Chapter Ten
Where are all the men? Rhys sent to Olivia as the women grew closer. I feel like I’m bobbing on a sea of estrogen.
“Vampires, remember? They’re all in the Daysleep.”
All of them? Remembering Buffy the Vampire Slayer, he asked, What, do they get explosive sunburns?
Olivia slanted him a grin. “Closer to radiation burns. Sunlight can be fatal if they’re trapped in it long enough, but they don’t become insta-crispy.”
What about crosses, garlic, and mirrors?
“They’re not evil, Rhys, so crosses don’t bother them. The other two are pure BS. Peasants thought if you didn’t have a soul you wouldn’t cast a reflection . . .”
Yeah, because that makes sense. Chairs cast reflections—do chairs have souls?
“There you go. God knows where the garlic thing comes from.”
Sounds like vampire myths are about as accurate as Arthurian legend.
A dark-haired, catlike beauty moved to join Kel. She was dressed in a suit jacket and a short, tight skirt, both in an aggressive shade of red that matched her lipstick and lethal stilettos. She eyed Rhys and Olivia with cool suspicion as she said to Kel, “I assume you have some reason to bring this griffin through the city wards, given that griffins are neither our allies or known for having warm, friendly personalities.”
Olivia stepped closer to the woman and held out a hand. “I’m Olivia Flynn. You must be Morgana Le Fay. Kel and Gawain spoke of you frequently during the war.”
The woman arched a dark brow at Olivia’s extended palm. “Oddly, they never spoke of you at all.”
Rhys stared. Morgana Le Fay? King Arthur’s evil sister? The mother of Mordred, who’d led a rebellion against Arthur and destroyed Camelot?
The witch pivoted on a red heel and stared coolly. He realized he’d lifted his head from his paws.
“The legends are wrong about me,” she said in a subzero voice. “As they’re wrong about so very much.”
How the hell had she known what he was thinking? Had he accidentally projected his thoughts, or was she some kind of telepath? Considering this was Morgana Le Fay, either was possible.
Rhys lowered his head and forced himself to play Good Doggie again before he got himself blasted. He might have more power than she did, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk it. And chances were, she knew how to use hers a lot better than he did. Like 1500 years better.
“Don’t get pissy, Morgana,” Kel said, sounding faintly amused.
Magic struck like a thunderbolt. By the time Rhys blinked the sparks away, a man stood where the dragon had been. Dark blue hair fell past his shoulders, but his eyes were the same crimson. Kel had shifted shape just as Rhys longed to do. “Actually, Gawain and I spoke of Olivia in our reports a great deal.” His voice was only a little less deep in human form. “Her name was Jocelyn Martin at the time.”
Morgana’s frozen expression thawed slightly. “Isn’t she the one who saved your scaly tail when the Germans kicked in the door?”
Kel nodded. Noticing Rhys’s interest, he explained, “Gawain was in the Daysleep, and I was barely awake at all. Jocelyn shielded us when the SS opened up on us. And if they’d shot Gawain, I’d have died, too.”
Now Morgana offered her hand to Olivia. “Ahhh, yes. Your assistance was invaluable on a number of missions.”
“Kel and Gawain saved my life, too—more than once.” The look she sent Kel was warm enough to give Rhys a little stab of jealousy.
“But I think we still owe you one or two,” the dragon knight put in. “If you need help, it’s yours. I’m sure Gawain would agree.”
“Given my current situation, I wouldn’t turn it down.” She moved over to Rhys and laid a hand on his head. “This is Rhys Kincade.”
“Which doesn’t exactly sound like a griffin name to me,” Morgana observed.
“Until today, we didn’t even know he was a griffin.” She paused. “Assuming he is.”
“It seems the sort of thing he would’ve noticed.” Kel observed, amusement in his tone.
“He lives on Mortal Earth, where he’s always been under the impression he was human. Even his foster parents had no idea. First we knew that he might be something else was when Gorin sprang a trap on him that tossed him into the Mageverse, triggering his transformation.”
“And he’s unable to speak for himself?” Morgan asked.
Rhys lifted his head and tried to say, “I don’t exactly have a mouth,” but all that emerged was a growl so loud, it made even Morgana jump.
“Well, yes,” the witch drawled, recovering fast. “I suppose the beak would make speech a little difficult.”
Kel eyed him thoughtfully. “Griffins normally communicate telepathically through images. It makes having a conversation with them a little tricky. That, and the fact they are not particularly friendly to begin with.” Then he lifted a brow at Olivia. “Did you say Gorin was involved in this? The same Sidhe who murdered your family?”
“Yes,” Olivia said shortly. “Evidently someone hired him to kill Rhys.”
