Stone's Kiss (13 page)

There was only one way to know for sure. Once Lillian trusted him absolutely, he would risk the deep merging that would allow him to learn what had been done to her. By the grace of the Divine Ones, he would be able to reverse the damage and go home.

Lillian tugged on his hand. “If we’re done here, I’d like to go help Gran with dinner.”

“Go. I’ll be along after I’ve had a word with the unicorn. I’m appointing him the guardian of the grove. I’ll only be a few moments.”

“Okay.” Lillian whispered like she barely heeded his words.

After she had gone, he sat, troubled by his thoughts. The unicorn stood next to him, his horn glistening in the late day sun.

Chapter Ten

After an awkward dinner, where Gregory was the only participant with an appetite, Lillian hung back to question her grandmother.

“So?” Lillian asked, as she deposited another pile of plates on the counter.

Gran looked up from loading the dishwasher and gave her a questioning look.

“No one has told me where we’re going tonight. By the way everyone bolted after supper to go get ready, I assume this isn’t the usual trip to the neighbors for coffee and cards.”

“No, not exactly,” Gran said. A smile crossed her lips and faded a moment later. “The magical community has many different celebrations. While most are private and solitary, upon rare occasions we come together to reaffirm the bonds of kinship and to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. Tonight is the Wild Hunt. Even the threat of attack shall not stop the Hunt, for without the Hunt all magic will wither and die.”

“I’ve heard the legends.” Lillian tucked a few strains of hair behind her ear, then smoothed it in place. It was a telltale nervous gesture she’d been trying to ditch for years. Oh, well. She didn’t care if Gran knew she was edgy tonight. “The Hunt, isn’t it supposed to be dangerous? And by that I mean evil. I thought people were the chosen prey.”

Gran released a long drawn–out sigh. “In this age, the Hunt is no more evil than one of those swords hanging over the mantle. It’s a tool. One we use to raise and gather magic so we may survive. A tool can be used for good or evil. That depends on the heart of the wielder.” Gran resumed loading the dishwasher. “And yes, in centuries past, the Hunt was dangerous. It was used to hunt down sacrifices or to kill oathbreakers. Some of our rulers had an unnatural streak of cruelty deep in their hearts. During those earlier times, humans with the misfortune to run into the Wild Hunt didn’t survive to report the encounter. Later, when we were ruled by more just rulers, we would take the human’s memories but leave them alive. Upon occasion, a fae would find a mortal interesting and return with the human.”

“You mean abduct the poor person, right?”

Gran cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“And you want me to go with you on this Wild Hunt?”

“Lillian, I don’t want to put you in undue danger, but the Hunt is needed for everyone’s survival. I won’t leave you behind after what happened yesterday. Just stay close to me this evening and all will be well. I’m more concerned about how your gargoyle will react to the rest of the Clan and the Coven. Now you should go get ready. The dryads have constructed something for you to wear.” Gran patted Lillian’s shoulder, and then walked away.

****

With her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Lillian sat on the bed and fiddled with the belt of her terry robe which covered the new forest–green lace bra and thong. Her eyebrow had wedged itself in her hairline awhile ago. There wasn’t much else she could say or do except wait for the other three women to finish with the gown. Hopefully she liked it better than her new undies. She had never before seen a garment made from moss, fluffy Maidenhair ferns, and large sweeping fans of Bracket ferns. The gown’s individual parts were held together by a fine webbing of magic. There was a first time for everything. Of late, she was witnessing new “firsts” every other hour.

The headboard creaked as the bed shifted under her. Her brows scrunched together. Unless there had been a minor earthquake, the room held one occupant too many.

“Out,” Lillian ordered.

The three dryads paused in their work and looked up at her like she’d sprouted horns. Well, horns
were
part of the problem. Twisting to look behind, she scanned the empty bed and frowned. “Nice try, but I’m not indulging you in a free peepshow. Out now, or I’ll braid some pretty flowers into your mane.”

