Avisha

by Vi Lily

  They were also a color unlike any he'd seen before—a sort of red, but brighter, like blood mixed with the juice of an orange. Not to mention they were unimaginably fast. Avisha had to beat his wings even harder to keep up with them.

  There were men riding atop the creatures and as he drew closer, Avisha saw that the "creatures" weren't living things at all—they had wheels. He was shocked to realize they were some sort of wagon that could travel at great speeds…without the aid of a beast pulling it along.

  How strange.

  His attention was caught then by a movement ahead of the wagon things—a long-haired boy was running just ahead of the men on the contraptions. As he watched, the boy turned and darted toward the trees. Avisha opened his senses then, to discern who it was in need of aid. He never assumed anything.

  That particular lesson had been learned the hard way.

  The strangest thing happened then when he did open his other-worldly senses: He felt the strongest desire—no, it was a need—to help that child. It was as if his very existence depended on getting to him and saving him. One word struck him right in the heart:

  Precious.

  Avisha didn't take time to process it. There would be time enough for that later. He simply let go and allowed the senses to take over and control his actions. They'd never failed him before. The only failure in his very long life had come when he'd ignored those senses and had instead relied on his—admittedly, unreliable—feelings.

  The child had already made it to the edge of the forest, which surprised him. He was fast—as quick as any sure-footed deer. Avisha figured it must be the rush of the chase, the fear of capture, that caused the boy's feet to fly over the wet terrain.

  He watched as the child made the mistake of looking back at the men chasing him. It was at that moment that he crashed into a tree and fell, unmoving. Avisha grimaced and then stretched his senses once again and felt the child still lived.

  Poor wee bit will have a tremendous ache in the head when he awakes.

  He turned his attention back to the men on the wagons, the apparent threat to the child. They had to be stopped. That was Avisha's only thought as he drew near to the one in the rear. While he was prevented from killing humans unless they were marked as truly evil, he was not bound from harming them to keep them from harming others.

  An eye for an eye.

  He did not sense true evil in the man in the rear. There was a thrill of the chase, which was understandable; Avisha was feeling the same himself. Also present was a need to fulfill a duty. He didn't sense a dedication, but a fear. Fear of failure.

  Avisha flapped harder and as soon as he was within reach, grabbed the man and snatched him from his droning wagon, then launched him into a thick-leafed bush. He glanced back and saw that the man was deeply tangled in the branches. One threat out of the way, yet another to disable.

  As soon as the man in the back was unseated, Avisha noticed that the strange wagon with the great speed had slowed to a crawl and he watched as it bumped into the side of the mountain.

  He then turned his attention to the other threat. The man had been much farther ahead and had already jumped off his wagon and was standing next to the child. He then viciously kicked the boy over onto his back.

  Avisha growled at the unnecessary roughness. He was thankful the child was unconscious then; he would likely have several broken ribs thanks to that kick. The man yelled out a curse as he leaned down and pulled a pack from the child's chest, tossing it into the trees.

  His senses shouted to him then and his skin crawled with the evil intent rolling off of the man.

  He guessed that the man was angry that the pack wasn't what he was looking for; there was something else the man wanted. But then he watched as the man stood and pulled a black object from a sheath at his side. It was small, like the hilt of a sword, but Avisha knew immediately that it was some sort of a weapon…and that he intended to kill the child.

  The roar that escaped his lips surprised him. Avisha never alerted others to his presence; he preferred to swoop in and take them by surprise. But the fury that enveloped him at the thought of the man harming the child overcame him.

  At the sound of his cry, the man turned. He wore a strange round helm that shone like it was made of polished steel. But Avisha could tell it wasn't metal at all, and he was shocked to see that it had a faceplate made of some unknown material that was nearly as transparent as a clear mountain pool. It was so well polished that it reflected the forest. Even though Avisha couldn't see the man's face, he knew he was shocked.

