Rocked by Love (Gargoyles Series)

by Christine Warren

  “Finish this first.”

  “… and so when we return, I will share with you all what the Masters have decreed you might do to aid Their cause and momentarily sate Their hunger. It will require organization and effort, as well as total dedication to our cause, but when we succeed we will not only have restored the Defiler to power, but have freed His Sister from the torture of Her foul prison.”

  Kylie groaned. “Why do I think he’s not talking about some random blonde out at MCI Framingham?”

  “Another of the Seven,” Dag bit out. “Shaab-Na. The Unclean. It is often referred to as female.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  There was a knocking, shuffling sound and the video cut off abruptly. Kylie cursed and retrieved the file structure. “Crap, that’s it? That was the only video. What the hell was their grand plan? What kind of grand plan ends up summoning and feeding Demons to begin with?”

  Dag pushed away from the desk and stalked over to glare at the cindered remains of the drude left on the floor. Kylie had the feeling he was wishing he could put the thing back together just so he could rip it apart again. Hell, she would even have brought popcorn this time.

  “The only way to restore a demon to power, or to lend it enough power to escape from the prison to which it has been banished, is to feed it.” His tone was flat and hard, like the pedestal on which he had so recently perched. About as warm, too.

  A queasy feeling churned in her stomach. “And Demons eat souls. Right?”

  He nodded in a single jerk of his chin.

  “Um, not that I really want to know the answer to this question or anything, but how do you feed someone’s soul to a Demon? Even more, how do you feed it enough souls to accomplish what those dybbukim were talking about?”

  Dag wore an expression of disgust and barely controlled anger as he shook his head. “There are too many ways. A Demon needs only to lay its hand on a human to grasp its soul, and it is the work of seconds to devour it. Sacrificial rites can also channel the soul into an object that stores it until it is given to the Dark one. There are also spells that can trap souls as they depart from dying humans and hold them for a Demon to ingest.”

  “Okay, so that’s three things I never want to see happen.” Kylie shuddered. “But it sounds to me like freeing a Demon or giving one enough power to make it strong again would take more than just a couple of souls. At least I hope so. Didn’t Wynn say they figured the first one got released when an entire village was slaughtered somewhere in the Middle East?”

  “She did,” Dag said, looking less kill-y and more thoughtful for a moment. “The Order would need to take that into account.”

  “Which means they must be planning something big.”

  Oh, how Kylie hated having to say that. Big sounded really, really not good in this particular context. Like, big plate of challah French toast? Awesome. Big sacrifice to some batshit idiots’ demonic overlord? The opposite of awesome, to the nth degree.

  “Indeed. We must warn the others immediately.”

  “Warn them of what?” When he growled at her, Kylie bounced twice on her balance ball and contemplated using a third one to launch herself straight at the grumpy gus’s head. Somehow, she restrained herself. “No, seriously,” she said. “Warn them of what? That the Order is planning something big? Um, from what I remember of our last conversation, I think that’s exactly what they warned us about, so I hardly think they’re unaware. Until we figure out what the plan is, as well as other piddling little details like who, when, and where, we have no new information to share.”

  The glare he shot in her direction could have peeled paint, which made Kylie doubly happy that she rarely bothered with makeup. His lip curled back, revealing a long fang he should not have been carrying around in human form. Pfft. After the last eighteen hours it was going to take a lot more than that to scare her. She’d pulled on her big-girl panties.

  Which looked exactly like her other panties, but with a tich more “fuck you” in the elastic.

  “What?” She knew she shouldn’t taunt the poor Guardian, but somehow she just couldn’t resist. This was probably why her bubbeh always told her to stay away from tigers with tails. “You know I’m right. You just hate when that happens. Well, get used to it, snookums, because otherwise you are in for a bumpy ride.”

  He stalked over to her. Her grin lasted about three of his long strides. By the fourth, it had slid somewhere into her stomach along with about a billion gypsy moths. That was also when his big, rough hands closed around her and drew her to her feet.