A snort and more shaking of the bed marked Gregory’s position. Unfortunately it came too late. A warm damp tongue washed across her face. A moment later the invisible gargoyle jumped down, landing with a thump. He materialized next to where the dryads worked. Butting his noise into the pile of greenery, he pushed their hands away from their work and sniffed every petal and leaf. Presumably happy with his findings, he padded from the room, the tip of his tail flicking gently. The dryads watched him go. The youngest released a sigh, her expression bordering on enraptured.

Oh please.
Lillian rolled her eyes. She was still wiping gargoyle kisses off her cheek when the others brought the dress over to her. The skirt, woven of moss so soft and refined it looked like lace, fell to the floor in graceful folds. Over the green lace was a sheer skirt of interwoven ferns. When they gestured for her to try it on, she eyed it with suspicion. Magic gave the greenery a lushness the natural plants lacked and the entire gown gleamed with a faint shimmer as if silver dusted the fabric. With a sigh, Lillian shimmied into the hip–hugging skirt and marveled at the silky comfort. Slits ran up both sides for ease of movement.

A form–fitting green blouse made from the tiny leaves of meadow rue and the flowing Bracket fern blended with the moss lace, creating the prettiest gown she’d ever seen. It might be beautiful, but it didn’t seem practical.

“If I remember correctly, this didn’t work out so well for Cinderella.”

The dryads blinked at her.

Lillian sighed. “Magic made this. If I’m left with only my undies at midnight, I’m
not
going to be happy.”

“But Gregory might,” Kayla said with a smirk.

Lillian flashed the other woman a twist of the lips, more fang than smile. But she let the dryads fix her hair with cream ribbons and white flowers. Around Lillian’s neck Sable fastened a necklace of silver and what looked like tiny drops of dew. Matching earrings completed the look.

“You are a striking creature,” Sable said, circling Lillian to better view her work. “No wonder the gargoyle hovers near you like a lost lover.”

Lillian decided to let the silence speak for her. It was better than trying to come up with a reply to that loaded comment.

Sable smoothed her fingers along Lillian’s hair, and tucked the last stubborn strands in place. “Thank you for allowing us to attire you in our way. There are so few of us left, we must preserve as many rituals as we can.”

“Sure,” Lillian mumbled, her thoughts elsewhere. At first, the gargoyle hadn’t done anything to make her think his emotions went beyond the relationship of long–standing ward and protector. She laughed at her own reasoning—a day and a half wasn’t anywhere near enough time to become acquainted with another person’s dreams and longings. But even then, she’d swear she’d detected a recent change in the gargoyle. There was now something in his manner toward her: a gentleness which was sometimes accompanied by a lingering touch that hinted at a deep unacknowledged yearning. What would she do if there was truth to Sable’s comment and Gregory did see her as more than his ward?

A new thought saved her from having to answer that question.

Maybe he’d always had those emotions, and it was her outlook which had changed. That was her most disturbing thought yet. She poked at her own emotions, examining them. Yes, if she was truthful with herself, her view of him had changed the moment she’d seen him walk down the stairs, his bare human feet making no noise. From the first moment he’d awoke from the stone sleep, she’d cared for him. He was a part of her, embedded in her soul, but she’d seen him as a male, not a man. She’d been blind, but she couldn’t fool herself anymore.

Not that it mattered. She’d never get the truth out of him. Any attempt to get answers led to more evasions. If she wanted to know his emotions, she’d first have to find a way to loosen his jaws.

Right.

A rock was as talkative.

****

The others had left her to prepare themselves. While Lillian waited, she gazed out the window, straining to see the darker silhouette of her tree against the black sky. Ah, there it was: a towering shadow, surveying her domain. Close to forty feet in twelve years, even for a Redwood that was fast. Unnatural. She should have known something was not right. But she had grown with it and the tree didn’t seem supernatural to her. It was simply a part of her life, like the statue of the gargoyle. Whether she liked it or not, she
was
a dryad, and didn’t have the first idea how to be one.

One problem at a time. She went through her mental checklist again.

Survive the Wild Hunt.

Don’t do anything foolish.

Pretend it wasn’t jealousy which tightened her stomach when one of the other dryads fawned over the gargoyle.

Simple.

Right.

