Legacy of the Sorceress (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 6)

by Lisa Blackwood

  Obsidian huffed though it was more for show than any real annoyance at his friend. He’d expected the answer, anyway. It wasn’t like he’d thought the straight-laced gargoyle would speak even if the mentors allowed it. Even for a gargoyle, Truth had an overly developed sense of honor.

  “Will you celebrate with a drink?” Truth asked. “Lark and Meadow will be there.”

  Truth was delusional if he thought dropping the names of two dryads—no matter how pretty and appealing they might be—would sway him into coming.

  Mentally snorting, he admitted he didn’t have time for a relationship even if he wanted one, which was likely for the best since a heaping pile of other complications stood between him and the possibility of a serious courtship. Sighing, he turned back to his conversation with Truth.

  “I doubt you’d find a stone statue good company.” Sleeping in his stone form had become a regular occurrence.

  “Again? Which mentor did you have today? Shorban or Soryn?”

  “Both. At my request.”

  “Goddess, I swear you like getting your ass kicked.”

  “Who said it was my ass getting kicked?” Obsidian grinned. He had done rather well today. The exhaustion was a good type. Though he also had to admit even if he wasn’t that tired, he’d still have returned to his quarters.

  “Fine,” Truth said, a sullen little note in his tone. “Sleep. You will need it because there will not be much of that going on these next three days. Spring Rites are upon us if you hadn’t noticed, you great reclusive ogre. There’s no way you will escape the dryads’ eye again this year. They already have plans for a great feast.”

  Obsidian snorted. “That’s not the only thing they have planned.”

  “Exactly. I fancy none, so you better have my back. Unless—” Truth’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Have you and one of the dryads already come to a consensus?”

  Several had approached him. He’d turned them all down.

  It was no secret that the fastest way to seduce a gargoyle was through his stomach. If he could have avoided the feast, he would, finding certain dryads overly aggressive in their hunt for future mates.

  Ahead the path branched, the left bridge leading to the group of platforms that housed Truth’s home and a few other gargoyles in the same level of training. The bridge’s right fork led to a more secluded area away from other lodgings.

  At the fork, they paused, saying their goodbyes and Obsidian even agreed to meet the other gargoyle in the morning to hunt food for the dryads to cook. Usually, both species shared in the duty of hunting and cooking, but during the Spring Rites, the dryads pampered their gargoyle counterparts, and no gargoyle would complain about that. In the fall, the gargoyles returned the favor during the harvest festival.

  With a final goodbye, they went their separate ways—Obsidian taking the right fork of the bridge to the more secluded area where he’d made his home. Growing up, he’d never entirely felt like he belonged, his size and heritage setting him apart from the other gargoyles.

  Yes, he’d made friends, and he valued those friendships—but the feeling of not wholly belonging never fully went away.

  Alone now, Obsidian dropped to all fours and trotted towards his destination, the usual eagerness temporarily dispelling some of his weariness.

  Grinning to himself, he turned down another branch of the bridge system that spread throughout the vast hamadryad forest. Overhead he could see a few glimpses of stars between the dense foliage. Other nights, he would have taken a pleasure flight before bed. But not tonight. His nest called to him.

  Rounding a large trunk of an ancient hamadryad, Obsidian came to a halt as the breeze carried the scents and sounds of others to him. It was unusual to find others out here this time of night. Hmm.

  “Come on! We’re out of time. Obsidian is likely already finishing up with the brothers.” The words came from a somewhat young sounding voice.

  A moment later Obsidian placed the speaker. It was Novice Oath, a gargoyle several years behind him in training. They’d struck up a friendship all the same. But what was the youth doing here this time of night? He should be in his own bed by now.

  “Well. If you were worried about getting caught, why did you come?”

  Ah. That voice belonged to Lark, a dryad in Warpath’s training group.

  “Why did you?” Oath countered.

