Perfect Misfits (3 page)

“How could I possibly be in your dreams? I’ve never laid eyes on you before now.”

Well, perhaps.

He stopped just feet before her and Rogue, who growled and prepared to lunge. Tempest grabbed him securely by leathers letting him know that would not be acceptable.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been listening to your crying for days. I had to save you. It’s what I do.” He smirked.

Remembering he really had saved her life and Rogue’s, too, Tempest let her anger dissipate. With a deep sigh, she looked over to the entrance of the cave. How she wished to be warm, dry, and out of the snow, if even for a short time.

“We know this place as Misfit Mountain, or at least that’s what we call it. Misfits are creatures like us. You know…creatures gone wrong at the time of creation.”

Could he read her mind? It seemed so. He had turned his direction sideways, trampling the snow, making a path to the entrance of the cave. She watched as he approached the opening to the cave. In moments, his paw-like hands equipped with enormous talons literally shredded fallen trees and branches that blocked the entrance. He lifted all the wood as if it weighed no more than a feather and deposited it just inside the cave. He appeared to be inspecting the dwelling. After a thorough look, he bowed low, sweeping his arm toward the entrance.

She wanted to cry tears of joy, knowing she had almost died, but instead had survived. Best of all, it would take Fedor quite some time to find this spot. She’d be long gone from there by then.

Already, the snow was starting to accumulate in the pathway. Tempest forged forward and made her way toward the safe haven.

His large frame blocked her path, but he stepped sideways just enough to allow her by. Rogue was on her heels, determined to enter before she did. Unintentional as it was, the clumsy critter hit her legs on the way by. Thrown off balance, with her arms flaying in the air, she tried frantically not to fall into the snow bank. It seemed pointless; she knew there was no way to stop the impending fall.

In a flash, the giant reached out and grabbed her hand.

“No!” she yelled in fear.

A torrent of wild visions tore through her mind. Mentally, her body tumbled in violent circles, feeling every emotion and physical sensation that came with the person’s touch. The onslaught of foreign sounds, smells, and feelings overwhelmed all of her regular body responses. She would live each experience just like the person who had touched her hand. Physically, her body would be unresponsive while the visions played out like scenes on a stage, but inside, she was anything but unresponsive. Tempest never had any idea how long they would last.

When the first vision began, she reached up to cover her ears from the deafening sound of metal on metal.

Swords clashed as the blades ground, accompanied by heavy breathing caused from physical exertion. Her arms ached and shook as though she herself fought with the heavy sword. The smell of fresh blood caused her nostrils to flare, and her stomach recoiled from the grisliness of the scene. Death and peril was everywhere.

Tempest crumpled inside when the second vision formed.

She was fighting some odd type of creature. There were many creatures, all of which were bent on destruction. Their evil seeped into her every pore. Black hearts filled with hatred, their constant duty in life was to inflict pain and destruction.

Tempest screamed at the sheer brutality, wishing for the scene to end.

She fought unyielding in the battle. Rage—his rage, but now hers—scared her to death. The hatred and blackness in his heart seemed no different than the creatures he strove to defeat. His body was tattered and torn, and she felt every slice of the thick, sharp blade. One attacked from behind, but she landed a back-kick, successfully rendering one down. Two more attacked from the sides. She was grossly outnumbered, and in a flash, a long serpentine creature swung his spiked tail making direct contact with her eye and face.

Pain seared through her head unlike anything she had ever felt. A river of blood ran down her face. Rage blocked the pain, but she would never give up, even though her eye had been taken.

Tempest wept uncontrollably for him.

It all seemed for naught, until a battalion of other winged warriors arrived to aid in the battle. She harbored hatred for herself. She’d lost her eye, and along with that, a piece of her soul. She considered herself imperfect, disfigured.

She thought of herself like a bird without full vision…incapable of hunting or protecting properly. A gargoyle with one eye was…unworthy.

In the third vision, she had some reprieve from the dreadful fights.

