Stone's Kiss (26 page)

No. His soul rebelled at the thought of handing her over to the Lord of the Underworld. He’d be sealing her death. It would be like killing her himself.

“I’ll need your help. The Lady of Battles will have built traps to prevent me from seeking her brother.”

“I can’t,” he growled as he crushed her against him. “Ask me anything else, but please don’t ask me to help you die. I won’t do it.”

She continued to run her hands along his back, soothing, pleading for him to listen. “For now, you must put the block back on my memories and my magic. That will give you a little more time to try to find a way to stop the darkness growing in me. But if there is no cure, you must take me to the Lord of the Underworld before the demon enslaves us both.” She leaned into him and rested her head against his chest, over his heart.

His hand shook as he reached out to stroke her hair. He wanted to cry or rage—anything to ease the horror thickening in his veins. “Please, I can’t do what you ask.”

“Shh.” She placed a finger across his lips. “It will be alright. The Lord of the Underworld will free my soul to return to the Spirit Realm, and then I’ll be reborn again. We’ll not be parted long.”

“No.” Changing his grip on her, he sought her lips to stop her flow of words. He projected his ancient love for her and his more recent desire until she returned his kiss with heat. Small, almost purring sounds escaped her. Molten fire shot through his veins at the sign of her pleasure. He flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the bed. She melted under him, warm, willing. He shivered at the soft caress of her fingers along his skin, intensely aware of her body pressing against his, how she spread her legs so he fit perfectly between her thighs. Gods, he wanted this, needed the other half of his soul.

“Hmm.” She turned her head, breaking the kiss, but continued to move her hips against his in a restless motion.

He growled in frustration.

“Gregory, no.” Lillian’s breath came in uneven gasps. “The Lady wants us to get lost in our passions, but we must never forget our duty.”

It took him longer to gather in own scattered thoughts. Why was she telling him “no” with her words when her body was saying “yes”? By the light, she was going to drive him mad. He grabbed her hips and forced them to be still. “You talk of duty and yet ask me to help you die.” He’d buried his face in her hair, refusing to look at her. “My duty is to protect you. If I break that oath, then I no longer serve any duty. Nothing is more forbidden than what you ask.”

“All you need to do is help me find the Lord of the Underworld.”

“No.” He pushed himself up and leapt off the bed, catching the corner of the nightstand in his hurry to escape her words. It teetered for a moment, then clattered to the ground, drawers spilling across the floor. Uncaring, he continued backing up until his back hit the wall behind. “Don’t ask me again. I’ll have no part in your death. I’ll block your memories and do what I can to block your use of magic. I’ll find a cure, no matter what. I’m not going to let you die because of The Lady of Battles manipulations. Death will claim us one day, but not like this.”

“Easy. It’s alright. I’ll not ask that of you again.” The Sorceress patted the bed. “Come back to me. I want to hold you for a little while before you make me forget.”

A small, satisfied smile curved her lips as he inched back toward the bed. Was it his imagination or did she enjoy watching him struggle with his reactions to her? Her expression softened and she motioned him to come closer.

Uncertain of the wisdom in getting within touching distance, but wanting to be near her too much to care about the outcome, he glided the last of the way to her side and eased back onto the bed. A moment later she curled into him, and her arms came around him. It was a fragile peace. One he was terrified wouldn’t last.

“I love you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Let me have this one perfect moment. After I fall asleep, block my memories.”

He held her until her breath evened in sleep, then he summoned his magic, placing the wards upon her mind one layer at a time. When he was finished, he reverted to his gargoyle form and buried his muzzle in her hair.

“I love you too, my Sorceress.” Surely his heart was shattering, it ached so much. The overwhelming need to show her how much he loved her threatened to strip him of his reason, and yet he was afraid.

His simple words of love didn’t begin to encompass what she meant to him. He couldn’t fool himself anymore. He no longer served the Divine Ones first and then the Sorceress—he serve her above all else.

As a restless sleep came to claim him, the last thing he dwelled on was what to do if he couldn’t find a cure for her. Her death was not an option, not for him. A small selfish part of his soul planted the seeds of a solution.

