Restoration Page 5

  “Whit has become ay th’ fairy, yer highness?” Griff, or Griffin, the leader of the Scottish clan of gargoyles, and McKenna’s relative, asks in a gruff and heavily accented voice.

  Asher turns his attention to the large, Viking-like man, whose long gray beard and mustache hit the middle of his broad chest.

  “The Angelic Council has sentenced and executed her,” Asher answers.

  “By th’ grace,” Griff responds, his blue eyes saddening. “It was th’ will ay fate ’en.”

  Asher nods once, his gaze meeting mine. “It has also come to light that Asmodeus is working with Deacon, leader of the Declan clan. The half-demon, half-gargoyle’s mate, brother, and mother all cease to be,” Asher adds. His expression hardens before he returns a sharp glare to the room. “There is a royal bounty on Deacon’s head. Meaning, when he is captured, no mercy is to be shown. Only a slow, painful end to his pathetic existence.”

  At Asher’s words, low rumblings roll through the group.

  My focus glides over Asher’s stiff body. It’s at moments like this, when he is ferociously protecting the ones he loves, that I’m reminded of how dark he can really be. Sometimes I forget that at the core, he’s supernatural royalty and a fierce gargoyle warrior.

  “Ye’ur askin’ us tae kill one ay our own. By torture?” Sean, Griff’s second in command, poses in a heavy Scottish brogue.

  “Asking?” Asher ponders the word. “No,” he growls, looking between the group leaders. “It’s a royal decree. Deacon has come after my clan. My kin. My mate,” he says slowly. “In our world, he has declared war on my family. It’s personal. An eye for an eye, brother.”

  The tall, muscular Scotsman runs a frustrated hand down the dirty-blond braid in the middle of his head. I study the tattoos adorning the skin on either side of his shaved skull.

  After a moment, he meets Asher’s hard glare. “Ah dinnae loch it, yoong prince.”

  I guess McKenna’s stubborn and disagreeable personality traits run in the family.

  “Your likes and dislikes are not my concern, Sean,” Asher bites out. “My word is final.”

  Griff steps in between the two gargoyles, placing a large hand on Sean’s chest in an effort to pacify the agitated protector before turning to Asher. “Yer wuid es noted, yer highness. When we find hem, th’ Scottish clan will brin’ Deacon tae ye, strugglin’ fur his last breath. On our honur as protectors.” Griff nods his head respectfully to Asher.

  “Thank you for your kinship, Griff,” Asher answers sincerely.

  “Why are we really ’ere, Asher?” Thomas, the second in command of the Irish clan, inquires. “What ‘tis da real reason for dis summit? Aside from askin’ us ta torture an’ kill our own.” His leather jacket groans in protest as he crosses his lanky arms over his chest.

  I study Asher’s Adam’s apple as he works hard to swallow. The slight break in his regal, authoritative composure is only evident to me. “It would seem we have an undead gargoyle king, working with the dark army in an attempt to destroy all that we’ve built,” he responds.

  Silence falls across the room as each gargoyle allows the weight of Asher’s words to sink in. Abby meets her cousin’s eyes with sadness as Thomas’s brows rise in understanding.

  “Christ, son. Are ye sayin’ Garrick St. Michael is alive?” Angus, leader of the Irish clan, and Abby’s uncle, questions. “By de grace.”

  Asher turns his attention to the heavyset, older, bald man whose face is hidden behind a long, thick red beard. “And unlike Deacon, if you find my father, he is to be brought to my brothers and me alive. We claim ownership of his existence. It’s our birthright to cease it.”

  Suddenly, everything turns into mass chaos. There is shouting and barking. Asher releases his grip on me to help Keegan and Callan attempt to gain some control. My eyes slide to the back of the room and I watch as Gage silently slips in, keeping a safe distance.

  He’s studying the drama with disdain marring his expression. Our eyes meet for the briefest moment before he turns his attention back to Asher, with a small tick in his jaw.

  “ENOUGH!” Asher shouts and the room stills.

  “An’ what o’ da council, yer highness?” Thomas challenges Asher.

