The Greystone Bundle (Books 1-4)

by Taylor Longford

  Dumb, huh?

  Levi stopped on the landing just outside the door. "I don't want to be a downer or anything, but you might want to avoid going out alone at night. At least for a while, anyhow."

  "Why's that?" I asked.

  "A girl went missing last week. She was a student at the high school just down the road. She was walking home from the library in the dark and nobody's seen her since."

  A chill crept up my spine. I hated it when girls went missing. It seemed like it always ended badly for the girl. "Is there any chance she's just a runaway, or she's with another parent?"

  "It doesn't seem like it. One of my roommates knows her older sister and he says she's definitely not a runaway. Unfortunately, the police aren't too convinced."

  "Why's that?"

  Levi shrugged, but his mouth turned downward. "Evidently, she fits the part."

  "Fits the part?" I questioned him.

  "She'd just gotten a couple of piercings without permission, and her parents had grounded her from going anywhere except the library, and school of course."

  "And the police think a couple of piercings makes her a runaway?" I asked, incredulously.

  "I didn't say it was fair," he muttered, pulling a hand back through his hair.

  "I hope they find her soon," I said seriously.

  "Me too," he agreed. "But in the meantime, you look kinda young for a college student so be careful."

  "I will," I promised.

  After I closed the door behind Levi, I gave Mom a quick call then explored my new home…which didn't take long. But it was the first time I'd had my own place and I was excited to find it was a little bigger than the pictures had suggested. At the front of the room, a large window made for lots of light. On the back side, a counter separated the kitchen from the rest of the living area, which included two green couches—one of which pulled into a bed—plus two end tables and a coffee table. The north wall was papered with vintage poodles and the opposite wall had two doors, one that opened into the bathroom and the other into a closet. Everything was relatively clean, so I was happy.

  I threw a quilt on the couch, located a plastic box of press pins I'd packed inside a boot, and tacked up the sketch of my angel. With that out of the way, I crashed on the couch with the shipping label sitting face-up on the end table, where I could see it first thing in the morning. It had been three hundred miles since my last meal, if you want to call a tuna sandwich bought at a gas station a meal, but I was too tired to go looking for food.

  The next morning, I woke up ravenous to a house with no food. After retrieving a half-eaten package of potato chips from my car, I checked the cupboards and started a shopping list. Cereal, bread, milk, eggs, soup, etc. I was disappointed to find that my essential cooking utensils were limited to a couple of banged up pots and a heavy cast-iron fry pan I could hardly lift. Seriously? Who cooks with cast-iron nowadays? I added a small non-stick fry pan to my shopping list.

  So, I was starved and needed to go shopping to stock my kitchen. Despite this fact, my gaze drifted to the white piece of paper sitting on the end table beside the couch. Ignoring my growling stomach, I booted up my computer and typed the shipping address into Google Maps. Then I checked out the weather forecast. Snow was expected later in the day and I decided I'd better get started. I didn't want to get caught out on snowy roads at night. To be honest, I was worried about Colorado weather. Not that I thought snow would be any worse than a Texas ice storm but I avoided driving when the weather was bad and I didn't have a lot of experience on slick roads. Taking another look at the map, I plotted my route, sticking to the straightest roads as much as possible.

  Outfitted in my best jeans, a white turtleneck and my orange ski jacket, I left home. Out on the edge of town, I stopped at a gas station to fill my tank, and picked up a donut to keep my stomach quiet. Then I took Highway 93—a long, wandering, scary mistake of a road—and headed south. Highway 93 is a good example of what happens to a road when there's no planning involved. It's like it just took off across country without any advice or stopping to think if maybe there was a better way to go. To make things worse, it couldn't decide if it wanted to be a two-lane road or if four lanes was the way to go. It kept switching back and forth.

  But by the time I reached the town of Golden, I was driving on a more civilized highway, thank God. As I cruised south, the foothills were on my right, springing abruptly out of the plains. Then I turned west and climbed into the mountains, twisting and turning between rocky road cuts and snowy slopes covered with pine trees. We definitely weren't in Texas anymore and my steering wheel was getting a workout.