She laughed and poked fun at other men who laughed along with her. She had no wings, gone were the paws and claws. She bore normal hands and feet, and was under half the height of the gargoyle form, but still he towered over the other men.

For the first time in her life, she actually smiled while in a vision. His laughter made her happy.

She wasn’t prepared for the fourth vision. She saw herself through his eyes—her desperate pleas for help as she trudged through the blizzard, wishing for death. It seemed surreal to see herself this way. The compassion flowing through his body humbled her. He didn’t even know who or what she was, but he would do whatever it took to save her.

A tear slid down her cheek. Nobody other than the gargdog had ever shown her any type of compassion.

Abruptly, one more setting took shape, and she fell from a tower in a nosedive to the ground. Why would she not fly? Tempest screamed in terror as she experienced his fall. It resembled falling in a dream and knowing one couldn’t wake up.

She hit the hard ground, feeling and hearing the sickening sound of bones cracking and breaking. Her breathing stopped as she was stunned by the instantaneous pain. As fast as the bones broke, they began to repair. Her gut tightened with trepidation, watching herself fall through the air.

Her head spun out of control, and she prayed this would be the last vision.

The final image terrified her.

She stared down at the red crescent-shaped burn on her paw. The mark was almost identical to hers. Tempest balked at the sight, and tried desperately to fight the pain.

Blackness closed in.

No! Fight to stay awake. You need to see this. Why does he have the same mark?

The revelations were coming to an end. Each time, she knew she would convulse and vomit. It would be dry heaves; she had nothing to discard from her starving belly.

The gripping sting and smell of the burning flesh made her continue to gag. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The burnt mark glowed.

What does it all mean?

Beyond exhaustion for the third time in one day, she sought the solitude of unconsciousness.

Chapter Three

The girl went limp and sank to the snow-covered ground, unresponsive, but Ryder still held onto her wrist.

“What the hell?” He jumped forward, closer to her body, prepared to pick her up, but his movement came to an abrupt halt, with the small creature snapping at his arm. Ryder let go of her wrist and snarled back in response. “You’d better have a very good reason behind that last move. I’ve killed for less.”

The odd creature refused to flinch. Ryder was impressed.

“Don’t touch her. She can’t be touched.”

Puzzled by the statement, he stared at the protective animal. It obviously cared enough for the girl that it was willing to die for her.

“What is your name?” Ryder prompted while he watched the creature move in front of the girl and stand above her.

“Rogue.”

“Well, Rogue, my name is Ryder, and I know you seem to have a hard time believing this, but I have no interest in harming the girl or you. I broke my butt trying to save her.”

He felt sorry for Rogue as he whined above the girl. “She needs me,” he growled.

“What is wrong with her?” Ryder asked again, hoping for a better answer this time.

“If you touch her bare skin, she’ll know you.”

“What the fuck does that mean? She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her.” Frustration poured out in his words.

Rogue turned around and lay at the girl’s side licking her cheek. “She’ll know you now.”

“I’m sick of riddles, Rogue.”

“She will see what you’ve seen, feel what you’ve felt.” Ryder could hear the sadness in his voice.

Ryder laughed, perturbed by the answer. “It’s not possible.”

This time, it was Rogue who laughed at him. “It is possible. It is why she can never touch anyone. Especially Fedor.”

At the mention of the name, Ryder instantly scoured all his memories for a recollection of the person or creature. He came up blank. “How is it that you can touch her, and who is this Fedor?”

“She can touch animals or creatures who do not have the capability of becoming men or women. I do not have the ability to become a man. I wouldn’t want to be a man, unless it would mean I could take her away from this evil mountain and away from Fedor. Fedor is evil. He hurts her.”

The hairs stood up on Ryder’s neck.

He hurts her? We’ll see about that.

“Well, Rogue, this needs further discussion, but right now, I suggest we get out of this blasted blizzard and into the cave. You need to let me help her.”

The poor creature stood slowly, whining like he was unsure what he should do.

