and then rushed back to the SUV.

  As she stood there, the muffled rush of cars zooming by partially drowning out the T’chan static, rampaging butterflies once again took flight in her belly.

  He’d see her other form. Sure, Gwen had seen her, been there to soothe her scrapes and bumps from early flights, but she didn’t count.

  And now, she not only intended to change and show off her wings, but intended to fly with someone. Her breath caught in her throat.

  She was actually going to show her gargoyle self.

  Vasiliu would see her. Would he think less of her if she was disfigured? She hadn’t been able to take on gargoyle form yet when she’d known him as a child.

  Lifting her chin, she stomped her foot to relieve the building pressure. No second thoughts. No one would see her insecure. She was Brier Rose, Sacred Mother, and that trumped everything else.

  She tossed the shirt and shimmied from her boots. The boots would be a casualty if she shifted while wearing them. The gargoyles would hopefully think to gather them up before driving off.

  As she heard Cal return, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, releasing control over the gargoyle that lay deep within. She was what she was and if anyone didn’t like her looks, tough shit. Gargoyle she was and gargoyle she’d be. He was a bodyguard—he didn’t get a say on whether or not she looked good with wings.

  Familiar electricity arced through her. Her bones creaked and cracked; her skin split as she snarled. Her face elongated and her already-pointy canines extended further from her gums. Pressure built in her back until her wings exploded out. The ground shrank several inches as her legs and torso expanded to their full size, testing the stretchiness of her clothes to the fullest.

  As she completed the change and opened her eyes, Cal’s footsteps stilled behind her. She turned in his direction and her heart sank. There was no mistaking the shock in his expression. She wanted to sink through the ground, her momentary bravado notwithstanding.

  He thought she was hideous.

  Chapter Six

  Tip from Sentinel Cal Levesque: Never leave your charge, no matter what she may order you to do. People die when you do. I speak from experience.

  Cal knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. She was a goddess. A
bountiful goddess of fertility, with lush hips, silver-tipped wings, and a wealth of black hair streaked with blue tumbling down her back.

  In her human form, Rose was a beautiful woman. Yet seeing her now, her honey-colored skin darkened to deep amber, she was incredible. Along the nape of her neck, alternately obscured and framed by her hair, the silver lines of her gargoyle’s angelic heritage glowed under the light of the crescent moon.

  Hell.

  If a vampire ripped out his heart right then and ate it, he would die happy. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight than Rose Johnson in her true form.

  Their eyes met. She’d changed to green contacts that matched her tank top and the new lenses no longer entirely obscured her pupils. Glittering silver haloed the bright green. And, unbelievably, he saw uncertainty in the woman who just minutes before had looked like she was about to rip his head off.

  Absolute, total vulnerability.

  “I, uh…” Her previously soprano voice took on a mellow, slightly husky tone. “You’re staring, Cal. Am I hideous?” Her tail switched in the low-lying weeds that surrounded them.

  “Hideous?” He couldn’t help the stammer. She thought she was ugly? Did she not possess a mirror? He’d been around gargoyles most of his life and he couldn’t think of a single one who was less qualified to call herself ugly than Rose.

  Rose turned fully toward him and damn, he gave an effort worthy of a titan because of her lineage and dislike for Sentinels, but his gaze fell briefly onto her full-to-bursting-from-her-tank-top-breasts. He didn’t want to look away once his attention landed, but he forced himself to. If she didn’t deck him, Anniko probably would when he finally made it to Otherworld at his passing.

  The specter of facing down pissy-ghost Anniko did wonders to cool his libido, at least for a moment.

  “You’re definitely not hideous.”

  Rose swallowed, her wings fluttering until they settled into place around her shoulders. The bones at the apex of each one clicked together, like two hooks meeting, to turn her wings into a cape. Standard, not-ready-to-fly procedure for a gargoyle.