Gryphon and His Thief (2 page)

She patted the pouch at her side. She had
what she came for and she wasn't going to debate why her psyche
conjured a Gryphon statue when there obviously wasn't one. She
hurried out of the room at a jog and toward the front of the
museum, only to slide to a halt as she caught sight of something
immersed in shadows and blocking the front entrance.

"It couldn't be," she said, her voice a
hoarse whisper. She shone her light on the object ahead of her. The
Gryphon stood there, tall and fierce.

Her tongue slipped out and she licked her
suddenly dry lips.
How in the world had the statue moved from
the back room to here?
The neat magic trick proved at the very
least amazing, but then her gaze met its eyes and the damned thing
blinked.

"Holy… What the—" She couldn't finish either
curse as she stumbled back and rammed her hip into the corner of
one of the glass tables filled with cursed items. "Crap." All she
needed was to break something. "Get a grip," she warned herself.
The Gryphon didn't blink his eyes.
Yep, and it didn't fly from
the back room and station itself at the door either.
She gulped
and leveled the beam of the flashlight on the statue once more.
Only what stood there now was a man, a large man with dark hair and
eyes… that glowed like the Gryphon's eyes had.

"You cannot take the item from the museum,"
the man's voice boomed low and with authority meant to intimidate,
his words flavored with a Greek accent. "You must return it
immediately," he finished the threat. Sure there had been no threat
voiced, but she all but heard the 'or else'.

"Who are you?" she asked even though she had
no right to inquire. Obviously, this man must be the night
guardsman. Her gaze slid over his attire and frowned. He wore
garments she'd only seen painted on Greek vases and
paintings—intricate designed tunic, dark colored cloak, and gold
sandals adorned his feet. Her one eyebrow lifted. Perhaps he was a
thief who liked theatrics... She had an uncle who liked to dress
like a caped superhero when he went on his jobs.

She straightened her back and met the guy's
gaze head on. "I think you need to leave or I'll call the cops."
She pulled out her cell phone and lit up the screen to prove her
point. The guy didn't have to know she bluffed. She didn't want the
cops here anymore than he probably did.

He didn't quite react the way she thought he
would. Oh no, he had the audacity to laugh, a deep guttural laugh.
"You amuse me human woman," he told her.

"Human woman?" Okay, this nut-job was off his
meds. "Fine, you stay here and this
human woman
will say
good evening. It's been a long day. I need to head back to my
spaceship before E.T. calls home and tells Mom and Dad I'm
late."

The man's brows furrowed, deep creases
marring his forehead. Maybe she loaded on the crapola a little
thick. It was best to end this conversation and
get out of
Africa
—as her father would say—
and make like a cheetah on
the hunt
. She took a few cautious steps toward the front
door.

"You will halt," he demanded with his palm up
as if his stance would stop her.

Well, yep it did, for a full three seconds.
She knew some self-defense moves, but this guy was built like he
lifted weights in his sleep just so his bulk didn't decrease in the
middle of the night. It didn't appear like the front door was an
option, but… her gaze latched onto the window next to it. "Oh,
hell." She charged and prayed this old building hadn't been
refurbished with safety glass. Otherwise, this stunt was really
going to hurt.

Chapter Two

Darrien stared in disbelief at the thief
wearing a knit hat that covered her hair and most of her face.
However, despite the attempt at a disguise, there was no mistaking
the thief's gender as female even before she spoke. Lovely green
eyes with thick lashes peered at him over a petite nose, and her
luscious lips demanded him to comply. If the features and the voice
hadn't given her gender away, the curves her dark fitting outfit
displayed, certainly would have.

He knew for a fact his stance intimidated,
but she faced him with courage and the determination of a warrior.
Either she was mad, or braver than she ought to be. In the next
second, he had his answer. She was absolutely nutty.

