by Rosalie Redd
A soft breeze swept across his twin appendages, caressing the feathers like a lover and sending sensual delight along the sensitive nerve endings. Self-hatred coiled in his stomach.
When Rhiannon placed a questionable soul into a gargoyle, she provided each one with a unique talent. His goddess had blessed him with wings. White, pure as an angel, damn wings. More of a curse than a blessing as far as he was concerned.
While some other gargoyles had leathery wings that could turn as stone-hard as the rest of their flesh, Seth’s white wings couldn’t do that and were a weakness he loathed. Embarrassed as he was by them, he’d never tried to fly and never would.
Maybe the useless wings were Rhiannon’s idea of a joke, and she’d given them to him to match the wings from his stone gargoyle—a griffin, no less. Why the hell he needed them when he could dematerialize was beyond him.
He’d wanted to ask her, but questions like that were frowned upon. Instead of using his wings, he dematerialized himself everywhere he needed to go.
Fortunately, he’d hidden his “gift” from his teammates for over a century. Although Finn may have suspected, he never once asked. His best friend had remained silent and had earned Seth’s loyalty. That didn’t matter anymore, though, did it?
Seth raised and lowered his wings, letting the cool, impending dawn air filter between the feathers. Up here, hidden from view, he could afford to let them out, but he’d never, ever, show them to anyone. An angel he was not.
“Finn, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.” How many times had he said these exact words about his Emily? Countless.
Like the sun after a winter storm, Emily had brightened Seth’s life from the moment she’d stepped off the train. Their whirlwind courtship and subsequent marriage had turned him into the happiest man alive.
Until her death had shattered his world.
Emily, so pure at heart, had trusted anyone and everyone. In the end, that had been her undoing.
He’d blamed himself for not being there to save her, and her death had started him on his own path of self-destruction. Too bad he’d taken so many souls down with him. He’d roamed from city to city, snaring people in his net with his easy smile and quick wit.
Straight up he was the best poker player around and had played anyone who’d dared to challenge him, cheating at every opportunity. His unsuspecting opponents had lost their homes, their businesses, and so much more.
Some may have deserved it, others most certainly did not. In either case, he’d harmed others without remorse, and that’s what had turned him into a questionable soul.
Poker. An unholy game. God’ll punish you, son, for playing that game. Your dirty, filthy hands are forever stained. Ma’s words echoed in Seth’s mind.
He no longer gambled, but he’d traded one bad habit for another. Now he was the kind of guy who’d screw just about any woman that came along. His motto was wham-bam-thank you-ma’am, and his stomping grounds included seedy bars or clubs.
Although the women changed from blondes to brunettes to red heads in a constant stream, one thing never changed. His shirt remained on, as if glued to his chest, for he refused to risk revealing his wings. They were sensitive, and in the heat of passion, he might unintentionally release them. That would never do.
The breeze slid over his delicate feathers once more, tickling the ends. He shivered and closed his eyes.
An image of Hannah, similar in appearance and mannerism to Emily, flitted through his mind. After rescuing her from the fae, he’d stood closer to her than he had since the fateful day they’d met.
The chemistry between them had overwhelmed his senses, and he’d wanted to run his hands over every bare inch of her skin. His self-loathing returned, tightening in his gut to the point of pain. Hannah was too pure, too innocent for the likes of him.
“Seth. Sun’s almost up. You’re running out of time. Damn it, where are you?” Drake’s irritating voice echoed through the mind link.
Seth gritted his teeth and retracted his wings. “I’m on my way.”
“Great. Hey, I can’t contact Finn through the mind link. Is he with you?”
Seth grabbed his shirt and yanked his arms through the sleeves. “About Finn. He won’t be returning to his post, not ever again. I’ll tell you more when I arrive.”
Silence stretched for several long seconds. “Damn. That’s unfortunate. I await your report.”
The mind link vanished.
Drake’s lack of emotion punched Seth in the gut harder than his fist ever could. A bitter taste filled the back of Seth’s mouth, and his dislike for his boss grew.