With a rattle and a slight creak of hinges, the door eased open. She knew the intruder. She was attuned to him, linked by some strange magic she didn’t understand and didn’t want to question. He walked up behind her, his bare feet silent. She turned to face him. He stood so close the corner of her shawl slapped his arm. Her human–formed gargoyle had dispensed with his invisibility magic and revealed all his fierce beauty. Even though he wasn’t in his gargoyle form, he was still taller than her, and she had to crane her head. Unblinking dark eyes returned her gaze. The gargoyle bowed his head and inhaled a deep breath, his eyelashes dark against his skin.

A wave of self–consciousness tightened her stomach and dampened her palms. She smoothed a hand over her hips as she checked for bulges or wrinkles in the strange fabric. There were none. The dress fit perfectly.

With his head down, she hadn’t realized he’d opened his eyes. He shifted positions to better take her in with one look which raked the length of her body. If he’d been much of a talker, she’d have called him speechless, but his silences were normal. She’d come to recognize nuances in the silence, like it was another form of communication to him. One he was fluent in, and she was still learning.

“Beautiful.” He whispered the one word like it hurt him to speak. Then he spun away, gone in the next heartbeat.

She could feel him retreat, heading down the stairs to the main floor. When she turned her focus inward, she could see through his eyes as he headed out to where the vehicles waited. His one word still hung in the air, and a strange heat swelled under her heart. He thought she was beautiful. The other dryads were far more elegant, but he thought her beautiful. She smiled and hugged her shawl closer as she left the room to follow in his footsteps.

****

The road divided two worlds. On one side of the winding gravel road, a deep wooded ravine waited calm and mysterious, and on the other, the metal ribs of a derelict sawmill jutted up into the star–speckled night sky. The moon illuminated the land around the mill. The area had gone wild again, forest creeping back in, ready to reclaim the land. The contrast was eerie, like the surreal footage of a post–apocalyptic world. She shivered, cold down to her core. Instinctively, Lillian looked in the review mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gargoyle riding in the truck bed.

Her eyes found no sign of him, but she could feel him in her mind, his legs braced to hold him in place and his wings cupped to catch the wind. He loved the speed, and the cold air. Lillian’s lips turned up at the gargoyle’s joy.

Lillian heard the heavy pulse of drumming before Gran turned into an overgrown driveway. The chain–link gate was thrown wide, tilting off to one side, partially unhinged where rust had eaten its way through the metal. Other cars were already parked and more arrived from other directions as she took in the scene.

“All this is ours.” Gran swept her arms up and out, the gesture encompassing the mill and the surrounding forest. “The Coven and the Clans pooled resources and bought it from a logging company back in the seventies. It was one of our first joint acquisitions. It didn’t look like much then, but it came cheaply. As far as anyone knows, we’re an environmentally minded company specializing in rehabilitation, restoration and sustainable forestry.” She smiled. “While it’s not the whole truth, it isn’t a lie either.”

Lillian grunted. That sounded like her life. There certainly hadn’t been a lot of truth telling there either. If anything, the gargoyle was the most honest with his long silences.

Smoothing her skirt over her legs, she wiggled as she tried to get out of the truck without flashing everyone. Lillian silently damned all trucks to hell, and double damned skirts with slits up the sides.

Before Lillian could blink, Gregory was next to her, shapeshifted to look human once again. He gripped her around the waist and lifted. With a squeak, she slapped her hands down on his shoulders for balance. Even after he’d set her on her feet, his hands lingered a moment. She stood there staring, unable to think of something to say even when he captured one of her hands and ran his thumb over the back.

A serious debate about kissing him was going on in her mind when a throat was cleared.

“Come,” Gran said. “The others are waiting.”

Lillian returned to herself with a blush. A large group of complete strangers had gathered around. The gargoyle’s invisibility magic was an interesting power and one she would have put to use about now.

She ducked her head, and when Gregory trailed after Gran, Lillian followed. She didn’t have much choice. Gregory hadn’t released her hand. She was so focused on not stepping in puddles or doing something else to embarrass herself, she missed when the crowd of strangers broke up into smaller groups. They all headed toward the vast crouched shadow of the abandoned sawmill.