Mona Lisa Darkening

CHAPTER ELEVEN

One moment, nothing, just a vast rolling stretch of barren, dry land. Then we dipped down a valley, ascended a rocky rise and suddenly, spread out before us was this huge metropolis encircled entirely by walls. From where we stood, we could glimpse the tiny movements of the crowded populace that dwelled inside. In the center of that walled city lay a large golden lake.

"Is that water?" Mona Louisa asked — her words, my thought. The odd brilliant gold color of the water threw us both.

"Yes, the only water source available for a two-days' journey," Miles said. He passed a skinned water pouch to her, almost as if he knew the sight of water would trigger her thirst. Sure enough, it did, an almost unbearable urge rising. Hands trembling, she pulled out the cork stopper and drank. Sweet liquid wetness splashed down our throat.

The other bull dheus stopped and gulped down water also. The prisoners moaned at the sight of us quenching our thirst. Whips lashed out, and no more sounds were heard.

Mona Louisa poured some of the liquid out into her cupped hand. The water glittered yellow gold. She handed the water skin back to Miles. As he drank, she turned back to study the sprawling city down below.

A huge palace was erected closest to the water, occupying almost an entire side. The other half of the lake was edged more distantly by tall terraced buildings and round domed homes. More houses and buildings fanned out from there in an orderly mass. Lush plants and spiky palm trees were sprinkled like colorful jewels among the buildings. It was a most unexpectedly colorful and crowded oasis.

"Our city-state," Miles said, slinging the water pouch back over his shoulder.

A city-state indeed. Much more sophisticated and larger than what Mona Louisa or I had imagined from the bull dheus' primitive appearance.

The two suns had set, and three moons had risen in their place when we finally reached the closed gate. Up close, the walls that had seemed so tiny in the distance loomed tall above us, over thirty feet high. At a shout from Pietrus, the metal gate swung open with a creaking groan. We marched inside.

Traveling down the wide central street, we caught glimpses of men and women, but no children anywhere. The people, unlike the guards manning the battlements, were of normal size with lightly tanned skins, not the dark leathery hide of the bull dheus. But all had the same barnacle growths covering their skin. The women wore veils but the men's faces were left uncovered. All looked hideous, no matter how prosperous-looking or beautiful their attire. They had the bored look of city people who had seen it all, and scarcely glanced at the prisoners as they shuffled by. Their cold and shrewd gazes slid over Pietrus's smooth face. But when their gazes fell upon Mona Louisa's ivory-white skin and perfect flawless beauty, their eyes, both men and women, filled with lust and envy, hungry desire. They stopped whatever they were doing and crowded around her.

"Stand back!" Miles growled, pulling out his sword. But still they came closer, hands reaching out, as if their compulsion to feel that smooth loveliness was stronger than their fear of his sword… until it began to swing and cut. Demetrius joined in, adding the threat of his whip. It whistled through the air, cutting both skin and cloth as he shouted, "Back away!"

Through it all, Mona Louisa stood cool and dispassionate, her composure as smooth and unblemished as her lovely skin.

Why aren't you afraid? I asked.

Because my men will protect me.

Such assuredness. Almost arrogant in her certainty.

Why aren't you surprised at the people's reaction to you? I wondered.

One glance at them, and you can see plainly what draws them — the beauty of my unblemished skin.

At her words, I was suddenly, painfully, aware of how much of that unblemished skin we were exposing. Not just hands and face, but a lot of bare leg, too. The cloth I had ripped off the bottom half of my dress left the new hemline at mid-thigh. Not terribly immodest but compared to the men and women here, who were covered from head to toe. some of them even wearing gloves… compared to them, Mona Louisa was almost flauntingly naked.

Beauty and unblemished skin — they are one and the same here, Mona Louisa observed.

Not quite the same, I returned dryly. Much as I had hated her, I could not deny her beauty — it was of the jaw-dropping variety. I sincerely doubted the crowd would have had the same visceral reaction to my plain face and less well-endowed body, perfectly smooth though my skin might be.

And yet with your plain face and flat-chested body, you managed to captivate your men as I never did mine. Until now, she thought, remembering when she had touched Miles's face and seen how he had looked at her. He loves me now, as he never had before. Her thought was both pleased and sad.

He didn't love you before? But he was loyal to you, even unto death.

Obedience and loyalty are not the same as love.

And the others?

They do not love me, not as Miles does was her cool observation. Their loyalty is more to him, although they no doubt feel a certain nostalgia for what I once represented. But it is him now that they follow and obey, not me.

I was surprised at her clear and accurate surmise of what she so possessively still thought of as "her men." I had wondered, for a moment, if she had deluded herself to the strength of their feelings for her.

I am not one to dodge the truth.

Her calmness, I realized with greater respect, was based on her sureness in Miles, that he would protect her, and that Gilford, Demetrius, and Rupert would follow his lead.

We pushed through the crowd and were suddenly standing before the grand palace. More bull dheus, tall and brutish-looking, stood guard at the entrance. A few came to our assistance, keeping back the large crowd that had followed us.

Stepping inside the palace was like entering a completely different world of beautiful, savage splendor that was both civilized and primitive. Live-sized statues of half-animal, half-man creatures stood in the corners of the grand entryway in all sorts of different poses, their faces terrified, twisted in pain. But it was the statue of the gargoyle in the center that drew the eye most strongly. His strong face, his large powerful body with wings just starting to unfold, was rendered in perfect, lifelike detail. But all else was far from perfect, I saw, as we walked down the wide hallway. There was dust and dirt everywhere. Bits of filth and neglect evident among the opulent luxury of the palace. The gaudy was mixed among the tasteful. Fine paintings hanging next to primitive pagan artwork, evidencing the varying tastes of the different warlords that had conquered and ruled this city-state. I wondered which most accurately reflected the current ruler, the gaudy or the tasteful. But whatever his taste in art, the untidy condition of the palace itself spoke poorly of the present sovereign.

At our approach, the looming doors at the far end of the hallway opened, and we stepped into a room so big, it made you feel small and insignificant. A red carpet rolled out like a flat tongue for a very long distance, leading to a raised dais. We were in the throne room. And upon the throne sat something I saw through Mona Louisa's eyes but didn't fully see or perceive, because it did not sit so much as slouch in the chair, still and unmoving, like one of the statues we had passed. For a moment, I thought it was simply that, a statue, until it stirred, stretched, and sat up, taking lazy notice of our presence.

A gargoyle. But one so unlike the one that had tried to rescue me. As frightening as my first glimpse of a real gargoyle had been, I was immensely glad that I had seen Ghemin's father first. Otherwise I would have thought that the deformed monstrosity before me now was the truth of their kind. Only the color of his skin — a dark charcoal gray — and the black horns — thick and wide and fully developed — were the same. All else was vastly and completely different. The purple robe and fine silk garments only served to highlight the ugliness of the wearer. Lumps and bumps inches thick, not the thin surface crust visible on the bull dheus, covered every inch of that gray skin like a repulsively warty exterior. He was hideously ugly. As if coral had floated out of the sea, adhered itself to the surface of his skin, then died there, giving up all the beauty and life it had possessed in the sea, leaving behind only crumbled skeletal remains.

The creature's eyes alighted upon me — upon Mona Louisa, actually — and I felt the caress of those dark eyes stroke across our skin. As dead as the rest of him looked, his eyes were stunningly alive, dark and intense, gleaming with intelligence and cold calculation. A perfect match for Mona Louisa, those eyes, I would have said before… before I'd gotten to know her more intimately than I ever could have imagined. I'd called her the Ice Queen for her cool cunning, for her cold and heartless beauty. But she was me I now. We shared the same body, felt one another's thoughts. I did not want her to be a match in any way with that repulsive grotesquerie sitting upon the throne, looking at us like a tasty dessert that had just been brought before him.

"Ah, wonderful," the gargoyle said in a deep rumble, rising to his feet, looming tall as a tree over us, as they lined the prisoners up before him. "Fresh dead you bring me. Enough of them to spare you my touch." He lumbered heavily over to stand before them, looking like something out of a nightmare, a creature horrific enough to frighten even the most calloused warrior or hardened criminal.

All he did was stretch out a finger and touch the first man. But that one touch was horrible enough. The surface of that thick barnacle growth on his skin crumbled, melted off him and moved like visible black sludge down his hand, onto the skin of the prisoner he touched.

The gargoyle moved his touch onto the next prisoner before the first man realized what had been done to him. Looking down at his hands, seeing the dark bumpy growth coating his skin, he gave a horrified screech.

"Unless you wish more of my touch," the gargoyle said with sinister menace, turning back with raised finger, "cease that noise!"

The scream shut off abruptly, and painful, throbbing silence filled the chamber.

Mona Louisa looked at Miles and wondered if he had betrayed her in the worst possible way. If he had chosen this terrible way to repay her for his death.

He shook his head, a slight bare movement. Just the men, he mouthed silently.

The roped line of prisoners swayed to the left, away from the gargoyle and his poisoning touch. No screams, no squeaks of sound. But they could not help that instinctive move away from his reaching hand.

Instead of just the bare touch of one finger, the gargoyle grabbed the next cowering man with both hands. Grabbed him and lifted him back into place, jerking the rest of the roped prisoners upright once more. With the greater contact, a darker, heavier layer of sludge moved off the gargoyle onto the prisoner he held, smearing the prisoner with an even thicker layer of crust than the previous man. The second prisoner stared at his changed hands, the defiled skin, and opened his mouth in a silent scream.

"That's right," the gargoyle said in a voice so deep that it resonated in the chamber. "Do not move, do not scream, unless you wish me to share a harder touch with you."

The next man in line bore the gargoyle's touch with a trembling but straight body. The rest stayed stoically still. Or as still as their shivering, shaking bodies allowed them. One touch, and a thin layer of dark sludge covered Juan, and then Charles.

