by Rhonda Print
He placed his hand on her arm and she immediately batted it away while sweeping one leg out to connect with his, using both her arms and legs to ward him off.
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Chapter Four
Holy shit she’s fighting me! Roman thought with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She should have ceased moving the moment he locked his gaze with hers, using Persuasion to blank out her mind and erase the memory of him destroying the Spirit.
Yet she tried to run, even after he made direct skin contact, thereby increasing the power of Persuasion. He had never in all his existence met a human who was resistant to that ability.
Roman would have to worry about that later. Right now, her bright green eyes were glazed over with the glossy shadow indicating the possession had already begun. A few more moments and he would have lost Claire.
The thought fueled his fury into a vortex of rage.
Claire took another step back, a harsh reminder to Roman that his anger was clear upon his face. He didn’t want to frighten her further and let his thoughts stray back to her earlier words to calm him.
Roman smiled. No one he’d ever come across had called him a “delight” before. His fellow warriors would never let him live down the nickname if they ever heard it. “My name is Roman,” he extended his hand toward her, “Roman Hunt.” He slid a step closer, relieved when she didn’t back away. “Are you hurt?”
She kept those delicate arms wrapped around her middle tightly and shook her head.
“No.” She breathed. “I don’t think so.”
Roman took another tentative step while his eyes searched her for injury. “You sure?”
She simply nodded.
“May I escort you home? I’d like to see that you get there safely,” Roman offered.
He needed to keep her someplace safe and secluded until he could erase her memory.
“I’m fine!” She threw the words out on a sharp intake of breath then seemed to calm herself and smiled slightly. “I have to go to work.” He could still feel the fear emanating from her, see the slight trembling of her body.
“Perhaps you should take the evening off?” he suggested. “Under the circumstances…” She shook her head and glanced at the knife at his waist. Her eyes flicked to where the Spirit had been. “What was that?”
He closed the remaining distance between them and placed his hands on her bare arms. He pushed Persuasion into her but she just stood there, waiting for his reply.
She shivered.
He pushed harder.
Still nothing.
He raked his hands through his hair in defeat. He had never had a human resistant to Persuasion before and he couldn’t just let her go back to her normal life. Guardians and Spirits remained secret to the human world. He sickened to think of what the consequences would be if they were revealed.
“Hey…” she interrupted his thoughts and placed her fingers along his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He tried to erase her memory of this evening one last time with no success.
Shit! What was he supposed to do now?
“Allow me to walk you home and I will explain,” Roman offered.
Claire took an apprehensive step back, fear once again widening her green eyes. “I-I should be going,” she stuttered. “Uh, thanks for…” she waved her hand, “whatever.” And with that she turned and sprinted down the alleyway.
Roman caught up to her in moments. “I’m sorry, Claire, but I can’t let you go.” He hated the terror that streaked across her beautiful face; his own heart lurched when she started to shake.
“Don’t hurt me, Roman,” she all but whispered.
He could tell her he had no intentions of hurting her. That he was more likely to pull her trembling body into his arms than let any harm befall her.
But that wouldn’t make things any clearer for her. He could see her shaking, smell the adrenaline coursing through her, willing her body to run. His iron grip on her arm kept her rooted to the spot while emotions he couldn’t quite place etched across her face.
“I have to go.” Claire turned away then swayed as dizziness overtook her; she was going to faint. “No, no, no. Don’t pass out. Fight. Run!” Her whispered words burnt the edges of his heart. Claire looked around and he knew she was looking for an escape route, a weapon, anything to help her get out of this damn alley.
He ordered his body to shift forms. “I’m sorry”, he said, “I can’t let you do that.”
* * * *
Claire turned back to Roman and shrieked when she saw a huge dog, or was it a wolf? Its teeth were gleaming in the faded light of the alley and its eyes were blazing red orbs.
It was the last thing she saw before her world went black.
* * * *
Claire stretched languidly, keeping her eyes sealed shut as she held on to the last dredges of sleep. Her dreams had been disturbing, a sign she’d been fantasizing far too long about the man who came into Bookworms each night and working way too hard to finish sculptures for her gallery.
That thought only reminded her she was scheduled to work tonight and while she couldn’t remember falling asleep, she was grateful for the nap. She’d been putting in long hours both at the bookstore and with her sculptures.
Claire shook off the last moments of sleep and brought herself fully awake, opening her eyes and sucking in a startled gasp.
She wasn’t at home.
Memory flooded her, horrifying her. The man from Bookworms, Roman Hunt he called himself, had saved her from … something.
He must have brought her somewhere when she passed out.
His house?
Instinctively she reached for her cell phone only to find her pocket empty. Shit.
The room she woke in was enormous with large windows revealing the surrounding mountain range. It was a stunning view but one she didn’t recognize.
It was morning! How the hell did it get to be morning?
