Forged: The World of Nightwalkers (10 page)

The temperature was dropping rapidly, even colder than it had been when the storm had started. She could hear the heavily laden trees creaking as the wind rushed between them.

“Karma! Come on, girl!”

Karma did so happily, another indication that it was getting colder. Normally she would have been hard to get back indoors. But even with her thick coat of fur she had reached her limit, and despite thick down, so had Kat.

After coming indoors, she was a bit at loose ends and quickly became bored. She moved into the bedroom and, since she’d already cleaned up all the soiled gauze and such, she found herself picking up his cut up jeans from the floor. That was when she realized there was something in one of the pockets.

It was a necklace. A very pretty silver and onyx necklace. The silver was an oval disk, polished to a shine so that she could see a mirrored image of herself within. It was rimmed with highly polished black pearl-like stones. She guessed they were onyx, but perhaps their luster meant they were pearls. She wasn’t exactly a gemologist so she didn’t know. All she did know was that the pendant was very beautiful and very old. She had a weakness for very beautiful and very old things. That was why she felt absolutely no guilt when she hurried to the mirror and dropped the thing over her head, lifting her hair and letting it settle. As if it were made just for her, the pendant rested perfectly flat at the top of her cleavage.

“Ooo. Pretty,” she whispered, fondling the thing, feeling the cold metal and stones between her fingers.

She probably should have taken it off right away, but since he was out cold she didn’t see the harm in wearing it for a little while longer. He would never know, she told herself. And that was why an hour later she was toying with it, running the loose pendant up and down the chain. The chain had no clasp, no beginning, and no end, just delicate links that shone and glittered.

Suddenly, the freight train screeched to a halt. He awoke with a roar, shoving himself out of the bed in a
huge leap until he was crashing into the wall and her innocent little hand-painted bedside lamp was lying like an incandescent murder victim on the floor. He had both hands clenched into fists and at the ready, and his skin rippled into stone and then flesh again like a rolling wave changes the color of the sand.

She leapt to her feet, holding out a steadying hand.

“It’s okay! You’re okay!” she said quickly and loudly, never knowing what might penetrate into his dubious awareness. He glared at her distrustingly for a full fifteen seconds before his darting eyes had taken in his surroundings and allowed him to relax just a fraction. Then he seemed to reconcile where he was and with a great exhalation he relaxed, slowly releasing the clench of his fists.

It was strange, but of all the thousands of questions she wanted to ask him, at the top of the list seemed to be
Who the hell hurt you?
It shouldn’t have been. At the top of the list should have been
What the hell are you?
But in all fairness, it was a close second. And since she doubted she was going to get an answer to the first, she thought she’d shoot for second best.

“C-can you tell me something?” she asked hesitantly. “Can you tell me why your skin does that … that stone thing?”

For a second he had an expression on his face like he had been caught with his pants down around his ankles … only she doubted such a thing would make him feel self-conscious. He just didn’t seem the type to care much about what others thought of him. Then again, she had, like, a total sum of thirty minutes to go by, so how would she know?

For a second she had the feeling he was going to tell her to mind her own beeswax, but after a momentary debate he ran a hand back through his wild black hair
and eyed her as if judging just how much truth she could actually handle.

“I’m no’ sure you want tae know that,” he said cautiously, his body listing to the left. He was bleeding once more. With a tsk of sound she put her cup down and grabbed more 5-×-5s. She came up to him and approaching with a little caution she pressed them over his saturated bandage and leaned her weight into him. It pushed him back against the wall, which was good because it gave her a little counterforce.

“It’s kind of the elephant in the room no matter how you look at it,” she said, daring a look up at him. His amber eyes glittered in the muted light of the room, reminding her that her lamp lay on the floor. That made her frown. She’d found it in an antique barn for a song. It’d been one of her favorite acquisitions.

“Most humans canna handle the truth of things,” he said darkly.

Most humans? Was there something other than humans to be found? She kept in mind what she’d seen so far and swallowed hard.

“Try me out. If I panic you can knock me unconscious or something. In fact, if I panic I’ll probably thank you for it.”

“Just the same,” he said cautiously.

“Try me,” she repeated.