  Had Lark come to his place to ask him to join her at the fires and then found the younger gargoyle outside? Obsidian sighed mentally at the thought. But that made little sense either since he was now picking up Nightshade and Meadow’s scent. That was surprising.

  Lark snorted. “I don’t think we have much to worry about. Soryn is a tough old bastard. If he gets tired, Shorban will take over. They’ll keep Obsidian busy well past second moonrise.”

  Usually, Lark’s words would be correct, but his mentors released him early in a rare showing of sympathy. Now, Obsidian was back early and had interrupted some mischief.

  “If he catches us, he’ll put us on extra cleaning details,” Nightshade whined. He was likely only here because Lark was present. Nightshade’s infatuation with the older dryad was almost comical.

  “He’s not an adept yet,” Lark said.

  Sounding more concerned by the minute, Nightshade whispered, “But Truth is.”

  “I’d volunteer to take extra shifts for a chance to see the human.” Oath again, awe ringing clear in his voice.

  “But she’s spelled into stone. There’s not going to be much to see,” Meadow complained.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lark countered. He could practically hear Lark’s jaw clench with determination. “I agree with Oath. The risk is worth the reward. We’ll be the first beside the council to see Obsidian’s Kyrsu. Don’t you want to see the female who will one day command us?”

  Ah! Obsidian grinned with a new understanding. The human locked safely away in his dwelling had finally become too great a temptation for his peers. Their curiosity had led them to this rash action.

  His grin grew broader. He’d been just like them only a few short years ago.

  “We should go.” Fear of discovery tinted Meadow’s words. Her scent as well. It wasn’t the only emotion on display. Mortification lay thick in the air. She must find the entire situation embarrassing, and yet, here she remained.

  “He’ll be coming back soon, and even if we’re gone, he’ll be able to scent that we were here.” Meadow again, sounding more stressed.

  “So little faith,” Lark interjected. “My magic casting has advanced far enough to weave a spell that will erase our scents.”

  “He’ll know someone was here if we tamper with the entryway spells. This is a stupid idea.” Meadow’s tone was more exasperated than embarrassed now. “I’m leaving. It’s not like you’ll be able to get past his protective spells, anyway.”

  Obsidian called on his shadow magic to hide. As his mentors could attest, he’d grown proficient with magic. The mischief makers wouldn’t see or smell his presence until he wanted them to.

  With power shrouding his form, he stalked forward, determined to cause a little mischief of his own. Ahead, he could see the small group of miscreants.

  Oath stood closest to the entrance of the dwelling, his muzzle nearly pressed against the spell covering the door. “It’s too complicated for you. This smells like Master Banrook had a hand in its making.”

  “You’re right,” Lark said. “If I had to breach one of Rook’s spells on my own, I’d be here for another twelve moon cycles, but I was here with Truth early this morning when Obsidian was resetting it. I saw the composition of the trigger spell.”

  Why, that determined little dryad. The nerve! He’d get Truth to assign her to weeding the fields on the mainland.

  Meadow halted and turned on her heels, her expression torn between doing what was right and satisfying a curiosity that had hounded many of the island’s residents. “You can open that?”

  “Yes.”

  After a l
ong hesitation, Meadow returned to the other three.

  “Fine, just a quick peek, and then we get out of here.”

  Obsidian waited until Lark had taken down the spell. The four were bunching close to the door, preparing to enter, when he ghosted up behind them.

  Lark and Meadow, he tapped on their shoulders. Nightshade he thumped with the edge of his wing. As for Oath, his tail was too tempting a target, and he stomped on it with all his weight.

  The dryads yelled. Nightshade huffed and choked like he’d swallowed his tongue and Oath yowled like a wounded cat.

  “Very impressive,” Obsidian said with a dose of satisfaction as he released his shadow magic and appeared behind them. “Would you like me to hold open the door for you?”

  “Obsidian!”

  “Sorry!”

  “We’re sorry!”

  “Didn’t think you’d be back yet!”