  “I swear by the Light that I will find a way to teach you to hold that tongue, female,” he growled and hauled her against him. “Beginning now.”

  In one fell swoop—and boy, did she have a new and much deeper understanding of that expression now!—his head dipped and his mouth settled over hers with angry determination. Less than a heartbeat later, her smile waved good-bye to the moths and dove right into those panties of hers, proving once and for all that she was, indeed, a very big girl.

  Oy, for a thousand-year-old stone statue who’d barely had time to kill things between naps, let alone to date much, the man could kiss. And kiss. And kiss.

  He ate her up with more relish than the bagel and the pastrami combined, seeming to feast on her like Shabbat dinner. His lips felt hot and firm, demanding a response that she had no trouble giving him. She could lose her mind in this kind of kiss, hungry, possessive, and oh so deep.

  He entered her mouth and dove straight for her soul, teasing it out with little nips of his teeth and a wicked, taunting tongue. He stroked and sucked and ate at her until she moaned and clutched at him like a drunk on a bender. The comparison seemed apt, given the way her head spun, her balance deserted her, and her skin felt flushed with heat.

  More than the kiss had her thoughts in a whirl. Until a few seconds ago, Kylie had been pretty well convinced that Dag hated her, that he tolerated her only because Wynn and Knox had insisted they work together and because he found it unsporting to kill defenseless humans. He certainly spent enough time looking at her like he found her to closely resemble a particularly annoying sort of insect. Like a flea with a vaudeville act, or something. But if this was how he kissed women he hated, she figured the ones he liked must spontaneously combust before he got within ten feet of them.

  About three seconds before Kylie figured her socks would start smoking, he finally pulled back and stared at her. It took a few seconds for her eyes to uncross and focus again, but when they did, all she could read from his expression was the same shock and confusion she felt herself. Was a kiss that good a novel experience for him, too?

  Dag snatched his hands from her and stepped back, leaving Kylie swaying on her feet like a birch tree in a windstorm. No lie. She actually had to reach out and put a hand on the desk to steady herself while the big lug just stared at her as if she’d been the one to knock him over the head with a lust hammer. How unfair was that?

  When the room stopped spinning and her fine motor control finally returned, Kylie cleared her throat and opened her mouth. “Dag, I—”

  “I will check security outside. No more drude will surprise us this day,” he grumbled approximately one-half second before he fled out the door like a scared little girl.

  Oh, hell, who was Kylie kidding? She didn’t blame him a bit. A few minutes alone to regroup sounded like a mighty fine idea to her. As did a stiff drink, a slap upside the head, and a long, cold shower.

  Groaning, she dropped back onto her balance ball, overshot her mark, and landed tokhes over teakettle halfway under her desk. Make that two stiff drinks. And she’d pour herself one in just a minute.

  Right after she got the feeling back in her legs.

  Stupid gargoyle.

  Testosterone, she reflected as she stared up at the underside of her desk drawer. Forget the demons; testosterone would be the real death of them all.

  Chapter Seven

  A klole iz nit keyn telegram; zi ku
mt nit on azoy gikh.

  A curse is not a telegram; it doesn’t arrive so fast.

  As if the scent of her hadn’t been enough, now Dag had to contend with the taste of her as well. And it was nothing but his own thoughtless fault.

  He could not even conjure himself a worthwhile excuse. One moment they discussed the task they had set out to accomplish, and the next she once again gave vent to that sharp, impudent tongue of hers, and his control snapped. He could think of nothing more than silencing her, of demonstrating to her once and for all that as a Guardian, he bore the responsibility for the success or failure of their endeavors, and therefore he would rightly make the decision of when and how to move forward.

  Unfortunately, his unruly instincts had ceased caring about moving forward on the quest for the nocturnis’ defeat. Their only concern had become imprinting his claim on the young female’s smart and sassy mouth, as well as a host of her other more intriguing bits and pieces.