  I checked the map on my phone and watched for the Pine Grove exit. When I got there, there wasn't much to mark its presence other than a grocery store. Turning north, I traveled higher on the winding gravel roads. The homes weren't all that huge in the rural neighborhood but the properties certainly were, and there was a lot of open space filled with pine forest, rock outcrops and snow.

  When I reached what appeared to be my destination, I pulled over on the side of the road and eyed the driveway. It had been plowed so there wasn't any snow on it but it was long, steep and narrow. My car could probably make it okay but I wasn't sure there'd be room to turn around when I reached the house and I didn't want to risk backing my car down the driveway. So, I left the Rabbit on the side of the road and headed up on foot.

  The house was a fairly large two-story place with wood siding. I walked past a bay window on my way to the front door, thinking that I was going to have to invest in a pair of snow boots if I wanted to survive a Colorado winter. At the front door, I hesitated. Up until then, I hadn't thought about what I was going to say to whoever lived there. I'd just followed that stone angel like a heat-seeking missile and, at that point, I was a jumble of emotions. I was excited to be at the location where the statue had been shipped. On the other hand, I knew I'd feel a rush of guilt if I got to see him and I witnessed again what my mistake had done to him. But I needed to be prepared so I didn't sound like an idiot to whoever answered the door. So, I took a deep breath and centered myself before I lifted my hand and knocked.

  A pretty girl with red hair opened the door. She looked about fifteen or sixteen and was wearing a walking cast on one foot. A guy stood close beside her and I assumed he must be her boyfriend. My gaze caught on his dark hair and intense blue eyes. Mine might be bright but his were electric. And he was insanely good looking. There's no other way to describe him. I was so distracted by his extreme handsomeness that I almost forgot why I was there. I didn't even say hello.

  "Can I help you?" the girl asked politely.

  "I hope so," I started tentatively. Remembering my mission, I dragged my eyes from her boyfriend and tried to look past the couple into the house. But all I could see was a huge dog standing guard behind them in the entry. It was massive. You wouldn't want to mess with that dog. I just hoped it stayed where it was. "I understand a box was recently shipped here from Mr. Hamilton in Texas."

  "That's right," the girl answered carefully as her boyfriend's arm slid around her shoulder. I thought the protective gesture was way sweet.

  "I just wanted to make sure it got here okay," I explained.

  "We received the shipment," she answered guardedly, as if she didn't really want to share too much information with me.

  But I was determined to learn more. "Was the angel inside the crate…was it…was he okay?"

  "Angel?" she exclaimed, like I was way off base on that one. The guy beside her rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was hiding a smile. I figured he thought I was delusional.

  "I just want to make sure he's okay," I insisted, trying to look relatively sane. "Could I see him?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's not possible," she replied swiftly and started to close the door.

  "Please," I said, getting desperate, ready to stick my foot in the door if I had to. "I know it sounds bizarre, but that angel saved my life."

  Strangely, she didn'
t laugh. 'Course, maybe she didn't think it was funny that she had a crazy person standing on her doorstep. She gave her boyfriend a tentative look.

  "Please," I repeated, sensing sympathy in the girl, as if she understood my attachment to the handsome piece of rock.

  But before she could answer, a voice came from inside the house. A guy's voice, speaking in a strange foreign accent that I couldn't place. He almost sounded like a Brit who'd spent a lot of time in Sweden. "That would probably be okay," he suggested.

  My heart went cha-ching as the two people at the door turned toward whoever was talking. I tried to get a look at him but couldn't see past the amazing boyfriend's broad shoulders.

  "I'll need a few minutes to get the box open," he added carefully, almost like he was trying to send a message to his friends. "Why don't you take our visitor around to the garage? I'll open the doors when we're ready."

