FREED (Angels and Gargoyles Book 2)

by Brenda L. Harper

  They listened for a few minutes without moving. The space was really narrow, smaller, maybe, than the last. Dylan was aware of every breath Wyatt took. Aware of every inch of his body where it was pressed hard against hers. He must have been uncomfortable, crouching the way he was. He finally slid onto his bottom, sitting with his legs crisscrossed in a way she never would have imagined such long legs could be folded.

  His movement, however, made it more difficult for Dylan to stay hidden without knocking over one or two of the boxes that provided their cover. Wyatt seemed to realize that because he slipped an arm around her, pulling her down onto her bottom beside him. He hesitated a moment, and then he tugged her tighter against him, practically dragging her into his lap. And then his hand slipped over the length of her back. She liked the feel of his palm moving over her spine, liked the way it made her breath catch in her throat, the way it made all her nerves come alive. She particularly liked the sense of pleasure that seemed to work its way through every pore, every muscle, every particle that made up her body and soul.

  She shifted, straddling his lap completely in the tightness of their hiding place. He shifted, too, pulling her hips hard against his. And then his fingers were in her hair, the danger suddenly forgotten as his lips touched hers.

  She knew this was wrong, knew there was some reason why this was really bad timing. But sparkles of ecstasy began to dance along her spine as he encouraged her to open to him, as he drew her so tight against him that she was beginning to forget she was an individual, an entity that didn’t require his presence to function.

  Their previous kiss had been new, exciting. This was as different from that as milk was different from water. Basically the same, but fundamentally different. And his hands hadn’t been part of the equation before. But now they seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was as though they had a mind of their own and they were trying to memorize every curve, every inch of soft, aching skin.

  Her body had a mind of its own, too. Her hips wanted to shift, to slide and grind, her belly physically hurt with some unknowable need, and her hands wanted his skin beneath them, wanted to feel the muscles of his jaw working, the silkiness of his curls between her fingers. She was so aware of him it was as if his breath was hers, as if his heartbeat was timed exactly with her own. It was as if some essential part of each of them was drawn to the other, mingling, as though they were always meant to be one but were separated by some devastating accident.

  Images flew into her mind as his fingers found their way underneath the material of her t-shirt. Bodies moving together in the darkness of night. Naked women offering their bodies without shame, without self-respect. Young couples saying words to one another Dylan didn’t understand, but knew had something to do with a depth of emotion she had never truly known.

  What could be.

  And then Stiles’ voice was intruding, trying to get her attention.

  It’s over.

  It took her a few minutes to realize what it meant.

  Reluctantly, she pulled her lips from Wyatt’s. His hand came to her cheek, his fingers moving into her hair to tug her back to where she had been. His eyes searched hers, searched for something she was not sure he would find. He laid his forehead against hers, his breath coming in quick gasps as he tried to gain control of his raging emotions.

  “It’s over,” he said.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “We should go find the others.”

  He lifted her off of his lap and began to stand. But he hesitated a moment, his eyes on his hands where they were pressed against the floor. “Dylan, we probably shouldn’t—”

  He didn’t finish what he was about to say because a crash reverberated through the room.

  They were no longer alone.

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt jumped to his feet, his samurai sword, which had been close at hand the whole time, again in his grip. He moved to the end of the box wall and peeked around the end. Dylan stood and moved up behind him, her hand on his shoulder, sending just enough of the memory of pleasure through her that she blushed.

  His sword in front of them and his free hand on her hip, Wyatt pulled Dylan forward so that they walked almost as one. She still had his six shooter stuck haphazardly in the waistband of her pants. She pulled it out and held it at her side the way she read one of the characters in his books often did.

  The room was dark, even though light was beginning to appear in the high windows. The boxes towered all around them, corridors of boxes that blocked their view of the far side of the room. But whatever had come here was not being careful about covering its progress through the room. They could hear it where it was on the opposite side. Wyatt silently directed Dylan down one corridor and up another, trying to always keep at least a full wall of boxes between them and whatever stalked them.

  “I can smell you,” a rusty voice suddenly called out, shattering the relative silence of the room. “You are in heat, you nasty creature.”

  Dylan stiffened, fear playing its fiddle on her nervous system. Wyatt’s hand was still on her hip. He gave her a little reassuring pat, a touch meant as comfort but which, instead, just jarred her nerves that much more.

  “Come here, little creature,” the voice said, “and I might spare your friend.”

  Go to Hell, Dylan thought.

  I have been in Hell since the beginning of time, came the quick reply. Your death will assure my place in paradise.

  Dylan shivered.

  Wyatt turned down another corridor. The stairs were right there in front of them. Wyatt pushed her in front of him, and she quickly began her descent. Maybe she should have let him go first.

  The gargoyle burst through the stairs from underneath her. It grabbed her leg and yanked, pulling her through the hole it had created. Dylan screamed. Her last vision of Wyatt was of him reaching down through the hole, trying to grab her hand. And then he was gone, grabbed from behind by the other gargoyle.

  “Stiles!” she screamed.

