A job she loved. A boss she liked. And no monsters. This new turn in the road offered her a whole new direction. The drab highway was forever behind her. Ahead lay a winding, challenging mountain pass. She was ready to forge upward along this new scenic route.
* * *
“He doesn’t need to send his foot soldiers to lurk under your bed anymore, Stella. Not when he’s sitting right next to you.” And hoping that very soon he’ll be joining you in that bed.
Cal could feel the frustration pouring off him like sweat off a cage fighter. He wanted to storm over there, drag her away from Moncoya and all the way back to the only place he knew for sure he could keep her safe. When there were other people around it was so difficult to watch out for her. University had been problematic and so boring. Cal had yawned through the lectures and seminars that fascinated Stella. All those kids, all rushing somewhere. London especially had been the worst place to guard her.
Because it wasn’t just Moncoya he had to look out for. In a way Moncoya was the least of his problems. He snorted with laughter at that thought and mentally rephrased it. Moncoya was a dangerous bastard, but at least he would be predictably terrifying. It was the others, the unknowns, who posed the greater problem. Because word of the prophecy had trickled out. It had been inevitable. So many centuries had passed since the prediction was first spoken, and then written. So many great scholars had frowned and debated over its meaning. One of Cal’s worst fears throughout that time had been how the vague wording might be interpreted. Evil can twist any meaning to suit its purpose. And fragile Stella would be on the receiving end of those twists.
Confrontation with Moncoya was inevitable. But, as the apocalyptic time drew closer, who else was hunting Cal’s precious charge? Was the man on the bus really just a sad loner who got a hard-on from rubbing himself up against young women? Turned out he was. Could the woman who had run toward Stella with a closed umbrella extended in front of her like a weapon during rush hour really have been late for an appointment? Cal couldn’t take that chance. A strategically extended foot and the woman had gone sprawling into the gutter while Stella continued on her way oblivious to any danger, real or imagined. As it should be. All in a day’s work. No thanks necessary.
He didn’t want thanks. Or even acknowledgment. What he had never envisioned when he took this assignment and laid his plans for this day was that he would be forced to watch as his charge gazed worshipfully into the fiery eyes of the very being from whom she should be shrinking. On reflection, he supposed it was only to be expected. Moncoya’s touch, like that of all his kind, was known to be heady and intense. Moncoya, the most powerful of them all, could, it was said, induce euphoria to the point of spiritual, even physical, ecstasy with the lightest touch of his fingertips. Cal curled his lip at that. He’d believe that particular piece of Moncoya propaganda if he felt it for himself. Not that the little manikin would ever have the nerve to touch him, let alone come close to him. Not after the last time. Nevertheless, the new, dreamy look on Stella’s face seemed to confirm the rumor that Moncoya’s touch, once felt, had such a profound effect on the psyche that it evoked a desperate yearning to experience it again.
“More wine?” Cal looked up as the cause of his bad mood held the bottle of Rioja over Stella’s glass.
“No.” She shook her head, placing her hand over her glass a fraction of a second too late so that the ruby liquid ran over her fingers. She laughed, lifting her fingers to her lips to lick the droplets away. “I want to get back to that platform tonight. There are still some issues with fine-tuning the graphics.”
They were seated on the terrace at the back of the house enjoying its spectacular views over the city. The evening sky was a tapestry of coral and lavender threaded through with streaks of gold, and the air was heavy with the scent of summer flowers. Stella wore a sundress that looked as if it was made from six stitched-together handkerchiefs. From his position leaning against an olive tree to one side of the terrace, Cal studied her face thoughtfully. For the first time ever, she was wearing lip gloss. His heart sank further and he found himself torn between conflicting emotions. Moncoya’s presence made him want to behave like the overprotective father in a sitcom and tell her to get inside and cover up. Another part, possibly the stronger part, insisted in forcing his eyes to linger on the slender expanse of her thighs. It was an oddly possessive emotion, new and strangely exhilarating.
The sky darkened swiftly to night and bats flew in relay from the eaves of the casa to the street lamps and back, greedily grabbing any insects in their path. Moncoya leaned closer to Stella, and Cal clenched a fist against his thigh, willing the tousle-haired mongrel to give him an excuse to intervene, at the same time knowing he was powerless to do anything. Because this was as it had been ordained and he, of all people, could not deflect the course of the prophecy.
Just as Moncoya’s hand moved to within an inch of the pale flesh of Stella’s upper arm, a monumental crash reverberated around the garden. The ground trembled as though in the grip of a brief but violent earthquake, and a cloud of red dust flew up several feet from the terrace.
“Go inside.” Cal watched approvingly as Moncoya thrust Stella toward the open door. This was a first. Who’d have thought he’d ever find himself in agreement with Moncoya? He was aware that, although she followed the instruction, Stella hovered half in and half out of the casa, gazing at the point of impact in fascination.
Moncoya lowered his head and stretched out his arms, and the grotesque beast that had just fallen to earth drew itself up to its full height as it faced him. Moncoya appeared tiny in comparison. Grudgingly, Cal admired his courage. Moncoya spoke softly in a lilting language. The whole night stilled. The dust cloud settled. The creature bared its teeth in a snarl. Moncoya spoke again and it unfurled wings that spanned at least eight feet. Nevertheless, it appeared pinned to the spot.
Cal, growing tired of Moncoya’s dawdling methods, stepped forward and smashed his fist directly into the gargoyle’s hideous face. The creature sank into a crouch, its glowing eyes searching the darkness for the invisible assailant. Moncoya’s head snapped up and Cal took a second to mutter a curse. He had been determined not to reveal his presence to Moncoya. Not yet. Now Moncoya was aware of his existence, although he still didn’t know who Cal was.
“Time to catch up on your beauty sleep. God knows, you need it.” Cal delivered a swift, painfully accurate dropkick to the side of the gargoyle’s head. With a curious grace, the huge creature collapsed back into the red earth. Its natural defense mechanism kicked in and its flesh turned instantly to stone.
“Who is there?” Moncoya’s voice rang out.
Cal moved close, allowing his breath to touch the smaller man’s cheek. “Your worst nightmare,” he whispered. Moncoya’s eyes narrowed to slits of pure fury as he turned in the direction of Cal’s voice.
“What just happened?” Stella stepped back onto the terrace, her own eyes huge and very green as she stared at the recumbent gargoyle.
“A meteorite of some sort.” You had to admire Moncoya, Cal decided. The man could smoothly tell a bald-faced lie.
“That isn’t a meteorite!” Stella had begun to stomp across the garden in the direction of where the stone creature had fallen. Even though Moncoya reached out to halt her, his intervention wasn’t necessary. Before she reached the pile of rubble, Stella turned slowly back to the house, her expression changing. Cal knew that look well. It was a combination of suspicion and stubbornness.
Moncoya shrugged. “Does it matter?” He gestured for her to be seated but she ignored him.
Cal waited for her to say it did matter. Willed her to see Moncoya for what he really was. To finally understand
