Love Bewitched (Gargoyle Night Guardians Book 3) Page 13

  His legs wobbled on a sudden release of tension. Thank the Goddess. She was all right.

  “I’ll take her from here, Allie. You’re free to go.” Marco grasped Wynne’s arm and tugged her forward.

  Wynne’s mouth thinned into a tight line, but she didn’t fight him.

  A roar built in Damian’s ears. No other man should touch Wynne, especially not a fae. He yanked his dagger from its sheath.

  “Thanks. I’ll bring the two witches some breakfast in a bit.” Allie turned on the ball of her foot and pranced down the corridor. A soft whistled tune echoed in her wake.

  Marco’s grip tightened on Wynne’s arm. “You and I have much to discuss, don’t we, my child?”

  “You’re hurting me. Let me go!” Wynne wrenched against his grasp.

  Damian uncloaked himself, his clothes and skin taking on their natural dark hues. “I suggest you do as the lady asks.”

  Marco jerked, his eyes widening, and Wynne yanked free from his grasp.

  Damian didn’t wait for the shock to wear off. He lunged at his enemy.

  The fae recovered at the last moment and dodged to the side.

  Damian slashed his blade at Marco, the tip ripping across the dark fae’s jacket. The pocket and half the material hung from the tattered gash.

  Marco hissed. He gripped the handle of his cane and withdrew his sword. Metal on metal echoed off the walls.

  “How did a damned gargoyle get in the Otherworld?” he barked, his eyes glowing yellow.

  “Damian?” Wynne stared, wide-eyed, one hand over her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  He furrowed his brow. “I’m here for you, Wynne.”

  Wynne’s entire body shook. She couldn’t believe Damian had risked his life to rescue her. A strange disorientation clogged her mind. Words, actions, thoughts, all bottled up behind her stalled breath.

  A loud war cry erupted from Marco, and he raised his sword. The deadly blade glinted in the firelight.

  Damian’s skin rippled, his dark flesh hardening to stone. Gripping a dagger, he leapt at Marco.

  Marco’s blade sliced through Damian’s T-shirt and clinked against his rock-hard skin. His arm shook from the rebound.

  Dread rippled across Wynne’s shoulders. She didn’t want either male to get hurt.

  Damian rammed Marco, their combined force propelling them into the wall. The stone cracked under the impact. A splinter spread to the ceiling. Pebbles dislodged from the gap rained upon the duo. One bounced across the floor and rolled to a stop at Wynne’s feet.

  Adrenaline surged through Wynne, thrusting her from her stupor. She had to try a spell on the chance it might work and raised her hands.

  “Moto aria sirta.” The blocking spell died on a murmur, and the skin on her arm burned.

  Marco’s sword slipped from his grip. The blade clattered against the stone floor.

  Damian’s skin flickered between the gray of his hardened form and the natural dark skin tone of his flesh, making him vulnerable. Perhaps the impact with the wall had affected him and weakened his gargoyle powers.

  Marco raked his claws down Damian’s arm, leaving a deep gash. Blood splattered onto his designer suit.

  A ragged howl burst from Damian’s lips.

  Frustration at her inability to help Damian flared along Wynne’s sternum, and sparks burst from her fingertips. The electricity traveled along the floor and into the cell bars on either side of the corridor. The iron rods pulsed with an eerie glow.

  Damian brought his arm up and held his dagger over Marco’s eye. “For all the humans, gargoyles, and witches you’ve ever harmed.”

  “Stop! He’s my father!” Wynne screamed.

  As if born from the force of her emotions, gale force winds whipped through the hallway, rustling everyone’s clothes and hair.

  When it stopped, only the sound of heavy breathing from the two males filled the gap.

  Damian glanced at Marco then Wynne. His brow furrowed, but awareness of the truth reflected in his gaze. “He’s your father?”

  She nodded. Her father had rejected her, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

  Before she could say anything further, Damian flipped the dagger around in his palm and smashed the handle against Marco’s temple. The fae slumped to the floor.

