When A Gargoyle Dreams (Gargoyles Book 5) Read online

  In fact, Valerie had called twice and left scathing voice messages that Martha had deleted immediately. The two of them had been friends since they were children mainly because their mothers were friends and they went to school together. Martha wasn’t sure why she kept up their friendship. Valerie wasn’t particularly friendly, and she constantly copied her clothes and tried to steal her boyfriends. She supposed it was one of those lifelong habits she had never broken, like choosing the same type of man over and over and constantly trying to diet to keep her figure. She looked down at her empty plates – well, the diet was broken today.

  Valerie hadn’t been a nice little girl, but after Martha’s father had committed suicide, at least Valerie was vicious enough to keep the other kids away from her even if she had other detractors. But at least she wasn’t trying to copy her current style – a pair of jeans and a sloppy sweater was hardly an attractive combo.

  Valerie pulled out her compact and checked her make up as Joely returned with Martha’s milkshake.

  “Hot water with a slice of lemon,” snapped Valerie eyeing the voluptuous Joely. “And without your grubby fingerprints all over the cup this time, please. Hold it by the saucer. I don’t need to pick up your child’s germs.”

  Joely’s eyes flashed, but she plastered a fake smile on her face. “Okidokie!” she trilled.

  Martha looked away in embarrassment. Valerie wasn’t kind to other women. She found something to be jealous of in all of them, and single-mom Joely was curvy and pretty. Martha often ended up apologizing for Valerie, but they knew Valerie meant every word. Martha didn’t know why she wasted her breath.

  Valerie gave her a critical once over. The woman had a glare that had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

  “What on earth is wrong with you at the moment?” Always the concerned friend.

  “Just trouble sleeping,” replied Martha evasively. Which was mostly true. She wouldn’t bother divulging the at-times horrendous dreams, nor her current impending sense of doom.

  “I’m surprised Phillip can even stand to look at you at the moment,” she sneered. “When was the last time you washed your hair?”

  Martha shrugged, it was actually a couple of days ago. Hair care and Phillip were the least of her worries. “We’re on a break.”

  Valerie froze in the process of applying some more powder to her cheeks. “Why?”

  “We just… we’re just taking a break while I sort through a few things.” No way was she going to talk to Valerie about her disturbing dreams – Valerie wouldn’t be the least forgiving to Martha’s potentially deteriorating mental health.

  Valerie looked thoughtful for a moment before pushing her compact back into her purse and standing up. “That’s too bad,” she muttered. “Anyway, I’ve got to run, I’ll call you later.”

  “Sure.”

  Valerie swept out of the diner just as Joely arrived with her water, carefully holding it by the saucer.

  “Her majesty gone?” asked Joely.

  Martha nodded. “Look, I’m sorry about what she said.”

  Joely waved her hand dismissively and took a sip of Valerie’s abandoned water. “She left, that’s all that matters. The day just keeps looking up.”

  “Oh?” Martha raised an eyebrow. She’d heard that Joely broke up with her boyfriend recently because she caught him cheating. She was surprised to see Joely in a good mood at all.

  “Yeah, didn’t you hear? George and Myrna got engaged this morning.” Joely beamed. “I honestly thought the two of them were going to sneak around forever.”

  Both George and Myrna were in their fifties and divorced. They had been dating off and on for months but had chosen to keep the relationship private and sneak around like teenagers. Everyone knew about them, naturally, but they were too polite to admit it.

  Martha remembered her dream. “Engaged? When did that happen?”

  “Just this morning. He proposed in the street, and she screamed yes at him - I’m surprised the whole town didn’t hear her.”

  Martha stirred uneasily. Just like her dream.

  *

  Drago howled and threw Cai against the wall. Cai’s mate Ingrede howled while clutching their wailing infant, Wolfe. The forms of Grey and Castor followed, knocking the woozy Cai down as he tried to clamber to his feet.

  “Be careful not to hurt him,” called Annis.

