Otherworld Protector Page 3

  “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 why she had been brought here...

  The wariness vanished from her face as she looked at Moncoya. Frustration chased away Cal’s brief feeling of optimism when Stella began to laugh. “I suppose another glass of wine won’t hurt before I get back to work.”

  Chapter 3

  Stella would have known her protector anywhere. She had stored up the memory of those curiously light eyes, that strong jaw, the perfection of his mouth. It was as if, in that brief instant of seeing him all those years ago, her mind had taken a mental photograph. That was how she knew the man at the beachside cafe was watching her. Not just ogling a random girl in a swimsuit. Not smirking with amusement as she struggled with the tie on her bikini top and almost flashed the whole Barcelonan beachfront as she emerged from the water. No, he was watching her because it was him, and that was what he did.

  Although in his own form Stella’s protector stayed on the edge of her vision, she knew he sometimes came to her in human form. She would get that feeling—as if warm honey had been injected into her veins—and she would know. He was the lifeguard at the swimming pool when she slipped and hit her head. Or the electrician who fixed the faulty wiring in her apartment.

  Once she had been jogging in the park when a dog ran toward her. She hadn’t been alarmed at first but, out of nowhere, a figure had streaked past her and wrestled the animal to the ground. The beast had clamped its jaws onto the man’s forearm, but luckily he wore padding so that its teeth did not sink into his flesh. Some sort of dog training exercise, Stella had thought as she ran past. Then the familiar soothing feeling had come over her and she had paused to look back. Although they had been there only seconds earlier, there was no longer any sign of either the man or the dog.

  Another time, after a night out with friends, she had been about to get into a taxi when a line-jumper had shoved her out of the way and stolen her cab. Her initial fury had died away as the sweet warmth flowed through her. A collective gasp of horror had risen from the watching partygoers as the taxi pulled away straight into the path of an out-of-control truck. The cab had spun wildly, like a toy in the hand of a giant, before banging to a stop. Its rear end was crushed like a concertina. Stella had shivered in her thin party dress as she gave a witness statement to the police.

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

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

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

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

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

  “I said I like who you are.”

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

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

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

  “I know.”

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

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

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

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

  “There was no meteorite, Stella.”

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

  “My name is Cal.”

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

  “It was a gargoyle.”

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

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

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

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

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

  “It glided.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “And this being is...?”

  “The king of the faeries.”

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

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

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

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

  * * *

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

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

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

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

  “I’d like to get dressed.” She maintained a dignified tone.

  “Pretend I’m not here.” Cal turned his back.

  It was on the tip of Stella’s tongue to order him out of her room, when it occurred to her that she wouldn’t know if he’d actually gone. It was probably better to have him here, where she could see that glorious expanse of tanned, muscled back while she threw on her shorts and top, than send him away.

  “Are you my guardian angel?”

  Stella threw herself down on the bed, lying on her back, with her hands laced behind her head. The room was furnished in a traditional Spanish style with walls that were painted in warm, soothing terra-cotta tones. The floor tiles were a mosaic of blue and gold, and carved, dark wood furniture lined the room. A ceiling fan made lazy circles above her head. Cal seemed to debate joining her and then sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, stretching his long legs in front of him. From the angle she had chosen, all Stella could actually see of him now was the lower half of his legs and his bare feet. Just as she decided he wasn’t going to answer the question, he spoke.

  “It’s hard for me to answer that because the concept of a guardian angel has been created by humans. Mortals have built a set of rules around something they do not understand because they want to be able to explain it.”

  Stella threw a cushion in his general direction. “Answer the bloody question.”

  The cushion flew back at her. “In my experience, mortals don’t like it when the response is not what they want to hear.”

  Tired of not being able to see him, she moved to the other end of the bed and lay on her stomach so that her face was only inches from his. “Are you being enigmatic to annoy me or are you trying to tell me I’ve got the terminology wrong?”

  “Both.”

  He grinned and Stella watched in fascination as a dimple danced at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought about, never having been able to get close to him before, but Cal did not conform to the blueprint of physical perfection that should surely be a prerequisite for an angel. It was those minor imperfections—the gap between his front teeth that was a fraction too wide, the tiny star-shaped scar at the corner of his right eye, the unruly lock of hair flopping onto his forehead, the golden-brown stubble—that made him such a stunning-looking man. And that in itself was surely wrong. Weren’t angels meant to be asexual? But, if what he was saying was correct, she needed to unlearn everything she thought she knew about angels.

  She linked her hands together and propped her chin on them, enjoying being close to him. It was a strange sensation, like getting to know someone she had been acquainted with all her life. Or coming face-to-face with a pen pal in whom she had confided her most intimate secrets. Getting to know him? Who was she trying to fool? She’d stored up the memory of his face ever since that long-ago moonlit night. Wasn’t falling for your guardian angel forbidden? She frowned, trying to remember the results from the time she’d searched the internet for it. She was fairly sure horrible things would happen to heaven and earth if an angel and a mortal ever made love. Unless that bit wasn’t true? Her heart gave a hopeful little skip. Getting a bit ahead of yourself, Stella, she told herself firmly.

  “Are you all right?” Cal’s voice brought her back to reality. “You’ve gone very red.”

  “It’s what we humans do in the heat. I did a lot of research about guardian angels. I did it so I would know all about you. Are you telling me it was all wrong?”

  She thought the look in the depths of his shimmering eyes became guarded. The laughter and teasing were gone. “Some of it almost certainly was.” His voice was colorless. “Guardian angel or not, can we do what I came here for? Can we talk about how I intend to keep you safe from Moncoya?”

  Stella sat up abruptly. “Not this again.”

  “Yes, this again.” Cal reached out a hand, but she evaded him.

  “I need a cold drink.” Slipping from the bed without another word, Stella left the room and made her way dow
n the stairs.

  Chapter 4

  Cal swore under his breath. He could hear voices from the lower floor, which meant he could go down there only if he was invisible. Invisibility meant he would not be unable to interact with Stella, which in turn meant he could not try to convince her of the danger she was in. Every minute she spent with Moncoya was enabling the faerie king to draw her deeper under his spell. Such was the power the so-called “little people” could wield when they chose. Not that Stella appeared to be in need of much persuasion. Helplessness was a new sensation for Cal. It was not one he relished.

  It bothered him that she thought of him as her guardian angel, although, in many ways that was exactly what he had become. Not by choice, and there was certainly nothing angelic about him. His thoughts recoiled from the memories that had led him here. It didn’t matter how he had come to be in this role. Whatever label Stella gave him, his job was to protect her and he couldn’t do that if he stayed up here and couldn’t see what she was doing. Sighing, he followed her.

  Cloaked by invisibility, he reached the foot of the stairs and cast a swift glance about the vast room. Stella was standing by the drinks machine, sipping water from a glass. There was no one else around and Cal frowned. He had definitely heard voices. A glance at the glass wall showed him that the panels were closed. Shadowy movement in the dusk beyond the terrace caught Cal’s gaze and he walked over to get a closer look. His attention was diverted as Moncoya entered behind him through the front door. Stella didn’t notice and the faerie king paused, eyeing her rear view appreciatively. Cal couldn’t really blame him. It was a particularly tempting sight.

  Moncoya’s embroidered waistcoat hung open over a white dress shirt and he wore skintight black leggings tucked into glossy riding boots. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. Momentarily, Cal caught a glimpse of the yellow ring that lit his eyes. How could Stella not see that there was something fundamentally wrong about this guy?