Heart Bandit (Gargoyle Night Guardians Book 1) Read online

  HEART BANDIT

  GARGOYLE NIGHT GUARDIANS BOOK #1

  ROSALIE REDD

  Copyright © January 2020 by Rosalie Redd

  All rights reserved. Uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

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  For permissions contact: [email protected]

  Cover Design: Croco Designs

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  ISBN: 9781944419240

  United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Special Reader Bonus

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  About Rosalie

  SPECIAL READER BONUS

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  PROLOGUE

  1192 A.D.

  “Beaumont Laroche!”

  A rush of adrenaline sliced through Beaumont’s veins, waking him in an instant. Mist, thick and white, shrouded him in its chilly embrace. He tried to force his arms, his legs, his head, any part of his body to move, straining against invisible bonds, but to no avail. Frustration bubbled, and his pulse pounded at his temple. Other than the never-ending mist, he couldn’t feel or see a thing.

  “Who are you?” Although he thought he’d spoken aloud, he didn’t hear his own voice except in his head.

  “Rhiannon.”

  The goddess of sun, fertility, and domesticated animals. A great deity of the Otherworld. His mind raced as he searched for answers. “Where am I?”

  Rhiannon released a soft sigh. “In the ether, the space between space, awaiting your trial.”

  The adrenaline in his bloodstream surged. “Trial? For what?”

  “Murder.”

  A bright light lit up the mist, turning the fog a stark, vibrant shade of white. Memories returned in a flash, events spinning rapidly in succession until the executioner’s sharp blade severed his head from his shoulders.

  A fitting end for a murderer.

  “How do you plead?” Rhiannon asked.

  “Guilty.”

  “Hmm…” Silence filled the space for several long seconds.

  Beaumont renewed his effort to free himself.

  Rhiannon exhaled a frustrated breath. “Stop struggling. Your body is long gone. Only your spirit remains, along with your memories.”

  On a subconscious level, and with the executioner’s blow fresh in his mind, he understood he was dead, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “What happens next?”

  “That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” Rhiannon’s voice held a hint of amusement. “Honor radiates from your aura, yet, I sense the truth in your words. You committed murder. Such a conundrum. Tell me, Beaumont, what should I do with you?”

  “Do with me?” He tried to see beyond the fog, get a glimpse of his goddess, but the endless mist endured.

  “I think we’d both agree you don’t deserve a direct route to the lands of the Otherworld where the good spirits live for eternity. However, based on my review of your case, I don’t believe your soul is inherently evil. Besides, I’d rather not give Gwawl another fae for his army. He’s tormented and killed the humans I love with his dark creatures ever since I spurned him for Pwyll, my human lover, many millennia ago. As for your fate…”

  Beaumont focused on Rhiannon’s every word.

  “I claim you as a questionable soul to serve in my gargoyle army until a future time when you shall be retested. Your mission—to protect the human race from Gwawl’s fae legion. You will be assigned to a squad, will battle the enemy at night, and will rest in a stone gargoyle during the day. Serve me well, my child.”

  Before he could respond, he flew through the mist, faster and faster until the world darkened, and he succumbed to the blackness.

  CHAPTER 1

  PRESENT DAY

  Beaumont Laroche wiped the blood from his trusty blade onto his jeans. With a quick flick of his finger, he slid the weapon into its sheath. Three fae dead by his hands. Not bad for a night’s work. The problem—there were always more of the evil bastards.

  He curled his fingers around the fire escape’s grimy black iron and peered into the alley.

  Dilapidated buildings with their rusted dumpsters lined the passageway, leaving a path down the middle. Like many of the ill-forgotten back streets of Chicago, evidence of human activity—a few broken beer bottles, ripped boxes, and a pile of crushed cigarette butts—littered the pavement, yet, no human graced this particular lane, not at least, at the moment. That was good. The less the humans knew about the evil that threatened to destroy them, the better.

  Beaumont turned and scowled at his two companions.

  Seth, his fellow night guardian and constant jab in Beaumont’s side, raised a dark eyebrow. With his brown hair, blue eyes, and devilish smile, the guy could charm a rattle off a snake. “Laroche, I bagged two fae that time. What’s your tally?”

  A familiar, competitive urge bubbled in Beaumont’s veins. After a childhood of constant challenges from his younger brother, he couldn’t resist the subtle taunt.

  He plastered on a smile. “Three.”

  “Damn. If you keep it up, I’ll never match your kill record.” Seth scoffed and swiped his finger along the brim of his cowboy hat.

  Although Seth was a couple inches shorter, he had a strong build and could take an enemy down with a single crack of his wicked whip.

  When push came to shove, Seth was as good as they came and was as close to a friend as Beaumont would allow. He never let anyone get too close. Better for them that way. But, then again, they were all here for one reason or another. You didn’t become a gargoyle by being a Goody Two-shoes.