With each layer shed, the gargoyle's skin became smoother, less ugly. When he finished touching the last prisoner, the gargoyle had only a thin surface bumpiness remaining. Even more startling than the smoothing of his skin was the lightening of his spirit, as if the deformity had burdened mind and soul, as well as body. He was lighter, freer in his steps, graceful now in his movement. Turning, he strode lithely to the beginning of the line. To Pietrus. Stopping before the bull dheu, I saw then what I had not seen before: the uncanny resemblance of the bull dheus to the gargoyle, their maker. Their bigger, bulkier build. The darker color of their skin. The broadening of their features. Even the little horns sprouting on top of their head. He was slowly transforming them, making them take on his more powerful build and features bit by bit, blending it with their own.

The gargoyle gazed at Pietrus's smooth face. "What interesting thing did you find out there in the desert, my hunt captain?" he asked in a deceptively idle voice.

"We captured these prisoners and a Monère Queen, Lord Gordane."

"A Queen, most interesting. But tell me, what else did you encounter in your hunting raid today?"

Pietrus swallowed hard before answering. "A small child like yourself, my lord."

"A young gargoyle." He smiled. The scary sight made Pietrus blink nervously. "That's right. You can use the proper name in front of me. You found a young gargoyle and you touched it, obviously."

Pietrus gave a jerky nod.

"You had it in your hands? In your grasp?"

"Yes, I–I touched the child before I knew what it was, my lord," Pietrus said, falling to his knees. "Forgive me. I shot down an imp carrying the boy, and the imp claimed that the child was his own young. I would not have touched it otherwise."

"Rise," Lord Gordane commanded.

Pietrus rose hastily, standing with his back straight at attention.

"Your error was not in putting your hands on the young gargoyle," his sovereign informed him, "but in not bringing him back to me. Please do not tell me that you simply let the gargoyle child go?"

Pietrus shook his head. "The Monère woman… the other one… she fought us and ran away with the child."

"Speak clearly, Pietrus. What are you blubbering about? Where is this other woman?"

"There," Pietrus said, pointing at me, or rather Mona Louisa. "The woman who rescued the gargoyle child shares the same body as this one, my lord."

Gordane arched a thick brow. "What wild tale have you concocted to try to save yourself, Pietrus?" he asked softly, causing the big captain to tremble wildly.

"It is true, my lord," Pietrus said desperately.

"Pietrus speaks the truth, Lord Gordane," said the bull dheu whose teeth Pietrus had sent flying. "This woman is like none we have ever seen. She changes entirely — face, hair, voice, and body — and becomes a completely different woman than the one before you now."

"You say that she rescued the gargoyle child?"

"Yes, my lord. She ripped off the lower half of her gown, wrapped the child up in the fabric, and ran off with him."

"Where is the child now?" Gordane demanded.

"Another gargoyle, an adult male, flew off with both the child and the woman," Pietrus said. "We managed to pierce one of his wings with an arrow, but the woman, the other one, released the gargoyle and fell away from him. Without her weight burdening them, the gargoyle managed to escape with the boy."

"He dropped the woman, you mean," Gordane corrected.

"No, my lord. The woman… the other one, not the one you see here… she let go of him. He tried to grab her but she twisted out of his reach and told him to save his son."

"What a strange tale you bring me. Not the typical actions of a dheu," the gargoyle mused, looking at Pietrus. "But before I turn my attention to this interesting woman — or women, if I believe you — I have one last touch to give. One last touch I saved just for you." Reaching out, he laid a gentle finger against Pietrus's smooth cheek, and the last layer of blemish swirled off the gargoyle and onto the bull dheu. Pietrus shuddered, his eyes dulling a fraction as the defilement coated him.

"That small taste of me is to impress upon you to never fail me like this again," Gordane said, lifting his finger away. "Should you ever come across a young gargoyle again, you are to keep him in your possession. Touch the child as little as you can, and bring him here to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord" came an echo of voices.

"Good. Because should any of you fail me in such a manner again — " His eyes swept with quiet malice over each one of his men. " — my touch shall be the last thing you feel. And it will not be light or gentle like this."

All the soldiers dropped to their knees. "Yes, my lord!" they chorused. At his gesture, they rose again. There was a silent sigh of relief when he turned his attention to me and Mona Louisa.

I trembled inside. Cringed when he walked toward us. Rupert, Demetrius, and Gilford backed respectfully away at his approach, and had I been able to, I would have backed away also, but I was stuck inside Mona Louisa. Stuck in our body. Miles stayed by our side. Gordane shot him a hard, considering look as he came to a looming stop before us.

Mona Louisa stood straight and tall. Coolly serene before the huge creature. No use trying to run from him came her voice inside me. When escape is not an option, you face your enemy with dignity. But despite her brave words, I felt fear, both hers and mine, flutter through us like butterflies. Frankly, I thought we should have tried to run away instead of putting on a useless brave front.

He laid his hand upon us, and we both felt it, his touch and something more. Something that reached down and found me hidden deep within Mona Louisa. Found me, grabbed ahold of me and pulled, yanking me out. I fought against it, but his hold was relentless, his power ruthlessly strong. I screamed inside her, long and echoing. Then found myself screaming with true voice as I exploded out in a quick and brutal transformation.

It hurt, dammit! My entire body felt bruised, beaten. And I was coated with a wet and sticky substance. My first thought was that it was blood, but it was clear fluid. Plasma maybe. It might as well have been blood, so severely weak was I, barely able to stand. Looking up into those black baleful eyes, I shivered.

"What do we have here?" Gordane rumbled. "Indeed, another woman sharing the same body… no, an entirely different body. Much less attractive than the other one."

If I wasn't so tremblingly weak, I would have lunged at him and tried to hurt him. Anything to chase away the fear of what he had just done so easily to me. But since taking a swing at him required more strength than I had at present, I used the only other thing left to me — my mouth. "Fuck you and the bat wings you flew in on."

His hand shot out and grabbed me. Okay, maybe I shouldn't have mouthed off like that, I thought, as he lifted me off the ground with barely any effort. It was highly uncomfortable, dangling like that, but it didn't really hurt. His hand was a loose collar around my neck, not squeezing yet as we both waited for each other's next move. It was only when Miles dropped to his knees before Gordane, begging, "My lord, release her please, she does not know who you are," that I began to have an inkling that maybe this wasn't about me at all. That maybe it was a test to see how Miles, standing so protectively nearby, would react. A test that Miles had just spectacularly failed.

Anger pulsed like hot lava through Gordane, and that big hand collaring my neck squeezed down, more a reaction, I think, to Miles's telling reaction than from any real intention of hurting me. But whatever the reason, I began to feel a highly uncomfortable choking sensation. I don't need to breathe, I don't need to breathe, I told myself. But even so, I felt like I was choking. My eyes bulged and my body gathered itself to fight. Before I could move, a bright light flashed between us and heat blasted against my neck, coming from my necklace. It was hot enough that it should have seared my skin, but it didn't. It burned Gordane instead.

The gargoyle gave a roaring bellow of pain, and released me. I dropped like a brick, sprawling on the floor next to Miles. Smoke drifted up from Gordane's hand. I smelled burned flesh, and saw a long angry welt seared diagonally across his fingers.

A very big, very angry gargoyle grabbed Miles around the neck — it seemed to be a favorite hold of his — lifting him up as easily as he had me.

"What did you do to me?" Gordane snarled. His face was a frightening mask of fury.

Miles choked out a strangled sound. Nothing understandable. Everyone in the room was deathly still, like rabbits freezing motionless when sensing a lethal predator.

"He did nothing. It was my necklace, I think, that injured you," I said in a husky croak, picking myself off the ground. A part of me wondered what the hell I was doing, trying to save Miles, a man who had been my enemy! But he'd tried to protect me. I couldn't leave him out to hang like that — no pun intended.

"Show me!" Gordane snarled.

With shaking hands, I pulled my silver necklace out from beneath my dress, spilling it into view. Gordane's eyes fell on the cameo dangling at the end, and all that thick swirling anger suddenly dissipated.

"Um…" I looked at Miles, dangling helplessly in Gordane's hand. Reminded — he seemed to have forgotten him — Gordane tossed Miles away, and he went sailing into the line of prisoners, knocking them all down like a house of cards.

That great horned head lowered frighteningly close to me as the gargoyle bent down to examine the image carved on the cameo. A dark gray hand reached out toward the necklace but stopped just short of contact.

"I think the silver must have burned you," I said, my voice husky from that brief, accidental (I'd like to think) moment of strangling me.

"I am not Monère," Gordane said, all the furious rage drained from him. "It is not the silver but something mixed into the metal that hurt me, reacting when it sensed harm to you. I have heard of this but had never seen it before."

Well, that made one of us. Halcyon hadn't mentioned anything special about the necklace when he had given it to me. But then we never really had the chance to talk privately. Maybe he'd been planning on telling me later.

"You are the chosen mate of Hell's ruler," Gordane said. "The one whose name means darkness."

"Actually, I'm Halcyon's mate. Not Blaec's."

"This proclaims you to be the royal consort. Does the Dark One not rule Hell anymore?"

The Dark One. I presumed that to be Blaec, whose name meant darkness.

"No, his son, Halcyon, does now." It felt really weird discussing realm politics with Gordane. Especially after he'd just thrown us around like rag dolls.

"Your actions are peculiar," Gordane said, frowning. "So unlike the dheu who come to this realm."

I thought what was really odd was that such obvious intelligence could coexist with such primitive rage.

"If I may touch you once more," Gordane asked, lifting his uninjured hand.

I didn't shrink back, but I really, really wanted to. "Why?" I asked in a small voice.

"To examine you."

I really didn't want him to, after seeing and feeling what he could do with just a touch. But from Gordane's expression, I doubted I had any choice. I could run screaming away from him and have him chase me down. Or I could hold still with some shred of dignity. "Will it hurt?" I asked, unable to keep the little quaver out of my voice.

"No, it will be a harmless touch."

I nodded, giving my permission — no other choice but to.

His touch was harmless, as promised. No pain, no ugly crusting of my skin, no shoving me back inside and yanking Mona Louisa out of our body like a poorly played game of musical chairs.