  He was almost upon them when the man turned the odd weapon toward him. Avisha was glad; at least it was no longer trained on the child. He smirked then; his tough hide could certainly take any strike that puny weapon could give him. Besides, he wasn't even near enough for the man to strike him.

  But then Avisha was shocked as a blast unlike any he had ever heard came from the weapon and it felt like the flesh on his side exploded. Never in his gargoyle form had he felt such pain. In fact, the only time he had suffered more was when he'd been in human form and had lain helpless as Ailis and her family were slaughtered by the Romans.

  He couldn't fathom how the weapon had managed to affect him from so far away. But he had no doubt that the pain in his side—as well as the great noise he'd heard—was caused by the thing. It was powerful, to be sure. The force of the impact from it was enough to push him back several feet, sending him head over heels.

  As he righted himself and refocused on the man, the pain in his side throbbed and he could feel blood trickling out. He didn't bother to look at the wound; there would be time enough for that later.

  Right now, he had a threat to eliminate.

  Before the man could use the powerful weapon again, Avisha soared down on him and snatched him up like he was little more than a child's doll. The last thing the evil-hearted man saw during his earthly existence was something only the very worst nightmares were made of.

  After the threat was eliminated, the gargoyle had to take a moment to calm himself. Whenever Avisha'd had to remove an evil scourge such as the man now lying in a pile of broken bones under a cluster of nearby trees, his body grew in proportion to his rage. Right now, he felt like one of the Nephilim of old…the giants.

  His side was still aching, and he could feel the wetness of his blood as it seeped out of his body and ran down his hip to his leg. He didn't have the power of healing and wondered if any of his brethren who did still lived in the area where his fortress had been. He shook his head at his thoughts. It would take quite a bit of time and effort to get his bearings in this new age; finding his brethren would be incidental.

  A soft moan drew his attention from his thoughts. Avisha took a shuddering breath and shook himself like a wet animal. He felt a shimmer run through his body and realized with a bit of a shock that, without any effort on his part, he had shifted to human form. He frowned.

  In all the millennia he had existed as a human gargoyle shifter, he had never shifted without any effort on his part. He had always needed to concentrate on the form in order to shift, and that was only if he were granted a boon from the Creator in reward for an act of good. He shook his head. Maybe the Creator had deemed the saving of the child a worthy enough deed.

  He grimaced when the pain from the wound in his side suddenly flared. In animal form, pain was always minimized; but now, in his human body, the pain was nearly excruciating. He looked down at the wound and was surprised to see such a tiny hole. Two, rather, one in the front and one in the back. If such a small hole could cause so much pain, Avisha wondered if he had grown soft while he was encased in stone. He snorted at the contradiction of that thought.

  But much more painful than the wound was the fact that he was stark naked.

  In the past he had always worn short trewes whenever he was in winged form, but since he'd decided to turn his back on mankind and had been relegated to indefinitely perch atop his fortress rampart, he supposed the tre
wes had rotted away.

  Despite his state of dress—or undress, rather—the child needed help. Avisha stepped to where the youth had rolled after being so viciously kicked. He squatted then, hoping his privates were out of the boy's sight.

  The boy's long chestnut-colored hair covered his face, but even through the thick mass Avisha could see the swollen spot where he'd hit his head pushing itself through. The poor thing had hit that tree hard enough to split it. He turned the boy's head a little, thankful to see no blood.

  "Are ye—" he started to rasp out. He paused, shocked at the rustiness of his voice. But then he reminded himself he'd obviously been dormant for a very long time. He cleared his throat several times.

  "Are ye to rights, lad? Tis quite the nasty lump ye have there." He reached out to push the boy's hair from his face and the lad turned his head at the touch.

  Avisha somehow managed to suck in a breath and gasp at the same time when he realized that it wasn't a lad lying on the forest floor, but a girl. Nay, 'twas a woman…in male clothing. Young aye, but a grown woman, nonetheless.

  She was staring up at him in confusion with shocking aqua green eyes, the color of the Aegean Sea on a cold winter's morn…but somehow brighter. It was as if they were lit from inside.

