Sorceress Rising (A Gargoyle and Sorceress Tale Book 2) (8 page)

“Yes.” It was
more growl than word.

“You’re in no
pain?”

“No, but…” he
groaned and stepped closer, “I need to hold you.” His arms and wings settled
around her, their warm weight a reassurance.

“It’s all right.”
She hugged him with a fierce strength, knowing he needed the reassurance. And
it soothed a hunger in her body and soul to hold him so close. “Would you like
to shower with me?”

His muzzle
dipped down to nose past the neck of her tank top. He pushed the fabric out of
his way until he encountered the black lace of her bra. His lips caressed the
valley between her breasts. “You’re wearing too many layers.”

“I am,” Lillian
agreed.

****

Gregory stood,
hardly daring to breathe for fear the slightest movement would startle Lillian
into bolting from his side. But her confidence held, and she took his right
hand in her much smaller one and tugged him in the direction of the bathroom.

She was doing
this for him. He knew it. He also knew she wasn’t emotionally ready to take
their relationship into these new dangerous waters. He doubted he was any
better equipped to deal with this part of their relationship. He should stop
this before it went farther.

Oh, but her
smaller hand felt good in his, as did the weight of her eyes every time she
looked at him with a mix of innocence and desire. More than a few times in
their past lives, they had played this dangerous game, caressing each other as
lovers when the loneliness of being separated outside the Spirit Realm became
too much to bear.

Always before,
when they took turns giving and taking pleasure, it was with their duty and its
restrictions held firmly in their minds. Without the strong, disciplined mind
of the Mother’s Sorceress overseeing him, he wasn’t sure if he could trust
himself not to go too far. And Lillian, as much as he loved her, was not the
Sorceress of old. She could not hold him back by the sheer strength of her mind
alone.

Yet all the
same, he would not crush her fledgling courage, which led her to come this far,
to strip him bare, to study and accept him and all his fierce differences. He’d
craved her acceptance for weeks now. He would in no way endanger it by rushing
Lillian into something she wasn’t ready for, so he let her choose when and how
events would unfold.

Lillian led him
into the master bath, and after fiddling with the shower taps and adjusting the
water temperature several times, she hesitated.

Sensing her
confidence about to flee, he playfully tapped the spade-shaped tip of his tail
against her nearest arm. She startled at the contact, and looked over her
shoulder with a wide-eyed gaze. With a gentle nudge of his muzzle under her
chin, he sighed with contentment and whispered against her skin, “Little dryad,
this need not be anything more than a shower.”

The tension in
her shoulders eased visibly, and a warm smile brightened her expression to
something truly beautiful. “I know. That’s why I love and trust you so much.”
She worked loose the strange fastenings of her human garb and disrobed quickly
and then took his hand and tugged until he stepped in the shower with her.
“However,” she said, with a mysterious little smile. “I do hate personal
cowardice and would use this opportunity to work upon my own underdeveloped
confidence.”

“So very
formal,” he said as happiness swelled in his heart.

“Formal? Ha!
It’s all your fault. Your archaic way of speaking is infectious.” She stepped
into him, raised herself up onto her toes, and placed a kiss along the
underside of his jaw, effectively taking any sting out of her words.

“Mmm,” he
rumbled softly, backing farther into the shower at her gentle insistence. He
did so enjoy her method of apology. “I would be honored to offer up myself as a
means to help you become more comfortable with our relationship.”

In answer, she
poured soap on what she called a shower sponge and applied it to his shoulders
and chest. Mild disappointment flooded him. It was her hands, not an
indifferent sponge, he wanted on his flesh.

Her free hand
suddenly came up and caressed the curve of his hip, tentative at first and then
with a bit more boldness. His eyes drifted closed as she ventured farther
afield, her delicate touch gliding lower. Belatedly, he realized his private
wish had made his control slip and she’d picked up the thread of his thoughts,
but he didn’t feel guilty about it, especially not when she dropped the sponge
and brought her other hand into play. A deep, rumbling purr escaped him. He
wanted to return the caresses, but he held himself passive. It was more important
for his other half to learn him and the limits of her courage.