  Sheepish looks accompanied the chorus of apologies.

  “Next time you wish to enter, you should simply ask.”

  Oath bounced up and down, still holding his tail, but his ears swung forward with eagerness. “Would you have let us see her if we’d just asked?”

  “No,” Obsidian said with a big grin. Then seeing Oath’s crestfallen look, he softened the blow. “It’s not my right.”

  Oath’s face fell. “Why did you say to ask then?”

  “So you would think about the privacy of others.” He pushed past them and opened the polished dark wood door. Then turning to face them, he grinned again. “Good night. I assume I’ll see you all tomorrow during the preparations for the festival.”

  With that, he closed the door in their startled faces.

  A flick of his wrist reset the wards protecting his small domain. A faint blue glow emanated from the polished wood door and the surrounding walls.

  Floating balls of magic provided the only other heat and light. Not that he needed much of either to be comfortable, but he kept them burning in case Corporal Anna Mackenzie awoke from her healing stone sleep when he was away.

  After giving the room with its carved walls and vine-shrouded windows a once over, he set aside his weapons and armor and shed his ward-spelled wrist and armbands. And then he paced to the center of the homey room where a concave nest cradled Anna’s stone form.

  She looked as she always did, her expression unchanged. Only the slight warmth rising from the stone and the slow beat of her heart suggested she was a living creature. None of those things hinted when she would finally wake and take up her destiny. Though, surely, it must be soon.

  Feeling the familiar sadness, he dropped to all fours and crawled into the nest, arranging blankets and pillows how he liked before curling around her.

  Even though she couldn’t converse with him in return, he’d always told her how his day had gone, sharing his greatest joys and most profound defeats. When he slept and dreamed, his mind would touch hers and share much of what he’d learned that day.

  His mentors encouraged it, saying when she finally woke it would speed her training along. But even if there were no tactical benefits to sharing his day with Anna, he’d still do it, the closeness giving him much-needed comfort.

  Snuggling nearer, he settled a wing over them both. His one hand pressed against her chest, where, if he waited long enough, he would feel the slow thump of her heart.

  That too had always comforted him.

  “I miss you,” he whispered along their mental link. “Return to me soon.”

  Closing his eyes, he waited. Only after he felt three of the familiar slow thumps of her heart did he surrender to his own stone sleep.

  Chapter 4

  A rich, dark scent, one reminiscent of patchouli forest incense and a hint of her favorite café mocha, teased her senses. Because no pleasant dream was complete without coffee and chocolate.

  Hmmm. Some dreams were better than others.

  Her mind roused further. Well, perhaps it was a rather odd combination. She hadn’t smelled the patchouli incense since she’d last been home, what seemed like ages ago now. She took another breath, inhaling deeply.

  Ah. No. That wasn’t exactly what she smelled, but it was familiar all the same, and it reminded her of home. It really was a delightful scent. She would have been happy to drink in the fragrance for days and days if another part of her consciousness hadn’t been piecing together more disturbing details.

  She stiffened as she came fully awake.

  What the fuck!

  She was lying in a fetal position with a big, male body spooning her.

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  Why couldn’t she remember what had happened or how she’d gotten here? She jerked in surprise as old memories surfaced from where she’d buried them to die. No! She wouldn’t think of that time. She was stronger than the memories. They held no power over her now.

  But the memories didn’t care about her mental denials and continued to rise to the surface.

  Fuck them and fuck the jackass who’d just roofied me!

  She embraced the rage—it was far better than paralyzing fear.

  I’ll rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat!

  Anna tried to bolt upright only to be brought up short by a weight across her waist. An arm—yep that was an arm—slung around her torso like he owned her.

  His hand was cupping her right boob. She reached up to break his thumb, and the feel of large talons gave her pause.

  What kind of sicko was she tangled up with now?

  Never mind. Neutralize the threat first and worry about what the actual fuck was going on later. Her brothers had taught her that one.