He drew his hand away, much to our relief. "This part of you is not dead," he said.

"What?" I asked, not sure I had heard him correctly.

"You still live."

"But… but I'm not breathing. And my heart isn't beating."

"I feel your living essence," he marveled, then frowned. "You should not be here. But the other woman, the one inside you, she is true dheu, meant for this realm."

I was alive! My heart gave a great big giant leap of hope. "Can you take me back to the living realm? Or to Hell?"

"No."

One word and I felt all that buoyant hope come crashing down. "But you said I do not belong here in this realm."

"Apparently more than I ever imagined. But the Dark One himself sealed shut the gate between our two realms, an act that they say fractured our sky and split our sun into two broken halves. None who comes here now can leave."

A wild, silent scream rose up in my throat. Noooo! I wanted to scream, to cry, to break down in despair. But had to push that aside for later when Gordane suddenly asked, pointing at Miles, "What is this bull dheu to you?"

"My enemy," I said in an empty voice, numbed by that brief wild yo-yoing of hope and crashing despair.

"You lie."

I was heartsore. Achingly weary. "I have no reason to lie," I said in a dull, flat voice. "He detests me and I him. He was Mona Louisa's guard. It was her he was trying to help, not me."

"Does she speak true?" Gordane asked Miles.

"Yes. Forgive me, my lord," Miles said, dropping to his knees. "I feared harm to my Queen if you damaged this one."

"Your Queen." Menace seeped back into Gordane's voice like an ominous black tide. "You have forgotten who you serve now."

Miles flushed and I winced at his slip of tongue. Even in my half-numbed state, I was aware of the verbal damage Miles had just committed on top of his damning physical actions.

"Loyalty is admirable," Gordane said. "Nay, an essential requirement to me, but only if it is to me" He sought out Pietrus, standing with the other soldiers, all of them uncomfortable silent witnesses to this drama. "Take Miles and prepare him for tonight's games. He is to fight in the arena."

The punishment must have been worse than it sounded, because Miles threw himself at Gordane's feet, prostrating himself. "My lord, please. A slip of the tongue, old habit. It is you who I serve."

"Words can lie," Gordane said with chilling coldness. "Actions never do. Take him away!"

Miles didn't fight when Pietrus and the other bull dheus seized him. Just looked at me with a mournful intensity that made me ask as he was dragged out of the chamber, "What will happen in the arena?"

"He will fight against the werebeasts."

It didn't sound like a joyride but neither did it sound like final death.

"Take this woman" — me, apparently — "to the women's quarters and have her prepared. I want her brought before me in an hour's time," Gordane proclaimed and returned to sit at his throne. We were apparently dismissed.

The prisoners shuffled out, and I felt like one of them, even though I wasn't tied up like they were. Frankly, I'd have rather gone with them. Their fate sounded preferable to mine.

We parted company near the front entrance. The prisoners were herded back outside, while two new guards accompanied me down another wide hallway. I turned my head, my eyes lingering on the departing group, watching as all I knew in this realm disappeared out the door — Gilford, Demetrius, Rupert… the disloyal Juan and Charles… poor loyal Miles.

We made our way to the other end of the palace and passed through a towering archway. Two guards stood at attention before a closed set of doors, their horns even more prominent than the two bull dheus that accompanied me. At a gesture from one of my guards, they swung open the heavy doors, their thick muscles bulging with the effort.

There was the impression of a large airy foyer, richly decorated, with an order and cleanliness that had been lacking in the rest of the palace. A young and pretty woman, unveiled, rose from where she had been sitting behind a desk. I saw with surprise that her skin was flawless, unblemished. She looked normal, human. Staring at me with as much interest as I stared back at her.

"We brought a new woman."

"I will find the maistresse?" she said, nodding. With her eyes carefully averted from the bull dheus, she left, slipping through another door in the back. A few moments later, an older woman appeared, her gray-flecked hair bound up in an intricate coil that was both artful and severe. Her skin was also without blemishes, but unlike the other woman, she was Monère. There was no strong resonating vibration of like to like, nothing of what I was used to sensing, but I knew it somehow, the same way I knew that all the guards I had encountered so far were also Monère.

The woman inclined her head politely to the two guards. "What is our lord's desire?" Not exactly the best words for my peace of mind. I'd been trying not to think about that — his desire… and how it might relate to me.

"She is to be brought to him in one hour's time."

With a curt nod, she dismissed them. They left, the heavy doors closing behind them, and then it was just her and I. She looked me over from tip to toe, taking in my wet, dirty, bedraggled appearance with a sour expression.

"An hour's time," she muttered. "He expects me to perform a miracle in that spit of time. This way," she snapped, walking through the same doorway she had come through.

The impression of entering another different world hit me again as I followed her and found myself suddenly in an open lounge. It wasn't the large space, so much as the inhabitants that filled it, that made me feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Women, both human and Monère, were strewn on and around cream-colored sofas and chairs. The walls and floors were the same pink and ivory-white coloring, and it was like being inside a giant oyster shell. Only instead of pearls there were women — so goddamn many of them. All beautiful, some stunningly so. All with perfect skin. They sized me up with bored, jaded eyes. Titters and giggles sounded as they took in my dirty appearance, my far from dazzling looks. One brief glance and they dismissed me. Not just the human women but the Monère ones as well that I sensed scattered among them.

The maistresse waited impatiently for me at the other end of the room. A sharp gesture from her got my feet moving again. She led me into yet another oysterlike lounge filled with even more women. They, too, had pure unblemished skin, but the women here were down a notch or two in the looks department, more pretty instead of beautiful. I belonged here, more with this group than the other — and that was only with lots and lots of help.

They seemed a friendlier bunch. A few of the women even smiled at me as I passed by. Then I was out that room and into yet another part of the hare em, which was what Lord Gordane seemed to have himself here… with me as his newest addition!

"What's with the two separate rooms?" I asked the maistresse.

"The first group of women that you saw are for Lord Gordane's exclusive use. The second group are used to pleasure visitors, guests, and a few of his men that he rewards with the privilege — those who serve him well."

Wonderful. You either got to be Gordane's exclusive whore, or that of any Tom, Dick, or Harry that he chose to give you to. It was hard to think and process everything. I had questions, so many of them, and needed at least some of them answered before I decided what to do next.

We finally reached our destination, the bathing chamber. It was larger than my entire apartment back in Manhattan had been, and was comprised of a tiled portion where a stool and several buckets of water sat, and the actual bath itself, which had to be the size often Jacuzzis put together. A veritable pool. I half expected it to be filled with frolicking, nubile young women, but it was thankfully empty, the bath itself. Not the room. The bathing chamber came with attendants. Two of them. Older, no-nonsense women like the maistresse. Their eyes honed in on me like laser beams sighting their target. A few words spoken in French. I think, from the maistresse, and they advanced on me and started stripping me. I had a moment to decide whether to cooperate like a smart, grateful, new hareem addition, or to shrug off their hands and start screaming at them to stay away from me. I'd like to say that I consciously decided to behave in a smart and civilized manner, but it was actually expedience that won me over. I was exhausted and upset — the numbness was wearing off — and I wanted out of my wet and dirty, ripped gown. I could have probably undressed myself, but only with a great deal of effort. The damp cloth felt glued to my body. Why fight them when they were doing what I would have done? And doing it much more efficiently? My only fuss was when they tried to take off my necklace. "No." I said, knocking their hands away. "The necklace stays on."

The two attendants looked to the maistresse, who nodded her impatient agreement. They left the necklace alone but laid hands on everything else. In the blink of an eye, they had that wet, sticky fabric off of me. I was stripped naked with assembly-line efficiency and sat down on the stool.

I looked at the golden, glittery bath longingly but stayed obediently still as they scrubbed me clean from head to toe, even shampooing my hair. Only after they had rinsed me off thoroughly two times did they finally allow me to enter the pool of water.

Delicious coolness surrounded me the moment I stepped in. I sank down and immersed myself in the clean, liquid embrace, sliding under the soothing water for a long, blissful moment before resurfacing. The sides and bottom of the pool were smooth, polished stone. A shallow underwater ledge hugging the side of the pool made a perfect seat. I sat there and a large goblet of golden water was placed in my hand. Good thing because otherwise I might have simply drank the pool water, so thirsty was I.

I downed the contents in three big gulps, and had another goblet handed to me. Knocking that second cup back like a shot of whiskey, I leaned back with bliss, closing my eyes. Ah, the miracle of water, no matter how weird the color. Drinking it… even more, immersing myself in it, felt like a slice of heaven down here in NetherHell. It was almost a criminal waste of water, the many gallons needed to fill this overgrown tub. Such luxury and power. I mused over that as I soaked in the precious water.

This safe, protected kingdom, sitting in the middle of a barren desert land, had water, beautiful women, and military might. Lord Gordane seemed to have himself a real cozy setup here in this oasis city.

I had all of two brief minutes to unwind and relax before I was urged back out into the women's hands. Most of my weariness had been washed away with the dirt. I wasn't completely recovered yet, but close. I was renewed and refreshed, more than I expected to be. With enough energy to shrug off their hands and dry myself with the thick bath towel while the maistresse watched with sharp eagle eyes and clucked with disapproval and impatience.

"This way," she said, walking out of the room.

I left the bathing chamber with a towel wrapped like a sarong around me, and another towel covering my wet hair. My torn dress had been left on the floor, no doubt destined for the trash. I'd always hated those long, black formal gowns that Monère Queens wore. And yet now, I almost felt a sentimental fondness for that torn scrap of a dress — my last link to my former life. No matter what Gordane said about my still being alive, I felt dead inside… dead and lost to my people in this new harsh realm.

I was hustled through to another room where more attendants waited — the grooming ones. The towels were whisked off me. I'd never been comfortable with casual nudity, but for some reason it didn't bother me now, maybe because it all seemed so surreal. I was in a hareem, for God's sake.

