Tempted by the Gargoyle (a gargoyle shifter romance): Boston Stone Sentries

by Lisa Carlisle

  Tempted by the Gargoyle

  Stone Sentries #1

  By Lisa Carlisle

  TEMPTED BY THE GARGOYLE

  Copyright 2016 Lisa Carlisle

  Cover by J.M Rising Horse Creations

  Edited by Rebecca Hill

  The right of Lisa Carlisle to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please do so through your retailer’s “lend” function. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at lisacarlislebooks@gmail.com.

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at lisacarlislebooks.com, facebook.com/lisacarlisleauthor, or @lisacbooks.

  Tempted by the Gargoyle

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Lisa Carlisle

  Excerpt from Knights of Stone: Mason

  Bookseller Links

  Tempted by the Gargoyle

  Stone Sentries #1

  By Lisa Carlisle

  Meet your perfect match this Saturday night—or your perfect match for the night.

  The eclipse of the red Supermoon sends crowds into Boston for an evening hyped up for a night of passion, one not to be missed. Boston police officer Larissa Riley wants nothing to do with the media-driven event, but her friend convinces her they need to move past the bombings at the Boston Marathon, which still affects them both. They visit a new gothic-themed club where Larissa is disturbed by the attractive stranger eying her.

  Roman, a gargoyle shifter and commander of the Stone Sentries, patrols from the rooftop of a club on the night of the eclipse. The Supermoon bodes danger and he puts all his sentries on watch. When a blast of dark magic soars past him, he searches for its origin and fixes on a brunette. Something about her is different, demanding all senses be on high alert. Is she dangerous? Or is she in danger?

  Deciding a night with a hot stranger would be good for her, Larissa invites Roman back to her hotel, unaware he is surveilling her. The night takes a dark turn as secrets are uncovered and danger moves in. Her beloved city is under attack. Larissa must decide who to trust before all is lost, including the fate of her closest friend.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Come on, Larissa,” Janie pushed. “I can count on one hand how many times we’ve been out since it happened.”

  Larissa flinched when Janie mentioned it, but tried to cover her reaction by raising her coffee to her lips. The bombings had changed both their lives, but in such different ways.

  “We’ve been out plenty,” Larissa countered, glancing over at the game on a nearby table. They’d met at an outdoor cafe in Harvard Square, Cambridge, and were people-watching a few tables away from the chess masters.

  “Yeah, to the movies and shit like that. We’re in our early twenties, not senior citizens. When’s the last time we went to a club? Or stayed out past midnight?”

  When Larissa opened her mouth to reply, Janie cut her off. “You working a double shift fighting crime doesn’t count.”

  “Ugh, blocking my excuses before I get to say them.” Larissa leaned back at the cafe table and grinned. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

  Janie raised her hands into the air. “Dance!”

  Larissa stared at her, unable to find words. The shrapnel damage had left Janie with a permanent limp and many scars. Some pieces of metal were still lodged in her leg.

  “Don’t give me that pitying look,” Janie said. “You know I hate that.”

  “It’s not pity, it’s—” What was the right word? The players nearby engaged in a manic volley on the chess board, which helped her to find it. “—admiration.” Most people would avoid that kind of public scrutiny. Not Janie.

  Janie shooed away the compliment with a wave. “Through all that physical therapy, that was my goal.”

  “You never told me that.”

  Janie shrugged. “I practiced in my living room as soon as I could bear weight on this leg. So now it’s time to give these babies a test in public. Go out and have fun the way we’re supposed to. Or we may as well play bingo in a senior center.”

  Larissa’s jaw dropped. She’d had no idea how determined Janie was. “That’s—that’s incredible.”

  “You can barely tell I have a limp when I dance.” She wiggled a brow. “Just looks like I have some bad-ass moves.”

  “Well, you have a far better excuse than me not to go.”

  “So, you’ll come?”

  Larissa wasn’t big on clubs or dancing, but she’d be selfish if she didn’t suck it up for Janie. The chess master at the nearby table moved his queen and announced, “Checkmate.”

  Janie couldn’t have choreographed her move with more finesse. Larissa exhaled. “Of course.” She took a sip of her latte, which she’d probably pay for by being up all night. What the hell, she prowled through her apartment most nights as it was. “When do you want to go?”

  “This Saturday.”

  “This Saturday,” she repeated. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into that red moon fever crap.” The local media had gone overboard, as usual, hyping up the eclipse of the Supermoon with a romantic plug. The night to meet your perfect match. Others had taken an edgier approach. Meet your perfect match—for the night. Plus the usual doom-mongering with prophesies of an apocalypse.

  “Too many freaks will be out that night,” she added.

  “That’s why it will be awesome. There won’t be anything like this eclipse for another twenty-eight years. Maybe even you, my cynical friend, will meet someone.”