  A light breeze swirled around Wynne’s feet and tracked to Marco. The edge of his torn jacket ruffled in the undercurrent. A few feet away, the swirl built into a mini dust storm. Bits of rock and dirt churned in the growing eddy.

  Zain…

  Wynne’s fingers tracked over the smooth surface of her bracelet.

  Damian held out his hand. “I can dematerialize us out of here. Come with me, now.”

  Her heart pounded, and she glanced at Mom who leaned against the bars. Wynne hadn’t found a cure in the book, but she couldn’t lose this opportunity to escape. They’d search every spell book in the human realm to find a healing potion, if that’s what it took to help her mom.

  “Mom, let’s go. Now’s our chance.” Wynne raced across the hall and clasped her mother’s hand through the bars.

  Damian grasped Wynne’s palm. His smile lit up his handsome features, and her chest swelled. He was her hero in the truest sense of the word.

  He nodded to her. “On three.”

  Angry and defiant, the mini cyclone roiled into a frenzy.

  “One…”

  The swirl ceased.

  “Two…”

  Zain stood in its place. His nostrils flared, but then his mouth turned down at the corners and an emptiness reflected in his eyes.

  Wynne’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Three…”

  A low buzz started in Wynne’s gut, expanding through her rib cage and into her arms and legs. Her molecules broke apart, following Damian from this hellhole—

  Victoria wrenched her hand from Wynne’s grasp. “I’ll try to delay Gwawl long enough to get past the eclipse.”

  “No, Mom!” Wynne desperately grabbed for her mother, but her half-transparent fingers slid right through her mother’s arm.

  Mom’s features softened and a warm, heartfelt reverence reflected in her deep blue eyes. “Love you, honey bear!”

  Wynne disappeared from the Otherworld, her heart shattering at her feet.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wynne’s molecules reformed, bones, muscles, and flesh knitting together at the cellular level. As an added unpleasant bonus, a piercing headache pounded at her temple. Her muscles quivered, and she stumbled over the familiar Persian rug in her living room.

  “I got ’cha.” Damian wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her close.

  She leaned into him, and his warm, masculine scent, a hint of musk and cloves, swept deep into her lungs. A comforting sense of protectiveness and care filled her lungs, and she allowed herself this brief moment of respite. Then, the tempest storm that had invaded her life dragged her back into its grasp.

  She choked back a sob. “Mom stayed behind on purpose.”

  Damian gripped her shoulders. Concern etched his deep brown eyes. “Since I recently transferred here from Atlanta, I never knew your mother, but it’s obvious she loves you very much.”

  “She’s ill. I might’ve been able to heal her.” Wynne stared at him for a long moment, putting together the pieces. Her stomach fluttered, and she trailed a finger over the dark stubble at his jawline, her pale fingers in sharp contrast to his ebony skin. “You came for me. Risked your life. Why?”

  He cupped her chin, focusing on every detail of her features, and rubbed his gloved thumb over her bottom lip. “How could I not?”

  His eyes smoldered with longing, and he brought his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. She buckled under the onslaught, giving in to the desire whipping through her with rampant abandon. Warm and strong, he tugged her closer and deepened the kiss. After a long moment, he released her, and their heated, panting breaths echoed in the space between them.

  Wynne’s legs trembled from
both his kiss and his devotion. He had risked his life to save her, and his action spoke of his courage, not to mention his honor and integrity. Damian was a fine, worthy male—a gargoyle—and still so unattainable. On top of everything else, she couldn’t handle this, not right now, so she stepped away and strode to the fireplace.

  She tapped her finger against the mantel then turned to face Damian. “How did you find me?”

  “Caught a ride on a fae. Camouflaged myself and ran into Marco. He was nice enough to lead me to you. Is he really your father?”

  Wynne pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “That’s regrettable.” Damian’s assessing gaze slid from her features, over her shoulders, and to her feet. A furrow lined his brow. “Did they hurt you?”

  A memory of Zain bringing the blanket flashed through her mind, followed by her last image of him. He’d arrived right before they’d escaped and had seemed sad.

