by Unknown
He scanned the crowd again for any threats. Since humans on nearby islands had discovered the island, it was only a matter of time before the government found out about it. If they discovered the shapeshifters on the island, no doubt they’d try to capture them and study them in a lab.
Once reassured there were no threats, he searched the crowd for the woman he’d been thinking about. Energy from the change to human form invigorated him, especially his libido. He spotted the pixie-like female three rows back.
She’d returned.
This was the fifth night he’d seen her at the Knights of Stone shows. Each night, she’d moved a bit closer, braving the frantic energy of the audience. He searched for her every evening now, figuring she must be from the nearby islands. One of these nights, he would have to seduce her, to get this woman who’d penetrated his thoughts out of his system. He needed to find a way to get her alone, away from this crowd. At least she didn’t appear to be with anyone. Peculiar. How many trips had she taken to the Isle of Stone alone?
Humans on nearby islands had only recently discovered the Isle of Stone. In decades past, the three clans of the island—tree witches, gargoyles, and wolves, had cloaked their land with many layers of protection. Their combined magic had created such a powerful force it had remained undetected by human technology. When a feud erupted between the witches and gargoyles twenty-five years ago it led to a division of land. Without reinforcements from the clans’ combined magic, the protection seeped away. Humans on nearby islands sailed over and discovered its mysterious inhabitants.
His brother Calum shrieked a wild cry that began the next song, The Hunt. Mason and his brothers played a driving instrumental that quickened as Calum sang a tale. The object of the hunt was left ambiguous—it could be an enemy, an animal, or even a lass—but as the music rose to its climax, it left no question as to the outcome.
The prey was captured.
Tonight, Mason had a hunt with one particular human in mind. He played his guitar with more fervor as he envisioned taking the young beauty into the woods. He’d drill into her against an oak tree in the forest beyond, giving her an even better story for her to brag about to her friends when she returned home. If there was one thing he and his brothers had learned about females on his visits to cities like Edinburgh and London, it was that few could resist the bad boy appeal of a rock star.
Mason and his four brothers were the only gargoyles who remained on the island. They didn’t cringe at their arrival as the rest of the clan had, but instead saw it as an opportunity to play for an audience as themselves—gargoyles—not masquerading as humans. They insisted the humans keep their existence a secret if they wanted the shows to continue.
Word of mouth about the show spread to other islands and it was only a matter of time before it reached the mainland, eventually reaching the ears of government officials. Scientists would flock to the island to try to understand how the isle had remained hidden all this time. Mason and his brothers had discussed how the isle would puzzle scientists and stimulate the imaginations of conspiracy theorists. Humans would come up with all kinds of foolhardy explanations ranging from secret military installations to alien colonization. His brother, Gavin, had come up with the best reason yet, claiming the isle had arisen from the depths of the Atlantic, an ancient civilization reborn through the shifts of the tectonic plates. And as sure as humans would invent bizarre reasons for the isle, their greed for money would soon follow. Corporations would exploit the mysterious origins of the island as a way to make money. Perhaps with tourism and advertisements of extravagant trips to a mystical island—possibly with bizarre claims such as the water’s ability to cure ailments.
The gargoyles knew their time here on the stage was limited and they had to have constant vigilance for human intrusion.
Mason kept watch for anything suspicious while he played, yet also kept his eyes peeled for attractive women. He scanned the audience to see the others who had come tonight, but his gaze returned to the dark-haired one. What was it about her?
His gaze bore into her, and she stared back from wide eyes, almost too large for her heart-shaped face. Blood rushed right to his shaft as he thought about how he would take her in the woods.
Why wait any longer? He’d try to get her alone tonight.
* * * * *
Kayla couldn’t tear her eyes off the guitarist. Something about the way he looked at her tonight overwhelmed any coherent thought. If her coven knew she was on this side of the island cavorting with the gargoyles, the punishment would be severe. He was one of the species her coven had warned her about. Vile, bloodthirsty creatures that had slaughtered many of her ancestors. She’d been cautioned to stay away from their lands since she was a child, forbidden to venture from the coven for fear of an encounter with one of these evil beings. But they didn’t appear evil or threatening.
Her curiosity had grown once she heard of the gargoyle rock concerts, and she’d snuck over once to see what the talk was about. She’d never been to an actual concert before, only heard about them from other young witches with their fascination for human lifestyles. She’d never even left the island. The tree witches kept to themselves, a self-sufficient coven specializing in certain skills. The witches sang, played music, and danced at the gatherings around the fire, but nothing like what she’d experienced when the gargoyles transformed. After the first night, she was hooked. It was a risk to return but one she was willing to take. She’d ventured to that different world to hear the unique group, especially to watch the guitarist with hair as black as midnight.
For the past four nights, she’d left before the show ended, sneaking back to her coven under the dense cover of the trees. Tonight, foolish bravery coaxed her to stay to the end. If she wanted to watch a show, she damn well would. It wasn’t her coven’s business to know everything she did. She was a grown woman, twenty-one years of age, and shouldn’t be constrained by inexplicable feuds from years past she’d never quite grasped.