  “Us hurt him?” spluttered Grey resentfully.

  “I doubt that will be an issue,” said Castor, helping the now disoriented Cai.

  “He doesn’t know where he is,” murmured Annis worriedly. She stilled her mate, Chris as he tried to reach for his gun. “No, Luc will subdue him.”

  Chris didn’t look happy, but he nodded.

  They did not know what set Drago off, but one moment he was his usual moody self, and the next he was snarling and looking at them all like they were his enemies. Annis chewed on her lip as Chris pulled her out of the way in time to miss Tristan hurtling through the air.

  “Dragoslava!” roared Luc flying into the room, spreading his wings, his eyes flashing. “Enough!”

  The enormous gargoyle calmed slightly. He was still growling and baring his fangs, but he at least responded to the dominance in Luc’s voice. He understood that Luc was his chief, and that was a mercy. Annis knew Luc to be a fierce warrior, but even she worried about him trying to fight an unhinged Drago.

  Drago looked around wildly. “Corin,” he snarled.

  “There’s no one named Corin here,” said Luc.

  The huge male looked so lost and unhappy, Annis tried to step forward to comfort him. Were it not for the arm around her waist, firmly locking her in place; she would have.

  “Gracchus, Castor, take Drago to the basement,” ordered Luc.

  Drago’s nostrils flared like he was going to argue. Luc held up a hand. “Just for your upcoming sleep.”

  The male grumbled but left almost willingly.

  “Poor Drago,” she murmured.

  The others looked at her like she was crazy.

  Chapter Four

  Drago roared, hurling the door off its hinges. She was in danger; he could sense her fear, almost taste her worry. No, he wouldn’t allow that, wouldn’t ever allow anyone to hurt her.

  “What the…” A human male dressed in black he had never seen before croaked out a yelp as Drago hauled him against the wall.

  Another appeared, gaping at Drago. Though he recovered more quickly and before Drago could get to him, reached for a gun and fired off two shots. He felt a burn in his arm, but it did not slow him down from what he needed to do.

  These males were there to hurt her, of that he was sure. They’d be lucky if he allowed them to live.

  Drago grabbed the guy’s shirt and howled into his face before tossing him aside. The male let out a reassuring ‘umph’ sound as he passed out.

  He inhaled deeply; her sweet scent of cornflowers was pierced by acrid fear. Drago could barely control the rage battling within him. He wanted to tear the male apart. Later, she needed him now.

  Drago tore up to the stairs to the bedroom, uncaring as to the destruction his wings and tail caused in his wake. He stepped inside the room, desperately searching for her.

  No, she had to be here. He focused, ignoring the pounding in his ears and heard her breathy noises from under the bed.

  Throwing it aside, he found his blonde angel curled into a ball, desperately trying to call someone on her phone.

  “Martha,” he grunted.

  She looked up and relief washed over her. “Thank god,” she muttered.

  Drago reached down and pulled her into his arms, pressing kisses to her hair as she clutched at him.

  He’d never let anyone take her from him. Never, never, never!

  Sleep slipped away from him, and he looked around the cool basement, expecting to see the blonde female in one of the darkened corners. His chains clunked as he whipped his body around, but of course, there was no one there.

  “Martha,
” he mumbled.

  He was calmer than he had been the previous night. He was not even sure what made him flash back to his time as a prisoner. Castor had slapped him on the back, and something sparked a memory. He could not see or think straight; all he saw were his enemies.

  But he was okay now. Or at least, he was not thinking of Corin or his guards. Strangely he had not dreamed of them all day. It was perhaps the first time he had not endured at least one dream of them when he slept. No, all he had dreamed about was his human, Martha. If she was just a figment of his imagination, he had to wonder, why on earth would he put her in such detailed peril?