  This weakness displeased him. A Guardian, like any warrior, must live by his strength, and emotion was a creature’s greatest weakness. If he allowed himself to feel affection for another, it set the stage for worry to creep in at a critical moment. A worried warrior could not focus all his attention on his foe, and this opened him to the attacks of his enemy. Even rage could blind a Guardian in a crucial moment, but love was the greatest vulnerability a creature could have.

  Love.

  He tried to push the word from his mind as he circled the three accessible sides of Kylie’s semidetatched home. One common wall shared with the neighboring building gave him pause, but short of knocking on the door and demanding its occupants move out and allow him to take over their space, little could be done to address the concern. He would need to keep a close eye on the situation.

  Yet another thing emotion made all the more difficult. How was a warrior to give his full attention to his duties when his thoughts constantly strayed to an aggravating female? He could overlook some subtle threat and thereby place not just himself but all of humanity in jeopardy.

  No, a Guardian must remember the stone in which he slept and keep that cool, firm resolution in mind in the face of even the most extreme temptations. Especially when the temptations tasted of mint and spice, butter, herbs, and endless pleasure.

  At the end of the deep, narrow alley beside the house, Dag paused and drew in a deep breath. He held it in for a long moment, then let it out slowly and allowed his head to fall back to his shoulders as he struggled to regain the equilibrium that had deserted him for the first time in his long memory. The battle raged within him for endless minutes before he felt his control return. Of course, how long it would last in the face of his female’s confusing chatter and wicked impertinence remained to be seen.

  No, he would remember his duty and not allow his instincts or his inclinations to threaten his balance. It would be a simple matter of focus and discipline.

  Too bad his female seemed incapable of either of those herself.

  After a brief pause to assure himself of a cool head, Dag reentered the front of the house and returned to the office. As he’d predicted, Kylie once again sat at her desk, bouncing atop the ridiculous sphere she used in place of a proper chair. She didn’t bother to look up when he stepped in the room, merely kept her gaze on her computer monitors and continued with the muffled clatter of rapid typing.

  She thought to ignore him? Indignation threatened to rise, but he shoved it down and stomped on it. No emotion, he reminded himself. Her strategy was a sound one, and he would do well to emulate her. Repeating those words to himself, he turned to the only other chair in the room and found it already occupied.

  No nocturni or human visitor had snuck past his notice, Dag observed, but Kylie had acquired a guest regardless. A large, orange tomcat sat half curled on the battered toile cushion, one hind leg stuck in the air while he industriously cleaned his short, sleek fur. When Dag approached, the animal didn’t even bother to pause in his ablutions, just fixed unblinking yellow eyes on the stranger and continued to lick.

  “That’s King David.” Kylie’s voice broke the silence, her tone even and carefully neutral. “He comes and goes as he pleases, but when he’s here, that’s where he sits.”

  Dag took that to mean that he himself could either stand or go to the devil because the cat was staying put. He supposed that summarized the nature of cats, but it also indicated his little female might have been just as put out by that unplanned kiss as he had been. How he felt about that, he couldn’t decide.

  He glanced around the space and caught sight of the closet door. If he remembered correctly, Kylie’s perfectly serviceable desk chair should still be inside. Crossing to the small space, he pulled out the rolling seat and positioned it beside the cat’s current perch. It lacked the toile chair’s soft cushions and well-broken-in cozy comfort, but at least it saved him from standing around like a fool in the queen’s court.

  He wondered if his female realized the significance of giving her cat the title of King. Wouldn’t that make her a monarch in her own right? She seemed to have no trouble acting the part.

  For several minutes he simply watched and waited, dividing his time between Kylie’s green-ringed eyes and King David’s furry yellow coat. Both ignored him, even after the cat completed his bath and settled into a sphinxlike pose to relax. It seemed cat and mistress had something else in common—neither appeared particularly impressed by his presence.