But, if they discovered her gone…
The final song began with a march-like beat of the drums. It increased in speed as the guitarists and bass player joined in, and the singer wailed. Brilliant bursts of flame rose from the torches. The gargoyles put down their instruments and nodded to the crowd. Their black feathered wings spread wide, making them appear twice as large as the males in the audience. With a few flaps, they levitated a few feet above the stage and then soared into the star-filled night sky. She watched them zoom higher, captivated as their enormous wings gave them the appearance of dark angels watching over those on the earth below. The gargoyles shapes shrunk as they ascended, and soon even the tiny pinpricks were invisible. The unparalleled experience made her rebellion worthwhile.
The crowd dispersed and she crept back into the dark forest. It was much later tonight than the usual time she’d return home, and the darkness made navigating the root-filled terrain more difficult. Although it wasn’t prudent to draw attention to herself in an area inhabited by all kinds of wild creatures, she needed to see. Cupping her hands before her, she chanted a spell. A tiny orange light, no larger than the flame at the end of a match, flickered in her hands. She repeated ancient words, making the sphere grow to the size of an apple. The dim glow illuminated her way. After twenty feet or so, she noticed the dense thicket of trees and needed more light if she didn’t want to trip over a root or walk face first into a tree. She amped up the fiery glow with an incantation.
The sounds of the forest grew louder the deeper she ventured in. Crickets chirred, frogs croaked, and insects rubbed their wings. A breeze ruffled through the leaves, and running water from a brook flowed. Rather than soothe her as they did during the day, the sounds seemed more ominous by night, setting all her senses on alert.
Her coven lived in tree houses in Caledonia a Tuath, or Northern Caledonia, named for the ancient Scottish forests where her ancestors had originated. It lay two miles from the gargoyle’s territory, only taking about forty minut
es to walk by daylight. Navigating through the woods by night might take twice as long. She clutched her locket several times as she walked, trying to cast away images she conjured of creatures that would find a witch an appetizing meal.
Nothing here will attack me. The gargoyles don’t appear evil. The wolf shifters stay in their territory. I will be fine.
Despite her attempts to reassure herself, rustling in the trees above startled her and she held back a squeal. Movement on her right was followed by a thump. She yelped, dropping the light. Sprinting in the opposite direction, she envisioned a monstrous predator. Before she made any headway, a dark figure flew overhead and landed in her path.
CHAPTER TWO
“Why are you walking through the woods alone?”
The voice of a male started Kayla and she dropped the ball of light. It had rolled several feet away, but still emitted enough glow for her to discern a bare-chested figure wearing a blue kilt, the dark-haired gargoyle guitarist. He loomed over her, well over six feet tall, and the wingspan gave him an even more imposing appearance. Her eyes fixed on the contoured muscles that rippled beneath his torso. Every part of him was sinewy and smooth as polished marble, biceps as sculpted as the carved rock formations at the coast, and legs as thick and sturdy as the mighty oaks.
When she found words, she said, “You scared me half to death.” She clutched her hand to her chest, and her heart pounded against it. At first, she attributed it to fright, but as she scanned his half-naked torso a few feet from her, she attributed it to a different reason.
“You’re tempting danger to come your way.” The words were a low rasp, the brogue rolling through her as delicious and comforting as a hot toddy on a cold winter’s night. “Beasts would gladly feast on your flesh.” He stepped closer, peering at her.
“Beasts?” she repeated. She stepped back and searched the woods. The biggest animal that lived in there were the red deer and they were harmless. The only threats to her kind on the island were the wolf shifters and the species before her now, the gargoyles.
He cocked his head, examining her. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
He ran a finger over her shoulder and down her arm, the unexpected movement leaving her breathless.
“Come with me.”
The sultry voice called to her, and she fought to make sense of it through her trepidation. “Protect me from what?”
“The wolves. Can’t you hear them in the distance?”
“They’ll stay in their territory.” Her shaky voice betrayed her attempt to convince herself as well as him.
He stood straighter, studying her. “What are you doing out here alone?”
She raised her chin. “I’m going home.”
He blinked at her several times before responding. “Home? On the Isle of Stone?” His voice rose an octave with obvious surprise. He strode over to the ball of light and picked it up, examining it with curiosity. It had dimmed without her energy fueling it, but still cast a warm glow. He tossed it to her.
She bit her lip. After he heard her answer, he might flee from her, leaving her to her fate. Why had she stayed out so late tonight, inviting danger? “The other side of the moors.”
He tilted his head, watching her through piercing blue eyes. “The Forests of Northern Caledonia are on the other side of the moors.”
“Yes.”
His eyes widened, staring at her without blinking. “Does that mean you’re a—tree witch?”
She nodded, averting his inquisitive gaze. Her heart pounded. Now that he knew who she was, would he give in to the blood thirst she’d been warned about? She scanned the ground for a rock or stick to use to defend herself. Nothing was within reach.
“A native, not a visitor,” he spoke under his breath.
She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Aye, I live on the island.”
“I’ve never met a tree witch before.” His voice held a twinge of awe. He stepped closer and sniffed the air around her. “Your scent is different from the humans.”
A tingling running through her body overrode her anxiety. “Like what?”