The first rays of the morning sun threatened to crest over the clouds. Time to go.
Seth threw on his coat and his Stetson then dematerialized. His molecules disintegrated at the atomic level and flitted through space, returning to the University of Chicago.
He loathed spending another day trapped in his griffin-like stone gargoyle next to Finn’s empty shell and with Drake breathing down his neck, but, hey, that was part of the job. He deserved nothing less.
CHAPTER 4
Hannah tracked the thermometer’s flat surface over her forehead. The electronic beeps pinged against the shower tiles. Ninety-seven point five. Well within normal range.
Then, why did she feel so bad?
Despite the knot in her stomach, she hadn’t thrown up. Not once.
Hannah glanced in the mirror. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and although she’d swallowed a couple of Advil after she’d woken up, her headache still pounded loud and clear at her temple.
“Hannah, we’re leaving.” Sadie’s voice echoed up the stairs.
Hannah shoved the thermometer into the medicine cabinet and shut the door. “I’m coming!”
She hurried through the hallway and down the stairs. Her stocking feet pounded against the floorboards, sending shock waves all the way to her aching skull.
When she reached the bottom, a wave of dizziness crested over her, and the coat rack next to the front door seemed to spin in a macabre kind of dance. She placed her hand on the wall to steady herself.
Sadie rounded the corner and almost plowed into her. She gripped Hannah’s arm, her eyes wide. “Hey, bug. The plane leaves in less than three hours. We have to hurry, or we’ll miss our flight and—”
“Sissy, it’s all right. You’ll get there.”
Sadie exhaled a quick breath. “I know. I’m just nervous.”
“You’ll have a great time. Trust me.”
Beaumont strode toward the front door, a suitcase in either hand and a small carry-on strapped over his shoulder.
He set down the suitcases and raised an eyebrow. “This is our honeymoon, bandit, remember? You’ll be lucky if we see anything besides our private cabin.”
A sly smile tugged at Sadie’s lip then she peered at Hannah. “You sure you don’t want to—”
Hannah placed her hands on her hips. “For the last time, no.”
Sadie studied Hannah’s features, and a concerned furrow creased her brow. “You look a little pale. Do you feel okay?”
No. I feel terrible. Hannah forced a smile. “Just tired from finishing up that project yesterday.”
Sadie bit her lip. “I worry about you.”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine. Go on your cruise. If I need anything, I can contact Wynne.” The witch had become a close friend since the night Hannah had reunited with Sadie and discovered the gorgeous and mysterious Seth.
Beaumont ran his hand through his hair. “Speaking of Wynne, if you see her before we return, tell her it’s been a while since she’s updated the wards on the house. Have her reinforce them.”
In Beaumont’s new role as head of the Gargoyle Reintegration Guild, they’d moved into this old Victorian a few months ago. Built in the early 1900s, the house had been the home to the Guild Director and his family for many decades. The witches protected this house and its inhabitants from destruction by the fae.
“Will do. Now go, you
two.” Hannah gripped Sadie’s arm and drew her toward the front door.
Beaumont picked up the luggage and strode through the doorway. The beep of the car alarm echoed from the driveway.
Sadie trailed her fingers down Hannah’s arm. “I’m going to miss you.”
Love for her sister tongue-tied Hannah. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe. “Beaumont will have you so distracted, you won’t even have time to think twice about me. Go. Have fun. You deserve it.”
Sadie smiled, and her eyes widened. “Oh, I left George’s fish flakes next to his bowl. Snookums’ cat food is under the sink. Don’t forget to clean the litter box every other—”
Hannah steered Sadie over the threshold. “Go, go, go!”
Sadie wrapped her arms around Hannah’s shoulder and squeezed tight. “I love you, bug.”
“I love you, too, Sissy.” Hannah returned the affectionate hug then drew away. “Better hurry. Don’t miss your flight.”
Sadie nodded and ran to the Toyota Highlander. The slam of the car door echoed off the Victorian’s exterior panels.