“I’ll be sure not to touch her skin.”

Rogue’s cries continued, but he agreed. “Okay, but be careful.”

Ryder knew he was too large in gargoyle form to properly share the cave with the two of them. “Rogue, I’m going to change to my male form. I’m far too large to fit in the cave with the two of you. You may wish to turn away from me. The transformation can be disturbing.”

“Rogue thinks not. I will watch your moves,” he declared.

“Just wanted to give you a warning.”

Ryder stood with his back to the entrance of the cave, away from the girl and Rogue. He’d prefer a more private setting, but that wasn’t possible at the moment.

He knelt down on one knee, bowed his head, and softly spoke the special words.

“I give thee rest, from the wings of a gargoyle to the body of man. We ask for strength both in body and mind so we may coexist to defend out land.”

Spreading the large leather-like wings wide, he wrapped them around his body, shielding himself from the outside world. Already, he could feel his body shrinking in size. Bones reformed and contracted. Thank the gods the process was no longer painful; five hundred and fifty-five years ago, the transformation had been excruciating.

Inside the sanctuary of his wings, he flexed his large paws allowing the talons to reshape into fingers. Skin stretched tight, molding to his smaller frame. His face and wings were next in the process. His coal-black eye would change color to dark, velvet brown, with the patch remaining to cover the other, empty, eye socket.

His wings were the very last to go. He could hear them fluttering as though they were fighting the process. They shriveled in size rapidly. A chill crept up his spine. His wings would be gone, leaving only the giant gargoyle tattoo in their place. The process was complete.

Still crouched on one knee, he took a deep breath, allowing a moment for this body to adjust to the change. He didn’t always have time for this.

The gargoyle form allowed him to be resistant to temperature and weather changes, but in his male form, he instantly felt the cold. The flakes of snow landing on his hot skin melted instantly.

Enough of that
.

With his palms up, he summoned the magic. Tiny orbs of blue, orange, and purple danced around his hands and then shot into the air to surround his body and explode in swirls of color, only to disappear as quickly as they appeared. Leather and fur covered his body fully.

That’ll do for now
.

Rogue hadn’t budged a foot. Ryder shook his head in dismay at the rigidness of the creature’s stance as he approached him and the girl.

The snow crunched underneath his weight with each step his took. He bent down beside the tiny girl. With gloves on, he carefully took time to tuck the cloak she wore so it covered her bare skin. He scooped her fragile form up into his arms and turned to carry her out of the snow into the cave.

Ryder ducked as he entered the cave, and summoned his magic again. The orbs appeared to do his bidding, and a straw bed with fur blankets appeared. He laid her down on the soft bed and covered her with the warmth of the furs, and Rogue went to her side.

“We have no need for fire on Levare, but maybe that would be useful here.”

Uttering the word “fire” flames danced to life. Rogue growled through barred teeth and jumped away.

“What is that?” He demanded.

Ryder bellowed with laughter, but it died when he came to the realization that Rogue was serious. How could he not know what fire was when he lived in this freezing environment? “You don’t know what fire is? How is that possible?”

Rogue paced around the edge of the fire. He stretched his nose way out toward the fire and with a yelp flew backwards.

Crazy beast.

“Easy, Rogue. The whole point of fire is to supply warmth. If you touch the flames, it will burn you. How do you live without heat?”

Rogue swiped a paw over his nose. “We can’t freeze. At times, it feels as though we will freeze to death, but we never do.”

Whose sick idea was that?

Ryder definitely had a lot of unanswered questions.

The fire blazed and flames created shadows dancing on the rock as he stared at the girl curled up in the furs. She was a beauty, even with her matted hair—high, arched, quizzical brows and luscious, pouting lips. He definitely would have noticed her in the city of Levare.

A soft moan escaped her mouth. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been staring at her so intensely. Rogue licked her cheek, and Ryder found himself wishing he could have done the same thing. He moved closer, and stood observing and listening as the creature spoke to her.