  The gargoyle laughed. “Did you really think he could save you?”

  Dylan struggled as the gargoyle pulled her into another large, empty room and began to drag her across the floor. She still had the six shooter clutched in her hand. She fumbled with the controls, trying to remember everything Wyatt had told her about it. When she thought it was ready to use, she aimed and fired, but it only clicked. Safety. Wyatt had told her about something called the safety. She fiddled with it again, her back bumping and scraping over the wooden floor, splinters biting through the material of her shirt, what was left covering her back, and cutting into her flesh. She cried out, as much out of frustration as pain.

  She finally found the switch and aimed the six shooter again. She fired, and this time the weapon discharged. The gargoyle paused for a second, touching a place just under its shoulder. He turned and grabbed the weapon from Dylan’s hands.

  “That hurts,” it grumbled.

  “Let me go!” she cried, kicking the leg the gargoyle was holding. He nearly lost control of it, but managed to keep her from getting loose.

  Its axe appeared in its hand. “Stop or I will cut it off,” it said.

  It didn’t wait for an answer. It began moving again. That was when Dylan realized it and its companion, the one that had grabbed Wyatt, were not alone. There were half a dozen other gargoyles in a far corner of the room waiting for them.

  That’s when she knew it was over.

  Chapter 11

  Along with the gargoyles were all of Dylan’s traveling companions. Sam and Ellie were huddled in the corner, their arms around each other in an almost intimate embrace. Bobby was standing against the wall as though he didn’t care that he had just been taken captive by a group of hideous, misshapen creatures. Carver was lying on the ground, unconscious, blood pouring from a wound on his head.

  A diversion, Dylan realized. The fight in the street had been nothing more than a diversion.

  “Where’s Wyatt?” she de
manded.

  “Coming,” one of the gargoyles said.

  The gargoyle that had been holding Dylan’s ankle let go. She immediately crawled to Carver, touching his wound with two of her fingers as she imagined him the way he had been earlier in the day, so animated as he shared all the useless information he knew about the world before the war. Almost immediately the wound knitted itself and Carver opened his eyes.

  “Dylan?” he asked, confusion in his dark eyes.

  “You don’t even hide it,” one of the gargoyles said.

  Dylan looked over at it, the one that had spoken. It was taller than the others, its face less distorted than the others’. In fact, it was almost handsome in the way its features were carved. If it weren’t for the horn sticking out of its forehead, that was.

  “Should I?” she asked.

  It moved closer to her, the others falling back as they watched it. “You once did.”

  “How would you know?” Dylan asked, not really interested in the answer. Her eyes were on Wyatt. He had just appeared at the foot of the stairs, walking under his own power, but his arms were twisted behind his back as a gargoyle led him to the others.

  “I was there,” a familiar voice said.

  Demetria.

  The handsome gargoyle had become Demetria.

  Dylan’s ears began to ring, her hands to shake. She pushed back until she was sitting hard against the wall.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Demetria smiled softly, her familiar dark features so odd in this place. Dylan had always been so afraid of Demetria, afraid of breaking the rules of the dorm and being sent to the Administration building as Donna had been. Demetria was the one who had taken Davida from her, the one who had made overtures of replacing Donna and Dylan’s beloved guardian but failed miserably.

  Demetria. The head guardian of D dorm.

  “I’ve come for you, Dylan,” she said in that familiar soft voice.

  “Why?”

  Demetria came toward her, that smile never faltering. “You are very important, Dylan. Surely your friends have told you that by now.”

  “The gargoyles are supposed to protect the humans.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why haven’t you killed me?”

  Demetria came to stand in front of Dylan, her toes pressing against Dylan’s. She dropped into a crouch and leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands on either side of Dylan’s head. “I need you alive,” she said simply.

  “Get away from her,” Wyatt growled from where he was still a few yards across the room.

  Demetria just continued to smile. “I see you have made good friends, dear Dylan.”

  Dylan dropped her mind wall and tried to listen to Demetria’s thoughts. But nothing happened. She could hear Ellie’s very loud, very frightened thoughts, could hear Sam’s concern, Carver’s confusion. But nothing from Demetria or the other gargoyles.

  “You can’t probe our minds,” Demetria said. “Our minds work differently from yours.”

  “But I could…”

  Dylan had once heard Demetria’s thoughts. At least, she thought she had. The day Donna was taken away, she had heard Demetria coming for her, and she had heard Demetria’s conviction that Donna would be dead by the end of the day. Or had it simply been a trick?

  “You knew about Donna before Denise told you, didn’t you?”

  Demetria tilted her head slightly. “I suspected. Thought I knew about you, too, but you hid it so well. Didn’t even know about your healing abilities until you were out in the desert. Alone.”

  “You were watching me?”

  “I was always watching you.” Demetria smoothed a piece of hair out of Dylan’s face with the palm of her hand. “When you came to the infant nursery with this hair and those unnaturally pale eyes, I knew there was a good chance you were special. But you failed to trigger any of their alarms. And I couldn’t get through to you.”