Hannah stared down the street long after the SUV had driven away.
A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. No, not again. She exhaled a long breath. With only a week off for spring break, she refused to become sick.
She had a picture to sketch for Sadie and Beaumont, and she’d be damned if she’d let a little bug slow her down. Maybe a piece of toast would ease some of the queasiness.
She closed the door behind her and strode into the kitchen. After rounding up a loaf of bread and the jelly jar, she popped a slice into the toaster. She waited for the bread to brown and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. If she didn’t have a fever, why did her skin seem so hot?
An image of the fae’s yellow eyes flitted through her mind, sending a ripple of unease along her shoulders. Was it a fluke the fae had pursued her from the library or was she his intended target? If so, why? She was a nineteen-year-old college student with—
“Meow.” Snookums rubbed against Hannah’s leg, dragging her from her dark thoughts.
The tension in her shoulders eased. She shouldn’t let her imagination get the better of her.
“Hello, Snookums.” She bent down and stroked her fingers over his ears and along the white patch under his chin.
He rewarded her with the slow rumble of a purr.
The pop of the toaster echoed around the empty kitchen. Hannah gripped the warm bread between her fingers, placed it on a plate, and spread her favorite blackberry jam over the surface.
She snagged the plate, strode to the kitchen table, and set down the dish. As she drew back one of the chairs, the legs scraped against the hardwood floor. She plopped down onto the seat and stared at the toast.
An odd reflective sheen appeared to coat the jam, as if someone had drooled on it.
Her gloomy thoughts returned, flashing back to that night nine months ago when that dark fae, Marco, had forced a single drop of his saliva down her throat. Right after the horrible deed, he’d whispered something in her ear, and she’d fainted shortly after.
Many times she’d tried to remember what he’d said, but the words always seemed to elude her. Good thing Wynne had given her an antidote or who knows what would’ve happened to her.
As if the toast had sprouted hairy legs and three eyes, Hannah pushed the plate away and rose to her feet. “I can’t eat that. Just—no.”
She snatched the plate, hurried to the sink, and tossed the bread into the garbage. Good riddance.
Sometimes the best medicine was to lose herself in her sketches. Besides, she needed to start that project if she intended to finish the wedding gift by the time Sadie and Beaumont returned.
She strode down the hallway to a spare room Sadie let her use for her art. Her easel, covered in drawing paper, stood in the corner next to the table holding her charcoal. The idea of beginning a new sketch lifted her spirits, bringing a smile to her lips and chasing away some of her worries.
She hurried to the antique rolltop desk, opened the bottom drawer, and withdrew the wedding photo of Beaumont and Sadie. Beaumont cupped Sadie’s chin. The two stared at each other, love evident in their gazes. Hannah couldn’t remember ever seeing Sadie look so happy.
Her breath caught. This spark of happiness, right here, was what Hannah vowed to capture.
After everything Sadie had gone through, she deserved a bit of happiness. Love, trust, and companionship were special, were worth fighting for, and were something to cherish forever.
Did you make a wish?
Sadie’s question rang in Hannah’s mind.
She wanted to love someone with her whole heart and be loved in return. Unconditionally and with devotion. Like Beaumont loved her sister.
She’d read enough romances over the years to believe in happily ever afters and had seen a few happy couples among her friends’ parents. Many times she’d relive a fantasy that someday she’d run across an old-fashioned guy. One who called and asked for a date, picked her up in a car that wasn’t his brother’s or his friend’s. He’d take her someplace fun and exciting, or beautiful and romantic, or maybe even both. She dreamed about a wholesome evening that started with good conversation, entailed lots of flirting, and ended with long, slow kisses.
Unfortunately, her dream contained the word “fantasy” and that’s what it was. Her father’s neglect and her uncle’s abuse had left their mark, infusing her with doubt, which she fought against with all her might.
