Page 28 of Taken for Granite
He did not fantasize about kissing Juniper that morning when he stroked himself. He was only interested in retrieving the sigil.
“The Syndicate hunts you. Hunts Khargals.”
“Indeed.”
“And you guys are the basis for gargoyles?”
“Yes,” he said. He found it baffling the way humans had easily accepted their stone forms, perched on top buildings, as if they had always been there. No one questioned where they came from and soon more, human made gargoyles joined the original Khargals.
“Is the Syndicate the basis for the Illuminati?”
“No. Do not be ridiculous.”
“It was an honest question. You’re telling me about this secret organization that hunts aliens, so it’s not a stretch,” she snapped. She turned up the volume on the radio, apparently done conversing.
Tas grinned and settled onto his side, letting the hum and rattle of the vehicle lull him into a light sleep.
10
Tas
Tas expected a full contingent of Rose Syndicate agents waiting when the vehicle reached their destination. He tensed, ready for the betrayal, as he leaped from the back of the van.
Gravel crunched underfoot as he landed. He snarled, baring his fangs.
No response, just birdsong.
“Dude, what was that?”
“Nothing,” he said. He stood at his full height, chin up, his posture conveying that he did not want to talk about it.
The isolated cabin Juniper had promised turned out to be nothing more than that. The simple structure sat back from the road and had no nearby neighbors as the property shared a border with a state park.
He headed into the woods, needing to distance himself from the female. Three hours in close quarters with nothing to distract himself from her pheromones put a strain on him.
He walked until he could no longer hear noise from the road and the distant hum of electronics, along with the murmur of human voices, vanished. As he traveled deeper, he approached a large body of freshwater. A lake. He kept his distance and remained under the cover of the trees.
The scent of dampness and recent rain clung to the leaves, dripping on his head. Finding a relatively dry spot under a tree, he sat and tried to meditate.
If he could shift into a stone slumber, intoduramna, once he woke he could fly away and be done with the tempting female. He’d find another Khargal. The unexplored wilderness of the New World had tempted some of them centuries ago, and recent urban growth in the last two centuries also drew some away from Europe. New York would be a good place to start. In London, the Khargals there had a safehouse. If any of the old crew were in New York, they would doubtless have something similar.
He wondered if Mogul and Gravul still haunted London. Surely the males were not so foolish to remain in the city after Tas and Frelinray’s capture.
Hours passed and the sun moved, shifting away the shadows and bathing him in warmth. Tas turned his face to the light, letting himself revel in the sensation of earth and sun.
Soon he would take to the skies. So long deprived, nothing compared to the joy of flight. Earth’s blue sky was a poor replacement for the deep violet of Duras, but he’d take it until he could return home.
Eager to explore the universe, Tas left his family and his planet without hesitation. Now, after a thousand years of waiting, he regretted that he never appreciated the stark beauty of Duras or his family’s support in his youth. His last words to his father had been less than kind.
Tas pushed that memory away. Wallowing in regret would not help him.
His family’s aerie perched atop a high mountainside. Fierce storms were common on Duras and would wrap around the aerie and shake the structure fiercely until it felt as though the very foundations would crumble. When the storms cleared, a peaceful and rare violet sky surround the home. The sweet, gentle winds were the best flying weather.
As a fledgling unsure of his wings, his father gathered Tas in his arms and leaped from the aerie. His strong legs pushed them far enough from the mountainside to avoid the rocks. His father opened his arms, letting Tas go but holding him by the hand. They fell, side by side.
The ground rushed toward them in a wild descent. It was fly or crash into the ground.
Panic kept Tas’s wings flat against his back. His father crooned a soft, reassuring melody that masked the fear pounding in his ears. That melody was a song of joy. Of flight.
