4 - We Are Gathered (9 page)

“Good bye?”

“For now. I’ll always answer your call,
Friudil
. You have my word.” He turned from her and looked to be fastening and adjusting his trench coat.

“Tristan?”

“Yes?” He turned his head but didn’t face her.

“Did it hurt very much?”

“What?”

This time he turned a quarter of the way toward her, giving her a perfect glimpse of his profile. The man was absolutely beautiful. He should be up on a billboard somewhere, showcasing something. That’s what he should be doing. He shouldn’t be here, at her doorstep, trying to leave her.

“When you became a…vampire. Did it hurt?”

“I’d already taken a sword to my belly,
Friudil.
It takes a powerful long time to die with a wound like that. Anything else was secondary to that pain.”

“So…you don’t remember?”

“I recall it perfectly. I was lying on the sand, looking up at a star-filled night, surrounded by dead, and almost dead, while the creatures who feed on carrion sniffed about. We’d lost the battle hours earlier, but nobody came to check for wounded. There wasn’t a sound anywhere other than my own heart, slowing with every beat. There’s an odd sense of being out of sync with your own body. It’s akin to being a circling vulture, watching your own body die. And then Akron was there, asking me if I really wanted this, or if I wanted an eternity he could grant me. It was an easy choice.”

“So…it does hurt, but it’s worth it. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, tell him to take you, Rori! Put the man out of his misery. It’s obvious he loves you. And it’s just as obvious you love him. Isn’t it obvious, Naomi?”

Tristan whirled to face her, pulling Rori against him for protection, while they both looked up to the second-story window. Both her roommates were there, leaning out over the windowsill.

“I’m just glad to see you’re back. And in perfect condition.”

“Well, I need more. We can’t, like, listen to this much longer. We’re going to march right down there and accept the man for you. What do you want? Him to get on bended knee?”

Rori flicked a hand and not only did the blind come rippling down, but the sound of doors slamming was easily heard out in the street.

“Bended knee? Would that help?”

The whiff of air from Tristan’s whisper sent a shiver racing her, and when it reached the ends of all her limbs, it just restarted again. Rori pivoted, put her arms about his neck and drew his head to hers.

“I love you, Tristan. I want you. And I need you. There isn’t any life without you. I don’t even care if it hurts. It’ll pass…right?”

“You’re saying yes?”

“What else do you need, Tristan?”

“She wants me!”

He put his head back and crowed it. Loudly. And with such volume it echoed down the street. Her roommates clapped, and she didn’t hear much after that since Tristan had her locked in his arms with such strength she could only take small whiffs of air.

“Go on, you two! Get a room. And don’t worry about us. We’ll make all your excuses when we report you missing.”

“Yeah. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them, like, our roommate turned into a witch, and then a vampire came and took her away. That should work.”

“You’re going to get us locked away, Elizabeth. I swear.”

“How so? It’s the truth. I’ll take a lie detector test. Think of it! We might even make the tabloids!”

The voices faded as they pulled back into the room, and shut the window.

“I think I’ll miss them.”

Tristan was laughing as he said it, and then he was rising, soaring, and gyrating to music that was carried on the wind. And he took her with him.

 -o0o-

Keep Reading for a Sample of
Lori Devoti’s
When Gargoyles Fly
.

Chapter 1, When Gargoyles Fly

She touched him. Her fingers were warm, soft and undeniably human. Mord Gabion blinked, slow painful movements of his eyelids. They creaked like stone scratching stone, like a gargoyle coming to life while his body was still frozen in its sleep--which he was.

He shouldn't be awake, shouldn't be aware of those supple fingers, or the scent of ginger and spice drifting toward him. Shouldn't be aware of anything--ever again, but he was.

Her fingers ran down the planes of his chest, traced the line of bone that formed the top of his wings, folded in sleep, but itching with the need to open, to take his body soaring through the night sky.

"Such detail," she murmured.

His eyes shifted in their sockets. He wanted to see her, needed to see her, but his body wasn't quite ready. It was still locked in its rocky state.

She edged closer, her feet scraping over the hard ledge on which he was perched. He could feel it too now, through the thin-soled shoes he'd worn when he'd agreed to the sorcerer's bargain, agreed to go to sleep for eternity so his enemies, the chimeras, would be put into the slumber too.

He and the others like him had given up their freedom, their lives, to save the world from the chimeras who would have enslaved humanity--but he was awake. He swallowed, or made the motion at the back of his throat; the action was uncomfortable, unnatural locked in this stony state.

He tried again, managed to move his head to the side, but only an inch. The woman pressed against him, studying him, didn't notice--but the movement was real. He was coming awake.

Were his enemies too?

o0o

Kami Machon clung to the gargoyle, kept herself from looking down by concentrating on the impossible detail of his wings, muscles, everything. How she wished she knew who had sculpted him, how the sculptor had put such strength and darkness into the white marble he'd used to carve the creature.

She'd been sculpting with clay for years, but had recently forked out the dollars for a block of alabaster. Her fingers itched to pick up that chisel, make the first chink in the stone. But she was afraid. She wanted it to be perfect, beautiful, like this gargoyle.