“Maybe you’d better start at the beginning,” Morgana suggested.
A memory flashed through Rhys’s mind—an image of Olivia, pale and freezing on that park bench. She could have died then. She could have died when the werewolves attacked a moment later. The thought sent a flare of rage and worry spiking through his brain.
Morgana visibly flinched, and someone in the crowd made a sound of pain. “Well, it seems you can communicate after all.”
Kel gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You do care about her, don’t you?” Before he could think of an answer to that, the knight continued, “You may want to turn down the volume before you give us all a headache.”
Rhys concentrated on keeping his thoughts to himself as Olivia detailed what had happened. Most of the crowd drifted away and went about their business, leaving Kel, Morgana, and a few others to listen.
One of them was a woman with curling, shoulder-length dark hair. A black cat rode on one shoulder. It had strange smoke-gray stripes along its forelegs and haunches, a pattern of markings he’d never seen on a house cat.
Olivia was describing the geas when the beast jumped from the woman’s shoulders and strolled over. Sitting back on his haunches, the animal looked up at her in the universal cat signal that he wanted to be picked up. Olivia absently reached down and obliged.
She almost dropped him when the cat said in a deep, resonate voice, “You’re not under a geas, child.” As she stared at him, wide-eyed, the cat extended its head until its black nose brushed hers. “You’ve got an elemental.”
Olivia stiffened. Unlike Rhys, she evidently knew what that meant. “That’s impossible. How would I have acquired an elemental without knowing it? Besides, I haven’t even set foot in the Mageverse in sixty years.”
Rhys concentrated very hard on the question he wanted to ask. Once again everyone flinched.
The house cat flicked him a look. “Do turn the volume down, boy.”
Which takes a lot of balls for someone who wouldn’t even make a decent mouthful.
He’d evidently broadcast the thought without intending to, because the cat leaped out of Olivia’s arms. “I’ll show you a mouthful.” Magic boiled.
With a shout of surprise, Olivia leaped back as an enormous striped beast easily twice the size of a tiger took the cat’s place. The beast bared teeth almost as long as Kel’s. “I’d watch the threats if I were you. Any fight with me, you’d lose.”
“I’m sure he meant no offense,” Olivia said, all but babbling. “He’s not in control of his telepathy yet.”
She turned toward Rhys, her eyes imploring him not to make trouble. “An elemental is an energy being from a parallel dimension where magic is even stronger than it is in the Mageverse. The creatures there are pure magic—enormously powerful. They fought a war millennia ago, and many of them fled to Mageverse Earth. They can’t survive here without physical hosts, so they must meld with animals or Sidhe.”
The huge black tiger-thing sat back on his muscled haunches. “I’m an elemental. Or at least part of me is. My elemental half possessed a Mageverse tiger—basically this form—and became a god to a tribe of Stone Age Sidhe. Eventually, the two of us inhabited one of the Sidhe. Now all three of us are called Smoke.” He looked up at Olivia. “And if I’m right, you’re now in a similar boat.”
“But what’s the point?” Olivia demanded, raking iridescent hair out of her face. “Why put me on that park bench for Rhys to find? Why amplify my magic sometimes and fight me at others?”
“I have no idea,” Smoke said. Crystalline blue eyes narrowed. “The obvious thing to do is to ask your guest.” He tapped a paw on the cobblestones in front of him. “Have a seat, child. Let’s see if I can communicate with this elemental of yours.”
Olivia looked dubious, but she sat down where he indicated.
Once again, magic surged up around the big cat. When the light faded, he was a tall, dark-haired man, his shoulder-length black hair striped in the same pattern as the cat’s coat. When he reached toward her face, Rhys’s head came up with a rumbling growl.
Smoke flicked him a look. “Calm down, boy. I’m not going to do anything to your pretty fairy.” He cupped Olivia’s face in one big hand. Again, ancient magic gathered around them . . .
A bolt of green lightning shot out of the center of Olivia’s head, slammed into the tiger man, and blasted him across the cobblestones.
“Smoke!” The dark-haired girl he’d come with raced to his side. As she fell to her knees, a rack of antlers appeared over her head, glowing ghostly blue. “Smoke, are you all right?”
Rhys was a lot more worried about Olivia, who’s collapsed on her back, blinking at the sky with a dazed expression. Kel hurried to kneel by her side.
Rhys jolted to his feet, his first impulse to snatch her up. But if she’s injured, moving her is a really bad idea . . . Frustration and worry sharpened his mental voice as he called, Olivia? He craned his neck to see over the witches gathering around her and the cat guy, as Kel checking for injuries.