The new attendants, three of them this time, were briskly impersonal, drying off the wet spots I'd missed on my back and arms. I lay down on a raised platform they urged me onto, with neat rows of bottles lined up along the top and bottom edges. It was only when an attendant picked up a thin, flat, rectangular stone, sharpened at one end to a wicked knife's edge, that I stopped being the nice, cooperative, new hareem addition and sat up.

"What the fuck is that?" I demanded as my hand shot out and wrapped around the woman's wrist.

"It is to remove your unsightly body hair," the maistresse said, lips thinned.

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where exactly is this unsightly hair?" I asked, nice and patient.

Her patience, though, seemed to evaporate — what little there had been of it. Throwing up her hands in hot agitation, she said, "I have no time for this foolishness! There is still so much for me to do, and only three-quarters of an hour left!"

"That blade," I said uncompromisingly, "is not touching me until I know exactly what parts of me it is going to be touching."

Her eyes narrowed down into slits. "I can force your obedience."

My fingers found a pressure point, dug into it, and the attendant dropped the stone blade with a cry, her hand spasming. I caught the blade before it hit the floor.

"You're certainly welcome to try," I said, giving a few quick slashes in the air to test the weight and balance — easy blurring movements that had the attendants backing away in fear.

"Not quite the usual blade I'm used to," I said, "but I could work with it."

"You waste time!" the maistresse cried. And made it sound like the worst crime.

"No, actually you do," I said, my voice hard. "Where?"

She hissed out a breath. "Your legs, under your arms, the curls between your thighs."

"Between my thighs? You've got to be kidding me."

"It is our custom here."

"Legs and armpits are fine. Not between my thighs."

"That is non-negotiable."

I considered the hard resolve on the maistresse's face and saw that she wasn't going to budge on this matter.

"Very well," I said. "My cooperation if you answer a question."

"Were we not so short on time, I would not need your cooperation," she said in a low, heated voice.

"But time is short."

"What is your question?" she snapped.

"How do I leave this realm?"

"You cannot," she said. "None of us can leave here."

Not the answer I'd been hoping to hear. "How long have you been in NetherHell?"

"Over eighty-five years."

"And Lord Gordane? How long has he been here?"

"The eldest here say that he has ruled for over a century. Others whisper two centuries.Their kind — gargoyles — exist far longer than we do." She made a gesture with her hand. "That is three questions I have answered — two more than you bargained for. Waste no more of my time. You will have plenty of your own time later to seek answers to your foolish questions. Lie back."

A deal was a deal. It wasn't her fault that her answers weren't to my liking. I'd keep asking, but there seemed to be a depressing consensus so far. No way out of this realm.

I handed the flat, polished stone razor back, and the attendant took it from me with wary caution.

"Be careful," I admonished, lying back. She was. Not a nick or a scratch on my legs or under the arms. But when the blade scraped firmly over my mound, I flinched; tensed a little when they parted my folds and carefully shaved off every single piece of hair down there. Then it was over. A light fragrant oil was rubbed all over me. My hair was combed out, dried and styled, and I was dressed in this tiny scrap of cloth that they called a dress. The bottom of the material skimmed the tops of my thighs, barely keeping me decent. It bared most of me — my neck, throat, the top of my chest, my arms and entire back, and lots and lots of leg. Only two thin straps held up the itty-bitty dress. The color, though, was a beautiful shimmery rose, and the fit was surprisingly good. The material clung snugly to what there was of my bosom. No bra or underwear underneath. Nothing to impair Gordane's hands from touching me anywhere he damned well wanted to. Or maybe undergarments just didn't exist here, for hareem women anyway.

It wasn't until powders had been dusted on my face and eyes, and stuff rubbed on my lips, that I was led to a full-length mirror and got the whole effect. I looked at the utterly feminine, delicate creature reflected back, and didn't recognize her as me.

An abundance of pure white skin was showcased by the tiny dress. The rest of me had been done along the same general theme. My black hair was pinned up in an elegant coil, revealing the delicate curve of my neck, the gentle slopes of my shoulders. Shadow deepened my eyes, made them larger, darker, more mysterious. Blush made my cheeks glow. My lips were painted red. I was an artwork that had been splashed with three essential colors — creamy white skin, dark hair and eyes, and rosy red cheeks, lips, and dress… and the purple-red bruises ringing my throat. The distinct imprint of each separate gargoyle finger could be seen on my neck; no attempt had been made to hide them. The primitive markings of violence were more eye-catching than any jewelry would have been. And bespoke somehow of ownership.

I looked soft, fragile. Delicately feminine.

"A remarkable transformation in such a short time, is it not?" said the maistresse, coming to stand behind me.

"A miracle. You made me something that I'm not. I didn't know I could look like this."

"Like a woman?" she asked, voice dry.

"Like a fragile, easily breakable one."

"All women, no matter how strong they perceive themselves to be, are fragile, easily breakable, even Queens. Perhaps especially Queens. Keep that at the forefront of your awareness; it will serve you well in your dealings here in this realm. Come," she said briskly. "It is time for you to go to him."

Our return trip garnered different, varying responses. The second group of women looked at me with more intense speculation than friendly smiles now. The first group was outright hostile. A honey-haired beauty rose to her feet, blocking my path. "He summoned her?" Anger sharpened her words. "It should have been me that he called."

"I would not have prepared her otherwise, Mathilde," said the maistresse.

"But she is not as beautiful as I. Nor any of the rest of us!" she wailed, looking like a little girl stomping her feet and crying — no fair! "You aren't half as lovely as any of us here," she said hatefully to me.

"I agree," My easy answer made her frown, but only for a moment before she continued her sulky tirade. "It's only because you were a Queen!" Mathilde said, making me suddenly aware that she was Monère, one of the few I sensed among them. None of them were Queens, as far as I could tell.

"He will sample you once for the novelty. Then cast you aside to be used by others. You are not beautiful enough to hold him."

"Why would I want to hold his interest? I would have expected you to shrink away from the horror of his touch instead of fight for it."

Surprise and confusion flickered across Mathilde's exquisite face, then finally understanding. She laughed, and the other women laughed with her. Irritating titters with a spiteful edge. "You think yourself smart, but how stupid you really are. You are not worthy of his touch."

"Again, why would I even want it?"

More laughter, as if what I had said was beyond funny.

"What's the joke here?" I asked, tired of the nonsense.

"The joke is that Lord Gordane's touch is what keeps all of our skins unblemished," said the maistresse. "He absorbs our defilement onto himself."

I remembered Pietrus touching Ghemin, the young gargoyle. The transfer of slurry darkness. I remembered also how monstrously ugly Gordane had looked the first time I saw him, his skin thick with layer upon layers of warty bumps.

"But I saw him touch the prisoners they captured. Saw him touch them and transfer all that ugliness onto their skin."

"That ugliness that you speak of is what he took from us yesterday. You saw the inhabitants outside when you entered the city, did you not?"

I nodded.

"It is the environment, the very air of NetherHell itself that layers the blemishes across our skin. Lord Gordane's touch cleanses us from that defiling growth. Without his touch, ugly growths will start to show on your skin in less than a week."

My vision shifted, readjusted itself. "So he's not really the cause of the unsightly blemishes. He's the cure for them. Is he the only cure?"

"Yes," said the maistresse.

A most depressing answer.

"What about other gargoyles?"

"He is the only one of their kind who roams the lower lands."

"Lower lands?" I asked.

"Gargoyles usually reside on the highest mountains, beyond our reach."

I felt Mona Louisa stir within me, felt her sharp interest. It mattered to her, this piece of news. But I wasn't exactly sure how much it mattered to me.

"Move aside," the maistresse snapped at Mathilde. "You delay us. And you risk our lord's displeasure."

Shooting a final venomous look at me, Mathilde swished aside, and I followed the maistresse out into the airy foyer. A sharp knock by her, and the hareem's closed doors were swung open by the two guards standing outside.

"Take her to Lord Gordane," the maistresse instructed crisply. "He awaits her."

The taller of the two ended up as my escort. The other bull dheu remained at his post.

"How long have you been here?" I asked the guard as we walked down the long corridor. He was silent for so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer me.

"Thirteen years," he finally said.

"Why do you stay here?"

He glanced down at me. "I am most fortunate to be within these walls. It could have been much worse."

"How? In what way?"

"I could have been eaten by the wild creatures that prowl outside these walls."

Okay, I guess that did sound much worse.

We turned down an unfamiliar corridor. I stopped. "This is not the same way I came."

"I am taking you to Lord Gordane as instructed."

"This is the wrong direction."

He frowned as if he wasn't used to the women he accompanied balking. "No, this is the correct way, leading to his private living quarters."

His private living quarters. That would have been nice to know in advance, to prepare myself for. I'd thought we were going back to the public throne room, although how public and how safe was a matter of debate. Technically, he could rape me in the throne room, in front of his men, just as easily as in the privacy of his bedroom.

I was suddenly, abruptly aware of how vulnerable I felt without any undergarments on, my pubes shaved, not even hair to cover me. It unsettled me suddenly in a way that I had been trying to ignore up to now.

Should I run? Try to make a break for it?

To where? Mona Louisa asked scornfully. Here is much better than out there. We have food, water, luxurious accommodations, and freedom from the blemishes that will eventually coat our skin if we leave this place.

My body won't be a hostage just for the sake of your vanity, I said. We can search for a way out of this realm. Try to return back home.

Our home now is here was her pragmatic reply. I caught the rest of her wispy thought. That at least here there were those she took comfort in, those who cared for her — Miles and the other three.

And for that, for them, you would willingly sleep with Gordane? I asked.

I would sleep with him for just one of those many things he offers.

You may be willing, I told her, but I sure as hell am not.

Oh, for the Blessed Moon, Mona Louisa hissed with exasperation. If you are so squeamish about it, I'll sleep with him!

You'll still be using my body, I retorted.

My muscles tensed. I was recovered enough to take on the guard. I had a feeling I'd stand a much poorer chance against Gordane. I made my choice. To fight. To flee. But my body wasn't cooperating. It froze, my arms and legs locking into place, unmoving.