  Yesss. I rose onto my toes, almost hopping in place, trying to see who was speaking, but he'd turned away. I just caught a glimpse of shoulder-length black hair tipped with white before my hero disappeared behind a wall.

  "Where's your car?" the boyfriend asked as he pulled the door closed behind him. He had the same unusual accent as the other guy inside the house. And for some reason, he seemed suspicious of me. But maybe he was just concerned about his girlfriend's safety. Favoring her injured foot, she leaned on his arm as we started off.

  "I left it down on the road because I wasn't sure there'd be room to turn around up here," I explained, trying for a completely unthreatening tone.

  "That happens a lot," the girl said quietly, as if to reassure her boyfriend. When she smiled up at him, he appeared to relax. I couldn't help but like him. He seemed so devoted to her…in an entirely unsappy way.

  "I'm Elaina," I introduced myself impulsively.

  "Valor," the guy said. "This is MacKenzie."

  Valor. Okay, so that was a pretty unusual name. I stole a sideways glance at him and checked out the tattoo he wore on his neck. It was almost as blue as his eyes and featured three swirling shapes that fit together. Maybe it was just the color, but it reminded me of the ocean.

  "So, you're from Texas?" MacKenzie questioned as we walked along the front of the house toward the garage.

  I nodded. "But I'm going to school in Boulder. Classes start tomorrow. As soon as I got settled into my apartment, I decided to track down the shipment. I had a copy of the shipping label and brought it with me when I left home."

  "Were you the one who shipped the crate from Texas?"

  "My mother did. She keeps house for the guy who bought it."

  She opened her mouth like she was going to ask another question but Valor shot her a sharp look as if to warn her not to say too much. It was way mysterious. But then statues-coming-to-life was pretty damn mysterious too. So, I asked my own question.

  "Did you prepare the original shipment that went to Hamilton?" I asked. If she had, she'd know the statue had experienced a pretty substantial change between the time it left her house and the time it got back.

  "No," she answered swiftly, then changed her mind. "I sent the crate for my stepfather but I never saw what was inside."

  I mulled this over as we stood in front of the garage doors, wondering why she felt she had to tell me she didn't know what was inside.

  "What are you studying at Boulder?" she asked conversationally.

  I opened my mouth to answer but the garage door started to roll upward and the noise drowned out my words. I took a quick survey of the garage. Various tools hung from the walls and there appeared to be a small workshop at the far end where a door entered the house. An old, green Jeep occupied the bay on my left and a large wooden packing crate sat in the empty bay. The top panel had been removed and a gray, stone statue stood inside the box.

  It was him. The original him, complete and intact with his wings spread, exactly how he'd looked when I'd first seen him beside the pool in Dallas.

  Chapter Three

  I couldn't believe it. I stepped close and peered up into the statue's face then shifted my gaze to the guy standing beside the box. He looked about my age, maybe a bit older. Green eyes. Black hair with the ends tipped white. The tattoo on his neck looked like a wing on fire. Like Valor, he was breathtakingly beautiful and I started thinking, "Okay, what are the chances of that?" I travel to Pine Grove to look for a beautiful stone sculpture and find two equally attractive teenagers watching over it. Are you seeing a pattern here? Because, I sure as hell am.

  So, my angel had changed back to his original stone form. And yet, there was something different about him…I mean different from the way he'd arrived at Hamilton's place. His arms were crossed over his bare chest, his eyes angled downward and to the side, just like before. But there was a change in his expression. Previously, he'd looked melancholy. Now he looked resigned, if that makes any sense. And determined. Like he was toughing something out.

  I turned my head without moving my eyes from his face and asked, "Can I spend a few minutes alone with him?"

  The teen with the white-tipped hair exchanged a look with the others, who were standing behind me.

  "It's not like I could throw him over my shoulder and run off with him," I snapped, spinning to face him. "I just want a few minutes."

  A slight smile tugged at his mouth. "We'll wait outside," he said, and strode into the driveway.

