“Is something wrong?” one of the younger ones asks. He has sandy blond hair, a chiseled jaw, and rough stubble covering his face. Like the others, his flesh is more gray than tan. The discoloration webs across his broad chest, moving along with the veins under his skin, mottled and blotchy.
“It’s locked. I didn’t intend on being thrown off the roof when I went out there.” I’m impressed with the strength of my voice. I’m standing here shivering like mad, looking down the porch steps at four half-man, half-gargoyle creatures. I’m teetering on the edge of losing my shit for real.
“You slipped.” The dark-haired one moves in front of the others. “And I caught you.”
“I wouldn’t have slipped if you hadn’t startled me.”
He diverts his eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. With your permission, my lady, I can take you back to the roof.”
My mouth falls open and I slowly shake my head. He extends his hand and waits on my response. Things are already crazy. Why not take it one step further?
“Sure.”
Heart in my throat, I go down the porch steps. Thunder cracks and he lunges forward, arms going around my waist. It’s been so long since any man has touched me, I’d forgotten how good it feels to be in someone’s embrace.
Even his.
He’s strong, his hold on me unfaltering. My heart jumps and the strange urge to throw my arms around him takes over. Before I have a chance to process anything, he spreads his great wings and takes flight.
Landing on the top of the porch with grace, he keeps his hands around my middle to make sure I’m able to get my footing. He slowly looks me over, hands still on my waist, and inhales deeply. His lips part and the air fills with static tension again. For a brief moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
And for a brief moment, I want him to.
“Gargoyles aren’t supposed to be able to fly,” I say to myself, and shake off his embrace. Hell, gargoyles aren’t supposed to be at all. They’re just creepy statues. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Until now.
My gun is lying near the window. I make a dash for it, feeling a shade better when it’s back in my hands. I turn, expecting him to take a swing or something. My heart is racing and every nerve in my body is on fire from adrenaline.
Yet he just stands there, watching me.
I back away to the open window, mind racing with what the hell to do once I get inside. Slam it shut? Run downstairs and call for backup? Grab my keys and make a run for it? These things can fly. I don’t think I’d be able to get away.
“I’ll open the front door,” I tell him, and slip inside. Water drips onto the hardwood floor as I pull the sash down and twist the locks back into place. I don’t have any spare clothes, and stripping down and wrapping up in a blanket until my clothes dry isn’t an option.
The dresser near the door catches my attention as I leave the room. I pause, turn on the light, and then take a step back to open the top drawer. I rifle through the old clothes and pull out a long black dress. Moving into the bathroom—just in case my new winged friends were watching—I quickly strip out of my wet clothes and slip the dress over my head.
It’s the last thing I’d choose to wear, but at this point, I’m so cold I’d welcome a potato sack if it was dry. I take the back stairs down, hanging my wet clothes on a kitchen chair to dry, and go to the front door.
As much as those things scare me, talking to them is the only way I’ll find out what is happening. With my gun in my right hand, I twist back the deadbolt and open the front door, hoping I’d imagined the whole thing.
I didn’t.
“May we come in?” the biggest of the four asks.
“Why the hell not?” I step aside, watching the large men lumber into the house. What could possibly go wrong? I shut the door and our awkward stare-off resumes. At least we’re out of the rain this time.
“Okay,” I start. “Someone needs to explain what the hell is going on.” The men look at each other in question. “You don’t know?”
“It’s been years.” The big one closes his eyes, thinking. “Centuries.”
“Since you’ve been, uh, alive?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I blink, and look them up and down in the light. They’re dripping wet from the rain but don’t seem to be bothered by the cold. Each is bare-chested, wearing only ragged brown pants that have dirtied over the years from the elements. The pants are wet, clinging to their muscular bodies, and outline every feature. It takes effort to keep my eyes from wandering below the belt.
“How…how did this happen? And who’s Braeya?” I have so many questions, and part of me knows I won’t like all the answers. I shiver again. “Wait, no…who are you?”
“My name is Jacques Clairvaux,” the one who caught me says, pushing his dark, wavy hair out of his face. “These are my brothers Templar. Hasan.” He motions to the biggest one. “Thomas and Gilbert.”
In the light, I see Thomas’s and Gilbert’s sky-blue eyes, contrasting harshly with the dead appearance of their skin. They look at me with curiosity and amusement mixed with something else…hunger, perhaps? But not for food.
Jacques narrows his dark eyes. “Who are you? What did you do to us?”
“I’m Acelina, but everyone calls me Ace. And I didn’t do a damn thing.”
Thomas and Gilbert turn, looking at each other. I’m guessing they are actual blood brothers as well. They look too much alike not to be.
“Then how did we break free from the stone?” Thomas asks, running his eyes over me. He doesn’t even try to stop himself from checking me out. Or hiding the obvious lust the sight of my pert nipples through this thin dress causes him to feel.
I can’t stop shivering. I pull my arms around my body, keeping my finger near the trigger on my gun just in case. Hasan moves through the foyer, going into the two-story living room and right to the fireplace.
“Where is the wood?” he asks, accented voice echoing through the large house.
“I don’t know.” I turn in his direction.
“How can you not know where the wood is?”
“This isn’t my house,” I explain. “Well, I guess it is now. I don’t live here. I’ve never even been here until today.” As soon as the words leave my lips, something clicks into place.
I’ve never set foot inside the house until today.
The gargoyles awoke for the first time in centuries.
You don’t have to be a detective to make the connection, only I don’t know what two things I’m connecting. How could I have anything to do with this? I’ve spent my entire career proving magic and the occult doesn’t exist. I’ve never taken on a case where I failed to provide logic and reason behind the crimes.
Until ten minutes ago, I would have bet my life on the fact that magic wasn’t real. I swallow hard and get hit with a wave of dizziness.
Magic still isn’t real. It can’t be. I turn back around and look at the three men in the foyer. Water drips from their wings.
Wings.
Hasan picks up what’s probably a valuable antique chair and snaps it like a twig, tossing the pieces into the fireplace.
“I’ve gone crazy.” I squeeze my eyes shut, telling myself the gargoyles will be gone when I open them. They’re not. “I’ve cracked. They warned me this could happen. Said I compartmentalized too well, didn’t process the full extent of how fucked up people can be.”
“Acelina,” Jacques starts.
“Ace,” I interrupt. “Call me Ace.”
He gives me a curt nod, not trying at all to hide the indignation he’s feeling. I get the feeling he’s not interrupted often, and definitely not by a woman. “It can be a lot to take in. I myself remember the shock of being cursed.”
“Cursed? So now curses are real, too?” I let out a breath. “I need a drink. And I don’t drink.”
Gilbert comes forward, smirking. “We didn’t believe it either. But the sooner you accept this, the sooner we can figure this out.”
I hold up my hand. “Wait…Templar Knights are from a thousand years ago. How are you even speaking English?”
The smirk vanishes from Gilbert’s face. “A thousand years?”
“Give or take a few hundred.”
He turns to his brother, looking more human than ever. “We’ve been asleep for a thousand years,” he says quietly in disbelief.