by Dawn, Autumn
He ignored her and headed to the fireplace. Jordan's things were dry, and most had been folded and placed on a chair.
“I washed her socks and under things,” Mrs. Y said casually. “I'm afraid she'll have some difficulty, though. Her jumper seems to have disliked the rain.”
He shot her a curious look and lifted the soft blue garment from the pile to have a closer look. After a moment, he smiled. Somehow he doubted Jordan would be in a hurry to leave in this.
Jordan was dismayed to see her favorite sweater shrunken to the size of a handkerchief. She rallied quickly, though. She was not going to allow it to slow her down. “I'll need to borrow one of your shirts.”
Griffin made a face. “Darling, it would swamp you! If you'll be patient, I'll send for the village seamstress. She's really very good.”
Jordan looked at him coldly. “I am not sitting around in a blanket all day. Nor am I going to wear that.” She glared at the maid's uniform that he'd brought along as an alternative.
He looked over her head and drew a breath as if to control his temper. He did not seem interested in helping her leave. Too bad. The storm was over and she needed to go home if she could.
She worried about that as she put on the shirt he brought her, ignoring the way it hung to her knees. She grudgingly thanked him for the jacket.
“It's chilly this morning,” he said off hand. “Shall we?”
She wished he wasn't the one walking her down the long driveway. Walking gave her too much time to think. She began to feel apologetic. “I'm sorry about last night.”
He raised his brows in inquiry. He was still being cool and aristocratic.
She hated it. “It was my fault. If there are...complications....”
He stopped. “I suggest you stop right there. We can discuss this after you've had a look at the road. Once you've ascertained for yourself that you can't go home, we'll discuss it further.”
She looked at him grimly. “I think I should say it before I disappear. There may not be another chance.”
“I doubt that.” He began walking again, rapidly this time. “Magic doesn't work that way.”
“What do you mean?” She really had to stretch her legs to keep up.
He saw it and slowed to an easier pace. “You were brought here for a purpose. You'd do better to spend your time discovering what that was than....” He trailed off. “No, forgive me. I suppose you're being reasonable enough, from your point of view.”
She looked at him, surprised at his capitulation. “Really.”
He smiled charmingly. “I'm merely upset that you're so eager to run away from me.”
She colored and looked forward. “About that. I'm not in the habit of leaping on men. It's just that it's been a while.” She saw that he was listening attentively. “My husband's been gone two years now. He was killed in battle.”
“I'm sorry,” Griffin said respectfully. “You loved him, of course.”
Her throat tightened. “Yeah.” They were approaching the gates now. It seemed important to make him understand. “I think it's become a habit, you know? The grief. I've been searching for a way to...heal, I guess. Last night, I used you.” She swallowed.
He stopped her. When she wouldn't meet his eyes, he took her hands. “Jordan Hearst. I do not feel used. Have you considered that finding a new love is one of the best ways to heal?”
She jerked her hands back with a gasp. She wanted to berate him. How dare he? And yet... “I don't love you. I barely know you.”
“Today, that's true. You don't know what tomorrow will bring.”
She didn't want to discuss this. She strode through the gate, still hoping he'd leave her alone. She searched the ground carefully, glad for the excuse to hide her eyes. She didn't love him. There was no such thing as love at first sight.
Of course, there were no such things as griffins, either. She ignored that errant little thought, concentrating on her task. She didn't have time for nonsense.
She didn't know what she expected to find on the road. In the daylight, it was an ordinary country lane. She walked over the place where she estimated she'd arrived, looking for a feeling of otherness, for any sign of what had transported her last night. There was nothing. The only thing of significance about it was the proximity to the mansion gates. She glanced at them and sighed. She had a feeling she knew what Griffin would say. Annoyed, she ruthlessly began to search the trees at the side of the road for anything that might trigger a portal home.
Griffin seemed to be searching, too, though she got the feeling he was more interested in possible danger than in portals. His head was up, and his nostrils flared as if scenting the wind. After last night, she couldn't blame him. She even found she was glad of it.
It was as she searched the ditch that she felt the growing sensation of danger. She glanced at the woods, as if she could peer through the trees to see what might be coming. “Griffin?” she said uncertainly.
He saw the direction she was looking. She thought she could see his hackles rise. He grasped her arm and began walking her toward the gate. “Quickly now.”
She didn't resent his taking command. She knew something was wrong, too. A zing ran down her spine, and her breath came faster. The feeling didn't make sense, but she hadn't forgotten the banshee. Never mind that she'd never been bothered by so much as a stray premonition before, Jordan headed for the gates at a rapid clip. She would have run if Griffin hadn't kept her at a walk. Something was coming!
He appeared before the house when they were halfway up the drive. Dark, urbane and unapologetically other. Beautiful danger, seductive killer. He stood there dressed in an old-fashioned, midnight-blue frock coat, white ruffles spilling from the sleeves and cravat. Long hair, a burnished black, spilled from under a beaver top hat. Both hands rested on a polished ebony cane with a silver knob. He studied her with blue, blue eyes.
“I know you,” she whispered, appalled. “You're the man who tried to kill me with the car.”
