Onyx Gryphon: A Paranormal Shifter Romance (Gryphons vs Dragons Book 4)

by Ruby Ryan

  No, seriously; I was feeling much better. Physically, it was like the morphine drip was starting to kick in. My migraine faded to a dull ache, and my joints didn’t throb with every step.

  Maybe a walk through the city was exactly what I needed.

  The interior was one massive room with marble floors and rows of old benches made of brown-lacquered wood. A huge American flag hung from the far wall, and a curved ceiling of skylight windows bathed everything in pleasant natural light. An Amtrak kiosk stood in the middle of the floor in front of the corridors leading to the train tracks, and beyond that was an information booth with maps of Chicago’s L-Train system.

  My shoes echoed on the marble floor as I crossed the room.

  I don’t know what made me turn my head. Coincidence. Or the invisible strings of fate. But whatever made me do it, as I passed the corridor to the Amtrak tracks I twisted to glance in that direction.

  And I saw him.

  Even from behind, I knew it was Orlando. He wore black dress pants and a long coat that hung to his knees. He pulled a rolling suitcase behind him, and strode with long, purposeful steps.

  He stopped in front of the door to the waiting train, where a conductor was checking tickets.

  My feet changed directions and carried me toward him. I glided across the floor like in a dream, eyes unable to leave Orlando, and I wished he would turn around and see me. I stopped when I reached a red felt rope, and a man came over to block my view.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Only ticketed passengers beyond this point. Do you have a ticket?”

  “I…” I began, then shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just, umm, waiting on someone.”

  He nodded and went back to his original position.

  Orlando was right there. Less than 100 feet away. I could almost call out to him if I wanted.

  Where was he going, and with a suitcase? Originally, our date was supposed to go on until Sunday night. Wherever he was going, it was a last minute thing.

  I needed to talk to him. I had to talk to him.

  “Excuse me,” I asked the ticket-taker, “can’t you just let me through real quick? The person I want to speak with is right there…”

  “Sorry ma’am, but I can’t do that. Security.”

  “Then can you get him for me?” I pointed. “The black man with the grey rolling suitcase. It will only take a minute.”

  “Can’t leave my post.” He looked over his shoulder. “Just call their cell phone.”

  I don’t have their cell phone number, because I’m an escort who was set up with him through a recruiter. I looked at the line down by the train. There was a group of four men in matching uniforms talking to the conductor, and all of them had huge boxes of luggage. One of them was shouting so loud his voice carried down the corridor.

  “…can’t stow them below,” the man said. “We are a band. These are our instruments.”

  The conductor gestured at an open luggage space on the outside of the train.

  “We purchased sleeper cars!” the man yelled. “Why can’t we store them in our rooms?” There was a pause as the conductor responded, and then: “We don’t care if our room is crowded! That’s what I’m trying to tell you: we prefer that over our instruments bouncing around…”

  Orlando was several passengers behind them in line. For a brief, impulsive moment I considered ducking under the rope and making a run for it, but I wasn’t the kind of woman to create a commotion.

  “I’ll be back,” I said, jogging over to the ticketing area. Five rows of automated ticketing machines were mounted against the wall, but I went straight to the counter with a real person behind the glass.

  “I need one ticket for that train.” I pointed behind me down the corridor.

  The ticket agent looked bored behind his spectacles. “One ticket for the Texas Eagle leaving at 1:05…”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had three minutes! I drummed my fingers on the counter while the agent typed on his keyboard.

  His eyes studied his computer screen, then slowly tilted back up to me. “Where will you be traveling?”

  “I don’t know,” I said quickly. “Where does it go?”

  “The Texas Eagle travels all the way to San Antonio before becoming the Sunset Limited line, although that line only runs—”

  “I meant where does it go next,” I interrupted. “The very next station. I just need the cheapest ticket you have.”

  “Oh. Well, the Texas Eagle makes its first stop in Joliet, Illinois.”

  I slapped down my credit card. “Joliet it is, then.”

  He took my card and typed some more without any sense of urgency. “I assume you will not be needing a sleeper car for the journey?”

  “Nope.”

  “One reserved coach seat on the upper level…” he muttered. “Your total—”

  “Just book it!” I snapped.

  He gave me a sour look, but remained silent for the rest of the transaction.

  Ticket in hand, I ran back to the ticket-taker and flashed him my ticket, and before he could make a friendly joke about now being allowed to let me pass I was halfway down the corridor. Orlando was nowhere in sight, and the line to get on the train was empty, so I ran up to the conductor.

  “Excuse me, there was a man who just got on this train. Dark skin, grey suitcase. Name was Orlando. Where’s he sitting?”

  “Oh,” the conductor scrunched his face. “Umm. Let me see. That gentleman had a sleeper car I believe, in the front car? Ahead of the dining car…”

  “Thanks,” I said and started to walk that way, but the conductor stopped me.

  “Wait! Ma’am, all entry must be made at this door. You must walk through the cars to reach that.”

  He held out his hand to look at my ticket, but I zipped right past him and onto the train.

