Lillian rubbed at her temples. “So the unicorn is Clan, and my brother is Coven. And Clan and Coven are allies?”
“Now we are, but that wasn’t always the case. At the thought of another blood feud, members of both Clan and Coven became paranoid and defensive. The Council gathered to put a stop to this, for a blood feud would expose us to the humans. The last time such a thing happened was long ago and ended with members on both sides burning at the stake. The Council ordered an investigation. The order was barely three hours old when we were attacked. The Riven showed us how woeful our defenses were against them. We lost eighty percent of the Council in one night.”
Lillian waited while her grandmother gathered herself.
Both grief and anger glinted in Gran’s eyes, the two emotions melding into a steel–hard resolve. “Nothing like this had ever happened before. Individually, we didn’t know what to do against such a powerful new enemy. For the first time in recorded history, the entire membership of the Clan and the Coven came together, like a herd seeking safety in greater numbers. When we did, we saw how many were missing. At first we thought those absent were dead, hunted down by the Riven. But later we learned the truth. Better had they been dead.
Some old and trusted friends, ones we never thought had a speck of darkness within them, were serving these Riven. It became clear later what the Riven’s true motives were: they shall consume all the magic of this realm and rule over what remains. I fear some of the traitors may not have had a choice. We caught one of the traitors, a dire wolf. He seemed relieved when we put him to death. It was as if he was at last freed from intolerable servitude.” Gran shook her head. “I don’t know what was done to that poor creature, but granting him death was the kindest gift he’d received in many years.”
“What is a dire wolf?” Lillian’s head was full of cotton.
“Ah,” Gran cleared her throat. “You’ve heard the legends of werewolves, no doubt.”
“Yes. You’re saying a dire wolf is a werewolf.”
“No, and don’t ever call a dire wolf a werewolf,” Gran started to chuckle, “That’ll make them cranky. Like many of the fae–bloods, dire wolves are shapeshifters, but their natural shape is that of a large wolf. Instead of a human changing into a wolf, it’s the other way around. The fae–blood wolf learned to shapeshift into a man.”
“Oh.” There was so much Lillian didn’t know, and by the set of her grandmother’s shoulders there was more to come. “Tell me the rest. My parents,” she stopped and chewed her lower lip. “The two I thought were my parents … they didn’t die in a car accident, did they?
Gran spun her wedding band around her finger in slow measured turns. “My son and daughter–in–law were on the Council, members representing the Northern branch of the Coven. They were at council when it was attacked.”
Lillian glanced down. The glossy hardwood floor reflected the morning light. Her gaze tracked the stream of sunlight back to the window, and beyond to the beauty of the world outside. The sight of her favorite tree usually brought a sense of peace, but today it couldn’t fill the hollow ache in her heart. So much of her life was a lie, and much of what was real felt like fantasy. She glanced at the gargoyle. At least he hadn’t vanished into the shadows. “Why bring me here?”
He remained silent.
“Even fed, you’re still not much of a talker.” Lillian crossed her arms over her chest and glowered.
Gran patted her shoulder. “I think he wants me to tell you the rest.”
“There’s more?”
“Lillian, by now you must realize you’re not what you thought. You’re Clan, not Coven. You’re not human.”
Lillian wanted to deny her grandmother’s words, but after all that had happened, she knew there was something different about her. She inclined her head to her grandmother and asked as calmly as she could, “If not human, what am I?”
“I, too, wondered that at first. Your gargoyle was injured, as were you. I think he used a lot of his power to heal you, and didn’t had enough left over for healing his own injuries. His time was limited. He was already turning to stone, and he couldn’t tell me much about you beyond the fact he didn’t want you familiar with magic. I didn’t even know what race you were at first.”
Lillian nodded her head. “Go on. I can handle this.”
