Perfect Misfits

by Mackie, Lawna

  Special Praise For

  PERFECT MISFITS

  “Tempest, prisoner on Misfit Mountain, gets no respite from fear until Ryder rescues her and introduces more than one feeling foreign to her—hope...and love.

  Woven in to the theme of social justice, the story of Tempest and Ryder follows the journey of each, separately and together, to the self-acceptance needed before true love can blossom. The tale is charmingly human. I recommend it to anyone who likes a fairy tale with a little bit of danger, a little bit of mystery, a little bit of sex, and a whole lot of love.”

  Praises for Lawna’s Books

  ENCHANTMENT

  “Awesome!—Run, grab your digital devices and get this book! You will not be disappointed!”

  IMPOSSIBLE TO HOLD

  “Amazing read!—This was a great book! The characters and creatures are so imaginative, and engaging.”

  QUINN’S CHRISTMAS WISH

  “A Holiday Story for Everyone—I absolutely loved this story when I read it.”

  PERFECT MISFITS

  BAREBACK FOR COWBOY

  COMING SOON!

  Perfect Misfits

  by LAWNA MACKIE

  Copyright © 2012 Lawna Mackie

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Acknowledgements

  Of course this book couldn’t have been written without the amazing support of my wonderful husband, who has always stood by my side while I’ve spent endless hours writing. I also have to thank my wonderful friend Myriah Reed who is the most kind and incredibly skilled artist I know.

  For My Readers

  Be sure to visit me at www.lawnamackie.ca and sign up to receive my newsletter and receive a free ebook. I would love to hear from you.

  Chapter One

  Sorrow-filled whimpers escaped quietly from the faceless figure as the swirling snow danced to the howl of the bitter wind, glittering. In the darkness, a blanket of large white flakes covered the helpless creature. A desperate plea for salvation chattered from the trembling form. “Please…help me.”

  The haunting words refused to cease. Over and over, he heard the voice followed by a familiar sensation of weightlessness and freefalling.

  Ryder’s eyes flew open in alarm as he plummeted through the night sky. “Shit!”

  His large black wings unfolded from his back moments before making contact with the earth.

  A string of vulgar words left his mouth as he looked up at the turret from which he’d just fallen…again. He bent down on one knee and hung his head, trying to calm his adrenaline-filled body. He remembered the sting of the harsh cold and a small shiver snaked through his limbs. Each time, the dream became more lifelike.

  I’ve had enough of this crap. Gargoyles do not just fall off the top of towers.

  High above, Ryder’s guardsmen chuckled.

  “Hey, boss, you all right down there?” Ashton snickered.

  Ryder looked way up with his one good eye and gave him the paw. “Everyone’s a fucking comedian!”

  “You gotta admit it’s kind of funny, boss. Gargoyles don’t fall off towers dreaming. You might actually break your neck one of these times,” Ashton yelled, staring over the edge of the battlement.

  Ryder stood to his full height, shouting back up toward his friend. “Next time you laugh at me, I’m gonna break your neck. How does that sound?”

  Dead silence followed. He’d made his point. This was serious. Something was interrupting his mind and body…but what and why?

  “Ashton, get down here,” Ryder commanded.

  A large whoosh broke the silence as the gargoyle took to flight landing softly beside him. His heart rate slowed returning to a normal beat, but the familiar feeling of being burned by a branding iron stopped his breath. He knew what he’d see. Slowly, he unclenched his paw and flexed his talons.

  “Son of a bitch!” He swore staring down at the ember-red crescent-moon shape that had formed. The burn appeared after each episode whenever he fell off a turret.

  What is that?

  “You bellowed.”

  Ryder closed his large claws over his burning pad and faced the guardsmen. “I want you to check with all the gargoyles to see if they’ve been having any…urr…strange...dreams.”

  The corners of Ashton’s lips curled upwards as if he might consider laughing.

  Ryder growled, and Ashton lost his happy face. “Perhaps you’ve had too many late nights down at the Transportbar. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, with the…you know…falling thing, and the ladies must be a constant distraction…of sorts.”

  Ryder sighed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Attacks on the once-peaceful world seemed to grow in number each day. He’d been created to protect Levare, but up until recently, that duty seemed nonexistent.

  What changed? Why are these other species now trying to take over Levare?

  On top of it all, the wicked nightly dreams were becoming more intense. He’d hoped hanging out at the Transportbar would dull his senses.

  So much for that theory.

  “My personal life has nothing to do with this. Just speak to the other gargoyles,” Ryder responded curtly.

  “I’ll find out, Captain. Is there anything else you require?”

  He knew he was being a jerk to his first-in-command. He hadn’t meant to be so snarky. He formed a half-cocked smile, but continued with seriousness. “Ashton, are there any snow-covered mountains here on Levare that I might not be aware of? I mean like…freeze-your-balls-to-the-wall cold?”

  The other gargoyle smirked. “I’m not sure. I’m only aware of the Belham mountain range. I could speak to Astral, but I’m not sure how successful I’ll be. You know how uncooperative the witch is.”

  “Good. You do that. Let me know if she gives you any grief. If anyone would know anything, it would be her.” Ryder turned away and adjusted the patch that covered his disfigured eye.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing.”