She ran her hand lower, toward the strange kilt-like cloth that covered the gargoyle's lower body. The stone beneath her hand quivered. She jerked, then laughed at the flight of her imagination. Real as he might appear, this gargoyle, or grotesque to use the more accurate term, was stone, cold and hard. He couldn't feel her hand moving over him, couldn't react to her touch.

She shook her head and forced her feet to inch further along the ledge. One hand gripping the gargoyle's for balance, she lowered her other to the flashlight that hung on a string from her neck. It was dark, past midnight--the only time she'd been sure no one would see her and try to stop her.

She'd tried going through regular routes, asked permission from the building's owner to view the statue up close, but her calls had been ignored. Then, miraculously, the temp agency she worked for part-time had offered a position with the building's cleaning service. The rest of the crew was gone now. Leaving her with free access to the ledge and the gargoyle that was perched there.

She flipped on the flashlight and directed its small beam onto the gargoyle's profile. His jaw was strong and firm. She laughed again--of course it was. He was carved of stone. She lowered the light so she could feel the strength there, memorize it to replicate in her own work. The beam danced along the ledge and over her feet, drawing her gaze for just a second.

From the corner of her eye she saw movement. She started to turn, but pressure hit her square in the back and knocked her off balance. She screamed and grabbed at the stone fingers she'd been holding, felt her own digits slip one by one until she fell free and tumbled through the air toward the cement circle two hundred feet below.

o0o

Mord heard the female scream and felt her fingers slip over his knuckles. His body tensed, vibrated with an uncontrollable need to save her. The stone encasing him cracked. His muscles flexed. His wings shook. He took a breath and forced air to fill his lungs.

There was another crack--louder, like a canon firing--and he was free. He shoved his body away from the wall. His feet broke away from the ledge beneath them. His wings expanded and he free-fell for a few seconds, reveling in the feel of the air rushing past of him, of being alive--again.

The night air was dark and cold--invigorating, just as he remembered. And the city below flickered at him like he remembered, but now with more lights. Strange bright ones zigging along at impossible speeds.

The woman screamed again, pulling his mind back to her. Saving her was not his concern; it would be folly. People jumped from buildings. Before his forced sleep he'd seen plenty make that choice. He hadn't tried to talk a one out of it. He was a gargoyle, not a priest. His duty was to protect humans, but as a race, not individuals and not from their own stupid choices. If the weak died, it made the whole stronger. Part of the great formula that kept the world strong and vibrant.

Still...his gaze zoomed to the body falling beneath his. Her arms flapped as if she thought she could take wing.

He shouldn't save her. He had issues of his own, finding out why he'd been awakened--if others, allies and enemies, were awakening too.

The smell of ginger reached out to him, as she screamed again--or tried to. Her voice was hoarse now, almost lost in the wind.

He gritted his teeth and started to turn away, to point his face toward the other buildings where gargoyles and chimeras had spent their nights before the freeze. But as quick as he did, as sure as he was that he was making the right choice, his body decided otherwise. His wings flexed, his shoulders shifted and he dove--straight down, toward the now silent woman plummeting to the earth below.

o0o

Air whooshed past her and tore at her clothes. Fear clutched at Kami's chest, making it impossible to breathe. She was falling...falling. Her brain screamed to reach out, grab for something to stop her descent, but there was nothing to grab--nothing around her but angry air. It roared in her ears. She was going to die. There was no way around it.

The thought echoed through her head and settled into her stomach. She was going to die, and it was her own fault.
What idiot crawled onto a ledge to see a statue?

She screwed her eyes shut and tried to pull her arms in close--but she couldn't. The wind stopped her.

Tears ran down her cheeks, cold more than wet and her world started to shift...to fade.

She drifted for a second, forgot where she was and what was happening.

Suddenly, something hit her, jarred her back awake. Despite her fear, her eyes flew open.
The ground
...had she hit? And survived?

No
. She was still moving, fast...but sideways. Something...arms...held her. Her head fell backwards, over one of those arms, against a chest...solid, cool, bare. Her heart was beating. She could feel it, could feel air moving in and out of her burning lungs. She'd been screaming. The thought seemed random, unattached to anything. Like her reality.

Nothing seemed real...She pressed trembling fingers to her cheeks. Felt that, felt everything.

She was alive. Impossibly someone had saved her. Finally, she forced her face to turn upward, to see who held her.

A smooth, chiseled jaw. High cheekbones. Angled, strong features that should have been unattractive, but somehow put together were arresting, commanding and...familiar. She reached up, heard a whisper of movement and turned her gaze to the noise. Wings, six feet wide, glowed back at her--white as if carved from marble. Her eyes shot back to her savior's face. He was looking at her now with features strong as rock.

Rock, wings...
the gargoyle
.

Dear God. She'd been saved by the gargoyle. Her mouth opened, and a scream ripped from her throat.

The stone creature ignored her. He tightened his hold and dove forward until air whooshed past her again--stole both her breath and the scream that had been flying from her throat.

o0o

When Gargoyles Fly
available now for $.99 at online retailers.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter 1, When Gargoyles Fly