  He wondered at that, thinking it had to be something supernatural causing such a strange effect; no normal human eyes were so luminous. But whatever caused the stunning oddity, it wasn't from an evil source. He sensed no wrong in this young girl.

  Her skin was a pale, creamy white color, but her face was marred with dirt streaks and her thick hair was tangled. The lass looked like she'd been living in the woods for quite awhile. The grime and dishevelment didn't take away from her beauty, though…a beauty Avisha knew shone from deep within.

  A tiny pink tongue peeked out from between her startlingly white teeth, wetting lips he thought looked to be stained with the juice of a berry. His eyes tracked the movement and then he looked back at her eyes. A slight crease of confusion had formed between her gently arched brows and he had the strangest desire to smooth it away.

  "Who are you?"

  Her husky voice sent him reeling. Literally. He nearly fell backwards when she spoke and had to catch himself.

  It wasn't the words, the sound, or even the movement of those tempting lips that caused him to almost keel over, though. It was something else, something intangible, a calling to his very soul, a longing that hit him right in the center of his torso so mightily that he had to fight himself to keep from clutching at his chest.

  There was no denying it: The girl lying before him was his mate.

  Chapter 3

  S OME STRANGE guy is staring at me…and by strange, I like super weird. Odd. Off the wall. Not right. Kinda cute, though, like if Johnny Bravo and Thor had a love child. What's so weird about him, though, is the way he's staring at me—like he's shocked, horrified, confused and horny all at once.

  The guy has the strongest face I've ever seen. Hard to describe. But it's like his features are chiseled right out of granite. Square jaw, high cheekbones, prominent forehead. His eyes are a beautiful deep blue, like a morning sky and his hair is golden blonde.

  He looks a lot like some of the pureblood Norwegians I've seen. Which kind of makes sense, considering the Vikings invaded Scotland a thousand or more years ago and they interbred with the native Picts back then. But this guy is like more Viking, if that makes sense.

  He's huge, for one thing. Even though he's squatting next to me, I can tell that he's super tall. Towering. Intimidating. Intense. And for whatever reason, he isn't wearing a shirt. I'm trying not to be obvious as I check him out, but dang, my eyes are all over his seriously impressive chest, shoulders and arms.

  I swear the dude's muscles have muscles. But it isn't like a gym body, with the super cut lines defining each bulge. Like he works hard for those muscles but has never even heard of squats or "arm day." Pretty sure he could lift a truck over his head with one hand and crush rocks with the other. He probably eats slabs of beef for breakfast. Maybe small children and large dogs.

  Seriously, the dude could snap me in half like a twig. Of that I have no doubt, no matter how hard I train myself in defense. But I don't feel threatened by him. Just the opposite…for some reason, the gargantuan man squatting near me makes me feel protected. Cherished, even. The…care, for lack of a better word…just rolls off of him. And settles right over me, like a warm, fuzzy, ogre-sized blanket. Sometimes being an empath comes in real handy.

  Have you ever met someone who you just knew right away was okay? I mean, like you could trust them unconditionally with whatever secret you whispered in their ear, knew they would have your back no matter what, that they'd be there for you through the worst of it? This guy is that for me.

  Okay, maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. Apparently, my brain is a bit scrambled. We are talking about a total stranger here.

  But I can't get past the feeling of unconditional trust and complete lack of fear I have for the giant dude. It's the first time I've felt that way ever…well, since the last time I saw my parents, anyway.

  I watch him as I wait for him to answer my question. His eyes widen in alarm when I ask who he is, which is weird, like I'd asked him to give me the secret plans to make a backyard atomic bomb or something.

  That's followed by a look of sheer confusion as he stares at me. I swear, it's like he's never seen a chick before. I almost snort at that thought, remembering he'd called me "lad." He's probably just shocked that I am a chick.