A soft,
persistent knocking registered on Lillian’s senses. She tried to ignore it and
burrowed deeper under the covers—wanting to escape the noise and the bright
light flooding in the windows that declared it was morning. Gregory seemed to
have a similar idea and attempted to bury his muzzle underneath her hair. She
was draped over his chest, with one leg sprawled over his powerful thighs. One
part of her mind said this was probably inappropriate, but another part liked
it rather too much to move.

Besides, she
didn’t feel like moving. Gregory didn’t seem inclined to either—well other than
one part. His tail was flicking lazy caresses up and down her side. The
knocking at the door had finally stopped. Lillian smiled.

“What if I’d
been a team of commandoes?”

Gran’s voice
jolted through Lillian’s sleepy mind. She jerked awake, but Gregory replied
first.

“I’d have spread
their ashes across the three Realms.” His chuckle shook Lillian’s entire body.
“You’re lucky I’m fond of you. Besides, you feed me.”

Her face
burning, Lillian rolled off him and buried herself under the blankets. Gregory
had no such concerns, or modesty. She peeked out in time to see him throw off
the blankets and stretch, before leaning toward the plates Gran held out to
him.

“My goodness,”
Gran gave an approving purr. “Now, I know why dryads have a preference for
gargoyles.”

“Gran!” Lillian
bolted upright, but kept hold of the blankets not wanting to flash the room.

“Don’t be a
prude, darling. I’m old, not dead. I still have hormones enough to appreciate a
fine-looking specimen when one is laid out before me.” Gran then turned her
attention back to Gregory and bestowed a smile on him. “I brought breakfast for
the both of you.”

Lillian tried
another angle. “You could have just called through the door. What if we
had…we’d been…”

Gran started to
chuckle again, a full belly laugh this time. “If you had, the whole house would
have heard. Gregory has a tendency to roar. Besides, I didn’t hear any
headboard cracking last night. And the house is still standing—no stray flares
of creative Avatar magic.”

Lillian
collapsed onto her pillow and tossed the sheets back over her head.

“No time to
hide.” Gran tugged on the blankets. “You need to eat and then get dressed. The
Fae council arrived in the night. We need to discuss what to do about the
military problem. And Gregory, dear, you need to pretend to be human. No more
dragging your feet about it.”

He grunted
around a mouthful of food, but nodded his head.

“Good. When you
are both presentable, come down to the kitchen. We have work to do.” Gran
patted Lillian’s blanket-covered leg and placed a plate of food in her hand.

Lillian eyed the
plate of bacon and eggs. Not exactly a romantic breakfast in bed, but she was
hungry, and it would be a waste of perfectly good food if she didn’t eat it.
Picking up a fork, she started to work her way through breakfast.

****

Gregory stood
before her and gave her his best annoyed gargoyle scowl. Strange how well the
look transferred to his now fully human form. Another minor feat she wouldn’t
mind mastering was his ability to look equally noble and stern in nothing but a
pair of silky black boxer shorts. Perhaps it had something to do with him being
comfortable in nothing but his own skin.

Lillian admitted
it was a little disconcerting having a nearly naked human man in her bedroom.
On one hand, she knew it was Gregory, and yet on the other, she could see very
little of her guardian in this tall, swarthy-skinned man with his brown eyes,
dark hair, and serious expression. Somehow, this felt different than when
Gregory wandered around half-naked in gargoyle form. Maybe it was because her
eyes kept telling her she was standing across from a stranger she’d only laid
eyes on a couple times before.

She held out a
pair of black jeans, then gave them a little wiggle when he didn’t take the
bait.

“Oh, come
on—you’re worse than a two-year-old. They’re just jeans, not a viper about to
bite you.”