His eyes widened in horror as she raced
toward the window beside the door with its rectangular shape and
framed in wood. It wasn't nearly wide enough to pull such a stunt
as she intended. He cursed in the language of his youth, a dialect
similar to the Greeks' language of ancient time, but more guttural.
She would surely kill herself or, at the very least, cause some
considerable damage to her person. She was human, but he sensed
there was more to her, not a demigod, but something more powerful
than a mere mortal. It proved a shame to waste such a life, but he
would have to end it. He could not allow her to take one of the
cursed items out of the museum. As guardian, thievery on his watch
meant a sure death to the culprit. Maybe he should let her crash
into the glass. She'd most likely break her neck or sever an
artery, but then she may surprise him further and survive. No, he
must stop her now.

His magic curled around him and he took the
form of ether, reappearing in front of the woman, but she was quick
on her feet and she maneuvered around him. With one last effort,
his hand snaked out to clasp her wrist. She swung with her other
hand and something sliced into his flesh. The sharp pain made him
falter his grip and she yanked her arm, leaving him holding only
her glove as her body propelled through the window. She'd raised
her arms to shield her face as the glass shattered, and her scream
pierced his eardrum, the sound as deafening as screeching gargoyles
when they mated. He covered his ears on reflex.

When silence blessed the heavens, he lowered
his hands and stared at the window now sporting jagged glass, and
strode toward it, expecting to find her sprawled on the ground in a
heap of blood and shards, but the little thief hadn't even paused
upon landing. His gaze caught sight of her sprinting around the
side of the building, as he stood befuddled over how she managed to
pull off the elaborate feat.

Finally, he snapped into action and stepped
over the ledge, the glass crunching beneath his sandals. Changing
forms, he took flight as the creature men feared, both eagle and
lion, fierce and unrelenting when pursuing a thief, but this woman
proved not to be a coward. She was brave and worthy of the chase.
His wings flapped, one, two, three times, the wind guiding him
until he flew above her. She glanced up at him and anticipated his
intent with keen eyes of her own. As he dove at her, his talons
stretched and readied to tear, she whirled around at the same time
and released the weapon she wielded in her hand. Her dagger flew
straight and true like an arrow meant to slay a beast on a hunt.
His eyes widened in admiration at her skill, and he neatly avoided
being slain. At the last millisecond, he switched shapes again,
disappearing into the wind in his ether form. The dagger harmlessly
went through him. Before he could materialize once more, she had
jumped in her vehicle and drove away as if the wind itself could
give the metal beast flight.

He took to the air and went after her,
keeping pace but not attacking as he thought of another plan. His
direct approach hadn't worked. He needed to change tactics to catch
this wily thief. He kept pace high above and directly over her
sedan so she could not pinpoint his pursuit from her vehicle.

It was still hours before the sun would rise
and he had plenty of time before he needed to return to the museum.
One hour after sunrise he would once again turn to stone, a curse
he must endure for the crime he committed. He would be forever a
guardsman for the Museum of Cursed Antiquities, no matter where the
artifacts may find their home through the centuries. Be it
overseas, in the States, or any other place the founders—as he
called them—saw fit to place the items. He was at their mercy. He
could awaken tomorrow and find they moved the museum yet again.

In truth, it didn't matter where he guarded.
He couldn't venture far from the artifacts unless someone dared to
steal an object. Then his beastie nature would take over. He would
hunt the thief with little trouble. Numerous men, brave and
brilliant tried, and still they failed. It took no more than one
evening to track them and end their lives before returning the
object to its rightful berth in the museum. Those men were bloody
fools, the lot of them, to go up against a Gryphon.

Only, the thief tonight had been a woman. He
sighed heavily.
It does not matter
, he thought with
determination. The end result would be the same. She'd stolen a
stone that housed the power of an evil Necromancer. If such an item
fell into the wrong hands, a new meaning to this century's term
'hell on earth'
would ensue.