The sun played peek-a-boo with a string of puffy white clouds, shifting shadows across the mountain range. There was a courtyard with a stone statue bird bath that she recognized as her own work. It was surrounded by a sea of lantana, their red flowers swaying in the slight breeze. Beyond that was a swimming pool, its blue water sparkling like diamonds, calming her in spite of her situation.
She scrambled off the bed, her eyes darting around furiously, looking for something familiar.
The room was simple and masculine. A sturdy dark wood chest of drawers sat angled in one corner of the room while a low dresser adjacent to the bed held a large television.
The walls were painted a light tan and held no photographs or artwork. They were completely bare.
A door to the right revealed a master bathroom, perfectly in place with the exception of a single towel slung over the shower door. A marble jetted tub sat in the corner and twin sinks stood opposite one another.
Her shoes sank into the plush carpeting as she made her way toward the wooden door. She pulled the door handle and was relieved to find it unlocked.
Cautiously, Claire stepped out into a long hall and moved toward the brightly lit room at the end, hoping to find a door out of the house and some clue as to where she even was. This hall, like the bedroom, was painted tan and unadorned. There was nothing personal to indicate who lived there. It was more a house, than a home.
She kept her movements quick and silent until she entered a large sitting room and stopped cold.
Roman sat on a large wingback chair, watching her as if he’d known she would walk in at that moment, and for a minute, all she could do was look at him. His dark hair fell seductively over eyes so dark they pierced right through her. High cheekbones and a slight cleft in his chin were covered by a day’s growth of whiskers that appeared to be there more on purpose than from lack of shaving. Claire’s eyes were drawn down his solid chin and across broad
shoulders that filled the chair. She followed the neckline of the black shirt he wore partially unbuttoned, revealing a dusting of hair across his impressive chest.
“Where am I?” Claire forced the words through her parched throat.
“You are in my home and I promise you are safe,” he replied softly. “Would you care for something to drink? I know you must be thirsty.” She would have killed for a glass of water at that point but didn’t dare take anything from him. “What did you do to me?” she demanded.
“I saved you.” He arched a brow. “Do you not remember?”
“I saw…” She couldn’t quite come up with the words to describe what she’d seen. It was like having a dream on the fringe of your memory, close enough to know it’s there but too far to grasp.
“I was attacked.” She felt chilled suddenly, as if the temperature in the room drastically fell. “The police?”
“I did not call the police.”
Her head spun with questions, tumbling into each other so quickly she found it difficult to find one to start with. “The dog?”
Claire hadn’t realized she said that out loud until Roman’s sudden laughter filled the room. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” He chuckled. “You saw me for what I truly am, Claire.”
Her legs were suddenly too weak to hold her own weight. “What are you?”
“I am sorry that I could not erase the memory from your mind,” he said solemnly.
Roman stood slowly and gestured toward a sofa. “Please, have a seat. Allow me to explain.”
“I should be at work; I have to call my friend.”
“You sent her a text,” he held out his hand and produced her cell phone, “Cassandra, isn’t it?”
Claire grabbed her phone and flipped it open. “I don’t understand.” She checked her cell messages. The sent text read that she was feverish with an upset stomach.
Cassandra replied that it was slow tonight and she should call her when she felt better.
“I hope that was okay.” Roman watched her expectantly.
Claire sat on the edge of the sofa. “I guess I should thank you, I didn’t really see who attacked me. I thought you…”
“I would never hurt you.” His voice was deep and solemn and she instantly believed him. There was something not threatening about him.
“But you didn’t call the police? Why?” Claire flinched back when he moved.
Roman walked over to a small bar and pulled a bottle of water from a miniature refrigerator. “You should drink something.”
Claire gratefully took the bottle, unscrewed the cap and brought it to her lips.
“No, I could not call the police.” Roman sat back down in the winged armchair.
Claire nearly choked on her water. “What?” She sputtered. “Why?” Roman leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Claire?” He seemed to brace himself. “What do you know about Gargoyles?”
“Excuse me?” Her spine stiffened, ready to flee.
“Do you know the history of Gargoyles?” His words were soft and insistent.
Claire nodded. “Yes, they are statues, some are used as water spouts and others are just decoration. I’ve sculpted many of them myself. Why?” Roman raised his eyebrows at her, two dark slashes above obsidian eyes.
Claire choked out a nervous laugh. “Are you trying to tell me that a Gargoyle attacked me last night?”
Roman shook his head. “No. I am telling you that one saved you.” Chapter Five
Claire stood and started inching toward the door. “Okay,” she said nervously. “Well, thanks for, uh … yeah, everything. I really need to get back to my friends now though.” Roman stood but didn’t move closer to her. “I know what this sounds like, Claire.” He raked his hands into his hair, frustration clear in his expression. “I’ve been sitting here for the last couple of hours trying to find the best way to tell you about all of this.” She held her hands up in front of her. “No, it’s fine.” She took another step back, her body pressed against the door. “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his hands out of his hair and held them in front of his eyes for a moment before a smile creased the corners of his mouth. “I can prove it to you.” His gaze flicked from his hands to Claire.