  “The council is not to be trusted. They harbored my father, even when they knew he’d placed human lives in danger. As king, my first decree will be to dismantle it,” Asher counters.

  “Christ, lad,” Angus barks. “Are ye mad?”

  Asher’s stance becomes more rigid and threatening at Angus’s words. He steps closer to the gargoyle leader. “Are you questioning my authority, Angus?”

  “Ye’re plannin’ an uprisin’. Against de council!” Thomas exclaims.

  Asher cocks his head to the side. “I am doing what is needed for the sake of our clans’ futures. And to ensure the safety of humans and protect my mate,” he admonishes. “Your king, our leader, whose priority it was to protect mankind, decided to side with the enemy in an attempt to keep our race safe. My father had an innocent human woman raped, tortured, and murdered for no other reason than to make a point.”

  I watch Gage visibly flinch at Asher’s reminder of how his mate, Camilla, was tortured.

  “Garrick used human life to control and manipulate, with the council’s blessing. That is not honor. That is not loyalty. That is not the behavior worthy of a king of the protector race,” he continues. “We are gargoyles. It is our calling to protect those who can’t protect themselves. Through duty, honor and loyalty.” Asher stands taller and lifts his chin to the silent room. “I am your next king. You will show allegiance to my clan, the royal family, and my mate, your future queen. AM. I. CLEAR?” he barks at the stunned faces.

  After a few uncomfortable moments of everyone’s eyes darting around, Gage steps forward. Without a word, he casually swaggers over to Asher, stopping within a half-foot of reaching him. With every silent exchange between the two, my breath hitches.

  Both warriors stand tall, full of respect for one another. Something I’ve not seen before. Gage slides his gaze to me and tilts his head as if I’m already the queen and he’s acknowledging it, then he turns back to Asher and silently takes a knee, bowing his head.

  “The Paris clan offers its allegiance to the royal family, as well as the future king and queen of our race.” Gage lifts his gaze and meets Asher’s with a steel resolve. “In the name of Camilla Valeria Marquez Gallagher.” Holy shit.

  It would appear that Gage Gallagher just picked a side.

  Chapter 4

  Broken

  My steps echo in the silence as I weave through Notre Dame’s chapel. The flying buttresses hover so high above me, it’s almost as if they’re trying to reach Heaven. I continue to make my way down one of the two empty aisles, noting the delicate forms of French Gothic architecture. Honey-toned sculptures and majestic stained glass windows adorn the sacred “Our Lady of Paris” cathedral.

  As I pass through the grand gallery, I inhale, trying to feel a divine connection to something—anything that will give me the courage and strength to pull him from the darkness. It’s futile. After the protector’s declaration, I know he is spiraling in self-loathing.

  I trudge up the three hundred eighty-seven stone stairs of the north tower, then cross the narrow walkway to the south tower, passing the chimera and gargoyle statues before squeezing my way up two wooden corkscrew staircases, leading to the viewing platform.

  Stepping onto the balcony, I exhale a sigh of relief when I see what I’ve come in search of. He’s perched on a stone ledge with his grey wings on display and a cigarette hanging off his perfect lips. I slowly approach him so he won’t disappear in avoidance.

  “This seems a bit cliché for you, Gage,” I quip in a soft tone.

  The bad-boy gargoyle doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Instead, he hides behind his lit cigarette. The early rising sun’s shadows cast him in a combination of darkness and light.

  Uninvited, I take a seat next to him on the l
edge and try to hide my fear of the fall below. Instead, I study the beautiful red and orange hues of sunrise, engulfing the city of Paris. We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, basking in peace on the historic building.

  “Where is your protector?” Gage asks in a flat tone.

  I tilt my head, admiring his profile. “Sitting right here, next to me.”

  Gage’s entire body becomes stiff as he turns his head to face me. “Love . . .” He sighs.

  I hold his sea-green gaze. “Don’t say anything to dispute that you are my protector, Gage, because your actions will refute your words.” I inhale. “Plus, you have wings and you’re sitting on top of Notre Dame. I’m pretty sure that screams stereotypical gargoyle protector.”