"Keep walking," ordered the guard, making a hysterical giggle well up inside me as panic mounted. Because even if I wanted to move, I suddenly couldn't. What in the world was happening to me? Is that you? Are you sabotaging my body?

I'm saving it, Mona Louisa replied. And it's my body, too, now.

Like hell it is. I fought against her will. And found it impossible to break that frozen state she had immobilized me into.

Yes, she thought with grim satisfaction. My presence, my strength, is as strong as yours here in this realm.

"Move along," the bull dheu commanded.

"Give me a moment," I snapped.

You are fortunate to have garnered Gordane's interest, said Mona Louisa. I will not let you ruin things for us now.

I can do the same thing to our body, I told her. Keep us locked like this in a battle of wills, indefinitely if I need to. That alone would ruin things quite nicely, don't you think?

She snarled. If you truly desire to seek a way out of this miserable realm, then our best chance lies with Gordane. He alone may be able to provide answers others cannot give. He is gargoyle. Has existed longer than they. And he has wings, you imbecile. Flying is much faster than walking. And much safer, if you wish to risk our neck outside of these walls.

Unfortunately, what she said was true. He might have answers others could not provide. Whether he would give them to me was another entirely different matter. But there was only one way to tell.

All right. VU go to him.

At my grudging concession, my limbs unlocked and I stumbled into abrupt motion. Frowning, the guard hurried to catch up to me. In far too short an amount of time, we arrived in front of another set of doors similar to those of the hareem, only far more grand. The door frames were ornately gilded, and the dark red wood was elaborately carved with winged creatures, gargoyles — adults at work, children at play, some tumbling in the air, others frolicking on the ground.

My escort nodded to the two guards stationed in front of the thick doors, and one of them knocked.

"Enter," called a deep voice from within.

They swung open the doors and I was pushed through. The doors closed behind me and I was left standing alone in the room, if room was the correct word for it, so large and vast it was. The ceiling above me was domed, made entirely of colored glass. On the glass, I saw with wonder, was skillfully etched yet another picture, this one of a beautiful city set atop a vast mountaintop, with winged gargoyles flying to and from it. I had only a moment to glimpse it before a sound, a movement, pulled my eyes back down to what had to be the artist of both pictures, rendered with such love and detail. Only Gordane could have done them.

I tried to imagine that large gargoyle hand, the same meaty fist that had wrapped around my neck with brutally careless strength, delicately etching out these images.

"You drew these pictures. The one etched on the glass, and the one outside, carved on the door."

He stood on the balcony, his powerful gargoyle body framed in an open archway. "Yes," he said, stepping inside. "What you saw on the ceiling was my home, Mont Felleur."

"It looks like a beautiful place," I said as he made his way to me with an unhurried, deliberate stride. I was acutely conscious once more of his enormous size. It was hard not to back away from his approach. He stopped three feet away from me — which would have been more reassuring had his arm span not been that exact length.

"Why did you leave your home?" I asked, softer now with him standing so close.

"Because I was young, foolish, and arrogant, and thought that there was a much more exciting world to explore beyond our isolated mountaintop."

"You want to go back."

Some unnamed emotion moved through his eyes. "I can never go back. This city-state is my home now. Has been for a very long time." His hand lifted and I felt his fingers graze over my sensitive skin, over the marks he had left on my neck. They slid lower. Touched the silver necklace. It lay quiescent. No flash of light or heat.

"Fascinating piece of work," Gordane said quietly. "It reacts against malintent."

If so, the absence of a reaction was heartening. He didn't want to harm me. Not at the moment, at least.

"Does it hurt much, these bruises?" he asked, his fingers continuing to trace over them.

"No." I found it hard to hold his gaze when he touched me like that. Gentle, careful, intimate. So different from his previous rough handling of me.

"What do you want of me?" I asked in a low voice.

"So bold and blunt. Are you always this straightforward?" he asked with some amusement.

"Most of the time, yes. I like honesty and appreciate it in others."

"Straightforward," he mused, letting his large hand drop back down to his side. "But not unskilled in the dance between male and female. And it is a dance, is it not? Our words, our actions. You indicate that you would like honesty, and now wait to see if I will give it to you. If I answer as you wish, with plain speaking, it will tell you that your feelings, your concerns, matter to me, and you will have a certain power over me because of that. And yet, you are here, perfumed and prepared for me, indicating a readiness to engage my interest."

"It's not a power game to me." The cynical look in his eyes prodded me into my next words. "I almost didn't come. For one moment, out in the hallway, it was my intent to bolt, to escape and leave this place."

"Why?" A quiet rumble.

"Because all this preparation at your command, having me dressed, shaved, and perfumed like this, indicates that you want to have sex with me." I took a deep breath. "And I'm not ready for that."

"Plain speaking, indeed. Why did you not try to run, then?"

"I did, but Mona Louisa stopped me. She seems to think our best chance of survival lies with you. I happen to disagree with her, but her will is strong enough now to hamper me physically."

"Two clashing wills stuck in the same shared body. That must be an interesting experience."

"You have no idea." I took another breath, more out of habit than real need. I might still be alive, but it was in an altered state that didn't require me to breathe. "I've answered your question, and would appreciate it if you would answer some of mine. Again I ask you, what do you want of me?"

His eyes were darkly intent upon me — I couldn't read their expression. "I will give you the plain speaking you desire. I wish your affection, your love, your devotion to me."

It became immensely difficult to hold his gaze. "That's a large request for someone I've only just met, and not in the kindest of manner. Why would you want something that your entire hareem of women can give you, all of them much more beautiful than I?"

He smiled, a nice smile instead of a scary one, and it was a drastic transformation, changing him from menacing into surprisingly benign-looking. "You are lovely in a way that none of them are."

I snorted. His smile widened.

"You are lovely in your spirit, and in your refreshing honesty. And what I want most from you, none of the women here can give me. I want a child."

His words stirred pain, invoking memory of the baby I had briefly carried and lost. "Wh-what?"

"I want a child, and only you can give me that. All the women here, beautiful though they may be, are dead. There is no life in them, no ability to bear life. Only you can do that."

I stumbled back until I hit the cushioned edge of a divan. I sat down, my knees, all of me trembling.

His lips twisted, his brows drawing together. "Does the thought of lying with me frighten you that much? Am I so different, so ugly to you?"

"It's not that. I was pregnant once and lost the baby. It was… grief at that memory that caused my reaction to your words."

An uncertain moment of silence passed before he sat down beside me, his heavy weight sinking the cushions down and sliding me closer to him. I didn't try to shift away.

"You are not ugly," I told him. He was a fearsome thing, immensely intimidating, but not ugly.

He lifted a thumb and testingly stroked it over my hand. "You do not think me odd? Repulsive looking?"

"You are gargoyle. Yes, your features are different from ours. But there is nothing grotesque about you. Your great strength, large size, mature horns… I imagine you would be considered quite a handsome gargoyle," I said, smiling at him. His wide lips curved up in response.

"Did you leave behind children in the other realm?" he asked.

"No." A sad smile.

"Do you want children?"

"I don't know. You've sprung it on me so suddenly. It was the last thing I imagined you wanting from me."

"Sex I can easily get," Gordane said, showing that he could be as equally blunt at I. "But a living mother for my child… that is not as easy to come by."

"Lord Gordane —"

"Just call me Gordane."

"I'm not of your kind. Wouldn't you do better seeking out a female gargoyle?"

"I am the only gargoyle here in the lower lands. There are no females of my kind available to me. Only you."

"We might not be compatible. It might not be possible for…" I was going to say, For you to get me pregnant. But that would be putting the onus too much on him. "I might not be able to become pregnant with you."

"We can only try. If you desire a child, you should be aware that I would be your only chance of bearing one. No other male here can give you that."

"Why can you?"

"Because I am a natural creature of this realm. I am not dead as the other inhabitants here are. My kind is capable of reproducing life, as you saw in those pictures."

I slid my hand out from under his and placed it against his broad chest, confirming by touch what my ears had already told me. "But your heart doesn't beat. And you don't breathe, other than to speak."

"Neither do you, yet you still live."

"Are you sure?" I asked, drawing my hand away.

"You are alive as surely as that other woman who shares your body is dead."

If that was so, then we were important to each other in a way no other in this realm could be. We were each other's only chance of having a real family, a child. It changed things between us. Made me look at him in a far different light.

"Yes," he said, satisfied. "You see me now, what I can be to you. What we can be to each other."

He bent his head down to me, and my hand lifted back up to his chest in a stopping gesture. He obeyed the silent command, halting though he didn't need to.

"Will you not let me kiss you?" he asked, his mouth hovering just above mine. "See and know for yourself how we feel against each other? I can please you," he murmured in husky promise.

The laugh I gave was a bit breathless. "With all those women in your hareem, and all the years of practice you must have had —"

"Centuries of it."

" — I do not doubt that you can be good. I just… everything has happened so fast. I was torn from my people, taken from my other life, and came here expecting to be raped by you, not courted. What you said about a child… yes, I do want one."

Triumph made his dark eyes glitter.

"And I know that you are the only one who might be able to give me that child. But I need a little more time to get to know you. To grow more comfortable with you."

"In other words, no sex today."

I blushed. "If you don't mind."

"I do mind. Very much so." His eyes flashed with heat as he held himself frozen above me. "I have not had to hold myself back from anything I desired in a very long time. It does not sit well upon me."

"I'm sorry." Fear edged back into me. Fear more of what would be lost if he tried to force his will, his body on me, when I was not yet ready. Fear of breaking that tentative trust that glimmered like a faint promise between us.

"A compromise," he said, his black eyes gleaming down at me.

"W-what?"

"No sex, that I will grant you. But I would have you give me something of yourself willingly in return."

"What do you want?"

"I would see you unclothed, your body bare, before you leave me this night."

I wasn't sure if I could do that. Then I considered the alternative, considered what else he could have asked of me, or not asked, simply forced me to do. In light of his restraint, long unpracticed, showing him my naked body was not much to ask for really. Highly unlikely that my paltry offerings would trigger him to uncontrollable lust. A good thing.