Griffin looked at her sharply. He seemed coiled, tensed to fight, but he stayed quiet and listened.
The stranger smiled slightly. “A miscalculation. I've come to pay my...respects.”
“Your respects!” Anger flashed through her veins, tightening her muscles. She was ready to lash out at him when another thought occurred. “You know how to take me back!”
His mouth quirked. “There would be no point, you know. The house would only draw you here.”
She glanced suspiciously at the house behind him. “It's not alive.”
His smile grew razor sharp. “You haven't been here long enough to appreciate it. Meanwhile, I hope to further our acquaintance. I am called Naturu. The pleasure is mine, Jordan Hearst.” His scintillating smile hinted at the kind of pleasure he'd like to discuss.
Griffin smiled with white, sharp teeth. “Don't be so confident, fae. She's spoken for.”
“Am I?” Jordan asked sharply. She turned her attention back to Naturu. “I'm afraid you'll have to leave. I'm not usually thrilled to meet a would-be assassin.” She expected him to protest, or attempt to charm her, but he only inclined his head.
“As I said, I regret the circumstances of our first meeting. As a token of apology, I came to offer a friendly warning.” His tone was silky, caressing. “Do not leave this place alone, Mrs. Hearst. There are more than shadows waiting outside these gates.”
Griffin's lip curled.
A chill kissed her spine. She remembered the fear that had made her run back to the house, knew without a doubt Naturu was right. It didn't make her like him any better, though. Acidly, she said, “You're too kind.”
He smiled seductively. “I can see I've overstayed my welcome. Accept my parting gift, then, and think of me with better favor.” He bowed and disappeared in a swirl of black smoke.
She glanced around, but he was nowhere in sight.
Griffin met her gaze with hooded eyes. “He's gone. For now.” His eyes swept over her, his expression carefully neutr
al.
She followed his gaze, blinking in surprise as she caught sight of her clothes. She was now wearing a blue cashmere dress over a pale blue, silk under dress. The sleeves and neckline were liberally adorned with pearls. There were even matching silk slippers upon her feet. It was beautiful, but.... “Stupid man! Those were my favorite jeans.” She was not inclined to look with favor on Naturu's gift. He'd tried to kill her!
Sage spoke dryly from the front door. From his words, he must have witnessed most of the conversation. “Be grateful he didn't turn you into a lowly moth. That one could have done far worse.” He frowned at the dress. “It suits you better than Griff's shirt, at any rate.”
Both she and Griffin glowered. Neither one of them liked Naturu messing with her clothes.
Griff gently took her arm. “We'll have the seamstress in today. You deserve a choice of clothing.”
She hesitated, glanced back at the gates. Had she really searched as well as she could have?
Griffin leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It's not worth the danger. You can search another time.”
She considered and reluctantly allowed him to escort her inside. He was probably right...for now.
Griffin waited until Jordan was settled in the parlor with a tea tray before making his offer. He worked up to it and made a very fine effort.
Jordan was not impressed. “Marriage.” She grimaced and set down her tea. “There's no reason for that, Griff.”
He looked at her steadily. “There is the possibility of a child.”
She sighed and looked around the dusty parlor. “I think you need a maid more than you need a wife. What happened to this place?”
“We were away. Our help deserted us. Unfortunately, it is not easy to find servants who can adapt to our household. Fae work well, but they were threatened in our absence. I don't blame them for leaving. About my offer―”
“I'll entertain it, but I need some answers first. Who is Naturu? You didn't seem surprised by him.”
He clearly disliked the subject change, but he humored her. “He is the brother of our matriarch. The house, you know.”
“No, I don't know. What about it?” she asked, slightly irritated. “There seems to be an unspoken assumption that I know things. Maybe you'd better back up and give me some history of this place.”
He thought for a moment. “Very well. It might help simplify things.
“Many years ago, there was a fae named Hyani. As a child, she played with the young of a clan of shape-shifters. Eventually, she came to love a young shifter named Traic.
“Her family did not approve. They forbade her to be with him. Instead of obeying them, she ran away to be with her love. By the time their hiding place was discovered, they had already produced three children. Her parents, while angered, did not want to discipline their beloved daughter. Not all fae felt the same way.
“There was war. Traic was killed in battle, but his friends the gargoyles helped Hyani and the children escape. They fled to the mortal world, but Hyani could not overcome her grief. In her despair, she transformed herself into a form that could shelter her children, but would be unable to suffer the pain of loss. She became this house.”
Jordan blinked. “She became a house? How is that possible?” She looked around, trying to see a living being in the walls around her. It looked ordinary enough to her, if richly appointed and rather dusty.
Griffin shook his head. “After all you've seen, how can you doubt? Have faith that the house is what remains of our ancestor.
“It is said that the ladies of the house sometimes hear her guidance. I wouldn't doubt she had a hand in bringing you here. It's been a long time since there was a woman here she could talk to.”
“Mrs. Y is here,” Jordan pointed out.
He smiled. “Mrs. Y is extraordinary, but she is not family.” Before she could comment on that, he went on, “Hyani's children were of mixed blood and inherited long life, something that infuriated the fae, who were jealous of the gifts. They did not want to see mortals rival them in any way. There has been strife between the two races ever since, though the fae are careful never to attack Hyani in any way that would raise the ire of her family, for fae children are rare, and she is still beloved of her parents.
