Chapter 42

The crown. Beau felt his breath catch in his throat. If she was correct, it was a major find for the gargoyle race. Their ruler's regalia, the four sacred artifacts that had once protected the well-being of his clan, had been lost more than a century ago. Since that time, their race had dwindled to dangerous proportions. Babies were rare, adolescents were dying at their first change and disease had invaded the population. Unless the regalia was recovered and soon, the seers were sure that the entire clan would perish.
Of the four objects, only two had so far been found - the belt, which Damien's bride Katie had returned to them and the cup, which Remy and his fiancée Marina had recovered in Atlantic City in March. That left the crown, imbued with the elemental power of air and the ring, tied to the element of fire. When four males had been born to his clan in a single year, a prophecy had been made that they, Beau, Damien, Remy and Marc, would be the ones to recover the objects. The success of Damien and Remy had given the clan more hope than it had had in over a century. Beau didn't have a lot of faith left in anything anymore but he prayed that Lady Helene, the gargoyle soothsayer, still knew what she was talking about. She had insisted that Beau be the one to come to London, to help Dana, even though Beau's mother had thrown a fit about him leaving.
Thinking of his mother reminded him of his niece Annette and why he needed to get the job done and get back to Quebec. He had people who depended on him and finding the artifacts in time could mean the difference between life and death for many of them - including his niece. That grim thought jolted him out of the lust-filled haze he'd been in since laying eyes on Dana Logan again. Even now, five minutes after taking her on the floor of her apartment, he was already aching to have her again. What was wrong with him?
Dana rubbed her hand against a mark on her shoulder and with a sick feeling in his stomach, Beau recognized it as a bite mark. His bite mark. He remembered sinking his teeth into her skin, just as she had into his. And apparently, just like the one on his neck, the one he'd given her had never quite healed. His still itched all the time and he scratched at it through the cotton of his shirt.
"Where do you think these magical artifacts might be?" He took another swallow of his wine, glad that alcohol had very little effect on his race.
She shrugged. Her long hair was loose tonight, sliding over her shoulders like molten bronze. He wished he'd taken the time to bury his hands in it, to feel that silk gliding across his skin.
"I think there's another facility besides the warehouse. The leader's home, perhaps. I've only gotten a few glimpses of the man in charge but I'm pretty sure he's something more than human. Not sure what though."
"The cup was held by a sorcerer," he muttered. "The belt was in the care of a witch. Anyone magical would certainly be drawn to the crown as well."
"I heard that your friend Remy was able to find the cup." She gave him a tired, wobbly smile. "And found himself a girlfriend in the process."
"Wife," he corrected. "They're to be married next month."
"Is she a gargoyle? Katie's been too wrapped up in - other things - to be much use for catching up on the gossip."
"She is now," Beau knew what she meant. He'd had little luck getting intelligent conversation out of Damien lately, either. The couple was totally engrossed in their impending parenthood, which he supposed was normal, if a little frustrating for those around them. "She also is - or was, I'm not certain exactly how it works - a selkie."
Dana sputtered on a mouthful of wine. "Really?" she asked when she finally managed to swallow. "I didn't know they really existed."
Beau suppressed a grin. "Well, you know gargoyles and dragons and witches exist. Why not selkies?"
She shrugged. "Just hadn't thought about it. You met other beings at the wedding too, you know. Bram and Damien work with a ghost, an elf, at least one werewolf and a handful of other races."
"I thought I recognized one of the Fae," Beau said. "Daly was his name, wasn't it? I'd meant to speak with him before I got - distracted."
She flushed a little but nodded. "Callum Daly, yes. Eislinn O'Shea, the television news reporter was there too. I think those two go back a long, long time."
"Hmmm. Maybe I can talk to them sometime. Our people have had very little contact with theirs and I'm always curious about other races...a failing of mine. Once I'd hoped to be a scientist of sorts, studying different races of magical beings. I even took a degree in cultural anthropology, to learn the methods and techniques. But my responsibilities were elsewhere." Security of the clan came before scholarly research. Someday, he told himself, when another, younger gargoyle took over the job of policing his people, he'd be able to spend his retirement in academic pursuits. One advantage of living nearly two hundred years was that most gargoyles had the time for more than one career.
"I can see you as a professor." Dana's lush lips quirked upward into a wry smile. "Terrorizing students instead of shoplifters and...whatever else you do. But college has to be rough if you can only go out at night."
"We have a small, private junior college at the compound. It's really just an extension of the high school. I went to University later, after..." He wasn't ready to talk about Camille and Giselle - not yet, maybe not ever.
"So how did you end up in security?"
"While I was in graduate school, there were problems back at the compound. Two agents were killed in an explosion, leaving the department short-handed. My father, who was head of security before me developed cancer shortly thereafter and needed help. Damien, who was in New York and I were both recalled." He shrugged, trying not to notice the warm empathy shining in her eyes. "A man does what he needs to do - even a gargoyle."
"Well, I don't know about a man but right now, this woman needs some sleep." Dana picked up both their empty glasses and rinsed them out in the sink. "If you wake up first, the coffee's in that cupboard and there's a loaf of bread for toast in the fridge. Help yourself."
He cast a doubtful glance at the tiny sofa in her sitting room. "Am I sleeping on that?"
Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she let out a short, rusty laugh and slid off her stool. "I think that ship has already sailed. I may be an idiot but I'm not a hypocrite. Grab your bag. Bedroom's this way."