Forged: The World of Nightwalkers (11 page)

“Stop,” he said suddenly, reaching to cover the Amulet, breaking her eye contact with it. “It keeps entrancing you,” he warned. “You doona even seem tae hear what I’m saying tae you.”

“It does not!”

“Then what did I just say?”

“That it’s cute the way I worry over you.”

“That was several minutes ago,” he said. “I’ve been talking to you about how I don’t heal like normal people do. Although, I would heal faster if I turned into stone.”

“But you’ve been turning to stone all along,” she said, torn between frowning at the reminder that he was less than human and fascinated by every new detail. After all, she’d never met a supernatural creature before. Anxiety aside, it was actually incredibly cool.

“I mean turning into my full stone self. The grotesque. What you’re seeing is my body trying tae change tae stone as a reflexive protection, but I am fighting it off.”

“Why would you do that? If you can heal …”

“It’s a long story. Suffice it tae say, it would be bad.”

And he had only a couple of days before it would get worse. Possibly permanently worse. He found himself looking anxiously at the shuttered windows. “Any news on the storm?”

“Oh! I didn’t even think about the news. I’ll turn on the Weather Channel and see what they say.” She reached across him for the remote on the opposite bedside table, her entire tiny body pressing into his lap and the curve of her hip coming into pronounced view. Just a few inches more and she’d be fanny up.

He’d already noticed she had a fine little arse. He’d
have to be dead not to, and he wasn’t quite there yet. The way her spine dipped before the flare of her backside and the perfect roundness of her cheeks could make a man’s hands itch to grab hold. She might be compact, but she was very shapely for her size.

The TV popped on and suddenly she was gone from his lap, flipping through the guide and channels in an expert swipe. “I’d been tracking the storm, along with everyone else, for several days. Give it a few more hours and we will lose electricity. But I have a generator of course. We get so many storms up here on the mountain that it’d be stupid not to.”

“Verra good, Kat lass. I’m clearly safe in your hands, am I no’?”

“Yes,” she said with a proud lift of her chin. “Frankly you couldn’t have found a better place to be sick. I … I have experience with serious wounds and such.”

“Aye, I can see that you do,” he said, lifting his arm and inspecting her work at his side. “Where did you learn tae do this?”

“I used to be a physician’s assistant in a Manhattan hospital.”

“Used to be?” he asked.

“I … left. And moved out here. I don’t do that anymore.”

She didn’t blame him for his puzzled look. Whenever she told someone this story they always looked that way. And then came the inevitable question.

“So you work out here as a physician’s assistant now?” But she could tell by the lilt of his voice that he’d caught on to the fact that she wasn’t. So she just shook her head. “Why no’?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” she said evasively, fiddling with the remote in her hands. He didn’t want to talk about himself so he ought to respect her not
wanting to talk about herself. “Are you hungry again? I can cook you something else.”

“No,” he said softly, his big hand settling over hers and the remote, pressing down on them until they all rested together in her lap. “Kat lass, why did you quit? I know your training must have taken a verra long time. Clearly you were good at what you did. And even if it was a matter of relocating, you still could have found a job in a local hospital. So why did you no’?”

“I’m just … I just don’t want to,” she said, knowing he could see it for the lie that it was. She had loved her job. It had been something she could do in the dead of night, in the darkness, and it had been important. She had made a difference. She had helped save lives.

“Doona lie tae me, Kat lass, and I willna do the same tae you.” Well, that was a lie, Ahnvil thought with an internal wince. He’d already told her a fib or two. But it had been in her best interest.

She colored, a pretty pink flush that tipped the end of her nose and the upper shell of her ears, dusting over everything in between until her wee freckles were a fair contrast.

“I really don’t think this is any of your business,” she said, moving as if to get up and get away from his influence over her. But he was not going to let her get away that easily. He took hold of her arm, pulling her back down beside him on the bed. He grunted at the effort, cursing his injured state. He wasn’t the sort who was used to limitations. He didn’t like them. He never had. Not even when he’d been mortal. Human.