“Her brother is not as reserved. Although he seems to care for his sister and is thought to commune with her still, he considers her children to be freaks. We've suspected that he works with her enemies. The attempt on your life seems to confirm it. I think he knew you were someone of interest to Hyani, a possible successor. She has been known to match-make before, very successfully. He would not like to see another mated pair.” He smiled. “He was right to be afraid.”
Jordan tried not to squirm. “You don't know that's what's going on.”
“It seems logical. Which brings me back to the point. Will you marry me, Jordan?”
Jordan tapped her back teeth together. “I've not given up on going home, you know. If the house could bring me here, she could send me back. All I have to do is convince her.”
“Luck with that,” he said, not in the least upset. “She's not known to change her mind. I'm interested to know how you would plan to raise a griffin child alone, by the way. They tend to be headstrong. She would need guidance.”
“What makes you think it would be a she?”
He smiled. “Most first children tend to be, in honor of their grandmother. I would be pleased with a boy or a girl. I would enjoy being a father.”
She didn't appreciate him being so nice. It made him harder to deal with. “You don't know that I'm pregnant. In light of that and the fact that we hardly know each other, I think marriage is fairly premature. You don't even know that we'll suit.”
“Hm.” He stared thoughtfully at the mantel. “A valid point. I propose a courtship period, then. What say you to a month? Surely that would be long enough to give you an idea of my character.”
Jordan didn't recall specifically agreeing to his request. He somehow managed to make it seem as if she had. He even went so far as to formally introduce her as his fiancée to his brothers at lunch. When she called him on it later, he said, “I'm the confident sort.”
She took it mean that he was arrogant beyond measure.
Servants began to appear at the house over the next few hours. Jordan couldn't pinpoint exactly what was odd about them, though Griffin informed her they were the fae who had formerly served in the house. Noses were too big on some, fingers too long on others, as if they couldn't quite master the nuances of the human form. Seeing them cleaning industriously made her wonder, though. “How long were you gone, Griffin? A couple of months?”
He shrugged. “Oh, fifty years or so. They get touchy if you're gone for a while, and we've been home only a matter of days. Now that we're here, Mrs. Y has set about coaxing them home.”
She stared at his face. Considering he didn't look older than thirty, that seemed amazing. It was not something she felt comfortable asking about just then, however. There was something more pressing she wanted to know. “Tell me about the gargoyles.”
He looked thoughtful. “I could show you instead. You seem brave enough to handle it.” He smiled, but it slowly faded. He looked at her seriously. “There are other things you should know, too.”
She looked at him warily. “Like what?”
He glanced at the windows, perhaps tracking the path of the sun. “Samhain, Sage and I are shape-shifters. It's part of who we are. We need to spend part of each day in our natural forms, or we suffer.”
“Suffer how?” She pictured agonies of the damned, men screaming in pain.
“It's melancholy at first. We become moody and withdraw, go off our feed. If left for a very long while, some shifters become suicidal. You could give us the best things in life, and we still could not cope with the grief. We need to be ourselves.”
“Oh. I see.” His explanation made sense.
He watched her carefully. “Good. You'll understand then, when I te
ll you that we chose the night to be our animal forms. We are nocturnal by nature, and it keeps our neighbors from noticing. Since it's also the time when the gargoyles awaken, it is most convenient. It's also why we eat dinner just after sunset. Gargoyles wake hungry.”
Jordan thought about that for a moment and cleared her throat. “You're telling me that you'll all be at the dining room table as your true selves.”
He smiled at her. “This shape is also a 'true self'. I'll just look a little different.”
“Right.” She nodded and kept nodding as she processed his revelation. Griffins and pookas and weres, oh, my! How did a girl brace for all that?
Griffin suggested she meet the gargoyle clan first, hoping it would be easiest on her. “You might also want to ask Rook how his nose is doing. He was the one you hit with the stick. He'll be the black one, with white hair.”
She winced. “Sorry about that. I was a little shook up last night.”
“Hm. Well, I won't let him eat you. You should know he tends to be moody, though.”
As a result of his warning, she was feeling a little nervous as they approached a gate set in the high shrubbery. The gate itself was hidden from the house by an oak tree and a group of flowering bushes. Griffin had to unlock it, too.
“The gate is warded to drive away any guests we might receive. We don't want visitors to wonder why the statues change positions from day to day.” He held the door open for her.
Jordan stepped inside, looked curiously at the group of five statues within the large garden. Each one rested on a wide stone pedestal, and no two seemed to be the same. There were several that she recognized as gargoyles, though none of them were the squat, ugly monsters she'd been expecting. They were alien, yes, with hard, sharp angles, like the one with spikes on his elbows and wingtips. He had claws, and his face was set in a snarl, but she saw the beauty in his features. There were others like him, though each was unique.
Jordan hadn't known how the sight of them caught in stone would affect her. The thought of seeing them wake should have daunted her more than it did. Stronger was the urge to see them free.