“I found a clue clinched in your hand—a small cutting from a tree, its leaves still fresh like it was newly picked. I put it in water and within a day it had sprouted roots. That it rooted at all would have been enough to signal that this was no ordinary cutting, but there was also a trace of magic in its leaves. You are a dryad. A tree spirit. Guardian of the forests. I didn’t know enough about dryads to know how to look after one, but I knew a sick child when I saw one. There was an unhealthy look about your skin I didn’t like. Your little tree sickened until just a few needles remained. Fearing I’d lose you, I contacted the sisterhood of the dryads and told them about you, your tree, and your gargoyle. There were here in less than a day. You’re alive because of them. I don’t think I would have thought about giving your tree gargoyle blood.”
Lillian absorbed what her grandmother said. She couldn’t accept everything now. It was too much. Later, when she was alone, she’d replay this conversation in her head and maybe then it would make sense.
Trapped in her memories, Gran continued like she was unaware Lillian was there with her. “The first night he’d come to us at the edge of the lake, he’d been injured and his blood was splattered across the grass and leaves. It shimmered under the moonlight—I remember seeing it, and in my state of shock I’d thought it beautiful like the stars in a cold winter sky. The next morning, my senses returned, and knowing the power locked in an immortal’s blood, I gathered up all I could find and kept it safe.”
The gargoyle stood, his sudden movement interrupting Gran’s story. He made a short coughing bark as he glanced out the window. His tail lashed, and his ears snapped forward. Someone was coming, to judge by his body language.
Lillian eased off her bed and came up behind the gargoyle. Her viewpoint was all wings, mane, and flicking tail. When he shifted a wing out of the way and made room for her to stand next to him, a small thrill of gratitude flowed through her veins.
Through the open window she heard a vehicle coming up the lane. The boulevard trees blocked her line of sight and obscured the vehicle until it turned up the main driveway. Her brother’s car came into view.
The gargoyle’s lips pulled back from his muzzle. Jaws parted slightly and nostrils quivering, he sniffed at the air. She touched his arm—and his thoughts came to her. No, not sniffing the air—tasting it.
“Ah, the Sisterhood has arrived.” Gran said. “I sent Jason to pick them up from the airport.”
“The other dryads?”
“Yes. They’re the closest biological family you have in this world, but don’t be fooled for a moment. They are a dying race and have an agenda of their own. They saved your life, but I think they did it more to curry favor with the gargoyle than out of actual concern for you.”
“You think they’re dangerous?” Lillian meant it as a statement but Gran answered anyway.
“No,” Gran said, then paused as if she was selecting her words with care. “I don’t mean to poison you against them. They serve the Light not the Shadow, but they are not human. They don’t think like us. And as much as you’re biologically like them, you were raised as a human, with a human’s view of the world and our moral concepts ingrained in you from a young age. You may not like what they have come seeking. I caution you because I love you and don’t wish to see your pain.”
“You’re sure they’re not evil? I’ve seen too much nastiness—I don’t want to face more today.”
“Yes, I’m certain. Do you think your gargoyle would stand there watching them if they were?”
“No,” Lillian replied with a glanced at the gargoyle. He was now silent, unmoving. Only his eyes showed any life in them. They glittered l
ike black ice, a predator’s stare directed down at the women exiting the car. All three strangers had the tall thin grace of swans. Each wore a sleek designer dress, had smooth waist–length hair, and long legs that ended in stilettos. Lillian instantly detested them for their inhuman elegance. “That’s so not fair. I thought you said these women were the same species as me. I fail to see the resemblance.” Apparently, not all dryads were so lucky as to get the chic gene. Instead nature had given her the curvy, but slightly plump gene.
“Oh, they’re just half–starved. Their trees didn’t have the nutrition of nice gargoyle blood to make them big and strong.” Gran chuckled. “Don’t worry dear. They’d blow over in a storm. Do you still regret you’re not like them?”
“If you put it that way, no, not really.”
“Well, we can’t hide up here all afternoon. Shall we introduce you and your gargoyle to the dryads?”
“Okay,” Lillian said without much enthusiasm. She didn’t want to meet them, not when she was feeling like the poor cousin.
Gregory remained silent as he padded to the door. He held it open for them. Not seeing any other choice, Lillian followed Gran out.