  *

  Martha awoke sweating and panting and shaking so hard she dislodged her cat, Timber who had been happily sleeping on her feet until Martha woke up. It was the same dream she’d had a few times before. Though it usually stopped before the creature started kissing her. It was always the same; men broke into her house, she tried to fight them off and then ran to her bedroom to call for help. Then, he – her mystery creature – came barreling in to find her. She almost wished he really was there to comfort her now. Beat waking up to a cold, empty house. As if she could hear the slight, her cat, Timber stopped licking his paws and let out a yowl and sauntered into the kitchen.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Martha murmured.

  She rubbed her eyes and forced herself to sit up, moaning at the crick in her neck. She’d fallen asleep on her couch while watching soap operas. It was now dark outside, and she knew for definite that her couch was not the ideal place to nap.

  She couldn’t go on like this. Not sleeping at night and falling asleep during the day was not good for her. First thing tomorrow she was making another appointment with her doctor and demanding stronger sleeping pills. Something needed to happen. She needed to take her life back and soon.

  *

  The next day, Dr. White gave her an encouraging smile, and Martha nearly cried as she admitted her dreams were out of control. She hadn’t remembered it ever being this bad. Sure, she recalled having nightmares as a kid, but it had never been this bad.

  Admittedly, not all her dreams were nightmarish. Some were – she had flashes of violence and pain that were like non-stop bright light headaches. They happened too fast really for her to make out what was going on – it was like watching a fight scene in a Jason Bourne movie. Great movies, she loved the actor, but she couldn’t for the life of her ever figure out what the holy moly was happening in any of the fights. She just held her breath and hoped Bourne won; admittedly, he always did.

  Interspersed with the violent ones were some pretty mundane dreams about people she knew. Like the one where Gwen who worked at the library was helping her mother with her medication, or the one about George and Myrna getting engaged. It was odd that she seemed to know the details in advance, but she shrugged that away – perhaps George was just a predictable guy.

  Then there were the dreams with her creature – the monster. Not that he ever behaved monstrously, no, he got her hotter than any man ever had. When he wasn’t saving her or comforting her he was doing things to her she had only, ahem, dreamed of before. But the dreams featuring him were just as tiring as the violent ones, mostly because they worried her. She really shouldn’t be getting so attached to a dream monster.

  She’d never been like this before. Something had changed in the last few months, and she didn’t know what.

  “Dreams and nightmares can be caused by something causing you anxiety in your day to day life. Rather than more medication, have you considered talking to a psychiatrist? I can speak to a colleague about a recommendation and…”

  Martha shook her head, and Dr. White paused as a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “I’m worried, I don’t want to turn out like my dad,” muttered Martha uneasily. Talking about her father wasn’t easy for her, and usually, she didn’t have to. Everyone in town remembered what happened, and if they brought it up, they usually got an earful from Valerie. See, Valerie did have her uses. Though Martha suspected Valerie just liked knowing that Martha’s father had been crazy while her own was a perfectly normal, mundane, retired judge.

  Dr. White was new in town, and given the baffled look on her face, the gossip hadn’t reached her. Well, it technically was eighteen-year-old gossip.

  “When I was eleven, my dad he… he started getting sick, and he killed someone. He was committed to a mental health institute. He was never actually diagnosed and a few months later, he killed himself.”

  Martha looked down at her hands, flinching when the doctor covered them with her own.

  “I’m sorry, Martha, but there’s no reason to suggest that anything like that will happen to you.”

  Martha sniffled, and the doctor passed her a tissue.

  “Why don’t you describe your dreams to me?”

  Martha giggled through snot and tears. “They’re just silly dreams.” She certainly didn’t want to admit to the dreams where she was making out with a monster. She had no idea what that said about her psyche.

  Dr. White looked at her thoughtfully. “I tell you what; I’ll prescribe some more sleeping pills – a different prescription though I’m loath to give you anything stronger. I’ll give you enough for a week or two, and you return for another appointment when you finish them. In the meantime, you keep a journal of your dreams, and we’ll take a look at it when you next come in.”