“‘M all right,” she muttered, sounding dazed. She sat up, making an obvious effort.
Maybe you should stay down.
“No, I’m fine. It just took me by surprise. Smoke’s right—there’s an elemental inside me. And it didn’t like him trying to contact it at all.” Kel caught her hand and helped her to her feet. She moved slowly, as if her head hurt.
And damn, Rhys wished she’d stay down.
A thought occurred to him. Why can you understand what I’m saying, when everyone else is having trouble?
“I have no idea. None of this makes a damn bit of sense.”
“And it won’t until you can talk to the elemental,” Smoke told her. Despite the attack, he looked none the worse for wear, though he was once more in house-cat form. The dark-haired girl who held him wore the grim expression of a woman whose lover had just had far too close a call. “And it’s going to have to be you, because that elemental is definitely not going to talk to me.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” She swayed.
Before Rhys could try to help her, Kel caught her by the elbow, steadying her.
Rhys felt a stab of frustrated jealousy. That should be his job, dammit. Trouble was, he felt as ungainly as an elephant, more likely to hurt her than do her any good.
“We should be able to teach you some meditation techniques that may be able to help,” the dragon knight told her, his smile reassuring.
“And in the meantime,” Morgana added, “you’re welcome to stay in Avalon while you get the kinks ironed out.”
Olivia gave the witch a weary smile and rubbed her forehead. “We’d appreciate it, but are you sure you want to get involved? What if the griffins are the ones behind this? You could end up in a war.”
Smoke snorted. “Oh, they’re definitely in this up to their pointy beaks. I couldn’t get much from the elemental, but I did get the impression it sees the griffins as its . . . people, I suppose you could say. That or property. Plus, the way it communicated reminded me of griffins I’ve butted heads with in the past. They do not play well with others, and they have the magical muscle to back up the bad attitude.”
“All of this connects to the griffins somehow,” Olivia agreed. “But I’m damned if I see how it all fits together.” She shot Morgana a troubled frown. “But what if the griffins decide to attack Avalon?”
Kel snorted. “Even an army of griffins couldn’t get through this city’s wards.”
Morgana nodded. “Not after we beefed them up following the Werewolf War.”
Olivia blinked. “You fought a war with the Direkind? I didn’t hear about this.”
“We didn’t exactly advertise.”
“I thought they were supposed to be on your side.”
Morgana shrugged. “A cult leader convinced them we’d gone to the dark side.”
“We had to show them the error of their ways.” The savage growl edging Smoke’s words should be coming out of something a lot bigger than a house cat. “And we did.”
Having seen him in his other form, Rhys could believe it. He gave the cat a considering look, then concentrated hard on what he wanted to say.
The cat’s head rocked back as if the words had physical weight and Rhys had hit him with them. “Can we teach you how to fight?”
Rhys nodded happily. Well, that worked. Now if only he could do it again . . .
The little beast gave him a long look, head cocked. “Given the circumstances, combat training would probably be smart. I can teach you how to fight like a cat, but flying . . .” Smoke looked around at Kel. “Can you give him lessons in aerial combat? That’s obviously not in my wheelhouse.”
“Sure.” The dragon knight gave him a friendly smile. “In the meantime, you two will need a place to stay. You can bunk with Nineva and me—we’ve probably got the only house in town with a room big enough to accommodate you.”
Olivia smiled back. “We’d be grateful.”
And Rhys was. Unfortunately, his caveman instincts did not appreciate the warmth in her eyes. She’s mine, dammit.
No, she’s not, he tried to tell his inner Caveman Ug. We’re not even dating.
Ug sneered.
And God, he hoped he hadn’t inadvertently broadcasted that little internal conversation to all and sundry. Giving the crowd a cautious scan, Rhys was relieved to see no one smirking. Not even Olivia was looking at him; she was in low-voiced conversation with Kel.
Ug snarled.
* * *
Kel’s home occupied a hill on the outskirts of Avalon, complete with a six hundred-foot cliff of white stone. Terraced gardens spread along the other sides of the hill, blooming despite the winter temperatures thanks to the magic that protected them. A lake curled around the base of the hill, providing a magnificent view for the house built into the hillside. The stone and glass that formed the home’s facade seemed to blend seamlessly into the hill.
Olivia gaped around in awe from her perch on Rhys’s back. He’d conjured straps and a saddle to let her ride in safety.
Which was infinitely preferable to clinging to his foreleg in panic.
Magic foamed around them like a great wave as Rhys followed the dragon past the hill to a huge circular skylight in one of the terraces. The glass vanished as they neared it, and they flew inside.