  The bottom floor here was cramped with luggage racks and four individual bathroom doors like on an airplane, with stairs going to the upper level. The stairs were so narrow only one person could take them at a time, and climbed them until I reached the upper floor.

  This was a passenger car, with a single aisle down the middle with two seats on either side. Passengers milled around, adjusting their seats and putting away luggage in the open racks above. I strode down the aisle, saying “excuse me,” as I passed people in my way. People who were keeping me from seeing Orlando.

  The train horn sounded, but I barely heard it.

  I reached the partition to the adjoining car, and pressed the button to open the door. The space between cars was a fabric-and-rubber partition, which could expand and compress like an accordion. It looked hardly strong enough to keep the wind at bay. The next car was identical to the first, but with more children running around in the aisle excitedly. I gritted my teeth and tried not to kick them as I avoided and shoved my way down the car.

  The train lurched, and outside the windows I saw the station beginning to move, but by then I didn’t care. My single purpose was to get to Orlando.

  Through another set of adjoining doors, with the walkway undulating ever so slightly with the movement of the trains.

  The next car was unlike the others: the walls and ceiling were all made of glass. To my left were seats facing the windows rather than straight ahead, and on the right were two-person booths with tables in the middle. An observation car, my mind decided. There were half a dozen people in here, some sitting at tables with laptops open and others taking photographs with their phones as the train moved.

  And at the other end, sitting at a booth facing away from me, was Orlando.

  I stopped in the middle of the aisle and stared. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to say to him. A flurry of emotions bombarded me: excitement laced with anxiety, frustration mixed with anger. I didn’t know if I was going to greet him, or confront him, or throw myself into his arms.

  “Excuse me,” someone behind me said, and I stepped out of the way to let them pass.

  The train passed
out of the station; the roof of the track tunnel suddenly gave way to open sky and the tall glass facades of skyscrapers. A few passengers made excited noises as they pointed up at the Sears Tower.

  Orlando never turned around; he remained facing the other way.

  And then, like a turtle crawling back into its shell, I retreated.

  What am I doing? I wondered as I retraced my steps down the passenger cars. The man I wanted to talk to was back the other way.

  Think of me, he’d said, because I’ll be thinking of you.

  How could he leave the city so suddenly? Was he fleeing me, the same way I was fleeing him right now?

  I didn’t know what to say to him. I needed a plan. Now that I was here, it was like the sickness that had ailed me had been lifted. I was finally thinking clearly again.

  I found my seat in the last passenger car, and to my relief the one next to me was empty. I dropped myself into the cushion and looked out the window at the city.

  I had no idea what I was doing, but right then I didn’t even care.

  12

  ORLANDO

  I had no idea what I was going to do, but right then I didn’t care.

  Because I could feel Cassie.

  She’d followed me to the train station. I’d felt her when I was getting on the train, like if I only looked over my shoulder I might catch a quick glimpse. And when I got on the train and it began moving she faded a bit, filling me with sadness…

  But now she remained, steady and warm. She was nearby, which could only mean she was on the train itself.

  Ethan was right.

  I tried to hide my smile as I watched the buildings moving on either side of the train. Everything was going the way it was supposed to.

  Everything was good.

  13

  CASSANDRA

  Everything was wrong.

  The full reality of the situation began sinking in shortly after I sat down. What the hell was I doing? I’d left my apartment intending to walk around the city and now I was on a damn Amtrak train leaving it.

  Was there an emergency cord I could pull to bring it to a stop? We were moving slowly through the city; I bet I could jump off if I wanted. A few bruised shins to avoid embarrassment.

  Okay, stop it Cassie. You were panicking. I looked around the passenger car to make sure nobody else noticed; the old man across the aisle from me caught my eye and smiled. I made myself smile back, and that imbued me with a little more confidence.

  Alright, let’s take stock of the situation. I was on a train heading south. My ticket was for Joliet, which was only an hour outside the city. Worst case scenario: I could take an Uber back from there. I’d be home with enough time to take a nap before dinner. Yeah. No sweat.

  But now that I was here I felt like myself again, and the thought of returning to migraines and aching joints made me want to stay.

  Was that really thanks to Orlando?

  I decided I needed to talk to him. To let him explain himself, and maybe find out what was going on. Some part of me still doubted he could give a reasonable explanation for all of this, but I didn’t exactly have any other options.

  Shit. Even just thinking of Orlando made me calmer.

  I couldn’t just walk right up to him and say hello, I realized. How could I possibly explain that I’d gotten on the same train as him? That I’d been out for a stroll, and just so happened to walk into the train station, and coincidentally saw him getting on the train, so in a spur-of-the-moment decision bought a ticket to Joliet for no reason? That was unbelievable. If roles were reversed and a man gave me that excuse I’d think he was a stalker.

  But did it even matter if what I said was believable?

  Orlando had told me several unbelievable things. Jeweled totems that infused their holders with magical powers. Dragons searching for them, both Orlando and his friends.