  She blinked several times. Where had that thought come from? He was a fae and the enemy. She shook her head to clear her mind.

  “No, I’m okay.” She rubbed her hands over the sweater Zain had given her. Why had he been so nice? Irritation flared at her temple, and the picture frames on the mantel shook.

  The one of Sasha, Wynne, and their mother caught her attention. Taken over a decade ago, the photo showed Mom in the middle with her arms wrapped over each of their shoulders. A content and happy smile graced her features. An ache built inside Wynne.

  With his gargoyle super speed, Damian closed the distance between them in an instant. He wrapped her in his embrace and spun her toward him, his features pinched with strain. “I don’t like that sad look on your face. Talk to me. What happened down there? Why did the fae kidnap you?”

  “Gwawl captured some gargoyles. Victoria uses spells to contain the power in a giant crystal to keep the prisoners under control. He tortures them for sport, and…” Heat flushed through Wynne’s body, stalling the words on her lips. How she hated the evil god.

  “All the more reason to battle the enemy and win this damn war.” Damian brushed his fingers along her hairline, tucking a few strands behind her ear. “There’s more to it, though, isn’t there? This involves your mother’s illness.”

  Wynne nodded. “Gwawl expects me to take her place. Apparently, my powers will manifest during the eclipse, and I’ll be able to control the dark crystal. That is, if I learn the spells in time.”

  He tensed. “What happens if you don’t?”

  “The gargoyles will die, and my mother will be tortured for a very long time.” Wynne gripped his arm. “I have to return.”

  Damian’s mouth thinned. “No way. Not happening.”

  Wetness coated Wynne’s fingers. She glanced at her palm.

  Blood…

  Coldness tightened her stomach, twisting into a gnarled coil. She’d forgotten about the fight and Damian’s wound.

  Three long scratches marred the back of Damian’s forearm. Blood clotted along the grooves, down his arm, and inside his glove.

  She pursed her lips. “You’re injured. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Damian shrugged, but his eyes glinted with steely determination. “Had more important things to do.”

  “I’ll get the salve, but let’s take off that glove first.” She gripped the leather on one fingertip. “I want to see if your hand is damaged—”

  “No.” Damian jerked his hand away. “The gloves stay on.”

  Gasping, Wynne took a step back. “What? Why?”

  Shoulders stiff and back ramrod straight, Damian placed his hands on his hips. “Because.”

  Wynne crossed her arms. “Oh, we are so not going to play that game. Tell me why.”

  A tremble rippled through the room. The pictures on the mantel rattled along with a pair of empty coffee mugs sitting on the coffee table.

  Damian held his ground, but a tic flared along his jawline.

  Wynne raised her chin and turned to snag her potions. “Fine. Keep your secret.”

  Damian exhaled. “I won’t take them off because of what I might see.”

  Wynne stopped mid-step. Prickles tracked across her shoulders and up the back of her neck.

  She glanced at him. “What does that mean?”

  Damian’s shoulders sagged, and he ran his gloved palm over his mouth. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Tell me anyway.” She held her breath. Would he share his secret with her? In the back of her mind, she understood that the two of them stood before a precipice.

  Damian stared at her for a long moment, his eyes solemn. He was handsome, confident, and honorable, a gracious combination she’d never seen in another male.

  Tell me. Her chest ached, tightening so hard she swayed from the force.

  At long last, he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Wynne’s world tilted. She’d wanted him to open up to her, to share his pain with her, but in the end, she should’ve known this would happen. He was married to his job, and she would always be second place in his life.

  “I’ll get the salve so we can tend to your arm.” Head held high, she strode toward the hallway and blinked away the tears. She didn’t make it, though. Instead, dawn ambushed her from behind, freezing her in place.

  CHAPTER 19

  A slew of curses exploded from Zain’s lips. Wynne had slipped through his fingers, rescued by that Goody Two-shoes Damian. How had the gargoyle arrived in the Otherworld? He wrapped his fingers around her cell bars and yanked. The metal groaned under the strain, and bits of dust and rubble from the rock sprinkled on the ground at his feet.