“Watch.” Roman extended his hand in front of him, keeping his palm facing toward him, then transformed one hand.
Claire sucked in a shocked breath when she saw his hand lengthen; his fingernails grew and narrowed until they resembled lethal-looking claws. She slid down the door until she sat on the floor with her legs splayed in front of her. “Tell me I didn’t just see that.” She looked to Roman. “Please tell me this is just a prank; some stupid practical joke.”
But she knew it wasn’t. Her own research into the myth had only revealed more mysteries. It had been a gargoyle she sculpted first. Her mother bought her a kit with clay and instructions on how to create various items. Her mom had expected her to sculpt a unicorn—all little girls like unicorns—but it was the gothic beauty of the gargoyle that captured her attention. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Claire,” Roman pleaded with his eyes, “I am a Gargoyle. Please come sit and I will explain it to you.”
Claire shook her head slowly.
“Think about it, Claire,” Roman said gently, “what do Gargoyles do?”
“They protect humans from evil spirits.” Her voice came out a faint whisper.
“Yes,” Roman bowed his head slightly, “we do.”
Claire stood on shaky legs and slowly made her way back to the sofa. “So you’re telling me you turn into a dog?” she asked incredulously.
Roman rolled his eyes. “Not a dog, a Gargoyle.”
Claire narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Show me,” she challenged.
“I just did.”
“No,” Claire insisted. “Show me all of it.”
“I do not think that’s a good idea,” Roman hedged.
“Show me,” she demanded again.
He blew out an annoyed breath. “Fine.”
Roman pulled his T-shirt over his head and Claire got a glimpse of what she and Cassandra had been imaging was under the dark clothing he wore each afternoon in the bookstore. He was six feet plus of corded muscles, and Claire took a moment to admire the obvious strength in them before they started to rearrange, sliding into slightly different positions.
His body vibrated with tension and her eyes trailed up to his now transformed face, long, lethal teeth, extending from a canine-like face. His body remained unchanged until she noticed his feet were now hovering above the ground. He shifted slightly to expose large dark feathery wings protruding from his back. They were edged in silver and reminded Claire of storm clouds promising all the fury Mother Nature could offer.
A shiver ran up her spine, the first tendrils of fear skating through her until she met Roman’s eyes. They were the same obsidian orbs that looked into her, through her, each day when he came into Bookworms.
His arms remained unchanged, his muscles just as defined now as they had been before his transformation, with the exception of the large, lethal-looking talons that now extended from his fingers.
He was mesmerizing and her fingers itched to touch him. She wanted to trace the hard angles of his face, feel the pointed tip of his sharp teeth and the soft feathery wings extending from his shoulder blades, angel bones, her mom had called them.
His gentle eyes belied the fierce-looking beast now standing before her.
“Your eyes?” Claire whispered. “They were red before.”
“They are only red when my power flares.” His voice was gravely and the words weren’t quite enunciated right. Like it was struggle for him to force human words from his inhuman mouth.
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Chapter Six
Roman stood completely still as Claire reached her hand out tentatively, her fingers just brush
ing his shoulder and sliding down to the base of his wings. He could feel her heart beating erratically through the pulse in her fingertips but could only image what she was thinking. He had never before allowed a human to see his true form without the power of Persuasion to erase the memory.
Claire seemed to be immune to Persuasion and that was where the true problem lay.
Roman had already placed a call to Gideon in hopes they could combine their power to erase Claire’s memory. Yet he had no way of knowing when the other Gargoyle would return the call. While Gideon was powerful, he was prone to disappear for weeks at a time without explanation. He was hoping they would be able to restore Claire to her normal life, her safe life.
Until then, he’d have to keep her protected.
“Wow,” she breathed as her hands roamed across the span of his wings. Her excited eyes were lit with wonderment as she lifted them to his.
Claire reached her hand out and tilted her head before laying the barest of touches on the side of his face. He feared she’d be repulsed by him, yet her tenderness as she ran her fingers along his elongated jaw and up around his eyes, gently gliding her thumbs along his brow, showed only awe. He tried not to move, not to startle her, but more importantly, he tried to deny she ignited something in him. No one had ever reacted to his gargoyle form with the fascination clearly showing in the expression on her beautiful face.
Gargoyles were to be feared, not admired.
Her sculptor’s hands flowed along every inch of his face and her eyes seemed to be committing the planes, dips and angles to memory. Roman saw no fear in her eyes as she gently pressed one index finger to the tip of his long canine teeth. His heart stuttered when she pressed harder and drew a dot of blood then slowly took it to her mouth. Her tongue swept out and with one seductive swipe cleaned the drop of crimson from her finger, almost as if she needed to taste it to believe it was real.