  Dylan rubbed her own face, wiping away the heat of Demetria’s touch. Wyatt moved past them, the gargoyle releasing him only when he was standing beside Bobby against the far wall. Dylan looked over at him, tried to reassure him with a look, but could see she had failed badly. He refused to sit down with the others, but he also did not lean against the wall in the same falsely casual stance Bobby held.

  “What do you mean, alarms?” Dylan asked as she focused on Demetria again.

  “I mean they are constantly testing you girls. Why do you think that girl from A dorm suddenly sprouted wings? She always had the ability. They simply did something that forced them to manifest when she was unprepared. They were always doing things like that.”

  Dylan shook her head. “I don’t remember—”

  “The computer,” Demetria said, as though leading a slow child through a lesson that should have been simple but was not. “Did you really think all those lessons about soil consistency and fictional characters were really all that important?”

  “They were preparing us for—”

  “For what? For wandering and dying in the desert? Are you really so naïve, Dylan?”

  “I don’t believe you.” Dylan ducked under Demetria’s arm and stood, her back screaming with pain as all those splinters from the floor began to tug and pull as her muscles flexed. “They didn’t just raise us so that they could kill us.”

  “They did. Ask your boyfriend.”

  Dylan looked at Wyatt, not because of what Demetria had said, but for a little reassurance. A familiar face. But the expression in his eyes as he met her gaze full on told a story Dylan was not ready to read. Even if she had suspected the truth for longer than she cared to admit.

  “You were sent outside of Genero because of the test. It showed that you had no gifts, that you were not of value to them or their leaders.”

  “But it was wrong,” Dylan said.

  “Davida taught you well,” another familiar voice said. “Better than me.”

  Chapter 12

  Donna crossed the room slowly. She looked so different without her green coveralls. Her hair was pulled back away from her face in a simple ponytail, a look that was completely different from the long, flowing tresses that normally framed her round face. The look was flattering. It left Donna with a new appearance of maturity.

  Dylan moved around Demetria and went to her friend, her sister. There was no hesitation in their quick, tight hug.

  “I missed you,” Donna whispered in Dylan’s ear.

  “I thought you were dead.” Dylan stepped back and stared at her. “What are you doing here?”

  Donna gestured toward Demetria. “They didn’t take me to the Administration building. There is a small entrance in the garden, a stone walkway that leads around to the back of the building, where a woman was waiting for me. She took me to a ruin where Demetria came and explained everything to me.”

  “Everything?”

  “How the angels are using us to cure their illness. And how the angels started this war in the first place.”

  Dylan shook her head even as Wyatt said, “You Genero girls have been lied to for so long that you wouldn’t know the truth if it looked you in the eye.”

  “And what do you know about it, Viti?”

  Donna stepped forward, her head held high. It was a new girl Dylan was seeing. No longer was she the timid child Dylan had grown up with. The girl who broke the rules only because she could not stand to see another creature suffer. This girl was different, stronger, filled with more confidence than the old Donna had ever been.

  Wyatt stepped around his gargoyle guards, guards that did nothing to stop him after Demetria gave them a subtle nod. He stood before Donna, looking down on her in that way he often had with people he felt were below him in some way.

  “Do you really think the gargoyles are trying to help you?” he asked her.

  “I know they are.”

  “Then maybe you should ask them who was with the angels when they invaded the human world.”

  Donna crossed h
er arms over her chest. “Of course they were with the angels. They thought the angels were going to help the humans.”

  “And when they turned on the humans? Where were the gargoyles then?”

  Donna turned slightly, her eyes moving to Demetria. “We don’t have time for this debate,” Demetria said, coming to stand in front of Dylan. “We need to move.”

  “We’re not going anywhere with you,” Wyatt said.

  Demetria didn’t even acknowledge Wyatt. Her gaze stayed steady on Dylan. “We need you,” she said simply. “Luc and Lily are very powerful. But Lily is getting weaker, and that is causing them to lose control over their people. Very soon they will be weak enough for us to attack.”

  Dylan’s gaze shot to Wyatt. “What do you mean attack?” she asked, even as she saw the question forming on his tongue.

  “I don’t know how much you know,” Demetria said. “But Luc and Lily are the leaders of the legion that turned on the humans. If we can destroy them, we might be able to save the surviving humans and protect them long enough for them to replenish their species.”

  “But they have too many Redcoats on their side,” Wyatt said.

  “Yes,” Demetria agreed. She continued to study Dylan. “And if they were to get you, Lily would become strong again, and we would never have another chance to attack. The humans would be annihilated.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” Dylan asked.

  Silence fell. No one seemed to want to be the one to speak next. Even the gargoyles had turned and were studying everything but Dylan’s little group. The only sound in the cavernous room was Ellie’s quiet sobbing. Sam looked over at Dylan, his gaze making her blush for reasons she wasn’t even ready to consider. There was curiosity in his eyes that made it clear he had been closely following the discussion despite his attempts to calm Ellie. Bobby seemed more interested in something stuck under his fingernails. It was Carver who finally stepped forward, marching past the gargoyles and walking up to Wyatt’s side.