The gargoyle vanished into the shadows, but he trailed along behind, his heat and magic a reassuring presence. She’d always felt alone, and now she knew why: her gargoyle belonged at her back. She smiled and reached a hand out behind her as she descended the stairs. The warmth of a muzzle bumped under her hand. A moment later a tongue licked at her fingers. She smiled as contentment warmed her heart.
Chapter Eight
Lillian took the curving stairs in a slow, measured step. More to make sure she didn’t trip than to make an entrance. The living room stretched out below her. She craned her neck for a better view of the three strangers, but their backs were to her. Her brother was already below, attentive as a servant. Poor beguiled fool. While she wasn’t familiar with dryads, she did know their “type.” They’d eat her brother alive.
Her grandmother sailed past Lillian on the stairway, swift despite the long day she’d already put in and the ever–present arthritis which plagued her in the spring dampness. Gran showed no signs of weakness or age as she flowed down the steps, her floral–print dress billowing out behind her. She moved as a queen or matriarch would, quietly assured of her right to rule her domain.
Gran tilted her head it Jason’s direction. “Be a dear and go help your uncle. The gardens are a mess.”
A smile tugged at Lillian’s lips at her brother’s look of disgruntlement. Jason grumbled something as he left.
At Gran’s approach, the palest of the dryads stood. The newcomer made the simple motion one of slow grace. A long–fingered hand swept sable–colored hair off her shoulder. The sleek locks looked like they had never seen the abuse of a blow dryer or hot iron. Magic hair products? Humor twisted Lillian’s lips.
Sable–hair’s ladies–in–waiting, as Lillian decided to call the two flanking women, bowed to Vivian. Her grandmother nodded her head. Sable–hair acknowledged the nod with one of her own.
Like two queens meeting to negotiate a treaty, Gran and Sable–hair regarded each other with hard gazes.
“The gargoyle is awake and remains in this realm? He hasn’t returned to his own yet?” Sable–hair’s voice tightened with worry on the second question.
Lillian’s jaw tensed. What did these dryads want with her gargoyle? What was so important they couldn’t take the time to exchange names first? She didn’t like the implications already.
Gran nodded at the dryad’s words. “He is here, and will remain here as long as my granddaughter does. He shadows her every step, awaiting her command. Whatever his purpose, if you wish to speak with him about your problem, you’ll need to communicate through Lillian. The gargoyle is shy, reclusive and disinclined to speak to us folk of lesser magic.”
Lillian’s stomach tightened. Her gargoyle wasn’t like that. Sure, he didn’t have much to say, but he’d never done anything to make her think he regarded the rest of them as lesser beings. Gran caught her eye and shook her head the slightest bit. That one motion told Lillian all she needed to know. If her grandmother wanted to keep these strangers guessing, she would play along. The gargoyle remained silent, hidden in his shadows. Apparently he agreed with Gran’s plan.
The soft–spoken, brown–haired lady–in–waiting turned her attention to Lillian. “This gargoyle is your servant?” Her sculpted brows rose in question. “He awaits your commands?”
Lillian’s stomach soured. Her grandmother’s plan suddenly didn’t look so appealing. This new sense of authority, where others looked to her for answers, was not something she wanted. Reluctantly, but seeing no other choice, she answered. “If anyone is in the other’s debt, I am in his. He saved my life twice. First from the monsters who attacked me and then later he used his own strength to heal me. I was dying.” Her words drifted to silence as she remembered what it was like.
“But he does follow you like a loyal servant?” Sable–hair interrupted.
“I’m not his master.” True. But he had said “I am yours” whatever that might mean. She didn’t think she’d share that piece of information.
Sable–hair gritted her teeth, a gesture noticeable on her otherwise serene face. “Tell me how you came to be in this realm in the company of a gargoyle.”
Gran cleared her throat. “Perhaps introductions are in order.” She glanced in Lillian’s direction. “The dryads, like many of the fae races, don’t give their true names freely. This is a dryad Elder of the North American sisterhood. You may call her Sable.”
How creative, Lillian thought to herself as she smiled at the dryad in an attempt to seem friendly. When she held her hand out to the Elder, Sable hesitated.