“Verra well. I’m a Gargoyle.”

She blinked. Like an owl, she blinked again. “I don’t understand. You’re … a mean ugly statue at the top of Notre Dame cathedral? Or more cute like the Disney versions?” She swallowed noisily, hoping for the latter. Knowing otherwise.

“We doona all live on churches,” he scoffed, as if she had stereotyped him. She didn’t see how that was possible since she knew of only one Gargoyle. One living breathing moving one, that is.

“Okay,” she said carefully. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious,” she said after a delicate clearing of her throat, “but despite the occasional flash of stone, you’re kind of made of flesh and bone.”

He laughed, the gravelly sound of it suddenly taking on a whole new meaning for her. “Aye,” he agreed, “that I am. Half of the time. And the other half I’m solid stone with wings and as ugly a face as you ever did see.”

“Oh,” she said. Then without thinking she asked. “Can you show me? Like, on purpose?”

“Nay, I canna,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “No’ right now.”

“Why not?” she asked, unable to quell her curiosity.

“ ’Tis a long story. Ye doona want to hear it.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

“I doona think you know what you want because you doona know what you ask.”

“Nice. Way to condescend,” she said darkly.

That made his brow furrow. “I only mean tae say if you think you’re scared now, an explanation will no’ make things better.”

“I see,” she said, unable to help nibbling on her lip a bit nervously. “But I was just wondering—”

“Jesus, woman!” he burst out, half exasperated, half laughing at her. “Verra well, then. All the wee things that go bumpy in the night are real. Djynns, Phoenixes, and the like, Wraiths … and some things you never heard of before.”

“Gh-ghosts? You’re telling me ghosts are real?”

“Wraiths,” he corrected, wincing when she pushed a little too hard into him.

“Phoenixes,” she whispered. “What about Vampires? Werewolves?”

“No, no such thing. They’re called Nightwalkers. There’re six breeds. Wraiths, Mysticals, Djynns, Bodywalkers,
Night Angels, and Phoenixes. Six Nightwalkers in all.”

“Wait, that makes seven. Gargoyles makes seven.”

“No”—he shook his saturnine head—“Gargoyles are no’ Nightwalkers. We’re … more like scions of a Nightwalker breed called Bodywalkers. And if you want a better explanation, I’ll need to be off my feet.”

“Oh! Oh, of course!” She immediately pulled the gauze back, checking and seeing that the bleeding had stopped again. For now. She helped him the short distance into the bed, tucking pillows behind his back when he was clearly determined to sit up. She pretended not to notice when he made an appreciative sound down around the area of her cleavage.

And suddenly, just like that, he grabbed hold of her by her arms and gave her such a good shake her eyeballs clattered around in her head.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded roughly, grabbing for the pendant.

She had the conscience to color.

“I’m sorry. I found it in your pocket and it was so pretty … I couldn’t help my—”

“Off!
Now
!” he all but bellowed into her face.

“All
right
!” she snapped. “Jeez, don’t have a conniption! I was just trying—”

“Off!”
He made like he was ready to rip the thing free of her neck and fearful for the life of the pendant she hurriedly went to take it off. Bad enough he’d killed one antique already.

“I know, it’s for your wife right? You’re right, it was wrong of me to put it on. But I promise I didn’t hurt it.”

“Why aren’t you taking it off then?” he demanded to know.

“I am!”

“No, you aren’t, you keep picking it up and putting it back down.”

“I am not!” she said, picking the pendant up.

And letting go of it again.

Their eyes met, hers perplexed and his stormy. “I’ll do it,” he said, grabbing the necklace.

Kat felt a solid punch in her chest and she went flying through the air and into the far wall. The air kicked out of her lungs as she dropped hard to the floor a second later. On the opposite side of the room, her houseguest was scrambling out of bed. She felt dwarfed as he loomed over her and she flinched when he lifted his hands toward her.

“Please don’t!” she cried, her body still trying to regain full oxygen to her lungs.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” he said, touching her anyway, pulling her upright into a sitting position and gingerly cradling her cheek in one of his large hands. She felt suddenly fragile and far too delicate in the face of him.