“The wilderness—and wildflowers.”
Energy sparkled in the space between their bodies; they stood closer than they’d ever been. Having the guitarist she’d admired on the stage so near affected her so she was unable to think straight. Even if he was a gargoyle.
His brows furrowed, a line separated them. “Why would you breach into our territory?” he demanded. “You know the delineation that separates our land.”
Her breathing came out more ragged. “I—uh—wanted to hear you play. I was curious,” she continued in an effort to explain her risky actions to herself as well as to him. “All sorts of rumors have spread throughout the coven about the gargoyle musicians playing human rock and roll.”
“The witches have heard about our concerts?”
“Yes.” Shuffling her feet, she added, “I wanted to hear it for myself. I’ve had so many questions about it. How did you learn to play it? We’re so secluded here on the island.”
He watched her with a steady gaze before replying. “My brothers and I fly at night. Visit nearby cities. Edinburgh, London, Dublin. We blend in as humans and slip into their clubs undetected. Having been to many shows, we got instruments several years ago and learned to play.”
“You travel from the island,” she said with wonderment.
He ran his hands over his chin. “You’ve been to see us more than once. Risking it. I’ve seen you.” He leaned so close her eyes fluttered involuntarily. “I’ve watched you.”
“Yes. I’ve come a few times,” she admitted.
“Why?”
“I like it.” she replied. “I enjoy listening to your music.” She stood straighter and declared, “One day I’ll visit other lands. Will you tell me about them?”
He appraised her, fixing his gaze on her face and then raking it down her body. Although covered in a belted leather tunic, she tingled all over, feeling naked and vulnerable.
“You know that’s forbidden,” he said with a steady gaze. “Our kinds are not supposed to cross into each other’s land, let alone interact.”
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” She peered up with wide eyes she hoped would appeal to a sympathetic part of him.
He uttered a tsking sound. “You’re a fool. You could get yourself killed if you keep this up.”
He didn’t say he’d reveal her transgression, but didn’t say he’d hide it either. Something in his tone made her relax. She swallowed the lump in her throat and licked her parched lips. “What are you doing in the forest?”
“What I must do.” He nodded his head and peered through still wise eyes.
“I don’t understand.”
“I can’t let a woman walk alone unprotected through the woods.”
“You’re going to—escort me?” She pointed at her chest.
“Yes.”
Her head throbbed with confusion. The creature who she’d been warned about her entire life did not exhibit a flicker of animosity or bloodthirsty rage. In fact, he was trying to protect her.
Or was it a ruse to get her to trust him? She considered her options. If she ran from him, he could reach her in seconds.
Her heart thumped louder. “From what?” She glanced to the northern direction of the island and furrowed her brows. “The wolf shifters?”
“I didn’t mean that earlier. I was trying to scare you.”
“Why?”
“I’d planned on seducing you.” He stared at her without blinking. “Before I knew you were a tree witch.”
Her imagination soared with the idea of the seduction, only to crash down.
“But something isn’t right,” he added. “We can hear the anguish in the wolves’ howling.”
She pictured the wolves she’d only seen a handful of times in her lifetime. Beautiful creatures with fur ranging from pure white, silvery-gray, to midnight black. In human form, they were as captivating. Intelli
gent, wide eyes and thick lustrous hair. They lived secluded to the northern part of the island. Yet they were still wolves and had sharp canine teeth with the power to tear flesh. She’d seen the remains of rabbit and deer they had caught and shuddered to think of the damage they could inflict on her skin.
She swallowed. “Do you think they’ll attack?”
“No blood has been spilled since the clans divided the lands twenty-five years ago. But something isn’t right. We can sense it.”
“Sense what?”
He didn’t answer. “Follow me.”
The gargoyle brought his wings in closer to his body as he walked a path through the trees, allowing her a moment to study him from behind. The wings retracted, sinking into a point in his back until they were no longer visible, revealing bronzed shoulders, sculpted shoulder blades, and a tapered waist. She glanced down to fixate on his buttocks. The pleasing curve under his kilt made her wonder if they were as finely carved as the rest of him. Her line of vision descended, lingering on the protruding muscles in his calves.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Mason.”
“Kayla.”
The wolves howled in the distance, and she lurched forward, clinging to one of his biceps. When he chuckled, she turned to face him. His teeth were even and white, not menacing.
“It’s all right,” he soothed her, running a hand over her hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Come here.” He opened his roped, muscular arms, welcoming her in. “The wolves are far off in the distance. Nowhere close. And remember—they haven’t attacked anyone for decades.”
Kayla sank against his chest, grateful for his protection and unable to resist the allure of his embrace. His scent filled her nose, intoxicating her with a mix of the outdoors, the remnant of perspiration from the concert, and heady masculinity. His wild musky aroma sent shivers of awareness through her. Her check brushed against his hard chest. A man of stone.
“We need to move.”
She moved away from his warm chest with reluctance. Not only had she trespassed into the gargoyles’ land, but she was wrapped in one’s embrace. Unthinkable. Forbidden. If the elder witches knew, if her mother saw… Yet being in his arms provided a protective warmth that chased her fears away.