  Amused, he twitches his lips before returning his focus to the sun-kissed city below us.

  “Asher’s still convening with summit members,” I blow out an exaggerated breath.

  “War strategy is a necessary evil.” He sighs. “How did you get here?”

  “Nassa wanted to practice teleporting candle magic skills. So here I am.”

  Gage’s shoulders slump. “Christ. I should have known the sorceress was involved.”

  “After declaring your allegiance, she’s worried about you. Honestly, so am I,” I admit.

  “Your concern is misplaced.”

  I allow the endless silence to stretch between us until it becomes suffocating.

  “Why are you here?” I dangle and swing my feet. “Seeking divine intervention?”

  He snorts. “Not in this lifetime.”

  I shrug. “Perhaps in the next then.”

  Gage takes a deep inhale of his cigarette before putting it out and throwing the remains over the side of the church. “Not likely, love.”

  “What is it with you supernatural beings and littering? You know, it’s probably your fault humans are experiencing global warming,” I accuse, pointing to the falling butt.

  He ignores my remark. “Do you know how many times this cathedral has been restored?”

  My brows furrow and I shake my head.

  “Numerous. Camilla was part of the last round of restorations, cleaning and repairing the old sculptures. Christ, she loved this place. At least twice a week, I’d wake up in the middle of the night and discover her missing, only to find her here, immersed in the calm she found by restoring the church’s sculptures.” He offers me a heartbreaking smile. “It’s ironic really. She spent more time with the stone gargoyles than she did with me. The real thing.”

  “You protectors aren’t easy to love. Sounds to me like she found solace in her art,” I offer.

  “It’s why I didn’t question where she was the night she was killed. I’d woken up in a cold sweat. My body felt empty and my heart hollow. It was as if my soul left me. And I knew. I knew she was gone. Even still, my mind wouldn’t believe it to be truth,” he trails off.

  I reach over and take his hand in mine, offering him a reassuring squeeze.

  “I got dressed to come here, and I kept telling myself that once I walked into the cathedral, Camilla would be sitting on the floor, like she was every other time, piecing back together all the things in the statues that she couldn’t fix in me. Strands of her long hair would be falling out of the messy knot she’d put it in. Her sparkling eyes would find mine, and she’d smile at me like she always did, in that way that made me feel as though I was the only man alive.” He swallows and hangs his head. “My delusions were destroyed the moment I opened my front door and found her bloodied and distorted body lying lifelessly on the ground.”

  My eyes slide shut, forcing away the tears threatening to fall. Gage lifts our intertwined hands and rubs at his chest, trying to relieve the pain and emptiness that I know is settling in.

  “I miss her so much,” he exhales. “It’s hard to breathe without her. The scars she’s left behind actually seep with loneliness and tear at me.” His voice cracks with emotion.

  I reposition myself so I’m straddling the ledge and take his face between my palms. “I can’t imagine the layers of pain her death causes you to fight through on a daily basis.”

  A lone tear slides down his face, dropping on my hand and crawling across my fingers.

  “Camilla was my one piece of truth in a world stained with dishonesty.”

  I release my hold on his face and gently wipe away the water streak from his cheek.

  “It’s beautiful that you come here to remember and feel closer to her.”

  He releases an abrasive laugh. “Beautiful? No. Ironic, that this is the place I see her face glowing with life and marred in death. Where my reality and memories collide. Where I am incapable of letting go.”

  I swallow a painful lump through my tight throat, and a tear escapes my own eye.

  Gage sniffs harshly. “Don’t waste your tears on me or Camilla. It’s pointless.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about her death,” I respond sincerely.

  He levels me with a sad expression. “As I told you before, you can’t understand what you don’t know. There’s history you can’t appreciate because you are not from our world.”

  “Until recently, I had no idea your world could be so cruel,” I counter.

  He shrugs a dismissive shoulder. “There is darkness in everything that is light, love.”

  “I still can’t believe Garrick is alive,” I mutter.

  “When the bastard spoke of Camilla, in the council room, it was all I could do not to rip his heart out, right there, in front of everyone,” he growls.