"Do you agree?"

Conversely, it would have been much easier to comply with his request had I been more centerfold material. Oh, God.

"Yes," I said, agreeing to his terms.

He eased back away from me and stood, giving me room. "Go on."

I'd never done this before, deliberately strip for a man. Gargoyle he might be, but he was still very much male, more powerful and domineering than I was used to. And the look in his eyes said that he very much considered me a female, one he was attracted to. Oddly enough, having him look at me like that, with anticipation, made it harder.

I stood, feeling awkward and uncertain. "In this dress, you already pretty much see everything," I said, stalling.

"You agreed," he rumbled in warning. "Do not make me ask you again."

Crap. His patience and mercy were apparently at an end.

I didn't disrobe slowly. I did it quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. I slid the straps down my shoulders and that was all it took. Without that support, the dress slithered down my body, falling in a poof around my feet. I stood there, eyes downcast, and sensed him move closer to me.

"Lie back on the divan," he said roughly. "I want to see you displayed there."

My eyes darted up in a quick peek. If he was disappointed in any way, it was not evident. On the contrary, desire had pulled the strong bones of his face even more prominent. His expression was intently male, savagely so, as his eyes moved slowly down my body… sending my feelings flip-flopping from fear of disappointing him to fear of being taken again against my will.

"Don't make me fight you, please."

"I will not touch you with my hands," he murmured in reassurance.

Trusting in his promise, I lay back down on the divan, my body trembling. The smooth flat surface felt too much like a bed, as did his next request. "Open your legs for me."

My eyes shot to his.

"Let me see you," he demanded.

Slowly, I let my legs fall apart.

His eyes roved intimately over my smooth, shaven folds. Over the soft, hidden flesh I bared to his eyes.

"Wider," he said, voice thick. And the rough maleness of his voice, the hot desire I saw in his eyes… it sparked my own desire. That dark, contrary part of me that liked the taste of danger flared to life, and I was suddenly, abruptly, turned on despite my helpless, submissive position. Or maybe because of it. An exquisite feeling of vulnerability danced with a sense of wielded control. Safe danger. My favorite kind.

I spread my legs farther apart, and he shifted, bracing himself over me in the space I had made. With my wide open display and his close viewing of that display, he could not help but see the dewy response starting to seep out.

"You like this," he rumbled thickly, and I bit back a moan, fought not to open farther to him.

Tease him too much and he will take you, a voice inside me warned. My own voice, not Mona Louisa's.

"Yes," I murmured, "a part of me is very attracted to you. To the situation. But my mind still says no. Not yet, at least."

"Not yet, but soon."

I laughed hoarsely. "Yeah, at this rate, probably real soon. Just… not today."

"I have already given you my word."

"I just wanted to be clear. No matter how my body, uh —"

"Responds… and how sweetly it does." His head lowered down until he was poised right over the most secret part of me — shaved, no longer hidden — lying glisteningly wet, open and exposed to him. The thought of him looking at me down there was enough to tighten all the muscles of my body.

He blew a soft, deliberate breath over me. There where I was so freshly bared and so incredibly sensitive. I moaned, I couldn't help it. I moaned at the feel of that delicious puff of air ruffling over my heightened nerve endings. The sight of his massive head with his two thick horns poised between my legs — talk about phallic symbolism — brought forth another gush of arousal. Welled up another moan side me.

No! Don't move. Don't make a sound, I told myself as my body clenched, both inside and out. I tried, I honestly did. But when he blew again, a second deliberate puff of air that riffled like a thousand fluttery fingers across my skin there where all my nerves seemed to have swollen up and gathered, my body no longer listened to me, was no longer in my control.

I came in a brilliant, shocking, shuddering climax, twitching helplessly. He blew again, a third hard jet of air against the most sensitive part of me. moving the current of air over me like a stroking tongue, milking out the orgasm, drawing it out longer, playing me with merciless expertise. Cries spilled from my throat as pleasure — God, such pleasure! — wracked my body.

When he finally raised his head, lifted that incredibly stirring breath away from me, I felt like a puppet sagging limply on its loosened strings.

Oh my God!

I must have said it out loud because he smiled. With the musky scent of my release perfuming the air, with his skin stretched so taut over the broad planes of his face… those dangerous phallic-shaped horns, the rawly sexual look in those black eyes fixed so fiercely, possessively on me, he looked thrillingly, primitively, dangerously male.

"Imagine if I had actually touched you… licked you… sucked you."

His words and the provocative images they invoked rolled a second small orgasm through me — like the slap of a tiny wave that catches you unaware after the big wave had passed by you, and you thought yourself safe.

I gasped, shuddered, writhed beneath him, a guttural moan spilling out from me. "Mercy," I cried hoarsely. "No more."

He smiled, stretching his lips wide, making me suddenly want to taste them… to taste him. I sat up and he started to draw away. My hands grabbed him, stopped him. He was no longer smiling. Slowly I brought my face closer to his until my lips almost touched those wide mobile lips. My tongue flicked out and I licked him, tasted him, made a pleased sound. Another lick, another taste, and then another until I had traveled from one corner of his mouth to the other, leaving my wetness, my own taste, behind.

I pulled back to watch his own tongue emerge, lick his lips, sample the flavor of me.

"Thank you," I said in a husky voice. "That was unexpectedly lovely, both the pleasure and the keeping of your word."

He stared at me for a long moment and stood back up, the cushions shifting under the withdrawal of his weight. I stood as well, and found my legs thankfully up to the task of keeping me upright.

A dark gray hand picked up the little scrap of cloth that was my dress and offered it to me. I took it and found that dressing was almost as easy as undressing. Lift the cloth over my head, drop it down over my body, and like that I was covered once more, outwardly clothed, excruciatingly naked underneath. A little bit like how I felt toward him now.

There was still the remembered fear, the memory of violence and pain that I had suffered under his careless hand. But now coating that like a soothing balm was this new memory, this new knowledge — of his tenderness, his restraint, of our intimacy. Of his word given and kept. Of his breath, just his breath, wringing such pleasure from my body. Of my tongue licking over his lips, tasting him. And of him tasting me in turn. The baring of skin and flesh — it was an intimate act that drew you closer to the male you made yourself vulnerable to, if he treats you with care. And he had.

"Come." He held out his hand and I took it, and the gesture and my ready response pleased us both. The impressive cockstand that tented his pants was a little hard to ignore. But if he could do so, then so could I. I wasn't quite ready yet to offer him ease.

He opened the doors much sooner than the guards standing outside anticipated, I think. There was a brief look of surprise before their expressions smoothed out and they came sharply to attention.

"I shall walk her back to the women's quarters," Gordane informed them, a statement that flashed another brief look of surprise across their faces. Apparently not something he did for the other women.

"I wish to see you again tomorrow," Gordane said as he led me down the wide hallway. And even though he said it forcefully, like a statement, I sensed the question in his words. Just a short time together, and already I seemed able to read him more easily.

Would I be ready to return some of that pleasure tomorrow? I wasn't entirely sure but… "Yes," I answered. The visit — and its orgasmic aftermath — was utterly different from how I had imagined it would end. I certainly hadn't thought I'd be walking back holding hands with him.

To distract myself, and because I was curious, I asked, "Why are things so messy here in the palace?"

"Messy?"

"Dirty, dusty. Neglected looking."

Gordane gazed around him as if he was only just now seeing the heavy dust coating the furniture, the bits of dirt and debris building up in the corners. He frowned, and the expression was no longer as frightening as it used to be. "The palace steward foolishly stole from me. I hadn't gotten around to replacing him yet."

"How long ago was this?"

"A hand span of days. Perhaps two."

"It looks much longer than that."

"Perhaps it is. I do not keep track much of time."

"What happened to the stealing steward?"

"His punishment was the same as all who betray me. The arena."

"More merciful than I would have expected from you."

"Merciful? In what way?"

"I thought you would have killed him, so to speak. Ended his existence instead of just punishing him."

"I did."

His answer made me stop. "What?"

"You look suddenly pale. Are you not feeling well?"

My fingers tightened around his much bigger hand. "Miles… you sent him to his death?"

Gordane's brows drew together. "Yes, I thought you knew. Was aware of what the arena meant."

"No. I thought it was just a punishment, not his final death. My God…" My voice trailed off as I remembered again that last frantic look Miles had given me, as if he'd never see me again. He'd known. Dear Goddess, he had known, and thought I had, too. That I had stood quietly by and let him be led to his death — again.

Within me, Mona Louisa whispered, Am I to be the death of him always?

You didn't seem to regret his first death, I answered.

I did not. But I do now. You have changed me. I would not willingly be the cause of his death again.

"You can't kill him," I said urgently to Gordane.

He looked down at me, his ebon eyes dark and enigmatic. "I thought he was your enemy."

"He was… he is. But Mona Louisa… she cares for him. And he was trying to help me. To help her, really, but also me. Please. You must save him if you can."

"It may already be too late. The werebeasts may have already torn him apart."

"You have to try to stop it."

He came to a swift decision. "I will take you back to the women's quarters, then go."

"No time! Take me with you."

A brief hesitation and then he turned and started running back in the direction we had come from. My hand wrapped tight in his, we veered around a couple of turns and came to the grand entryway with all those odd statues. He swung open one of the heavy doors with an easy pull, and we charged past the startled guards outside.

"Hold onto me tightly," Gordane said as his wings unfurled and lifted us into the air. We soared up thirty feet… fifty… with two strong flaps of those powerful wings. The force with which we cut through the air brought tears to my eyes. I hung onto Gordane as he had commanded. Plastered myself to that strong body, and felt his big arms wrapped tightly around me. And I marveled at the strength of those wings, able to take our combined weight so easily airborne like that. Marveled that such a huge span, more than twice my height, could fold up so perfectly flat onto his back so that it was neatly hidden and almost forgotten until he spread it open once more.