  Larissa leaned back in her chair. “Ha. Don’t push your luck, Janie, dear.”

  An uneasy sensation rippled along Larissa’s spine, settling in her gut. Her face must have contorted, since Janie’s turned dark with worry.

  “What is it?”

  No, it couldn’t be like the other times. It was far too faint.

  “Nothing.” She dismissed the question in an effort to force the discomfort away.

  “Is it one of your—” Janie searched the nearby tables, although all the other conversations would drown out theirs. She whispered, “—feelings?”

  “Relax, Janie. Nobody can hear you.” When they were kids, Larissa had made Janie pinky swear promise not to reveal her secret. “I think it’s just uneasiness, not a premonition.”

  “Uneasiness a
bout what?”

  Larissa straightened and forced a smile. “You’ll be as graceful as a ballerina on Saturday. I, on the other hand, will be quite awkward.”

  Janie’s eyebrows tightened. “Why?”

  “Mingling in a club isn’t exactly my thing.”

  “Oh.” Janie nodded before giving Larissa a knowing glance. “That’s because you can’t turn off cop mode and have fun.” She leaned back in her chair. “Follow my lead. It will be like the old days. You’ll have a great time.”

  It was only one night. Besides, she was going for Janie. The last traces of the uneasiness evaporated. Perhaps it was social anxiety.

  Or it could have something to do with the whole planetary shift thing after all. Didn’t the moon exert a pull on the tides? And humans were mostly made of water. Where the hell was she going with this? She wasn’t a damn werewolf.

  Besides, she didn’t believe in astrology bullshit, so she wasn’t about to fall for the hype. Saturday would be just like any other night. No soul mate crap. No doomsday apocalypse.

  * * * * *

  On Saturday evening, Roman was patrolling the rooftop with his deputy, Arto. The open area of this club gave him the best tactical view of Boston, although with obstructions from nearby buildings.

  The moon had reached its fullest potential, looming bright and large over the city. Soon the eclipse would begin.

  They surveyed for signs of trouble below. It was risky to have all these humans being lured into Boston. Always was when humans converged for massive events. Yet they wandered, clueless to any potential danger around them; oblivious that they were protected by those of his kind.

  “Look at them pouring into the city,” Roman said. “Without a care in the world.”

  “Who can resist the draw of love or sex—or both?” Arto replied. “All this publicity is hard to miss. Especially the billboards.”

  Roman exhaled. Prime view for a gargoyle on patrol. “It doesn’t help with these wannabe witches declaring the cosmic significance of the event, making it the perfect night to meet one’s soul mate.”

  “I bet they’ll pocket a lot of money this weekend, helping people find the one.”

  Roman peered over to the nearby buildings and spotted a few of the Stone Sentries, his clan mates, perched at various vantage points. Gargoyles under his command had taken positions all over Boston, either in their stone forms on the exteriors of buildings or patrolling the city in their human forms, the way Roman and Arto were now. His gaze shifted to the humans lining up below to get into the club. “Nights like this make me wary.”

  Arto stepped closer, although they were far out of earshot, and it wasn’t likely anyone would hear them over the music. “Do you sense something is wrong?”

  “Yes. But it’s nothing definitive. That’s what makes it so bothersome.”

  Arto nodded. “I will ensure all are in position and on watch.”

  “Remember—watch for werewolves.” Roman hadn’t seen any since he’d taken command of guarding the region after the bombings at the Boston Marathon, but that didn’t mean they weren’t around. They were adept at hiding. “A powerful moon like this could unravel even those with the utmost self-control. Not that I trust a werewolf to have any.”

  “Will do.”

  As they approached the other end of the roof, Roman scanned the pedestrian traffic on Tremont Street and Boylston Street before surveilling the Boston Common and Public Gardens. Something caught his eye on the Common. A dome-like structure, newly built, and appearing out of place in the expanse of grassy land below.

  “What is that?” He pointed at the dome.

  Arto followed the direction of his finger. “I don’t know. Never seen it before. It wasn’t there last night.”

  “How did they construct it so quickly?”

  “Prefabricated structure?” Arto suggested. “Must be a temporary exhibit. I can’t picture the city officials letting something like that be erected on the Common.”

  “Money can convince humans to do many things.” He raised his chin toward the dome. “Have someone look into it.”

  Arto pumped his fist across his chest and nodded to acknowledge the command, and then walked away.

  Roman scanned those gathered up on the roof, using his acute senses to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. A sultry heat lingered in the late summer air, scented with numerous potted florals that masked the exhaust of car fumes downtown. Many of the women were dressed in tight clothing that attracted male attention and displayed an abundance of cleavage. Most of the men wore dark colors, which fit the theme of the club—an eclectic mix of gothic design and B-movie kitsch. From the bold or furtive glances cast at the opposite sex, many were seeking a sexual partner for the night.

