Otherworld Protector

The question was always the same. “What have you done?”

The answer never varied. “Nothing yet.”

Her awesome, hard-won qualifications counted for nothing. It was a vicious circle. Give me a job so I can prove myself. Prove yourself and we might give you a job. She took a routine office job to pay the bills on her tiny studio and spent her evenings dreaming up new ideas for games. She met up with a few university friends for drinks one weekend, and they had discussed their various ideas. The subject of crowd funding came up. It was how “Supernova Deliverance,” an online survival game with a supernatural theme, had been born. In its turn, it had led Stella to this job.

The email from Moncoya’s personal assistant had come on a cold, miserable day. One on which her job had seemed more boring than ever. It was fate, she decided, her heart skipping several beats as she read and reread it. Senor Moncoya had followed the progress of the crowd funding project with interest. He was particularly impressed with the way she had laid out the conceptual framework and her graphics development skills. There was a temporary internship at Moncoya Enterprises in Barcelona. Would she be interested?

“I have to reply today!” Realizing she had spoken aloud, she had retreated back behind her computer screen, her mind whirling with possibilities.

There was a brief job description. Ability to visualize compelling social games. Knowledge and insight of game balance. Strong design and drafting skills. Key phrases danced around her mind as she typed her resignation letter. Fluency in Spanish an advantage. Must sign a confidentiality contract. Good thing she’d chosen to take Spanish at school.

“Muchas gracias, Senor Moncoya. Te amo mucho.”

Since she had joined his company, Moncoya had given her no reason to withdraw that declaration of undying love. Okay, so he had some very odd friends and they liked to party hard. But if Moncoya wanted to hang out with a group of people who looked like stylish punk rockers that was his business. She caught occasional glimpses of his friends and was struck by two things that they had in common. They were all stunningly beautiful, and she wondered if that was a deliberate choice of Moncoya’s. Being so striking himself, did he choose to surround himself with others who were similarly good-looking?

The other thing they shared was a style idiosyncrasy. Each of them wore the same contact lenses. They all had the same curious ring of fire around their iris as Moncoya. Was it a statement? A tribute to Moncoya? Or was Moncoya’s own yellow burst of fire also the result of contact lenses? Out of interest, Stella had searched the internet for it. She had found something called “central heterochromia” that apparently would have got you an automatic burning as a witch in the Middle Ages, but even that didn’t come close to the blaze of color exhibited by Moncoya and his party people. She had shrugged it off. As a fashion statement it was extreme, but Moncoya was extreme. It was part of his charm.

There had been a horrible misunderstanding a few nights ago when some of Moncoya’s friends had taken a shine to Stella and seemed to feel she was an important guest rather than realizing she was just a very junior employee. They had wanted her to join the party, and she’d been forced to make a hurried exit. Somehow she didn’t think the amused tolerance Moncoya had so far demonstrated toward her would survive any attempts to gate-crash into his social sphere.

Stella was aware of the occasional exchange of looks between the other game design employees. She had overheard one or two barbed comments. She suspected she was meant to hear them.

“Why is el jefe still around? Never known him to hang around la casa for more than a day. Two at most.”

“Could it have anything to do with his new pet? The little crowd funder protégé? He calls her his star.”

“She’s a bit young for Moncoya, surely? Although, come to think of it, she does have that elven look he likes so much.”

Diego had chimed into the conversation then. “Ease up on her, guys. She knows her stuff, that’s for sure. And her artwork is spectacular.”

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 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 tapped 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.”