  She jackknifed her body, then came back down, slamming the back of her skull into his face. Lifting her pelvis for better leverage, she raised her right leg and kicked back with all her strength. Her heel made a direct hit to his balls.

  Without pause, she grabbed his hand and twisted the thumb of the offending hand back hard. The move would have broken a typical guy’s thumb, but the big brute behind her merely grunted out an age-old sound of male pain at the hit to his jewels. His thumb seemed not to register at all.

  “I will kill you!” She punctuated the sentence with another savage twist and kick.

  “Anna!” He howled as broad wings folded back, showing her a glimpse of her surroundings.

  More memories returned—newer ones—crashing into her mind like waves racing to shore. Blinking down at herself, she acknowledged she was fully dressed. So was he. Well, as much as gargoyles ever were. No one had roofied her.

  Still, her spotty memories didn’t explain what she was doing in a strange gargoyle’s bed. A moment later, the male in question released his hold on her, likely so he could protect his nuts from further damage. Anna wasted no time in rolling away from him and to her feet.

  The room spun, and she feared she’d collapse face-first into the pillows and blankets. Worse, the fabric was threatening to tangle up her feet and trip her. But after a few stumbling steps, she righted herself and crawled out of the strange nest.

  The male was still hunched over in pain, so she glanced around the room, searching for other dangers. Power glowed, bright lines of magic forming a protective framework over the carved wood of the walls behind. She scanned for an exit, but nothing jumped out at her.

  Great.

  She didn’t spare the room further study, swinging her gaze back to her opponent.

  The gargoyle was straightening up. And, fuck, was he ever a big, brawny beast. Shoulders, wider than even Gregory possessed, flexed and rippled with strength as he stretched, limbering up stiff muscles. Thighs like proverbial tree trunks and biceps that might actually be bigger around than her waist only added to the ‘I will break you in two’ look he had going.

  She desperately hoped he was big, slow, and dumb—a living stereotype. Otherwise fighting her way free would really suck.

  She supposed she should try reason first. Though, really, what excuse could he come up with after she’d woken
up in this dude’s bed getting groped?

  “Hey, big fella, mind explaining what’s going on here?” While she talked to distract him, she inched her way closer to a rack of weapons she’d spotted on one wall. There was an assortment of quarterstaffs, spears, bows, swords, and knives.

  A sword would be the most useful. She’d done a little training with a quarterstaff while under the tender care of the Battle Goddess’ captains but didn’t want to trust her life to those skills just yet. And a knife probably wouldn’t even make him flinch.

  She was within four feet of the weapons rack when the big fellow released a deep, unhappy sounding huff.

  “Don’t you know me?”

  Know him? Huh? No. “Never seen you before. And it’s not like I’ve met a lot of gargoyles. Would’ve remembered one as big as you.”

  “Is your nose still stone?” He paced closer. “It’s me. How can you not know me!”

  His scent wafted stronger the closer he got, and perhaps he was partially correct. Fully awake now, her sense of smell sharpened, telling her something impossible.

  No.

  Hell. No.

  It couldn’t be, not unless Shadowlight and Lillian had an older brother or… years and years and years had spun by while she’d slept and healed in her stone sleep. Like the elder gargoyle had said.

  But it felt like she’d only just fallen asleep.

  Surely it hadn’t been…

  She studied the big gargoyle standing across from her. Ears drooped, wingtips dragging on the floor, tail curled around his midriff, he looked the picture of absolute dejection.

  “Shadowlight?”

  His one ear flicked forward before flattening against his mane, but he inched forward in the slow, methodical way the Kid sometimes would when he wanted a treat he knew he shouldn’t have but was stubbornly determined to have it anyway, consequences be damned.

  Even though she was half expecting the crushing bearhug, his speed and strength surprised a gasp from her. Then his arms and wings were folding her in a fierce embrace, and the magic of their link flared to life as if it, too, were just waking from a long sleep. But there was no denying the evidence of their mental and magical link.