He frowned at
her tone, but stepped forward and snatched them out of her hand. “I thought the
worst thing about the Mortal Realm was its lack of magic,” he jerked on the
pants, though was cautious about doing up the zipper, “but I was wrong. There
is one thing worse—it’s fashion. Humans wear so many layers even their clothing
has clothing. It snags, it rubs, it bites, it pinches…”

It seemed her
gargoyle needed a little incentive.

Lillian
stretched up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “If you wear the clothing
today, I’ll help you out of them tonight.” His lips parted and his eyes widened
ever so slightly. Secretly, she was pleased she could still surprise him. The
kiss had the added benefit of stilling his tirade.

“I’ll play at
being human—but I only do it for you.” Gregory held out his hand for the
T-shirt she still held. “Though, you are welcome to kiss me whenever you want
if you think it will make me more malleable to your diabolical plans.”

A pearl of
laughter escape her. “You’re such a terrible actor—though I like your sulk.
It’s cute.” And she also liked this new playful side of Gregory; seeing him
happy warmed her heart, and she wanted to do whatever was required to keep him
happy.

He pretended to
sulk at her words—but his expression was so off, she laughed even harder.
“Enough, you great ham. We have a Fae council to pacify and a large military
problem to resolve.”

Gregory sobered
and nodded.

Lillian held the
door and motioned him forward, wanting to make sure he didn’t try to ditch some
of the clothing on his way down. When Gregory frowned at her, she knew she had
hit on the correct plan.

With a huff, he
stomped past, still pulling at his T-shirt and the waist of his jeans as if
trying to make them more comfortable. Halfway down the stairs, he gave up and
fisted his hands at his side.

When they
reached the bottom, Lillian could hear the voices drifting from the kitchen. By
the sound of it, the council meeting was already underway. Gregory shoved the
kitchen door hard enough to make it groan in complaint. If there had been
anyone on the other side, they’d have been laid out by the blow.

“The door’s not
to blame for you having to wear clothing,” Lillian stated under her breath.

Gregory stopped,
turned swiftly and smiled what could only be called a devilishly handsome grin.
“Keep it up and I’m going to revert to my true form, march over to the human
military compound, and strut naked past Major Resnick. Twice. In case he misses
it the first time.”

“That’s sure to
stir the hornet’s nest.” A great gruff hoot was followed by a hand slapping a
thigh. “If you do, make sure to let me know in advance. I want to be there to
witness it.”

Gregory grinned
and nodded to the stranger. Lillian froze, her mind trying to place where she’d
seen the older man before. He was familiar but she didn’t know from where. Or
why he was in Gran’s kitchen. He was dressed in faded and patched jeans, an old
flannel shirt, and his feet were encased in rubber boots. Upon first glance,
Lillian might have taken him as a farmer.

But she could
‘feel’ the power hidden inside him.

“The council
members are using glamour to hide themselves,” Gregory replied to her unasked
question. “If you look with more than your physical eyes, you will recognize
them.”

Lillian
scrutinized the man. “Greenborrow?”

He gave her a
courtly bow. “In the flesh, great lady.”

Gregory skirted
the table and took one of the seats beside the leshii. While Lillian made her
way around to sit in the other chair, she cast subtle glances at the other
three people already seated.

Gran wasn’t
presently in the kitchen, so she couldn’t look for hints there. And while by
Gregory’s easy manner, it was clear he knew everyone in the room, Lillian was
still annoyed enough with him she wasn’t about to ask him for information.

Two of the
occupants were women in their forties. A third was a tattooed and pierced young
man with spikey black hair and a black leather jacket and worn blue jeans. He
looked to be in his early twenties—not much older than Lillian herself, if she
was to go by her eyes alone.

She focused on
the man first, not because she was ogling his tattoos and piercings—though they
were something to behold—but because she expected the sidhe lord, Whitethorn,
to be at this meeting. She couldn’t imagine him not being there. Unless he was
running late. She narrowed her eyes again trying to see something of the sidhe
in the young man sitting at the table.

His smile was
neither overly friendly nor outwardly cold, which was very much the sidhe
lord’s personality. Ah, she was right. “Whitethorn?”

A regal nod
greeted her question.