  Finn, his other partner in his squad, crossed his arms, but his green Irish eyes sparked with mirth. “Stop messin’ around. We’ve got work ta do.”

  Beaumont uncurled his fingers from the fire escape and pushed away from the building’s brick wall. The rod iron shook from the force. Situated on the landing several feet up, a large ceramic flower pot with the straggling remains of someone’s birthday or Mother’s Day gift teetered on the edge before righting itself. A few brown, crusty leaves e
scaped and drifted toward the street as if trying to escape.

  A slight, warm breeze picked up. The slap of high-heeled shoes on pavement carried along in its wake, then a man’s chuckle, and a soft feminine giggle.

  The hairs on the back of Beaumont’s neck rose.

  Two humans, a man and a woman arm in arm, staggered down the alley. The scent of booze along with the putrid stink of body odor permeated Beaumont’s nose. He wanted to gag. Instead, he held his breath and leaned against the building’s brick exterior. His skin rippled, assuming the same context and reddish hue as his surroundings.

  Like him, Seth and Finn camouflaged themselves, one against the building, the other taking on the grayish tone of an old dumpster. None moved. Their slow, controlled breaths and the clack of the woman’s pumps were the only sounds.

  The couple passed, unaware of the night guardians mere feet away. As the man wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulder, the tenderness between the two didn’t escape Beaumont’s notice. Bitterness tightened the protective layers around his heart. Never again would anyone become that close to him. Gender and age didn’t matter. He’d given up trust long ago.

  The faint click of a door latch a few buildings away grabbed his attention.

  At the end of the alley, the muted glow from the street lamp provided enough illumination to catch a glimpse of a young woman. The light played along her short, silken strands, the color of the midnight sky without stars, painting them with a touch of fire. His hand twitched with the sudden desire to run his fingers through the soft tresses, feel the silkiness between his fingertips.

  The woman dashed after the couple, her lithe body covered in dark clothing, moving with quick and purposeful strides.

  She bumped into the man, slipped her hand into his back pocket, and withdrew his wallet with ease. “Oh, excuse me.”

  Drunk as he was, the man didn’t seem to notice she’d absconded with his billfold. He stumbled forward, and his lady friend laughed. The couple rounded the corner while the young pickpocket examined her loot.

  Seth let out a slow breath and reemerged from his camouflage. “Nice. That one’s got some spunk.”

  Indeed, she did. Attitude had radiated from her stiff posture, raised chin, and quick, skillful process. Beaumont couldn’t help but take notice. She’d struck her target with an efficiency he admired.

  On an intake of breath, a bitter metallic tang coated the back of his throat, as if he’d licked a steel pipe. He clenched his jaw. Fae… The evil creatures came in all shapes and sizes, but hid behind handsome, alluring features and an irresistible charm to lure in human prey.

  “Targets manifesting. Opposite end of the alley.” Seth spoke along the mind-link connection to Beaumont and Finn and unhooked his whip from a clip at his belt. “Damn their evil, noxious blood. Even the stench could gel a bullet into mush. Christ, I miss my six-shooter.”

  In the dim glow of the street lamp wind swirled debris into three small piles, reminiscent of dust devils and aptly named. Bits of paper, dirt, and even an empty paper cup, the plastic lid still attached, caught in the undertow and whirled in the churn.

  From the sheath at his right hip, Beaumont withdrew his dagger. His other hand palmed the one nestled on his left hip. A backup or two was a necessity in this war. He had three. The Hail Mary blade was sheathed at his ankle.

  With a quick mental snap, he turned off his concealment and spoke to his teammates through their silent link. “Merde. They never let up, do they? One fae a piece, ladies. Easy pickings.”

  Finn’s skin flickered then returned to his normal light coloring. He pursed his lips, but his green eyes gleamed. “Lasses, you mean? If it weren’t for yer sense of humor, I wouldn’t like ya, and I ken always tell when yer mad. Ya cuss in French. Bet I can kill mine before ya kill yers.”

  A shot of adrenaline spiked in Beaumont’s veins, as much from the reminder of his French heritage as the challenge. After the goddess Rhiannon transferred him here from France more than a century ago to assist in the “New World,” he’d worked hard to lose his accent. He couldn’t quite let go of his twelfth-century warrior upbringing despite his desire to bury his past.

  He met Finn’s gaze and nodded. “You’re on.”

  Seth and Finn dematerialized, their molecules scattering through the air and heading toward the enemy.

  At the end of the alley, the whirlwind ceased. Three fae, human in appearance except for the yellow glow around their eyes, approached at a fast clip. One wore a familiar brown overcoat that billowed around his knees with each advancing step. With his blond hair, high and mighty attitude, and the long black cane nestled in the crook of his elbow, there was no mistaking his identity—Marco Valentelli.