  An uneasy sensation crept up his spine, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. Something bad was going to happen—he was almost certain of it.

  He glanced again at the moon. Humans thought the red tinge gave the night a romantic element. Fools. Their ancestors had dubbed it a blood moon for a reason. Violence often occurred when the moon shone with such an ominous aura. Bloodshed followed.

  All his sentries were on duty tonight. Vigilant for anything—or anyone— questionable.

  * * * * *

  Janie came by Larissa’s apartment to give her the once-over before they went out.

  She’d approved the sleeveless black dress. “Sexy but not slutty. Not bad. But you need to do something else with your hair. And add more makeup. And accessories.” Searching Larissa’s bedroom, she added, “Where have you stashed your necklaces and earrings?”

  Larissa arched a brow. “The dress is enough.”

  “Nope.” She removed the clip holding back Larissa’s hair and fluffed it with a brush so it cascaded in soft waves around her face.

  Larissa tried to keep still and listen to the playlist she’d created earlier that week, which now shuffled to Audioslave’s Like a Stone.

  “Ah.” Janie eyed an owl pendant hanging from a long silver chain near Larissa’s bed. Her grandmother had given it to her after Larissa’s mother had died when she was five, saying it was a talisman for protection. Janie draped it around Larissa’s neck. “Cute. Wide-eyed and suspicious, just like you.”

  “Owls are suspicious?”

  “They look that way. How about spooky and mysterious?”

  “Great. Thanks. I’ve always wanted to look spooky.”

  Janie laughed. “Mysterious isn’t bad, though. Guys will flock to you tonight, wondering what it is you’re hiding under that reserved exterior.”

  When Larissa straightened with obvious discomfort, Janie added, “I don’t mean that secret. Chillax. Here, put on this lipstick.”

  “Road Rage Red. Are you kidding me?”

  “To go with a blood-red moon. And don’t forget plenty of mascara,” Janie insisted. “You don’t emphasize your best assets enough. By the time we leave here, you’ll be a vixen no man can resist.”

  After Larissa had followed her instructions, Janie admired her handiwork. “You look hot. Thanks to me.”

  Outside Larissa’s apartment, Janie pointed to the sky. “Wow, look at the moon. It’s incredible.”

  Larissa glanced at the bright orb above them. Janie was right. It glowed with a reddish hue that was striking on the clear night. The size of it made it even more remarkable. Yet the most impressive part was to come with the eclipse.

  Janie hailed a cab to take them to Beacon Hill. She’d booked a hotel room to make the most of their girls’ night out. After they’d dropped their belongings in the room, Larissa reached inside to retrieve her gun. It wasn’t often she left without it. But they were going into a club, most likely with security checks, which would lead to questions and hassles.

  “Ready?” Janie asked.

  Larissa released her weapon with reluctance. “Yes.” As they exited the hotel, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace fun, don’t worry.” When she’d hailed the cab, sh
e revealed the surprise: “Rue Morgue.”

  Larissa turned to her after she’d climbed in. “Not the new club with all the skull-and-bone advertisements? The really weird one with a dungeon?”

  “It’s not a real dungeon.” Janie patted her thigh. “It’s, you know, a gimmick or something. All Poe-esque and shit. Near the Poe statue. With Boston celebrating his birth here, the club owners saw an opportunity to capitalize on it.”

  “In other words, a money-making scheme.”

  Janie spread her arms wide. “Welcome to corporate America.”

  “I don’t know if that’s my kind of place,” Larissa said. Why hadn’t she asked which club Janie had in mind?

  “Too late, you already agreed to come with me. Besides, it’s more than a dungeon area. There’s a main dance floor and a rooftop garden.”

  When they first entered the club, the many appraising looks unsettled her. Guys never looked at her like that when she was in uniform. Well, maybe a couple of weirdos.

  They descended to the club’s dungeon area where a dark, gothic-sounding song pulsed around them. After scanning the cages with rubber rats and bones inside, Larissa fixed her eyes on the pendulum hanging from the ceiling.

  “I don’t think I’m going to find my soul mate down here,” she muttered.

  Janie laughed. “Probably not. But it’s entertaining nonetheless.”

  “Come on. Let’s grab a drink. Want to go to the dance floor or the roof deck?”

  “Roof. I think I need some fresh air after being down here.”

  When they’d exited onto the roof and bought drinks, Larissa relaxed in the open atmosphere with a less intense musical sound. The odd prickling sensation hit her again, stronger than it had been at the café earlier that week. She tuned out the music and breathed in the city air, trying to get a read on the source. The problem was that she didn’t see anything, just sensed things. Besides the ambience of a typical nightclub, with the scents of sweaty bodies and alcoholic drinks, nothing came to her.