  Martha wasn’t exactly happy about her proposal – she would have just preferred some sleeping pills that were stronger than an anvil to the head – but it didn’t appear like the doctor was going to budge on the matter. Grudgingly, she agreed.

  *

  Dr. Casey White groaned as she looked down at her jagged nails. Ugh, playing doctor to these dumb hicks was a nightmare. She couldn’t wait to get out of there and back to her normal clinic. But it was for the greater good; she was lucky she had been chosen, she shouldn’t be so ungrateful for this opportunity yadda, yadda, yadda. Her mother’s voice damn near echoed in her head.

  Devil’s Hang was weirdo central, and she didn’t just mean those beastly gargoyles. Apparently, it was all part of some greater plan – fate. To that end, the town attracted all sorts of strangeness. Take the woman who just left her.

  She picked up her phone and dialed Blackthorne. He’d want to know about her visit. Blackthorne was the head of the Council of Magic Users, one of the few who could trace his lineage back to Morgan Le Fay. Casey’s own family was a newer convert. She snorted; her grandfather only joined the organization by accident. At the time he was drunk and thought he was joining a jelly of the month club rather than a secret magical organization. It was probably the better outcome. The perks easily seduced him, and if the prophecy were correct, things would only get better.

  Casey’s main purpose in town was to ensure that Kylie Summers got preggo with a gargoyle baby. Casey had no idea why it was so important – lowly members of the organization like her were not privy to the exact details of the prophecy, but Blackthorne was certainly getting excited. Whatever was going to happen was surely about to happen soon, and the gargoyles were at the center of it.

  It was rumored that the Council had been experimenting with gargoyles for years – the few they had managed to wake anyway. The Council reputedly wanted a gargoyle army. She had no idea how accurate those rumors were, and she certainly wasn’t going to take her life into her hands and ask Blackthorne.

  “Blackthorne,” he snapped on answering the phone.

  “It’s Casey… White.”

  “I know, what is it?” he asked testily.

  Of course, he knew; he probably had her number programmed in. He always made her a little nervous. Her family had been magical practitioners for over three centuries, but real spells were difficult for them, and the most they could generally manage was tarot card readings.

  “The woman, Martha – you asked me to watch her…” One of her other duties in town was keeping track of one or two people. Like she said, the place was
weirdo central, and there was definitely something magical about Martha the town princess.

  She could almost hear Blackthorne perking up. “What about her?”

  “I think her magic is manifesting. She’s been having nightmares ever since the gargoyles started waking. I think that triggered her.”

  “What kind of dreams?”

  Casey winced. “She didn’t want to say…” He tut-tutted loudly. “But she’s virtually a basket case, whatever they are, they are severely affecting her. She wanted some more sleeping pills, so I gave her placebos and told her to keep a record of her dreams.”

  Blackthorne was silent for a few moments. Casey chewed on one of her broken nails.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied.

  “N… nothing?”

  “Nothing. For now, wait and see what is happening in her dreams. I don’t want to take her until I’m confident we can use her. She’s related to one of the gargoyles’ allies – if she went missing, they might take action. I don’t want to risk it unless I’m certain.”

  “So… I did the right thing? You’re pleased?”

  Blackthorne chuckled. “Yes, as usual, you’re doing an excellent job.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “Keep me posted on her. If she’s anything like her father, we want her.”

  Chapter Five

  Christmas Eve

  Drago took an experimental bite of a mince pie and almost choked. Humans were odd on so many levels, but as to why they would eat such a strange, spicy concoction was truly lost on him. He had opted to try the pie on the basis that he thought it would at least have meat in. Nope, just rotten fruit, and sweet-tasting alcohol. Very strange.

  He disposed of the rest of the pie in a nearby and fortuitously placed plant pot and tried as easily as possible to withdraw from the Christmas party. The twinkling lights, blaring music and garish sweaters were a little too much for him.