Jane Godman - Otherworld Protector

“There was no one else in the car,” the police officer assured her. “Luckily. Anyone in the backseat would have been smashed into a million pieces against that wall.”

The closest she’d got to actually seeing the real him was when she actually was involved in a car accident. She’d been sixteen. A rebellious, studiously unorthodox sixteen-year-old who jumped on the back of the motorcycle of her latest crush. When her protector pulled her from the wreck that time, the only precaution he’d been able to take was to pull his cap down low over his face. She supposed it was because he didn’t have enough time to do anything else before the gas tank exploded.

“Don’t keep hiding from me. I like who you are,” she had told him just before she lost consciousness.

That was what she said again now as she tugged a wrap over her bikini and marched up to the table where he sat.

“Huh?” He looked up in surprise as she took the seat opposite.

“I said I like who you are.”

“Thanks.” His grin was surprisingly boyish and shy. “I think.”

Stella’s heart did a funny little flip as if it had suddenly developed an extra beat. He looked so much younger than she’d expected. He hadn’t aged at all. They stared at each other.

Finally, she spoke again. “All this time.”

“I know.”

He was beautiful. It was not a word Stella usually associated with men, but it suited him. Despite the coiled muscular strength of his body, his face was artistic. If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d have guessed he was a painter, musician or poet. It was something about those high cheekbones, the narrow nose and strong jaw. Don’t keep staring at the gorgeous mouth, she told herself firmly. It was his eyes that drew her most strongly. They were every bit as mesmerizing as she remembered. In the shade they were the color of a faded eucalyptus leaf. As he looked away into the sunlight, they shone like silver coins.

Forcing herself to focus, she asked the first of the many questions that jostled for a place on her lips. “Why have you appeared to me now?”

That broke the spell. A slight frown creased his brow and he pulled his eyes away from hers. “Because you are in grave danger.”

She leaned forward excitedly. “Is this about that meteorite?”

“There was no meteorite, Stella.”

“I knew it! Never mind what Ezra said—” She broke off. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Cal.”

She studied him with her head on one side. “I thought it would be more dramatic. Gabriel, Raphael or something like that. But I like it. It suits you. So tell me about this meteorite that wasn’t a meteorite, Cal.”

“It was a gargoyle.”

Stella wrinkled her nose. “Like the statues you get on churches and cathedrals?”

“Some of them do spend their daytime hibernation crouching on buildings, yes.”

Stella watched him in fascination. Hibernation? Crouching? Those words ascribed a life force to something that could not be alive. How could he speak of something like that so calmly? Her mouth felt uncomfortably dry, and she decided to focus on the mundane rather than the bizarre. “I’ve left my bag down on the beach. Can you get me a bottle of water? I mean, do angels carry cash?”

He grinned and signaled to the waiter. “When I’m here, Stella, I do normal, mortal things. Plus some other stuff.”

“It’s the other stuff that’s starting to bother me.” Stella took a long swig of water. “Okay. How did a stone statue drop out of the sky into the garden of the casa the other night?”

“It glided.”

“Of course it did. Stone is well-known for its aerodynamic qualities.”

He started to laugh. “You’re so... you . Even though they have wings, gargoyles can’t fly. They glide. So it glided into Moncoya’s garden. I think they use the updrafts, the same way a bird does.” He mimed a gliding motion with his arms outstretched.

“Cal, are you seriously trying to tell me gargoyles are living creatures?”

“Not in the sense that humans are. Gargoyles are supernatural beings. During the day they are stone. At night they are flesh, blood, bone and muscle.” He tapped a fingertip against his temple. “Not much in the brain department, sadly.”

Stella exhaled slowly. “Okay, because you are you—and I’ve lived with the reality of you all my life—I’m going to suspend every rational instinct and try to believe you when you say that gargoyles can glide. So we’ve done the ‘how.’ Now the ‘why.’ Why did that particular gargoyle drop in on us the other night? Was it just a social call?”

“It had been sent to get you, Stella.”

“Sent to get me ?” The word came out as an undignified squeak, and she fought to get her voice back under control. “Who by?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t been able to discover that. Yet. There are a number of possibilities.”

Stella glanced over her shoulder. “This is a joke, right? It’s a reality TV show or something. Any minute now someone will jump out with a microphone and we’ll all laugh about how I fell for this.”

“You know that isn’t going to happen.”

She sighed. “If I hadn’t known you all my life, I might have been able to convince myself this was some sort of prank. Unfortunately for me, you exude your own mystical gravitas. So this mystery person who sent a gargoyle after me is the grave danger you’ve come to warn me about?”

He shook his head slowly. “I can deal with gargoyles. They’re a nuisance, but easy to put back in their box. I can also take out whoever sent it.” The declaration should have sounded macho and boastful, but it didn’t. On Cal’s lips, it was a simple statement of fact. “But there is a very powerful being who wants you, Stella. This is one thing I am totally sure of. He wants you very badly and he is known for his determination. You must be on your guard.”

“And this being is...?”

“The king of the faeries.”

“I’m guessing we’re not talking pretty little winged creatures who live at the bottom of the garden.”

Cal shook his head. “This isn’t a child’s fairy tale. Faeries are ancient beings of wonder and enchantment. They have great physical beauty while they bring dire peril in their wake. Their power for destruction is enormous.”

“So how will I recognize the king of the faeries when he comes for me?”

“You already know him.” Stella had a sudden and overpowering premonition that she did not want to hear Cal’s next words. He said them anyway. “His name is Moncoya.”

* * *

Steam swirled around Stella and she exulted in the sensation, allowing the water to play over her aching shoulders. Too much time hunched close to a computer screen left her with a crick in her neck that felt as if it was here to stay. After several minutes of soothing warmth, she turned the shower to cool. The Spanish evening was still and sultry. It felt as if there should be sangria and flamenco guitar awaiting her, not a laptop and a pizza. Stepping from the shower, she wrapped herself in one towel and dried her hair with another. When she emerged from the bathroom, she was startled to find Cal sitting on her bed. He was wearing only a pair of ancient cutoff jeans, and the sight of his golden torso did something unmentionable to her insides.

“I suppose I should be glad you stayed out here,” she said, disguising her inappropriate reaction with sarcasm.

“I promise never to join you in the shower.” His gaze swept over her body, registering the fact that she was wearing nothing but a thigh-skimming towel. The corner of his mouth lifted in appreciative acknowledgment. “Not without an invitation anyway.”

The smile was almost irresistible. Almost. The memory of their last encounter was still fresh in Stella’s mind, however. Gargoyles and faeries and supernatural threats to her safety. It was all very well having a personal bodyguard—and, it really, really helped that hers was so gorgeous—but she wasn’t going to be drawn into all the weird stuff. She had told him as much down at the beach. It seemed he had not got the message.