  And the transformation I’d seen on the roof. Orlando’s body distorting impossibly, wings emerging from his back and feathers as dark as midnight.

  Yeah, compared to that my train excuse didn’t seem so crazy after all.

  “Excuse me,” someone in the aisle said. One of the musicians I’d seen at the entrance dragged a huge box of equipment down the aisle, so wide that it scraped against the seats. He looked embarrassed at inconveniencing everyone, and the old man across the aisle hopped up—with surprising spryness for someone who looked to be in his 90s--and opened the door to the next car for him.

  The musician shoved the container ahead of him without thanking the old man. I heard the conductor in the next car arguing with him before the door closed.

  Orlando was that way. Two cars ahead, sitting in the observation car. But when I tried to make myself get up, it was like invisible vines held me to my seat. Why was I so nervous? It’d been decades since I felt this way about talking to a guy. I went on escort dates with strangers, for Pete’s sake. If that wasn’t nerve-wracking, then why was this?

  Because you have feelings for Orlando.

  I rejected the thought immediately. I’d just met him. We’d spent a total of 20 minutes together. He’d done something strange and impossible without warning me first.

  But I couldn’t ignore the feeling in my gut, and the reality that I’d gotten on a train in order to follow him.

  I started bargaining with myself in that special human way. Just go talk to him; rip the band-aid off. The worst he could do is reject me. And at least then I would know.

  Oh God, what if he did reject me? It was doubtful, since he’d come to see me yesterday with flowers, but he was the one getting on a train and leaving the city without warning.

  Wait a minute. Stop it, Cassie! Why wasn’t I angry with him anymore? He was the one who possibly drugged me. He was the one who stalked me to your office, risking both of my careers at once. He was the one who should be begging me to talk. To explain himself.

  Be angry!

  My little pep talk worked, but the anger that filled me was more muted than before. I was ready to let him explain himself. And being on a train was the best place, because it meant neither of us could run away until we figured it out.

  I turned to the man across the aisle. “Tell me not to be nervous.”

  He blinked at me and frowned, which made his entire face scrunch with a thousand wrinkles. “Oh my dear. Someone as beautiful as you should never be nervous!”

  His comment pulled a smile onto my face against my will. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “Going somewhere special?” he asked.

  I rose from my seat. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I opened the door to the next car and passed through the connecting tube. The train lurched strangely, which made the wheels groan with stress for a moment, but then it was back to normal. I passed through the second passenger car on nervous feet, my anxiety growing with each step. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I could feel myself growing closer. Like a marble rolling into a groove.

  I reached the door to the observation car, took a deep breath, and passed through.

  There were more people in here now, all with heads tilted up to look through the glass windows at the city fading behind us. But as I moved through the car I realized Orlando wasn’t sitting there anymore; the booth was occupied by a young couple holding hands.

  But I could still feel him nearby.

  Halfway through the observation car were stairs that wound down to the first level. Down there was a small concession stand for drinks and snacks, and four more booths with tables. The man behind the concession stand smiled at me, but I told him I didn’t want anything and went back upstairs.

  Forward I went to the end of the observation car, swaying as I walked through the connector to the next car.

  It was fancier than the other cars, with drapes pulled back on the windows and booths with clean white tablecloths and thin vases with flowers. The dining car. A waitress moved down the aisle with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other, and stopped a
t a booth at the far end.

  A booth with a gorgeous black man seated, with his hands clasped on the table in front of him and a warm smile on his face.

  He saw me, and the smile widened.

  All my worries disappeared. There he was. He didn’t even appear surprised to see me. He gestured at the seat across from him, inviting me to join him.

  I glided down the aisle on weightless legs. The waitress with the bottle of wine stopped at his table and began removing the foil around the cork, and I heard her ask if he would be dining alone.

  “No,” Orlando said in a deep voice. “My date is right there.”

  Why hadn’t I listened to him earlier? It was relieving to finally give in and talk to him. With both their eyes on me I felt like a bride on her wedding day, nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. This felt like a dream.

  Until it became a nightmare.

  14

  ORLANDO

  Sitting in the dining car, all I could think about was her.

  Ethan and Sam’s mates had handled everything smoothly. Roland’s too, I guess. But Cassie needed help easing into the reality of what was happening.

  And I wanted to do everything I could to comfort her. To help her accept the new reality of what all of this meant.

  Because beyond the supernatural craziness of it all, what would a woman like Cassie want with a man like me? I was a failed financial manager who now traded cryptocurrency. I was good enough to make a living at it, but that wasn’t exactly impressive to many people. And as smooth as I’d always been, as good looking as I thought I was in my most confident moments, she was worlds outside of my league. An entire universe outside. She had men falling over themselves to pay for her company.

  Someone like me wasn’t good enough for her.

  What if she was only here because the totem was pulling her? Lassoing a woman and yanking her toward you wasn’t exactly a sign of attraction. Notions of informed consent and coercion poisoned my mind. Despite our connection through the totem, what if what she really wanted was to have nothing to do with me? How would I handle having a mate who felt that way, or who even resented me for binding her this way?