The speed and power of our flight buoyed up my hope, until a crowd's roar came floating up on the winds to me. I peered down and felt dizzy at how high up we were. I saw the arena down below us, the vast amount of people filling its seats. In the center pit was Miles, injured, his left leg torn and bleeding. He was armed with a sword and shield, but grossly outnumbered, surrounded by a dozen creatures… just like the statues in the entryway! Only these were not frozen stone figures. These were flesh and blood, moving, bleeding, savagely attacking!

Werebeasts, Gordane had called them. Mutant monstrosities would have been more apropos. There were freakish half-man, half-animal forms. Also mixed animal-animal forms, like the lizard-snake thing I had encountered in the desert, only worse, much worse. A few looked as if the heads of wolves had been ripped off intact and planted on top of human bodies. There were even more disturbing hybrids, everything from buffaloes and lions to snake heads. Even more nauseating was the reverse combination — human heads atop animal bodies.

We flew over the nightmarish creatures in a dark swoop of wings, drawing attention so that all eyes were lifted to the sky. In a sharp descent, Gordane flew down into the stadium crowd and dropped me into the surprised hands of some of his guards.

"Keep her safe," he ordered, and flew off to the center of the arena. He swooped down toward Miles, but Miles was either unnerved by the gargoyle's approach — and honestly, who wouldn't be, seeing a huge horned creature bearing down on you — or he mistrusted Gordane's intent. Whatever the reason, he raised his shield, blocking Gordane's grab for him.

"No!" I cried. "He's trying to help you, Miles." But my words were lost in the excited shouts of the spectators. Another roar of sound as the werebeasts sprang at Miles, attacking him desperately from all sides, as if they sensed the imminent loss of their prey. His sword slashed in a circle, cutting open several werebeasts, but the rhino werebeast — a rhino head atop a horse's body — charged from behind and caught him up on his horn. The sharp tip emerged out the front of him. Blood burst out, and I screamed, the sound lost amidst the frenzied shouts that rose from the crowd. Miles somehow heard me. His head turned in my direction, his eyes searching, finding me. Our eyes were locked together for one brief instant, then the contact broke as the rhino-beast tossed Miles off his horn. He went airborne — ten feet up in the air, falling back down. Gordane turned in mid-flight, sharply changing direction, but he was too far away to catch him. Miles fell and hit the ground in a bloody crumple, and only Gordane swooping down to hover over him like a giant winged bat kept the other werebeasts from pouncing on him.

The gargoyle had no weapon, nothing more threatening than his spread hands. But that seemed to be enough to keep the werebeasts back, as if they sensed something about Gordane that I couldn't see. And they were not the only ones afraid of him. Miles had somehow managed to hang onto his sword and shield. He raised both weakly now against Gordane, as if the greatest threat to him was from the hovering gargoyle above instead of the gnashing, howling werebeasts circling him. He seemed to fear Gordane even more than the grotesqueries waiting to tear him apart. Looking at Gordane, the powerful intimidating bulk of him, I wasn't surprised that he inspired fear. I was surprised, though, that he inspired more fear than the rabid werebeasts. It was obvious that Miles wasn't going to let Gordane touch him, just as it was obvious that Gordane would not be able to hold them all back for much longer.

Save him, Mona Louisa urged within me.

How?

Fly to him.

Her words didn't make sense. My other form was a Bengal tiger. I can't fly, I told her.

But I can.

Mona Louisa was a vulture in her alternate form. Since pulling her essence into me, I had often dreamed of flying in my sleep — her dreams, her remembered thoughts. She wanted me to shift into her vulture form. Something I didn't know if I could do or even wanted to do. If we ventured into the arena, and one of those werebeasts got a hold of us…

She tried to shift. I resisted her.

Do this for me, and I will be in your debt, she urged me.

I was surprised, shocked actually, that she cared enough to risk both of us to save Miles when once she had sacrificed him so easily to the Council.

You wouldn't have tried to do this before. To try to save him.

No. Nor would you have hesitated before. We have bled parts of ourselves into each other. I absorbed some of your love and caring for your men, your people. You now have some of my callousness. You show caution where you once would have charged forward without hesitation.

If she was trying to shame me, it wasn't working. You forget that the guy you're asking me to risk my life for once tried to rape me.

Grant me this and I promise you that I will repay you this debt. Please, she begged with a humbleness that I would have said was not possible for her. Not for the Ice Queen.

I stopped resisting. Okay, I told her. Go ahead. Shift.

She did. No hesitation. I felt her push out of my body like a snake shedding an old skin, and emerging with a new one. Maybe it was knowing and understanding what she was doing and not being panicked by it. Whatever the reason, the change occurred easily. Or should I say, the half-change.

I felt my upper body shift, my height shrinking as my spine shortened. My mouth and nose curved into a hooked beak as wings pushed out my back, stretching the straps of the dress out to the side but thankfully not breaking them. Feathers emerged and covered my upper body. The lower part of me, though, didn't change: two legs, I saw, looking down. Shifting my gaze higher, I saw a clear demarcation. Above the waist, I had the feathers and body of a large bird, a vulture. Below the waist, I was still human. With dawning horror, I realized that I had shifted… and become just like those mutant werebeasts! I screamed, and a vulture's raucous cry came out of my parted beak. With a powerful flap of wings, I launched myself up into the air, leaving my stunned guards, and soared skyward, my human legs dangling, flying to where Mona Louisa's heart urged us even amidst my panic.

We're like them, the werebeasts! I screamed inside.

We're not like them. We're still sane. They're not. Keep sharp. We're going in.

Another raucous shriek alerted Miles to our coming. He looked up and he saw us. Gordane, too. On Miles's face was a look of recognition and relief. Of welcome. He pushed himself weakly to his feet, his shield still raised against Gordane, but he left himself open to me as I swooped down, his body turned to me, his sword holding back the werebeasts. Gordane moved back, giving me room to come in. Only as I made the swooping dive did I realize I had a problem.

How in bloody tarnation was I going to grab Miles and carry him away? I didn't have hands anymore, just wings, and human feet, which just weren't that good for grabbing things.

Miles would have to grab onto me and do his best to hold on.

He is too weak, Mona Louisa said. He can barely hold up his sword. Shift into your tiger's feet. Do a partial change.

I don't know how to do a partial change, I said wildly.

What state do you think we are in now? The lower half of your body remains in your control, not mine. Shift! Shift now.

I tried, because I couldn't think of any other option. Miles was less than twenty feet away. I pictured it in my mind, a partial change, feet only, and a burning, prickling sensation started in my toes and swept swiftly up my feet. I looked down and watched with a kind of fascinated horror as I shed human feet and began sprouting orange and white fur up to my ankles. Watched as my feet morphed into hairy tiger's paws. Watched as long, wicked black claws sprang out from each toe point.

I flew in with speed, with dexterity — remembered instincts coming back naturally. Instincts that were not from me but from her. I reached down with my tiger claws, flying in on my vulture wings, as if I had done this a thousand times before, and deftly snatched up my prey. I felt my sharp claws sink deep into flesh with almost melting ease. A sudden forceful jerk as I came up against his unmoving weight, met it and overcame it.

With a straining flap of wings, I heaved him up off the ground and into the air.

Two werebeasts leaped up after us, their foam-flecked teeth zeroing in on Miles's dangling legs. Gordane swatted them away from us with two quick blows. The other werebeasts howled, seeing their food escaping them. In mindless hunger, they turned on each other with tearing teeth.

I glanced back once. Saw Gordane following us, his winged presence blocking most of the carnage down below from sight. He risked himself for me, I thought, that part of me that was still me and not the vulture — not her.

As we flew over the high walls of the arena and landed on the other side, soldiers came pouring out, now when we had no need of them. But who could blame them for not venturing into the bloody arena pit? Hearing the terrible squeals and shrieks coming from the other side of the wall, I wondered how I had dared fly down so close to those frightening mutants. Then again, who was I to be talking when I looked just like them! Maybe even worse.

My tiger claws retracted as I dropped Miles lightly onto the ground and landed with spread wings that folded in to lie neatly against my vulture back. Such a nifty invention, wings. With a mental willing, or rather a thought more like Okay, enough of this bizarre bird form, I shifted back. Feathers melted, reshaped into skin. My spine lengthened. Furry paws morphed back into feet. Wings transformed into arms and hands. Everything went like clockwork. Only Mona Louisa emerged, not I.

"I didn't know," she said, dropping down in front of Miles. "I didn't know the arena would mean your final death. As soon as I realized, I came."

He gazed at her with surprise, fierce tenderness, with devotion and adoration, as he lay there gored and bleeding. "You came for me."

Looking down into those expressive eyes, I felt something soften in Mona Louisa, and used that moment of weakness to push her back down, and myself out. Face and body transformed as I emerged.

The reaction of the watching soldiers was dramatic. They gasped, took a collective step back away from me. Some made a warding sign.

Ignoring them, I said, "You should thank Lord Gordane. He was trying to help you, you idiot. Why did you keep blocking his attempts to reach you?"

The look of adoration faded from his eyes at my appearance. In their place, though, was something I never expected to see — respect. "Forgive me, milady. I was not certain of his intent."

"What other reason could he have had for flying into that pit and risking himself like that?"

Miles pushed himself painfully up enough to kneel at Gordane's feet. Blood spurted from his wounds, but he was already bleeding less, starting to heal. "Forgive me, my lord, for not trusting you as I should have."

"It was understandable," Gordane said.

Maybe to them — not to me. A part of me wondered what Gordane could have possibly done to Miles that would have been worse than being eaten by werebeasts. Another part of me thought it might be better if I didn't know. I shook my head at both of them.

"Are you going to punish him further?" I asked Gordane.

Gordane looked questioningly at me. "Do you wish me to punish him further?"

"No! Definitely not."

"Then there will be no further punishment."

It should have ended there, but this was NetherHell. In a dramatic turn of events worthy of a Hitchcock thriller, the already dark sky darkened even more as huge winged creatures — gargoyles, scores of them — flew over the arena wall in a frightening swarm. They were dressed in dark armor, with black swords and knives strapped to their huge bodies. They caught sight of us, and like a flock of birds — big, scary ones — they veered down, landing in a loose circle around us. Not only did they outnumber the dheu guards, they outsized them in both height and weight. Two gargoyles flew to block the entry and exit points of the arena, preventing more guards from rushing to our aid.