“D-did you hit me?” she asked tremulously, more than a little pique in the words. She didn’t exactly remember him making contact with her body, but how else would they explain her flight across the room.

“No! I wouldna hit a defenseless woman!” he said, utterly affronted by the suggestion. “Most especially the woman who saved my arse from certain death.”

“Oh.” She coughed and rubbed at her aching chest. She felt as though she were going to have a solid bruise come evening. “Then what happened?”

“Must be a bloody curse,” he muttered under his breath to himself.

“A curse? All right did you say … a
curse
?”

“Aye,” he said grimly, clearly seriously believing his own supposition. “You doona ken the kind of world I come from, lass. Curses and wishes and the like happen all of the time. I ought to know. My stone self, the beast I became and can become, it’s an elaborate sort of curse.”

“You mean … you used to be h-human? All human?”

“Aye,” he said with a tight nod, clearly not happy discussing it. “But I doona want to talk about it. Let’s get you on your feet. There’s a good lass.”

Ahnvil reached out to gently palpate her ribcage and she squealed and batted him away. “Stop that!” she cried. “There’s been more than enough fondling for one night.”

He smiled as naughty as a wolf plotting to use a shortcut to grandmother’s house. “There’s no such thing as too much fondling,” he said. “But I doona ken your meaning. I’ve no’ fondled you, though I canna say the idea hasna crossed my mind before this. Though I admit I was thinking about you doing all the fondling. Ye’ve a fair fine pair of hands on you lass, soft and sure. I’d be lying to say otherwise.”

“You could have gone with not saying anything at all,” she muttered, scrubbing a hand at one of her blushing cheeks. Then she stopped and looked at him oddly. “What the hell is your name?” she thought to ask suddenly.

“Ahnvil.”

“Oh.” Then a second later, “Seriously? You were born and your mom looked at you and thought ‘Ahnvil, that’s the way to go!’ ”

“Nay, lass. ’Tis no’ my original birth name. ’Tis the name I chose after my second birth. It’s spelled A-h-n-v-i-l. The
h
is silent.”

“That’s a very odd spelling. Why the
h?
And what do you mean by second birth? Are you, like, a born-again Christian or something?”

“No, lass. What’s your name?” he countered, obviously evading her questions.

“Kat. Short for Katrina.” She figured first names were as far as she was willing to go.

“Well, Kat lass, I’m a wee bit tired, so I’m going to go back to your fine bed and have a rest.”

“But what about this necklace?” she wanted to know, trying twice more to take it off by the time she reached the bed, and both times inexplicably letting go of it the minute she thought of pulling it over her head.

“Well,” he said, sitting on the bed and taking a minute to catch his breath. He was so very pale and she realized it was from his blood loss. But she had no basis for comparison because she had no idea if he was normally pale. She might have thought he was tanned, because he seemed so strong and potentially outdoorsy, only he had an obvious aversion to daylight, which was something she completely understood. “We canna do anything about it at the moment. So it’s best to let it lie. I doona want tae hurt you trying to take it off again.”

“Oh. Okay.” She could appreciate that. She fondled it for a second. “It’s very pretty, but I don’t think I want to be stuck wearing it for the rest of my life,” she said worriedly.

“I doona think it will come tae that,” Ahnvil lied. “I’ve a few people I can go tae for help.” He listened for a minute to the howl of the wind that had picked up outside again. “But it will have tae wait until after the storm.”

She scoffed. “Longer than that,” she said. “You’re not going anywhere for quite some time.”
Although
, she thought,
anyone else would have been unable to even move after those awful wounds
.

“ ’Tis cute the way you worry about me,” he said with a chuckle.

“Shut up!” she said, flushing under his teasing regard. “I’m just doing what any good person would do. Besides, if I don’t take care of you I’ll never get this thing off.”

She picked up the necklace. It was so shiny and pretty. It felt smooth and cool in the center, but when she touched it, even when she tried, she left no fingerprints on it. She found herself looking into the disc in the center
of it, her reflection clear as if in any mirror. Only, somehow she looked different in it. Not distorted per se … just … hazy. She’d be looking at herself and it’d start off normal but after a moment she would sort of fuzz over.