Her thoughts drifted to Seth. Despite not knowing much about him other than he was a gargoyle and Beaumont’s friend, she felt an attraction to him she couldn’t explain, one that made her toes curl in all the right ways. He kept his distance, yet the look in his eyes contained a heavy longing, as if he wanted to devour her like he hadn’t had a decent meal in forever.
Warmth spread over her chest, up her throat, and into her cheeks. She shouldn’t want Seth the way she did, nothing would come of it, but she couldn’t get rid of her illusion of him. He was her knight in shining armor, her warrior, and her guardian angel all wrapped up in one fine package and totally out of her league.
Not wanting to dwell on what could never be, she shoved her thoughts of Seth aside and concentrated on her task. A stack of charcoal pencils rested in a cup near the easel. She sat on the stool, grasped her favorite one, and stroked the graphite against the paper.
The faint scratching noises and the familiar movement lulled her into her special place, her creative mindset where she lost herself in her art, and the outside world fell away, leaving her at peace. Still, something was missing in her life. If only her dreams of Seth could be real.
CHAPTER 5
“M arco Valentelli, can I trust you?”
Gwawl’s voice slid down Marco’s spine, but he remained in position, bent on one knee on the cold floor of the large chamber, head lowered. He didn’t fear much, but only a fool didn’t fear a god. “Of course, my lord.”
Mere inches from him on his throne, Gwawl tapped his sandaled foot in short, agitated bursts. The annoying sound beat against Marco’s skull.
Lit torches cast strange shadows on the cobbled stone floor that were eerily similar to the dark souls not yet united with their reincarnated bodies.
Of all the places in the Otherworld the god could reside, he’d picked this dark, dank prison-like chamber. Flamboyant he was not.
Gwawl stopped his incessant tapping, and the ensuing silence raised goose bumps along Marco’s nape.
“Stand before me, minion.”
Marco rose on unsteady feet. He dared a glance at the God of fire and pain.
Gwawl sat on his elaborate throne made of bone from countless ages of human suffering and melded together with the cries of pity long forgotten. The bones swirled and ebbed in a bizarre dance.
The imposing god wore a blood-red robe tied at the waist with a golden chain, and the muscles in his chest and shoulders bulged beneath the material. Dark
hair peppered with strands of gray curled in ringlets around his shoulders.
Tight, thin lips and a sharp jaw accentuated his large, bulbous nose. His dark orbs, black as ink, focused on Marco. “A recent acquisition claims you deigned to create a human army. Tell me that isn’t so.”
Did the god think he planned to overthrow him with a human army? Is that why he questioned his loyalty?
Marco’s pulse rose. He’d indeed intended to build a human army, but not to challenge the god, only to earn his favor and possibly a promotion to senior lieutenant over all of Chicago. The humans would’ve become his ears and eyes during the day while he remained trapped in the Otherworld by the sun.
He’d had just one recruit—Gabriel Rhodes—and that hadn’t gone well. Seemed the young man’s life had ended a bit early, and, evil to the core, he’d become a fae. Such a pity. Guess now wasn’t the best time to pursue the whole “human army” endeavor.
Marco swallowed his fear, lifted his chin, and met his God’s gaze. “It wouldn’t be wise for me to go against your command, my lord. I’m hurt you think I’m capable of such blasphemy.”
“Cernunnos, the Lord of the Otherworld, is the one who ordered we keep humans blissfully ignorant about our little escapades while we war with Rhiannon and her gargoyles. The less humans know, the better. We understand a stray human here or there may obtain information about the fae, but they are to remain few and far between. As such, I wouldn’t appreciate a human army.”
Marco nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
“So, you’re saying the new recruit lied?” Gwawl shifted in his seat, placed his elbow on the chair’s large, flat armrest, and rubbed his chin. His gaze never wavered. “Hmm. Seems it’s a ‘he said, she said’ situation. Such a mystery.”
Marco held his breath. Ever since he’d received the summons that Gwawl wanted to see him in the God’s personal chamber, his eyelid had twitched with worry. The skin fluttered once again.