Perhaps he could bargain with the Lady of Battles—become one of her army in exchange for Lillian’s freedom. If what Lillian said about the Lady’s army guarding the Veil between the realms was correct, he might be able to become one of them without completely betraying himself, or what it meant to be the Sorceress’s Protector.

He closed his eyes and rested his head on her breast, listening to the throb of her heart until sleep claimed him at last.

Chapter Nineteen

Lillian awoke to find Gregory hogging all of the bed. The damp heat of his breath washed over her shoulder where he’d buried his muzzle in her hair. If she could feel that, she supposed she wasn’t a ghost, so she’d survived whatever he’d done. She felt no different than before; there was no river of memories flowing from the depths of her mind like she’d half expected. All those lives he’d alluded to, why couldn’t she remember her past?

But with him spooning her, his wings warming her better than an electric blanket, she could forget her worries for now. She listened to the throb of his heart as she lay tucked safely in her nest. With her head resting on his bicep, she had a clear view straight down the length of his arm. Every few seconds his fist would clench and his talons flex. She raised her head.

He growled and twitched in his sleep, in the grip of a nightmare. When she turned toward him and rested a hand on his chest, it calmed him, his twitching and struggles lessening.

“Easy, Gregory,” she soothed. “I’m here. There’s no danger.” Curious, she lowered her shields and reached for him with her mind, and like the few times she’d done it by accident, his mind opened—his thoughts and emotions sweeping into her. After a moment, she sorted through the chaos until she found the source of his nightmare.

Last night unfolded in his thoughts. His guilt over causing her pain, the triggering of the trap on her soul, the window to another world, his love intertwined with bone–deep desire—his every worry and fear replayed within her mind. And then the horror of hearing her other self say she wanted him to help her die if he couldn’t find a cure.

“Why, that selfish, sanctimonious bitch.” She stroked Gregory’s mane until he calmed. “How dare she put it all on you? Heal me or kill me. What kind of bullshit is that? My poor gargoyle. No wonder you’re having nightmares. That’s a horrible thing to ask. I’ve heard of multiple personalities, but this is crazy. She even seduced you with
my
body to get her way,” Lillian grumbled, and then mulled over the situation. She still didn’t have her old memories back, but after what she’d learned from Gregory, she didn’t think she wanted to be that person anyway.

Apparently, she was evil.

She expected to feel something. Great sorrow, fear, mind–numbing shock. Something. Anything. But there was nothing, not unless being monumentally pissed off at her “older self” counted. Then slowly a greater concern crept into her consciousness. What if that wasn’t her old self at all? What if it was the demon soul testing Gregory’s resolve? Lillian remembered Gregory’s final thoughts before he drifted off to sleep. If it had been the demon soul in control last night, it had almost found a way to sway the gargoyle to the Lady of Battles’ cause. It made sense. The demon obviously wasn’t strong enough to take on Gregory in a fair fight yet, so it demanded he kill his beloved Sorceress, the one thing that would off balance him more than anything else.

Faced with that impossible choice, becoming one of the Lady’s army and guarding the Veil between the realms might not look so bad from Gregory’s point of view. It would be one way to serve without completely betraying his oath to protect his Sorceress. Once the demon had sewn that bit of discord, it had crawled back into Lillian’s soul like a djinn returning to its bottle where it waited for the next chance to betray its master. Damnit all to hell. Her theory was utterly, horribly plausible—she just didn’t have a scrap of evidence to prove it.

It didn’t really matter if it was the demon or Lillian’s older self, the problem was still the same. Sooner or later something was going to take her over.

“Fine. I’m evil. I’ll deal with this, somehow. You won’t have to,” she told the sleeping gargoyle. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the forehead between his horns.

Then, deciding she’d better get out of bed before he figured out she’d learned some important details he’d planned to keep from her, she scooted out of bed. A shower and proper clothes were the first order of business, followed by coffee. Maybe by then she’d have come up with a plan so Gregory wouldn’t have to make choices that would destroy him.

Hell, a chainsaw to her tree might solve everyone’s problems, but she doubted she’d be able to accomplish it with the gargoyle and the crazy unicorn always on guard—not to mention, she’d probably pass out at the first cut. Great start to solving a giant problem.