  Wynne had seemed so eager to leave, and he let loose a heavy sigh. He shouldn’t want something he could never have, but his heart disagreed. He shrugged off his anger and knelt next to the unconscious fae at his feet.

  Zain studied the gash on Marco’s forehead. A lump bulged beneath the cut, and a rivulet of blood trailed along the bridge of his nose. The blood pooled into a large drop at the end then dripped along the metal choker and onto his white shirt, staining the material crimson.

  “Will he live?” Victoria’s voice had an edge to it.

  Zain rose to his feet and glanced at the elder witch. “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s too bad. He’s not a nice fae.” She leaned against the bars.

  He pegged her with a hard stare. “Why did you stay behind?”

  She jutted her chin, and the familiar glint of determination he’d noticed in Wynne reflected in her eyes. “I have my reasons.”

  The burn along his chest flared to life. He rubbed at the spot and paced in front of the cell. “Where is Wynne? Where did that gargoyle take her?”

  Victoria smiled. “Somewhere safe from you, I’m sure.”

  He gritted his teeth. No matter where Wynne had gone, he couldn’t track her right now. The sun had risen on the human realm, leaving him stuck here all day. He did, however, have an ace up his sleeve, or in this case, a key in his pocket.

  He clasped his hand around the hard metal and smiled. “I’m not worried. You’ll see her again soon after nightfall.”

  “Please, don’t. She doesn’t deserve…becoming this.” Victoria trailed her fingers over her shoulders and down her dress.

  Zain’s breath stalled, and he glanced at the ground. The thought of Wynne serving Gwawl and losing the vibrant sparkle in her eyes made his skin crawl, but if he didn’t retrieve Wynne and have her complete her mission, he’d die. Dammit, despite his stupid affection for Wynne, he was a selfish bastard, and self-preservation was his main priority.

  His gaze rose to meet Victoria’s. “Your love for your daughter is admirable, but what you ask is out of my control.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

  He couldn’t face her scrutiny, so he turned his back on her. Marco’s limp form reminded him that the fae was his so-called partner. Not by choice, but Zain would never defy Gwawl’s command.

  “Get up.”
Zain nudged Marco on the thigh with his boot tip harder than necessary.

  Marco groaned and rubbed his head. The muscles in his shoulders stiffened, and he glanced around. “Did you kill the gargoyle?”

  “Unfortunately, no. He escaped along with our captive.” Zain held out his palm.

  Marco accepted the offer, and Zain yanked him to his feet.

  “Does Gwawl know?” Marco touched his forehead, glanced at the blood on his fingers, and curled his lip.

  Zain’s pulse picked up speed. He wouldn’t put it past this fae to run straight to Gwawl and blame this all on him. Even if he got to Gwawl first, the god may very well blame him for not staying on top of Marco’s actions.

  Zain straightened his spine and crowded Marco’s personal space. “I’ll retrieve her tonight, so there’s no need for Gwawl to know. Besides, I’d hate to tell him a gargoyle bested you in a fight. You know how much he despises weakness.”

  A menacing spark flared through Marco’s eyes, but then a grin widened across his lips. “Yes, yes. This will be our little secret.”

  Zain pointed to Marco’s forehead. “Might want to visit the infirmary. Looks like a broken eye socket to me.”

  Marco swiped his hands down his coat sleeves, snatched his cane off the ground, then disappeared in a churning mass.

  “Zain, please think about what I said. You can help Wynne if you choose,” Victoria whispered.

  Zain’s neck stiffened, and soreness from years of fighting flared behind his ears. “I don’t see how. Besides, I can’t leave here until nightfall.”

  The hours would drag on for an eternity if he didn’t find something to occupy his time until he could track her down. He paced in front of Wynne’s empty cell, the soles of his boots scraping over the rough stone floor.

  Memories of Wynne crossed his mind. He imagined the light shining off her blonde hair, the curve of her smile, and the spark in her beautiful eyes. She’d worn the pretty blue sweater he’d given her. A pang hit his core, and he focused on the empty bed.