  “Did you know he was alive? I mean, before you found that piece of paper with his name on it? The one you threatened me with in Paris?” I ask, knowing he most likely did.

  He pauses before meeting my eyes with a cold stare that could pierce through stone.

  “Garrick St. Michael is a conversation you should be having with Asher, not me.”

  My heart begins to race and I blink slowly. “I’m choosing to have it with you, Gage. You’re the one who keeps telling me to get all the facts, so I can make informed decisions. How am I supposed to do that when everyone constantly keeps me in the dark?”

  He sighs and pulls out another cigarette, lighting it. With a deep inhale, he relaxes his shoulders and traces his lower lip with his thumb in contemplation. “Once upon a time, Asher and I were the best of friends—brothers. Our fathers were close allies. I have no siblings, and over the years, the London clan became a second family to me.” Gage looks off into the distance and shakes his head. “As we got older, our fathers grew more and more distant. They became obsessed with ruling their clans and saving our race. After Camilla’s death, I went to Asher and his brothers with my theories of Garrick and my father’s involvement. For a long time, they didn’t believe me. It’s understandable. They were grieving the loss of their parents, and without proof, there was no reason to assume the king was alive.” Gage drills his gaze into mine.

  “Until I gave you a reason?”

  “Until you gave us confirmation,” he corrects. “Asher witnessed firsthand the devastation Camilla’s death caused me. After losing my mate . . . I lost it, love. I became unhinged. Broken. The London clan attributed my ‘conspiracy ranting’ to my grief. Right before Asher took you on as a charge, I was able to convince him of his father’s past involvement in Camilla’s death. Ironically, it was Deacon who provided me with that evidence. Asher and I suspected Garrick was still tied to Deacon somehow. His resurrection was only a theory, that is, until you scribbled his name on a piece of folded paper and gave it to Michael.”

  “How did you get hold of the piece of paper, Gage?”

  “It’s not your concern, love.”

  “I thought you and Asher weren’t close anymore.” I say. “Sounds like you two still are.”

  He inhales another round of nicotine and lets it out on a long breath. “There are layers of causes and betrayals, spanning over many years, that have led to Asher’s and my distance.”

&nbs
p; “Yet, he trusted you, and only you, with my protection?” I point out. I watch the line of smoke coming off the last of Gage’s cigarette. “Explain why Asher chose you, over his family, to protect me when the council removed him,” I demand quietly.

  Gage puts out his cigarette. “When Deacon gave me the proof I needed for Asher to believe his father and mine were working jointly, we started to piece together their plan. Knowing it would take longer for Keegan and Callan to come to terms with Garrick’s involvement, Asher and I agreed to keep it quiet while I did some recon. When Asher was assigned as your protector, it was the perfect platform for me to infiltrate the Declan clan and get into bed with the dark army. Aside from my non-allegiance to the councils, the strain between the London clan and me allowed me into Deacon’s graces without question.”

  “This entire time, you’ve been working with both sides?” I clarify.

  “I volunteered to work for Deacon in order to gain confirmation, then filter information to Asher,” he continues. “So, yes. I guess I was working with both sides.”

  “And me?” I accuse. “Was I just a pawn in this game you two are playing?”

  “You, love, were an unexpected complication.”

  “Complication?”

  “I watched Asher’s reaction to you, that day at the coffee shop when we first met. His feelings for you were clear as day,” Gage states.

  “I remember you telling him you were both on different sides,” I remind. “Why?”

  “It was my way of warning Asher. My only intention that day was to introduce myself to you. To see just how much of a distraction you would be for him. Uncharacteristically, Asher allowed his feelings to override his head and he showed up. His overprotective, misplaced emotions were written all over his face. I didn’t agree with his newfound affection for you. I needed him to focus on what he and I were trying to accomplish and not be distracted,” he says. “Telling Asher that Deacon said hello to Michael was code. I had been accepted into the Declan clan’s fold. The rest of my words were a reminder of the consequences if Asher didn’t put duty, honor and loyalty above all else, even you.”