Gran gave the dryad a frosty smile. “Elder Sable, this is my granddaughter. As you have said, she is in the good graces of a gargoyle.”
After a brief pause, Sable returned the handshake, the dryad’s soft, unblemished skin completely different than Lillian’s own garden–roughened hands.
Lillian grinned at the implied “play nice or else.” While the Elder returned Gran’s frosty smile, Lillian peered at the dryad to Sable’s right. With her waves of golden hair and pixie face, she wouldn’t have been surprised if this one called herself Goldilocks. And the other, the friendlier brown–haired one, could be called Brownie. Lillian rolled her eyes at her own folly.
Goldilocks, the lady–in–waiting, took a step forward and made eye contact. Her face pinched with impatience. “What is your relationship with this gargoyle? Is he blood relative or mate?”
“Huh?” Lillian’s jaw dropped. It hung open a moment before she closed it with a snap.
“Don’t play coy, just tell us.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t see how… .” Heck, she saw zero family resemblance between dryads and gargoyles. There were a few genetic differences for starters.
“Oh, come. How long has he been awake? A day? Two? Even if you honestly don’t remember your past, that’s still long enough to experience the draw between our races.”
Lillian didn’t seem able to control her jaw. It fell open again. Shaking her head, she denied what they said. But as she took a step back, she remembered that just an hour ago, she’d been running her hands over the gargoyle while he’d slept. Oh … so that’s why she kept wanting to touch him. Another complication she didn’t need.
Gran sent Lillian a look of sympathy, then her expression darkening, she transferred her gaze to the woman who had spoken out of turn. “Did you read any of the reports I sent you? Lillian knows nothing—absolutely nothing—about her history. She only found out this morning she wasn’t human.”
Goldilocks tipped her chin in the air. “Her lack of education is hardly my fault.”
With a snort of disgust, Gran flung her hands in the air. “Stupid child! Seal your mouth while you think things through in the future, lest foolishness escape!”
Elder Sable look
ed like she wanted to throttle Goldilocks, too. But instead she said, “Kayla is young, not yet mature. You are too hard on her.”
“Bah! Fine, it’s you I should gripe at. She’s your responsibility; any harm she causes in the future is your fault.”
“Fair enough.” Sable nodded. “Now let us get back to the reason we came.”
“Fine,” Gran growled, clearly at the end of her patience dealing with these three superior individuals. “What do you want besides the obvious?”
“Same as you. Too learn why and how the gargoyle came here.”
Suspicion started growing in Lillian’s mind. “And once you have your answers, what will you do with that knowledge?”
Sable tilted her head to the side to study Lillian in turn. “Leave this world. We’re a dying race and can’t remain in this world. There isn’t enough magic to beget healthy children. We must flee back to the realm of magic if we can.”
Lillian was trying to listen and make sense of everything they’d said, but her mind kept going back to when Kayla asked what relation the gargoyle was to her. Damn it all to hell. She had to know. “Explain what you said earlier about gargoyles and dryads … being related.” She locked gazes with Kayla.
Kayla flinched, her fingers fluttering against the hem of her dress in agitation.
“Talk,” Lillian demanded.
The other girl swallowed and darted glances between Lillian and Sable.
“I have a gargoyle who shadows my every step. Who do you think is more dangerous right now, me or Elder Sable?”
Kayla folded her hands and composed herself. “You are aware there are no male dryads?”
“No, but Gran did call you the ‘Sisterhood.’ Go on.”
“Long ago when we wanted a child or companionship we’d seek out males from the other magic races. Sometimes even a human male would do. But over time we grew weaker. The oldest of our bloodlines were failing to produce viable strong girl children to continue our race.” Kayla’s eyes unfocused, her thoughts turned inward as she’d warmed to her story. A ghost of a smile hovered on her lips. “Many centuries ago, when we still lived within the Magic Realm, a dryad queen grieved over her barren state. Her tree had taken to blight and she was dying without an heir. She feared for all her people. On the border of life and death, she first saw the gargoyle. All of the magic races have their legends about those demon killers, Light’s Assassins, but she’d never met one in all her years.
Stone's Kiss Page 7