“Damn,” Olivia said, impressed, as they spiraled down into a huge cavern. Pillars carved with dragons supported the arching stone ceiling. Below them lay an indoor garden whose delicious scent teased her nose as they descended. Colorful flowerbeds were laid out in complicated geometric designs among towering trees and enormous rose bushes. Statues depicting dragons, mounted knights, and medieval ladies posed among the greenery. A waterfall spilled down a water feature into a small pool, filling the air with a musical babble. Steam hovered over the pool’s surface in drifting wisps.
Kel landed neatly in a wide, grassy open area obviously intended for just that purpose. As he folded his wings, his wife scrambled down from his back as if she did it every day—as she probably did. The dragon shifted into human form in a fountain of sparks, leaving plenty of room for Rhys.
He hit the grass hard enough to click Olivia’s back teeth together. “You really need to work on those landings,” she told him.
Shaking out his wings as if he ached, he snapped his beak. Goddess knew what that meant, though it sounded a little irritated.
“This place is stunning,” Olivia told their hosts, trying to figure out how to dismount. Like most Sidhe, she was skilled in the saddle, but riding something Rhys’s size was an entirely different matter. She finally gave up on the problem, dissolved the saddle and levitated to the ground. “Somebody’s got quite the green thumb to keep everything thriving in a cave like this.”
“Thanks,” Nineva said, looking pleased. “We cheat, though. Magic makes a good substitute for sunlight, if you’re willing to pour enough power into it.” She was lovely even by Sidhe standards, with a heart-shaped face and opalescent eyes that sparked and glowed with a hundred colors. Her blond hair had been cut in a short style that revealed her pointed ears. All she’d need to pass for Tinkerbell was a pair of dragonfly wings. “I can’t really take the credit. It’s more Kel’s doing than mine.”
“You designed it, darling,” her husband said.
“Yes, but it’s your magic.”
That much was obvious. The whole place practically throbbed with the deep, thrumming power Olivia associated with dragons.
“Are you folks hungry?” Nineva asked. “I thought we’d eat in here—it’s a great place for a picnic.”
God, yes, Rhys’s mental voice said. My stomach is about to declare a mutiny.
When Olivia laughed, her hostess lifted an inquiring blond brow.
“Rhys says all the flying he did today gave him an appetite.”
Kel grinned. “By which he means, ‘I could eat a hippo with a side order of water buffalo.’ Winging it burns a hell of a lot of calories.”
* * *
A few spells later, they all clustered around an enormous blanket; Olivia had seen smaller sails back in her days as a merchant captain. Rhys and Kel shared immense platters of venison, a couple of whole turkeys, and two roast pigs. The knight had reassumed his dragon form, though not his full size, so he and his guest could dine more comfortably. Olivia wasn’t surprised his body’s dimensions were so flexible; when she’d known him during the war, he’d been small enough to wrap around the hilt of Gawain’s sword. Not that his size had been voluntary. He’d been under a curse cast by his dragon uncle at the time.
Slicing a bite of the stuffed roast pheasant her hostess had conjured, Olivia almost moaned at the taste. It had been cooked in the Sidhe style, and the combination of delicate Mageverse spices, fruits, and nuts reminded her of family feast days when she was a girl. “Oh, God, I think I just had an orgasm in my mouth.”
Kel’s laughter made the wineglasses ring. Nineva grinned in pleasure. “That’s quite the compliment.”
“This is quite the meal. Thanks so much for putting us up tonight.”
“You saved my husband’s life. The least I could do is feed you.”
Olivia glanced across the blanket at their enormous companions. Rhys was staring down at the bowl of venison in front of him. Though it was impossible to read his expressions in this form—he managed to look fierce even when he was laughing—frustration boiled in his mental voice. How in the hell am I supposed to eat this? I can’t even find my mouth.
He bent and opened his beak, but its curve blocked his view of the food when he picked up a chunk between his claws. It promptly fell out of his beak the minute he lifted his head. Goddammit!
“Not like that,” Kel told him kindly. “Use your magic to levitate the food.” A chunk of meat rose in the air to hover above the dragon’s head, and he snapped it out of the air. “Try that.”
Rhys nodded as a chunk of venison rose from his own plate to hang overhead. Opening his beak, he dropped it inside.
Only to discover he’d forgotten he didn’t have teeth and couldn’t chew. He coughed and choked before discovering he could swallow it whole.
Partly to distract her lover from his embarrassed misery, Olivia looked at Kel. “So how did you get out of Gawain’s sword?”
“With a lot of help from Gawain and a witch named Lark, who’s now his wife.” Kel launched into a story about a demonic son of one of the Knights of the Round Table who’d formed a partnership with Kel’s uncle.