“You canna run away from things, Kat lass. They always find you in the end.” He should know. He had run away three centuries ago, freed himself and thinking he would never see his master and maker ever again, and that if he did he would kill the man where he stood. But that was far from what had happened when the time
had come. A fact that still grated. But there was a bigger picture than his vengeance against the man who had made him what he was. Vengeance would have to wait.

“Don’t lecture me!” she bit out defensively, but she didn’t shrug him off and she didn’t move away from him. That was when he realized that despite her protestations she actually wanted to talk about whatever it was that had happened. He found himself wondering why he should care. He had far more pressing things he should be worried about. But in all fairness, she had taken care of him, so if it helped her, he should take care of her a little bit in return. The favors were unequal, since she had saved his life, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“I didn’t …” She stopped, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous habit. “People don’t like me very much. I don’t fit in well.”

“Bollocks. You’re a fine lass. Fair of face and a good heart from what I’ve seen so far. What more is there for people to like?”

“A sense of humor,” she said dryly. “And not being weird helps. Everyone knew I was … weird.” She exhaled, her shoulders dropping in defeat, as if she didn’t blame them for it.

Ahnvil was shocked by his reaction. He became angry—nay enraged—to hear her speak and, more important, to see her spirit fall away from her. He reached out to take both her shoulders in his hands turning her toward him. “I’ve been in your company for some minutes now, Kat lass, and I dinna see anything weird abou’ you. As far, I’ve seen someone good-hearted with a care toward others in need. That isna weird, ’tis
rare
.”

“You just don’t know me well enough. If you did …”

“Are you saying that I would find you weirder than a man who can turn to stone at whim? Or perhaps one that turns to smoke in sunlight and calls up magic from
things around him? That’s a Djynn,” he said when her eyes went wide. “Or perhaps a man who shares his body with two souls? That’s a Bodywalker. Or how about a woman with skin as black as midnight and eyes as yellow as the sun? That’s a Night Angel.”

By the last item on his list she was agape with shock and wonder. Wonder at all the things he was telling her and shock because she believed him.

“Y-yellow eyes?” she asked, a bit unsurely. She tucked back a fine lock of that pretty sable hair of hers and Ahnvil found himself drawn to the motion. It moved like silk, that hair.

“That gleam like a cat’s,” he said, his hand coming to stroke over her jawline, a gesture of comfort, he told himself. But the truth was he found her delicate features fascinating. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but maybe that was because he couldn’t decide if she looked fragile or like a tough little dynamo packed into a small presentation.

Both, he decided after a few moments. She was both. Tough when she needed to be, and fragile on occasion, like she was right then.

“You better lie back down,” she said softly, pulling away from him almost awkwardly. He could see she was flushed again, all pink and unnervingly adorable.

He was getting too close, she thought, drawing away from him. She didn’t like it when people got too close. Too close meant too much scrutiny and too many opportunities to find flaws within her. Right now, for some reason, his opinion mattered. She didn’t know why, because she had come to live her life unapologetically since the day she’d walked away from her career in Manhattan. But that maneuver had come with a heavy sort of price. The kind of price that had her living alone, in the dark, on a mountain in the smallest town in America.

“Did you want something to eat?”

“What I want,” he said, catching up her hand before she could move out of reach, “is for you to come back to me. Keep me company.”

It was a bad idea. Company meant talk and talk meant telling her things she probably wasn’t ready to hear, things he probably shouldn’t be telling her. But he’d come this far already.

She sat back down on the bed and looked at him warily, like he might bite off her hand if she weren’t careful.

“What’s the deal with the turning to stone?” she asked immediately. Almost as if she knew it might make him shut down … send her away. Let her escape.

Ahnvil ought to have done that. He ought to have sent her away and just settled down to wait out the storm in relative peace. Also, the idea of having more to eat was appealing. His metabolism was so damn high that he needed a constant influx of food. Not every second of every day, but at the very least a meal every two hours. Except when he was in stone state.