  A coldness hit Beaumont in the chest, fueled by his anger. How many humans and gargoyles had this particular fae killed? More than Beaumont could count. The slain included two of his partners, guys he missed despite his arm’s-length relationship.

  Rhiannon hadn’t replaced his lost teammates, leaving him, Finn, and Seth to cover their territory. Drake, his team leader, managed other squads in the city and couldn’t join them often. If Beaumont didn’t believe in their cause to protect the humans, he’d curse Rhiannon for the extra workload.

  Innocent or not, human or gargoyle, no one deserved a cruel, torturous death at the hands of one of these evil creatures. Elusive and cunning, this particular fae had evaded his grasp, and Beaumont wanted nothing more than to take him down. The scar at the edge of his eyelid twitched. He clenched his fist and inhaled a long breath, his muscles tensing in preparation for his attack.

  Over his shoulder, movement caught his attention. Merde, the pickpocket strode toward them, her pace all too fast for Beaumont’s liking.

  Rule number one—protect the humans. Rhiannon’s decree, forever ingrained in his mind, rang in his ears.

  Tension heightened his senses, and the animalistic side of him, the one Rhiannon instilled in all her warriors to match their hardened, daytime gargoyle forms, growled his discontent. The urge to battle his enemy warred with the need to protect the young woman, but in the end, his protective instincts ruled.

  With a quickness born from his wolf-like gargoyle, Beaumont sheathed his dagger and launched himself toward her, his boots crunching along a years’ worth of grit and grime coating the narrow passage.

  He caught up with the thief under the fire escape. Mere inches away, he stilled and glanced at her features. His breath caught in his throat. The short, silky strands of her dark hair caressed her chin. At the base of her neck, the ends flared like a bird’s wings in flight, the tips tinged in pink. With a pert button nose and full lips that begged for a man’s kiss, she met his gaze. Her eyes widened in surprise, but not before he’d caught the deep sadness etched within.

  “Mon Dieu,” he muttered.

  He couldn’t let Marco find her. The salaud would destroy her in an instant. With nearly a millennium’s worth of experience under his belt, he grasped her by the wrist and pinned her against the brick wall. A cry exploded from her lungs at the impact, and he covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Silence, unless you have a death wish.”

  Her eyes darted back and forth as she studied him, fear and surprise chasing away the profound sadness he’d seen. Warm and soft, her body conformed to his as if she were made for him. She inhaled and pressed her firm breasts against his chest. Even through the material of their shirts, he felt the nubs of her nipples harden.

  Sexual energy jolted between them, teasing him beyond measure. A low growl of confusion and frustration erupted in his chest.

  Grunts, groans, and the sounds of a scuffle echoed from the far end of the alley. He drew his gaze to the fight.

  Finn, dumpster raised above his head, threw the large trash can at one of Marco’s minions, pinning the creature against the wall.

  Seth snapped his whip, twining the ends around the other fae’s wrist.

  Marco strode down the alley toward Beaumont and the
woman. With each step, light glinted off the tip of the exposed blade cradled in his palm.

  “Naturally.” Beaumont returned his attention to the pretty woman. He leaned closer, and the fresh scent of lemons eased into his senses. “I’m not going to hurt you, but this…man…coming down the alley will. At all costs, stay silent. I’ll protect you. Trust me.”

  He choked on the last two words. What a crock of shit. He’d asked her to trust him when he himself would never trust another.

  She nodded, and he removed his hand from her mouth. Before he could stop himself, his gaze flicked to her lips. They were full and inviting, slightly parted with her panting. He wanted to lean forward, press his mouth against hers, and find out if her lips were as soft as they appeared.

  The sharp click of a blade extending from a pocketknife rang in the space between them. Smooth steel pressed against his thigh.

  “Your, uh, gun is digging into my hip. Shall I remove it for you?” As she whispered the words, her cool, minty breath caressed his cheek.

  The urge to laugh bubbled just below the surface. This young woman did, indeed, have spunk, he’d give her that.

  Before she could react, he intertwined his fingers with hers, the pocketknife grasped between them, and raised her arms above her head. With a quick depression on the button, he retracted the blade then placed his forehead against hers. “Hush, and, by the way, I don’t own a gun.”

  She audibly inhaled. “Well, then, are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Would you like me to?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Mere inches from her lips, it took all his willpower not to silence her with a kiss.

  She jutted her chin, courage and toughness sparking in those beautiful green eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

  He smiled and set his jaw. “Challenge accepted.”

  Marco’s heavy footsteps from down the alley brought back the reality of their situation and the danger she was in. At the moment, Beaumont’s best line of defense was to camouflage himself and blend them both into their surroundings. Barring that, he’d have to resort to his gargoyle’s hardened exterior. It wasn’t his first choice. He only used that as a defensive method while under attack.