"Hold!" Gordane commanded his soldiers. They had drawn their weapons but were cowering back away from the gargoyles. At the same time, they were careful to keep an equal distance between them and Gordane, as if being touched by any of the gargoyles was equally bad.

"We come for the woman," one of the gargoyles said. Even with him looking straight at me, it took a full second to understand that the woman he meant was me, and to recognize him, so different did he look from when I last saw him.

"Ghemin's dad?" I said as recognition kicked belatedly in. Recognition and the sudden understanding that this was a rescue, not an attack.

"You cannot have her. She is mine!" Gordane growled. He stood protectively on my left, while Miles positioned his bleeding, battered body on my right side.

"You are Gordane, the outcast," said the gargoyle.

"And who are you?" asked Gordane.

"I am Vlad, the gargoyle king."

The king of the gargoyles, who had been dressed only in old trousers the first time I saw him. Still I should have suspected. The air of command in Vlad was unchanged — still bossy. It fit him more appropriately now, though, dressed in the trappings of war and armed to the teeth with wicked weapons.

"This woman saved my son's life," Vlad declared. "She does not belong here."

"She is to be my bond-mate," Gordane said in turn — a statement that obviously took Vlad by surprise. "You cannot have her. With all the female gargoyles that you have to choose from, you cannot take this one from me."

"I do not desire her for myself," Vlad said calmly. "I wish to return her to where she belongs. She is not meant to stay in this realm."

"You can return me?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"A part of her is dead, truly dheu," Gordane said tightly.

"But that is not all that she is."

"The living part of her doesn't mean she will be able to cross," Gordane said.

"The demon part of her will allow her to," Vlad said.

Gordane fell silent. "That may be," he finally said, "but the gate is still closed between our realms."

"A scout reported the presence of demons in the high mountains."

Vlad's words sent a small thrill through me. "Which means the gate is open," I whispered.

He nodded.

"Even so, will I be able to leave this realm?" I asked.

"I cannot say for sure," Vlad replied. "I only know that long before, demons walked our realm at will, entering and leaving during brief periods of time when our seasons shifted. Such a period of time we are now in. But that time frame is a narrow one, soon to end."

"How soon?"

"When this night ends, and a new day reddens the sky, the period will end. If you wish to go, we must leave now."

Inside, I felt Mona Louisa's resistance, and caught the turmoil of her emotions, enough to know that she did not want to leave this place, this realm. She was stronger here.

I'm calling in your debt, Mona Louisa. I'm asking you not to stop me from trying to leave this realm.

We gazed at Miles, the man she had bargained with me to save.

As you wish came her unhappy response. I will do nothing to hinder you.

The locking down of my muscles that she had begun faded away. One problem down. Onto the next one.

"Vlad, I would ask of you a favor, if I may."

"I do not comprehend your meaning."

I searched in my head for another word beside favor. Mona Louisa supplied it. "I would ask a boon of you."

"What boon would you have of me?"

"That you allow Gordane the opportunity of finding a bond-mate among your women."

My request seemed to stun all the gargoyles.

"Gordane didn't do anything really bad, like kill some of your people, did he?"

"No, he simply left." Vlad make that sound like the most heinous crime. "He choose to leave and willingly become outcast."

"He was young and foolish, his own words to me. He's older, much older now, and he's been alone a long time, with no chance of a family, no chance of having a little Ghemin of his own. Couldn't you grant him a royal pardon or something?"

Vlad fixed his eyes on the other gargoyle. "Do you wish to return to us?" he asked.

A slew of emotions chased across Gordane's face — arrogance, pride, uncertainty, then yearning. "Yes," Gordane grated out. "I would desire that greatly. I do not wish to stay there — I could not leave behind all I have attained here. But to come and spend time among the gargoyles once again… yes, that would be my heart's desire."

"Then it shall be granted," Vlad said.

Gordane bowed to his king while I made an awkward half-curtsy, half-bowing gesture. Straightening, my eyes fell upon Miles and deep inside I felt Mona Louisa's grief. "I'm sorry, Miles," I said. "If it were up to her, Mona Louisa, she'd stay here with you."

"But it's not up to her," he said.

"No."

"Then go. I wish you well. And should you return, I will be here."

Never in a million years could I have imagined feeling what I did — regret at leaving this man who had so recently been my enemy. A large part of it was Mona Louisa's emotions, but a tiny part of it was my own feelings.

"I wish you well also," I said softly, and turned to say good-bye to the other man at my side.

"No farewells yet," Gordane said. "I am going with you."

I blinked up at him, and found the idea attractive — having him there as we headed into the unknown. "I'd like that."

With Gordane beside me, I walked to Vlad. "Okay, I'm ready to go."

Vlad smiled and took my hand, causing the gargoyle warriors around us to give little grunts of surprise. I'm not sure at what. Because he'd touched me? Or that I'd allowed him to?

"Like before," Vlad said. Lifting me up into his arms, he cradled me against him in the same way he had carried his son. "Hold on tightly." He launched his powerful body off the ground and his great wings unfurled, spreading wide, snapping taut like dark sails catching the wind. Soaring through the air with him was different this time. His body was encased in armor that looked like metal but felt more like leather to the touch, hard with some flexible give to it, and very, very slippery. It was his grip on me rather than mine on him that kept me from falling. Peeking over his shoulder, I saw the other gargoyles spread out in winged escort behind us. The walled city-state, that great oasis, grew smaller and smaller with each strong surge of Vlad's wings.

I closed my eyes as the sight — the sheer height — somersaulted my stomach. I hadn't felt that way before when I had wrapped myself tight as a burr around him. But I'd had a solid grip on him then. Not now, hence the queasy feeling.

"How is Ghemin doing?" I asked to take my mind off of matters beyond my control, and because I really wanted to know. The boy had been hurt badly by Pietrus's slurrying touch.

"He is weak but well, by the grace of your timely intervention."

I lifted my face from where I had rested it against that slippery armor. Watching Vlad's face outlined against the black-scarlet sky was much better than watching the ground fall farther away beneath us. Focusing just on his face, it hardly seemed as if we were moving.

"I would have come for you sooner," he said, his dark eyes troubled as he glanced down at me. "But my first responsibility was to see my son safely to my people first. After doing so, I gathered my warriors and came here as soon as I could."

"I'm fine," I said, patting him on the chest. "I didn't expect you to come back for me. It never occurred to me, actually, that you would."

"Then your sacrifice was even greater than I originally thought. It was a noble but foolish thing you did, falling from such a height. You could have died."

"I thought I was already dead. What else was I to think, finding myself here in NetherHell?"

"But you are not."

"Thank God. Or maybe I should say — thank the Goddess."

"Do your people pray to the Moon Goddess?" he asked.

"I don't know. I do sometimes. I'm not sure about the other Monères. What about you? Who do you pray to?"

"A different moon deity." He smiled at my astonishment, his face crinkling up in a cute-ugly sort of way. "Our people, too, are descended from the moon. Did you think Monères to be the only species originating there?"

I shook my head, marveled silently. "I guess I did."

An animal's blood-curdling roar abruptly ended our conversation. It came from the foot of the tall mountain we were approaching. A second bellow tore through the air.

"Jesus freaking Christ!" My arms tightened around Vlad's neck in a near stranglehold. "What on earth is that?"

"An obor," Vlad said as the treetops below shuddered and shook as something very, very large disturbed them. "It is not a creature you would find anymore in your realm. Vicious beasts you want to avoid, if you can."

Our flight shifted and we started to descend… right toward where those treetops shook so ominously.

"Uh, then why are you going toward it and not away from it?"

"Because I believe it is your demons that likely stirred the obor from its slumber. The realm gate lies on the cliff above. They would have to pass this way to reach the desert plain."

We neared enough so that I was able to see the creature — as big, mean, and nasty-looking as Vlad said it was — and see what it battled.

My breath caught as my eyes fell upon the two tiny demons defending themselves against the giant obor. "Gryphon." Another whisper. "Halcyon."

"You know them?" Vlad asked.

"Oh, yes, I know them. Like my own heart. They came for me," I said, an astonishingly wonderful and terrible thing. Terrible because what they faced — a great behemoth of a creature — reared up and tried to stomp them with its huge forelegs.

Gryphon darted nimbly out of the way with his usual fluid grace, slashing at the giant beast with his sword, slicing into the thick skin. Halcyon also moved, but much more slowly, his movements sluggish and tired, not fast enough to evade that huge descending foot. Gryphon yelled, struck out with his sword again, trying to distract the beast away from the Demon Prince but the obor's attention didn't waver from Halcyon. Just before the foot slammed down on him, Halcyon threw up a hand and hurled out a pulse of power that mixed with my cry.

The power was enough to deflect that giant foot to the left, so that it smashed down on the boulder beside him, crumbling it to dust less than a foot away from Halcyon. Another gesture from that elegant hand, another sharp pulse of power from Halcyon, and a large slash opened up on the trunk of that leg, gaping like an obscene mouth spilling out blood. The creature screamed in pain. Jerking away from Halcyon, it turned and charged at Gryphon — easier prey that did not slice open its flesh with invisible power.

Halcyon lifted his face up. He'd heard my cry, or maybe just sensed our movements. He looked up and saw us. Saw me.

Instead of urging Vlad away, I urged him now down toward the monster. "We have to help them!"

"As you wish," Vlad said with a slight smile. The air whistled by as we swooped down. He touched down upon the ground, and set me down on my feet, much too far away from where the battle raged.

"Stay here," he ordered as the other gargoyles landed in loose formation around us. I opened my mouth to argue, when my eyes were drawn beyond Vlad as if pulled by an irresistible force.

I met Gryphon's eyes, so shockingly blue. Looked upon that beautiful, dear face once again. Felt love — first love — wash over me. Remembered the shocking devastation of his death. And could only say — only think — one word: "Gryphon."