  His first-in-command stood waiting for instructions.

  “Don’t ever let me hit the ground asleep.”

  The quirky comment had the desired effect. Ashton howled with laughter. They both knew it was impossible for a gargoyle to hit the ground asleep.

  “Go before I end up truly grumpy, and tell those goons up there if they ever mock me again, I’m going to shred their wings.”

  With one mighty flap of his powerful wings, Ashton launched into the air returning to his post. In the shadows of the pale night moon, Ryder slowly opened his paw, hoping the mark had disappeared. The crescent-shaped red scar continued to glow dimly.

  Why the hell do I have all the ill luck?

  Stretching his arms wide, he flexed his tense muscles. In gargoyle form, his fifteen-foot-tall frame towered over most others on the planet, and his webbed wings spanned twice his body size.

  Darkness embraced and comforted him like a blanket. In the light of day, the inhabitants of Levare stared at his sandstone-colored granite, lifeless skin. If he chose to remain in stone form, he was still aware of each movement and comment they made. When he took to a more human form, they still stared because his muscles stretched and bulged far beyond normal size.

  His eyes were black. “Soulless,” he’d been told. Well, now he only had one eye, and a patch covered the empty socket. Ryder tucked a long piece of sandy blonde hair behind his pointed ear. His hair was the only part of his Levarian form t
hat remained when he transformed into gargoyle stature.

  He crouched low, and then thrust upward with his thighs. The rhythm of his wings broke into a symphony of thumps singing throughout the night sky. The sensation was the same every time he took to air—exhilarating and breathtaking, a release from the everyday pressures of his world.

  He shot upward faster, ever farther away from the land. At a height impossible to imagine, he quickly and forcefully wrapped his large wings tightly around his body. The movement thrust him up in a violent spiral motion, and he became a blur of swirling blackness. Ryder closed his eyes, savoring the rush of adrenaline flowing through his limbs.

  But still, the faceless form pleading for salivation in the snowstorm refused to disappear.

  · · · · ·

  “Please,” Tempest begged shivering beneath the fresh blanket of snow. “I’d rather die.”

  She’d managed to escape…again, wishing this would be the last time. How she prayed the swirling snow devils would suck her up and away from this horrid hellhole of a world. Death would be welcome, if it kept her from going back to that place…back to him.

  She’d been on the run for hours, wearing nothing more than a thin black cloak and an old pair of large, well-worn leather shoes she’d managed to steal from the guard. The knee-deep snow made her efforts to get away seem impossible. Countless times, she fell, only to push herself back up to her feet and plunge forward. As futile as the situation appeared, Tempest refused to give up. No longer could she feel her feet and hands; they’d gone numb long ago.

  If only I could rest for a few minutes.

  No! Her mind screamed in retaliation. If you stop, they will find you.

  Her breath came in gulps; her lungs were on fire demanding more oxygen and a reprieve from the bitter cold air. The blinding snow went on forever. She had no idea which direction she headed, but hoped it led far away from her captors.

  She lifted her arm, trying to shield her snow-bitten eyes from the brutal onslaught of the blizzard, but couldn’t see anything except for the deceiving flat white drifts. Her pace slowed, one step at a time; she was disoriented, tired, and hungry.

  With her next step, her stomach fell out from underneath her. She screamed in terror as she fell through the air to an unknown fate. In a poof, she landed, buried in a soft tomb of snow.

  The wind had been knocked from her lungs. She opened her mouth, gasping like a fish out of water. Finally, with a gulp, her airways filled with snow-mixed air. Coughing, she sputtered, unable to move. She uttered another weak plea for help, knowing know one would hear her. In the silence, her eyelids fluttered closed, and she drifted into the welcoming arms of darkness.

  · · · · ·

  Vigorous scratching, dull and muffled, aroused Tempest from her slumber.

  Am I dreaming? Oh gods, are the Vemlers trying to get in?

  Relentless and deadly, the filthy, vile creatures could claw their way through anything in search of a meal. She fought them off on a regular basis. Alone in her cell, she was a sitting duck, with only a stick as her means of protection.

  She tried to lift her head, but ended up with another mouthful of snow. As she gulped for air, the memory of her escape came flooding back.

  No, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

  It was worse than a dream. They must have found her, and she remained buried under the snow with no way to flee.

  The scratching continued in the snow above, bringing her demise closer by the second. She refused to go down without a fight, and she’d end her life before Fedor ever laid his grotesque hands on her again. In all probability, his touch would kill her anyway.

  She held her breath, trying to cease her shivers, knowing she must lie perfectly still and wait…wait for the exact moment before they broke through the small barrier of snow that encased her frigid body—a body that could not and would not freeze to death.

  She braced her hands down at her sides, readying to push straight up.

  Please let the snow beneath me hold my weight.

  Her thigh muscles ached with tension as she contemplated the thought of moving.

  Count to three.

  They’d expect her to be in a slumber.

  One…

  Her feet and calves tightened ready for action.

  Two…

  Her fists clenched into tight balls, prepared to strike. Her stomach rolled, threatening to hurl, but she knew it was empty, and had been for some time.