In a few days, the veil between life and
death would be at its weakest. The one wielding the stone would be
able to call on the dead with ease and bend them to their will.
Charon, the ferryman, who ferried the dead to Hades, would not be
able to deny such a request. He would be forced to bring the souls
through the veil one by one.

This could not happen. If the dead walked
among the living, they would eventually feed off of them. They
would crave the energy that makes the living thrive. No, he could
not allow the thief to accomplish such a goal.

The thief's vehicle pulled into the parking
lot of a motel with a sign flashing
vacancy
in red on the
marquee. The main building where the customers would check in for
their stay stood overlooking the street. The rooms were located
adjacent to it. The one-story units had different color doors, but
all had gold numbers nailed to the center, ranging from one to
twenty. The thief pulled into a car slot in front of room number
seven, which sported a dark green door. By the look of the parking
lot, there was possibly only one other room rented for the night,
which made his job that much easier. If the occupant decided to be
a good law-abiding citizen, he'd take him out too.

He meant to perch on the roof of the building
and keep to the shadows of the overhanging tree, but at the last
second landed on the earth behind the shrubbery, a location
opposite where the thief had parked and with a good view of her
next move without being obvious.

He changed into his human form. He would have
preferred the clothing he remembered from his youth, but instead
fashioned himself in the current style of this era. He glanced down
at himself and smoothed his hand over the
I love rock and
roll
T-shirt. The worn blue jeans were comfortable, but then he
frowned when his gaze landed on his bare feet. In the next second,
he willed snakeskin boots to appear to cover them and nodded in
approval. Crouching low behind the shrubbery, he waited to make his
next move.

The woman stepped out of her sedan and
hurried toward a room. Her hands shook as she tried to manage the
keycard into the lock mechanism and ended up dropping it in the
bushes next to the walkway. It took her a few seconds to retrieve
it, giving him a nice view of her shapely bottom. His lips curved
before he stopped himself, and was surprised at where his thoughts
had ventured. He had not admired a woman in a long time and the odd
sensation left him unnerved. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and
shook off his moment of weakness. He didn't have time for fanciful
thoughts. He refocused and forced himself to concentrate on the
thief's actions and not her comely attributes.

Once she had the keycard in her hand, he made
his move, materializing beside her as she disengaged the lock to
her door. She gasped and stepped back as if to flee, but he proved
quicker and his hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. He'd not make
the same mistake twice and have her slip out of his grip, leaving
him with only a glove for his trouble. The skin-to-skin contact
sparked a current of electricity, a jolt worthy of Zeus' warning
bolts, and by the heavens those stung.

They flew apart from the zap of energy and he
slammed into the vending machine, sparking it to life and sending
candy bars and chips dropping into the bin for easy access. The
thief bounced against her vehicle, fell to the ground, and hit her
head against the bumper on the way down, knocking her
unconscious.

He soared to his feet and strode toward her,
fearing she'd spring to life and bolt again, but she lay unmoving
with only the rise and fall of her chest to tell him she still
lived.

"Unfortunate for you, my dear sweet thief,"
he murmured. Her unconscious state made slicing her neck and taking
back what belonged to the museum that much easier. He crouched down
next to her and released his talons from his fingertips with a
slight shift.

"Ah…soooo…nice," the thief murmured, her
voice like a sweet melody to his ears.

He frowned and stared at her, his clawed hand
ready to slash, but he didn't act. Instead, he found himself
mesmerized as her tongue slipped out to moisten those pink lips of
hers. He thought she would awaken, but then she shifted her bottom
and settled as she curled on her side.

He retracted his claws. Curiosity got the
better of him and he had to behold the thief's true features. He
reached for the ski mask and yanked it off her head. Waves of
ginger strands tumbled out like autumn arriving by storm and summer
being left behind by the raging winds.

He blinked in surprise and his blood pounded
in his temples as he absorbed her every feature, features he knew
as well as his own. "Callista?" he breathed the name, though it
took all the air from him as if she sucker punched him.