  But that reminds me of how he talked and the weird words he used. It was just a couple of sentences, but dang if he didn't sound like he was from medieval times. Which is also really freaky. I mean, yeah, I'm deep in the Highlands of Scotland where a handful of people actually still speak Gaelic, but no one I've come across talks like he does with "ye" and "tis" thing going on.

  I struggle to sit up and moan. My skull feels like it's literally splitting in half with the movement. Ribs too…they're screaming. My thoughts get all jumbled and I feel like I'm going to pass out, as the edges of my vision blacken. I can't help but groan and I lie back down and close my eyes.

  I feel his touch again, so very gentle for such a giant guy, as he runs his huge hand over my hair. I wince when he touches the spot above my temple where I'd hit the tree. That was so stupid on my part, not watching where I was going when I was running—

  My eyes fly open again when I remember what I had been doing when I knocked myself out…running from the DEE-men. And Carlie—the poor baby is in that hole, probably scared to death. How long have I been out? And how stinking hard did I hit my head, that I completely forgot what had happened?

  I struggle to sit up again, ignoring the sick feeling and pain that washes over me. I have to get away, escape the DEE-men. And where are they? I have to get back to Carlie. The giant slides his arm behind me for support and I lean against him gratefully. As far as I know, he could be working for DEE. But I doubt it. Again, empathic ability.

  He holds me there, supporting me without saying a word. Without his help, I would probably collapse thanks to the incredible dizziness. The world is seriously spinning.

  I feel like I'm gonna hurl. I put my hand out automatically, needing to anchor myself to something to try to stop the spinning. Of course, the big dude is the only thing nearby, so it's him I grab onto.

  Not gonna lie—I'm kind of shocked when I realize I'm touching bare skin. On his leg. His bare leg. Okay, so maybe he was running around in just shorts. With no shirt. In the cold, drizzling rain.

  It's kinda well-known that Scots are tough. They're survivors. I guess it comes from hundreds of years of battling everyone and anyone. Oh, and then toss in their freaky "all four seasons in one day" weather on top of that. It's like the sun is shining in the morning, by noon it's snowing, then it rains all afternoon and then a wind storm hits overnight. Yeah, that legit happened to Carlie and me just yesterday.

  So, the Scots are
known for being tough people. But this is ridiculous. It's freezing out; the rain is on the verge of turning to snow, and the dude is mostly naked. But shockingly, his bare skin is warm and here I am, shivering while fully dressed.

  He must have felt my shivers, because he wraps his other arm around me and pulls me into his chest. I seriously have to fight not to sigh in contentment as his warmth envelopes me.

  Okay, truth—despite all the hard muscles on the dude, his chest is probably the comfiest, warmest thing I've laid my head on in months. Years, maybe.

  He smells strange—good, but strange. It's sort of a musky animal scent combined with forest. It isn't bad at all, just…different. But for some reason, the scent draws me in, comforting me. I turn my nose into his skin and inhale deeply. It's not like anything I've ever smelled.

  His body stiffens then, like I've crossed some invisible line. Maybe sniffing him like he was some delectable French pastry right out of the oven wasn't the smoothest move I could have made. Embarrassed, I push back.

  The slightest movement seems to make the world whirl. I now know what people in a mobile home feel like when they're caught up in a tornado. I have to blink my eyes a few times, trying to bring everything into focus, and shake my head slightly, carefully. The spinning is slowing, at least. But then I look down.

  Okayyyyyyy…uhhhh…

  Probably shouldn't have done that, because that's when I notice the dude isn't half-naked. He's all naked. And, well, what I'm looking at isn't something I've ever seen before. Not on a human, anyway.

  In my defense, I was all of fifteen when I had to go on the run with Carlie. And I'm kind of embarrassed to say I haven't even been kissed yet, but that's because I refuse to even consider the one and only time that Ven, another failed DEE experiment, cornered me in the hall at the lab and tried to stick his tongue down my throat. He tried…

  That was the day Ven found out that my dad taught me the ancient martial arts defense move of "Kick the Family Jewels So Hard They Spin."