“Hmm, isn’t the
whole idea of the glamour to blend in?”

“Yes,”
Greenborrow laughed, cutting in before the sidhe lord could reply. “But we make
do with what humans we can take unsuspecting. Whitethorn lost the bet and won
the ‘honor’ of taking on the little drug-lord’s seeming.”

Lillian arched a
brow in question.

“In the past,
we’ve found the easiest identity to use is one already created.” Greenborrow
shrugged. “It has the added benefit of sending the authorities off on a wild
goose chase.”

Knowing some of
the Fae as she did, a nasty thought occurred to Lillian. “Just curious, but
what happens to the humans you impersonate?”

“We put them in
a safe place where they sleep for a day or two, depending on how long we need
to move around in the human world.” Greenborrow gave a little shrug. “And, no,
we don’t kill them. Once they are no longer needed, we give them false memories
and then allow them to wake.”

“Glad to hear
it.”

“Dead bodies
cause too many questions.” Greenborrow sounded mildly disappointed.

Whitethorn
turned what might have been a laugh of true amusement into a cough.

Her eyes rolled
back toward Whitethorn. At least she now knew who the tattooed personage was.

One down, two to
go.

Looking over at
the women, she debated for a moment. One was friendly, her cheerful grin
contagious. Likely one of the sprites. But which one. Mother or daughter? If
Whitethorn wasn’t averse to taking a form that looked much, much younger than
his years, Lillian wouldn’t put it past the mother and daughter duo to play
around with their ages either.

“Goswin?”
Lillian took a stab, figuring she had a fifty-fifty chance.

The sprite
nodded.

As for the other
woman, she gave nothing away in her expression. Lillian frowned, a touch
unhappy at failing what felt like a test.

“The banshee,”
Gregory supplied, his attention still half on adjusting his clothing. He tugged
at the neck of his T-shirt with a little too much force and Lillian heard the
telltale popping of a seam giving way.

A huge grin lit
up Gregory’s face and he fisted the front of his T-shirt.

“Don’t you dare
do an imitation of a drunken redneck at a tailgate party! T-shirts don’t grow
on trees, and you already destroyed one outfit last night, which I think is
plenty for now. Don’t you?”

Gregory froze,
his brows furrowing in confusion.

Gran walked into
the kitchen, saving Lillian from having to explain ‘redneck’ and ‘tail gate’ to
her gargoyle.

“Good,” Vivian
said, “you’re all here. And I see my granddaughter even got Gregory into some
clothing.”

Gregory grunted
something dark under his breath, but didn’t verbalize further.

Gran sat down in
the chair next to Lillian, and nodded to Whitethorn.

The sidhe lord
glanced around the table. “Most here know the problems we need to solve and
solve quickly, but Lillian, you and Gregory have only just awakened and
possibly haven’t had time to fully understand all the ramifications.”

Gregory sat up
straighter in his chair, and Lillian found she mimicked him without conscious
thought.

“We can hide
from the humans to some extent,” Whitethorn continued, “but there is one time
each month when we cannot hide everything from them.”

Gregory leaped
to the answer before Lillian even had the first stirrings of an idea. “The Wild
Hunt.”

“Yes,”
Whitethorn said. “We’ve been lucky until now. The power both you and Lillian
raised in the last Wild Hunt sustained the boundary wards of our land and fed
our people what magic we needed to survive, but it has now dwindled to a level
where we must risk a hunt or weaken to a dangerous point. And the humans are
not our only enemies—the Riven are still very much a threat.”

Greenborrow
reached across the table and patted Lillian’s hand. “You broke the Riven’s
foothold in this world, but they are far from defeated. We’ve found traces of them
far north of us. They’ve retreated to the northern wilds to lick their wounds
and to avoid contact with the humans. But I believe they will only stay away
until they’ve grown strong. Then I fear they will return and they might not
take as much care to avoid human notice as we have. If the Riven reveal our
existence to the humans, it could prove more damaging to us than any battle the
Riven themselves might wage.”