  This is it. Three!

  Tempest unleashed whatever strength she had left in her tired, battered body, bursting through the thin barrier of snow.

  Two paws hit her square in the chest, and a pair of large glowing red eyes met her stare. Startled and off balance, Tempest stumbled backward. Her feet slid out from underneath her.

  Rogue had found her, not the Vemlers or Fedor. She slid downward on her stomach, her arms desperately grasping at anything to stop her fall.

  “Rogue!”

  The beast pounced through the snow down the hill after her, trying to grasp a piece of her with his large fangs.

  It was too late; her body flew through the air. She reached out and snagged a tree branch, to swing in the forsaken snowstorm at the mercy of a small twig protruding from a tiny ledge. Looking down into a vast crevasse with no bottom in sight, she thought maybe she’d get what she wished for, after all.

  “No, I take it back, I don’t want to die. Creators, help me, please. Why do you hate me so?” Tempest squeaked, looking up into the sky, which continued to dump endless amounts of snow. Her hands, next to frozen, would not support her weight for long.

  Above, Rogue perched on the small ledge preparing to jump after her. “Rogue, no! Stay!” she desperately commanded. A single tear rolled down her cheek, symbolizing her desperation and fear. The crazy beast would die with her; she knew that. If she fell, he would jump after her.

  Rogue howled a mournful cry. His large grey-and-tan-spotted body crouched low. Tempest knew he was angry; his pointed ears lay flat against his large square head. She felt his frustration through his piercing red eyes. She swallowed a shriek as her hands slipped slightly.

  Rogue moved even closer to the edge, causing chunks of snow to fall in her direction. “Rogue, listen to me. Don’t do this. You don’t need to end your life because of me.” Even as those words tumbled out of her mouth, Tempest knew the poor beast had no life worth living on the miserable mountain. They were both misfits not suitable to live with the regular folk on Levare. And there was no way to escape this miserable rock covered with ice and snow.

  Tempest closed her eyes, wishing she had the power or ability to remove them from this horrid situation. It was impossible, of course, because she had no gifts—only misfortune. Poor Rogue also shared in the bad luck. He was a Gargdog, half gargoyle and half dog. His problem was his wings. A spell gone wrong, they were barely large enough for a pixie to fly with—useless wings on a grand creature. That’s what misfits were—rejects from Levare, banished from the world as though they never existed.

  Her body trembled with the last bit of strength oozing from her limbs.

  “Rogue goes with Tempest! I will not stay here without you,” the Gargdog growled in the form of words. She smiled up at him, proud of his speech. “I see you’ve been practicing since they separated us.” It was her attempt to lighten the mood.

  “I’m sorry, Rogue,” Tempest squeaked as she slipped another half-finger length.

  “Rogue loves Tempest. Not want Tempest to die without him.” Rogue hung his head. She felt his sadness.

  “Rogue, I don’t have much strength left,” Tempest said weakly. “I’m not afraid of death. You know I could never be Fedor’s bride. His touch would kill me, anyway. This way is better. I won’t feel a thing,” she lied, trying to sound brave.

  “We will go together. Neither will I live under his control any longer.”

  Her arms now shook uncontrollably. Her hands had no feeling, but her brain forced the sign
al to her fingers to grasp as tightly as she could. She closed her eyes and said a quick, silent prayer for all the other misfits who suffered like her and Rogue.

  We’ve endured so much pain in our lives. Please, Creators, let us have a painless death. With her silent prayers complete, Tempest opened her eyes, looked up, and whispered, “I love you, Rogue,” and let go.

  · · · · ·

  The snow glittered like diamonds falling from the sky. But concealed behind the white beauty was death. This time, the dream revealed the mysterious form. Long, disheveled blonde hair hung framing her tiny face. A pair of jade-green eyes stared up into the sky, glimmering with unshed tears. Her little pointed ears suggested she might be an elf. It was as though she was staring right at him.

  He felt her sorrow and despair as if it was his own.

  Damn this eye.

  She’s hanging onto something, but what and why? If I had the sight of two eyes, I’d be able to see the whole picture.

  He turned his head to the side, trying to put the small pieces of the vision together.

  Tiny hands held onto a small branch when a screech tore from the girl’s mouth. Her hands slipped.

  His heart stopped.

  Now, tears fell freely from her misty cat-shaped eyes.

  Ryder turned his head in the opposite direction. Air left his lungs.

  He stared, paralyzed with fear, looking down into the vast crevasse as her feet dangled in the air. She would surely fall to her death.

  Don’t open your eyes. Dream, my ass.

  Every bone in his body told him this was real. Somewhere, somehow, this girl would die if he didn’t do something. The stinging burn on his paw would be bright-red. The hurt was excruciating, but pain was a familiar friend.

  Ryder knew he sat perched on the highest structure in all of Levare; he’d built the tower from the centre of his home. The top of the structure contained his bedchamber. Outside the large glass doors, he sat on his chunk of crystal. It was a place where he spent endless amounts of time. Tonight, he’d decided to spend the night outside in gargoyle form, instead of inside in male form. Now he knew why.