“A Gargoyle has three states,” he found himself telling her, as if he told mortal humans these things all the time. One of the unspoken and harshest rules in the Nightwalker world was that they never revealed themselves to the human world. But she had already seen too much and he hadn’t been prepared to explain away what she’d seen. It had simply never come up before. He’d had a flawless record of avoiding being seen in transformation.

“The flesh state”—he indicated his present state with a hand—“the stone state, where I turn completely tae stone from the tips of my hair tae the tips on my toes. Then the third state is the grotesque. I …” He hesitated and wondered why.

Because he didn’t want to be ugly or frightening to her. And in grotesque form he was exactly that.

“Go on. I’m a big girl. I can take it.” She wheedled him
with a small, teasing smile. It made him laugh and he found himself dropping his guard.

“I well and truly look like a Gargoyle. As though you might have ripped me from the top of an old cathedral. It’s different for all of us, the way we look, but the one constant is wings. We all have wings.”

“Wings! You mean, stone wings? How the hell do you make stone aerodynamic?”

“Wings are wings, and ours are strong enough tae take flight despite the weight of our bodies.”

“Oh my God,” she said, her jaw dropping open. She was a smart girl. She could easily imagine, he knew, just how strong that meant he was. “So … you’re ugly?”

“I am,” he said with a grim nod. “And when I turn tae stone I’m worse.” He winked at her and she laughed in a surprised burst.

“Oh!” She shoved at him slightly. “You’re not ugly and you probably know it.”

“Aye, but it has been some time since I’ve heard a lass tell me so.”

She seemed to think on that a moment, her teeth coming to worry at her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Why the
h?
In your name?”

Now this was a touchy topic for him. He deflected instinctively because the answer would only start them down on a wild path that promised to be very painful for him.

“You first. Why did you quit? Doona tell me ’tis because you’re weird. Why are you weird? What’s so wrong abou’ you?”

The worrying turned to full blown biting of her lip. He could tell by the volume of pain in her eyes that she had just as much reason for avoidance as he did.

Stubbornly she stood up and walked away. Ahnvil cursed himself for being cruel to her, but he couldn’t have it any other way. He didn’t want to talk about
how, once upon a time, he’d had no name. No identity. No value as an individual. Perhaps it was because he’d just come so close to being in the same conditions that he was sensitive to it. But he would not have been made a slave this time. This time he would have died. And they wouldn’t have batted an eye while allowing it to happen. He still had the taste of fear in the back of his throat because of it. A fear that would not be erased until he got back in contact with his touchstone.

He felt a tremendous urge to trail after her, in spite of his desire to keep his business to himself. The impulse truly surprised him because he was such a close-to-the-vest person. Yet here he was, blabbing about all things supernatural. Although, the horse had already been out of the barn once she’d seen him turned to stone. That and the fact that he was even conscious after so much blood loss.

But a Gargoyle could only die from massive amounts of trauma, like say a spear to the heart or a transected aorta or the ever charming beheading. Complete blood loss was probably deemed a massive trauma. But he knew he’d come very close to death … or would have if he’d been left out in the storm bleeding to death. The other way a Gargoyle could die? If someone took a wrecking ball to them in statue form. Or damage equal to that. It was every Gargoyle’s worst fear. To be frozen in stone, totally helpless, watching certain death come at them.

Ahnvil shook the morbid trail of his thoughts away, hunkering down into the bed once again, wincing at the blossom of pain the movement caused. He needed to rest and heal and he needed to do it as quickly as possible. When the storm let up he would have to be on his way immediately. But it worried him, this storm. He had to get all the way to New Mexico, and after a storm airports were bound to be shut down for a while. Normally
he would fly on his own, but this time he couldn’t. Not without risking permanent being. He could put off being away from his touchstone perhaps a few more days as long as he didn’t turn into his grotesque state. At this point even his stone state was taking a risk.

And then there was the issue of a compact little beauty with eyes the color of bourbon and hair like nice dark mink. He could not, absolutely not, leave her behind. Not with the knowledge she now had.