****

The bathroom door’s hinges creaked as she opened it. Lillian winced at the jarring sound. Gregory bolted upright on the bed. His surprise and confusion evident by his peaked ears and flared nostrils while he took in his surroundings. Calming, he extracted himself from the sheets and eased off the bed. He turned his back to her and tidied the bed.

“Morning,” she said. Her greeting sounded more cheerful than she’d intended. Odd that Gregory seemed not to notice her forced note.

He returned her greeting after a short pause. Brushing her damp hair out of her face, she narrowed her eyes. If she hadn’t known what had transpired last might, she would have just thought he was still half asleep. But she knew better. Gregory couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. With his back to her, she couldn’t read what was written on his face, but if she could see, she thought she’d see shame and embarrassment.

She cleared her throat and prepared to lie. “Since I’m still alive, I assume everything went well.”

“Yes, you passed the test to everyone’s satisfaction.” The gargoyle returned her lie.

“Then I think I’ll go hunt up some breakfast for us.” She smiled, a stiff–muscled expression, just in case he happened to look her way. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He nodded and vanished into the bathroom. As far as she could tell, he still hadn’t detected her lie. The truth must be so much worse than she thought if he was so distracted he didn’t catch the lie in her voice.

She fled, leaving behind the gargoyle and the room full of deceit.

Downstairs, the living room was empty, but murmuring voices drew her toward the back of the house. When she reached the kitchen, Gran and the pooka stood close together, deep in conversation.

Gran looked up. Her expression flashed from worry back to her usual jovial look so fast Lillian nearly missed the slight change.

“I saved you some muffins and there’s fresh coffee,” Gran said as she gestured absently at the kitchen counter.

While Lillian mechanically took a bite out of a muffin, the pooka edged closer to her. His equine eyes, while not friendly, were less hostile than she remembered. Had she been better at reading body language, she’d have said the pooka wanted something.

“Come walk with me. There’s something I want to tell you,” Gran said, interrupting Lillian’s thoughts about what a pooka might want from her.

Lillian allowed herself to be herded out the sliding door and onto the back porch. A warm breeze beckoned her to walk the maze. She needed to know if Gran would lie to her. “What is it? Did I fail the test? Are the others going to try to harm me?”

Gran’s eyes widened, surprise warring with displeasure. “No one will harm you, and while some of them are not satisfied with all they learned, we all agree we have more immediate concerns.”

“So there
is
something amiss with me.”

“Not to cause you more worry, but do you think you’d still be here if you harbored evil within you? I’m sure the gargoyle would kill you himself if he thought you evil. The Clan is more concerned by the vast amount of power at your command, and your lack of training to control it. “

“Then I’ll be careful not to draw on power when Gregory can’t help me control it.” Lillian’s stomach soured at Gran’s lies. Her family knew what the gargoyle had tried to hide. She wanted to crawl away somewhere deep and dark.

“While you and Gregory rested, the rest of us have been finalizing our plans. If the Riven want a fight, we’ll give them one. The dire wolves think they’ve found one of the daytime lairs of the Riven. We’ll take some of the Pack and check it out. I want you to stay here. There’s enough wards on this land to protect you and the other dryads while we’re away.”

Lillian nodded. “What about Gregory?”

“If he can bring himself to leave your side, I imagine he’d like another chance to take out some vampires.”

“It sounds too dangerous. I …”
I should be the one to go since I’m already evil.
But Lillian held her silence, unable to voice her concerns without revealing she knew more than she was supposed to. “I don’t want him or any of you to go.

Perhaps understanding the root of Lillian’s fear, Gran sobered. “Don’t worry honey, we’re all aware of those wretched daggers, and we won’t let them in past our guard. We’re better prepared now; they’ll find we’re not so easy to defeat this time.”

Gran’s words didn’t sooth the tension in Lillian’s shoulders where fear had lodged along her spine. Sweat dampened her palms. She rubbed them along her jeans. Her fingers felt stiff. After a moment, she’d started rubbing the base of each nail and realized they were actually itchy and aching, like she’d grabbed a fistful of poison ivy—or like the time Gregory had been injured, just before she’d blacked out.