  After nearly twenty minutes, it became clear to Dag that Kylie had no intention of speaking to him unless it became absolutely necessary. He could only hope that if a demon suddenly appeared at his back, she would at least put aside her irritation long enough to warn him to duck, but just then, he preferred not to chance anything.

  When he finally broke the silence, his voice sounded unnaturally harsh, even to his own ears. “Have you found anything else on the device?” He winced when he heard himself, but it was too late to alter what was said.

  Kylie stilled, her fingers freezing a hairsbreadth above her keyboard, her gaze still fixed on her screen. It appeared as if she debated the merits of responding to his question or continuing to ignore him, and Dag honestly had no idea which she would choose.

  Of course, when she eventually made her decision and turned her dark gaze on him, relief failed to flood through him. She looked at him as if he emitted some sort of odor offensive to her senses.

  “I’ve found several things,” she said, her voice still tight and flat, as if she spoke to an irritating stranger. “As I mentioned earlier, there are a number of files saved on the drive in various formats. However, the footage we already viewed was the only video file. I’m afraid we won’t get any more information of that kind from this source.”

  Dag nodded, trying to prevent a frown from pulling at his features. It took a second for him to realize why she sounded so strange to him; it was the lack of spark in her voice. Without the undercurrent of energy and impudence in her tone, she simply didn’t sound like Kylie. She sounded like a recorded message.

  Something told him not to point that out, though. He thought he remembered seeing a pair of scissors in her desk drawer. Better to be cautious.

  He rephrased his question. “What have you found of importance?”

  Her lips pursed briefly, then she bounced a few times on her ball and seemed to thaw a bit. He only wished he knew exactly what had precipitated the change so he could do it again in the future. He had the feeling this would not be the only time he angered her.

  “I was really hoping for another video, so I checked for hidden files first,” she said. “Nada. It’s a total WYSIWYG. I don’t think Ott was as tech savvy as he liked to think. Or else he figured the drude would eat anyone who tried to get into his files, so why bother being sneaky.”

  Dag swallowed a sigh and reached for his calmest, most level tone of voice. “Nada?” he repeated. “Wizzy-wig?”

  She blinked at him, her expression remaining blank for an instant
before realization hit. She truly was unaware of her automatic use of slang and phrasing someone not from her own culture might have trouble understanding. At least he knew now that she didn’t do it to torture him.

  Or rather, she hadn’t done so just then.

  “Sorry. I didn’t find anything buried or hidden,” she explained. “What you see is what you get with this particular drive. So, next I started weeding through the files. E-mails are copies of his conversations with me. He didn’t keep as thorough a record as I did, so that’s pretty useless. The spreadsheet he set up was the first thing that really caught my attention.”

  She turned back to her keyboard, set her fingers flying and opened a new document on the screen which she angled to allow him to see it. He had noticed that she used the small palm-sized device next to her typing surface sparingly and had asked her about it earlier. She called it a mouse, and said she could use keystroke shortcuts more efficiently most of the time. Now, however, she used the small pointer icon the mouse produced to highlight areas of the ledgerlike document for Dag to make note of.

  “It looks like our friend Dennis was compiling a database of local nocturnis,” she said, her voice taking on more of the animation to which Dag had grown accustomed. “He has a list of people, mostly men, but evil is apparently not Y-chromosome-linked. Each entry is listed starting with what he calls the person’s handle. I can only guess he felt some kind of nostalgia for the days of CB radio when they used them. But I’m guessing a lot of the members of the Order chose to go by an alias rather than a legal name. A nom de guerre, I guess you could say.”

  “This has often been the case. In the past, it proved an effective disguise, as information exchange was much slower and a real identity much easier to disguise.”

  Kylie nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Anyway, for some entries he does manage to list a real name. Unfortunately, a lot of them are only partial, either first or last. Usually first. I’m guessing he was trying to ID them all, but it was slow going, so he hedged his bets by also including a short physical description of each person. I’m not sure if that was to jog his own memory, or if he actually started it with the intent of handing it over to someone at some point, but it could prove useful.”