  I gave them time to disappear around the corner of the garage. Then I focused my gaze on the statue. He looked so lifelike that I was tempted to ask him what the hell was going on. Maybe I should have. Maybe I'd have gotten a response to a direct question.

  "Hi," I said softly. "I'm glad you're back to being okay again and I'm sorry about what happened. I came here to thank you for saving my life because…because I really can't swim. Well, I can swim a little but not much better than a concrete slab tied to a lead weight."

  I watched him, hoping he'd wake up, hoping I'd see his eyes turn blue again. But nothing happened. Since I was sure he would have come to life if it were possible, I wondered if maybe he could only make the switch for very short periods of time. As a last ditch effort, I lifted up onto my toes and touched my mouth against his lips. That's what I'd been doing the first time he woke up and I thought it might work again.

  It didn't. I felt suddenly defeated.

  "Well, anyhow. I just wanted to say thanks and I'll never forget you for what you did." But I hated to leave him. I wanted so badly to touch him. Reaching out, I rubbed my thumb over his fingers, noticing for the first time how thick and square his knuckles were. They were unusual. Not that there weren't plenty of unusual things about him. I mean, let's face it. Wings are unusual.

  A slight noise behind me warned me that my time was up. I turned around and looked at the three people standing just outside the garage doors. "Are you going to sell him again?" I asked. "It's just that, if he ended up in a museum or something, I'd want to go visit him."

  "I don't think so," the girl answered compassionately.

  Somehow, I got the impression that she knew what I was going through. I hesitated, hoping she'd offer me visiting rights or something. That didn't happen. "I guess I'd better get going," I said halfheartedly.

  "I'll walk you down to your car," offered the good Samaritan with the white-tipped hair.

  I started to tell him that wouldn't be necessary then changed my mind. There was something very weird going on at this house, and the opportunity to spend a few more minutes with someone who lived there might tell me something.

  "I'm Dare," he offered on the way down the driveway.

  "Elaina," I said.

  His white teeth flashed in a grin that struck me as slightly savage. It wasn't unfriendly. It just wasn't quite human. There was a hint of the predator in it. A very attractive predator, but a predator just the same. I couldn't help but think that something was so not-right about all this. And I hated to leave with so many unanswered questions. How had the statue come to life? Why had it changed in
the pool? How had it changed back again to its original form after it was returned to this address? And what was with these beautiful teenagers watching over it?

  I assumed Dare had overhead my earlier conversation with MacKenzie and Valor at the front door so I asked, "Aren't you curious to know how the statue saved my life?"

  His deep green eyes were flecked with gold. He flicked them my way without answering. This is going to sound crazy, but I got the feeling he already knew all about how the statue had rescued me.

  I spoke louder, in case he was hard of hearing. "He helped me out of a pool when I was drowning. He came to life and helped me." When Dare said nothing, I kept going. "This is where you're supposed to tell me I must have been mistaken," I prompted him as we reached the car.

  "Then you must have been mistaken," he said mildly but without much conviction.

  On a sudden hunch, I stuck out my hand. "Well, thanks for letting me see the statue," I said. "I really appreciate it."

  "You're welcome," he answered and almost missed my hand before grabbing it and giving it a shake. While his hand was locked with mine, I turned my wrist and checked out his knuckles. And guess what? Yep. They were exceptionally thick and square. Unnaturally square for a normal human. Which meant…whatever the statue was, Dare was one too. And I was ready to bet my scholarship that Valor was another one.

  But what were they?

  Behind the wheel of my car again, I watched Dare head back up the driveway, his hands in the pockets of his long, black trench coat. When he disappeared around the bend, I turned the key in the ignition and drove off, trying to sort things out as I made my way along the gravel roads.

  If Valor and Dare were some sort of other-worldly beings that could turn into stone like my angel, where were their wings? And why would they have sold off one of their own kind? Unless it was a scam—the old bait-and-switch routine. They sold the statue, collected a bunch of money then the statue disappeared one night and flew home. But why would other-worldly beings risk exposure like that? Did they need money that badly?