He was such a good storyteller Rhys forgot to feel self-conscious. By the time the knight had finished his tale, Rhys was snapping bits of meat out of the air like a kid catching popcorn in his mouth. It didn’t surprise Olivia that he was a quick study; she’d noticed as much when she’d taught him those Sidhe spells the day before.
But if he has trouble just eating, how’s he supposed to fight a pack of killers who are far more experienced at griffin combat?
* * *
At last their hosts headed off to bed, leaving Olivia and Rhys in possession of the cavern.
After magicking herself clean, she replaced her clothing with a pretty, white nightgown. Normally Olivia slept naked, but she suspected that would only remind Rhys of what they couldn’t do.
As she crawled into the bed she’d conjured, he gave her a long look. Though it was almost impossible to read his expression, she could sense his pain and longing. I’m going to try that transformation spell one more time.
When he closed his golden eyes, the familiar blast of power boiled around him, hot and bright, singeing her skin. Hair rose on the back of her neck with an emotion almost akin to religious awe.
He should have looked unbelievable, ridiculous—a lion the size of an elephant with the head and wings of an eagle. Yet somehow his disparate parts seemed to fit as perfectly as when he’d been merely human.
There was something so intensely regal about him. Part of it was the ruff of feathers that mantled his head and shoulders like a leonine mane, while a pair of longer feathered tufts stood on either side of his head like pointed ears.
More feathers spread down his back to powerful wings and a fan-shaped eagle tail. Which was a good thing: if he’d had a lion’s tail like mythological griffins, he wouldn’t have been able to steer when he flew.
The leonine part of him was lean and powerfully muscled, with paws as big around as her waist. All of his body, feathered and not, was the same golden shade as his human hair had been. The unified color scheme helped him avoid the Frankenstein appearance of griffins in medieval woodcuts.
And Goddess, his power.
Magic swirling around him, he mantled his enormous wings and fought to change. The sheer power of his effort made it hard for her to draw breath.
He’s not human. It was true, and yet even as the thought flashed through her mind, Olivia knew it was wrong. No matter what exterior shape he wore, he was still the man she’d come to love so fast.
And she did love him. How could she resist? She’d never known another man like him, not even her husband. Coln had been a wonderful man, kind, generous, and courageous, and they’d shared a deep, quiet love.
The emotion growing between her and Rhys felt stormier than that, restless with sensual hunger. But then, she and Coln had never faced challenges as dire as the ones she and Rhys did. Not until the end, when it killed him.
But that had been her fault, not his. She . . .
The burning wave of magic crested and drained away, leaving Rhys standing with his head hanging, breathing hard with effort.
And still a griffin.
“You’ll figure it out,” Olivia told him quietly. “I have faith in you.”
Hopefully it’s not misplaced, he replied.
“It’s not.” She watched, heart aching, as he moved away from the bed she’d conjured and curled up on the grass beside the pool. Tucking his head under one great wing, he went still, a muscular shadow in the dimness.
Olivia turned toward the bed and started to throw back the covers. And stopped. Dropping the comforter, she pivoted on a bare heel and walked over to him. As he pulled his head out from under his wing, she ducked beneath it and curled against his furry side.
He poked his head under his wing to look at her. Olivia?
“I need you tonight.”
Why? What good am I? The question held a note of bitterness.
“I know this will come as a shock to that male brain of yours, but there’s more to life than sex.”
She’d surprised him—he made a clicking sound she somehow knew was a chuckle. Blasphemy.
Laughing, Olivia nestled against his warm side, enjoying the feel of his thick fur, the scent of him, wild and male. With a sigh, she began to run her hand back and forth over his ribs, listening to his breathing slow and deepen as he fell asleep.
* * *
She dreamed of a pair of griffins who occupied a huge nest built on a great wooden bowl in the branches of an enormous tree. The female griffin—though Olivia had no idea how she knew the creature’s gender—lay curled around a huge egg patterned with iridescent swirls of color, one wing draped protectively over it. Her fur and feathers were the same golden shade as Rhys’s.
A male, an almost incandescent white with gold markings, lay on the egg’s other side. He rumbled a soft, rhythmic sound deep in his throat, almost like a lullaby as he rubbed his beak across her head.
The female made a soft churrrring sound in return, peaceful, almost sleepy. Happy and content.
Olivia’s eyes slid open, and she stared out into the dark, conscious of Rhys’s deep rumble as he lay next to her. It was just a dream. Though he cuddled against her in almost exactly the same pose as the male griffin had around his mate . . .
Which was when noticed the green sparks orbiting her head like a halo. Then again, maybe it was more than a dream.