Tempest blinked, trying to focus. The hood of the cloak whipped at her face, obscuring her vision. A coal-black eye held her gaze. She hadn’t died. She would live, and she couldn’t help but allow a small smile. Quickly, she spun her head in all directions, but large wings blocked half of her view. They were not falling, they were gliding. In seconds, she had gone from utter despair, facing death, to feeling the greatest sensation she had ever known—hope.
A whining, gurgling sound broke her happy thought, and she followed the distressed cry. Rogue dangled from his leather neck bindings, which were skewered by a sharp, extremely long claw.
“Rogue!” Tempest shouted placing a hand over her mouth in fear.
She had to make this winged creature land, or Rogue would strangle to death. Thank goodness the cloak hadn’t been ripped from her body. The long sleeves covered Tempest’s bare skin, but just to be sure, she clutched the cuffs into the palms of her hands and pounded on the heavily muscled chest. She couldn’t risk any part of her skin touching him.
“Please, take us to the ground,” she yelled, pointing to Rogue. “He can’t breathe; you’re strangling him.”
They tilted heavily down and to the right. Tempest’s stomach somersaulted, leaving her breathless as their speed increased. The snow-covered peaks grew closer. She thought perhaps she’d smiled too quickly a moment ago.
He flew effortlessly.
What is he?
Strong features were an understatement. He resembled the statue she’d seen as a young girl.
A gargoyle, carved from granite.
She remembered standing at the base of the magnificent creature’s feet, looking up at the sculpted face. Tempest rarely touched anything, but as a child, she couldn’t resist the impulse. She’d reached out her tiny hand to touch his massive leg.
Abruptly, she snapped her hand away. The only thing that didn’t fit the picture now was this guy’s body and hair color. He was golden-brown like the sand she used to play in as a child. His long locks fell past his shoulders in wild, unkempt waves. He was beautiful…even with large fangs.
Well, he’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen on this blasted mountain. No, Misfit Mountain holds no beauty; he couldn’t be from this place. Could it be the statue from so long ago? If so, how did he get here?
They soared to the right, the jagged peaks looking as though they could reach out and snag them. Meters below, Tempest spotted the small ledge and concealed entrance to what must be some type of cave. Tremors clawed at her insides. She had overheard Fedor comment that the caves within the mountains were endless.
It hadn’t been a pleasant thought for him. The control freak hated the idea that there may be places he didn’t know about. Misfit Mountain was his to control as he deemed fit.
The large, muscled arms holding her squeezed tighter. Tempest held her breath, knowing he could snap her in two like a twig. The massive webbed black wings stretched and spread wider, if that were possible, and the movement slowed their descent until they hovered just above the snow-packed ledge.
She watched Rogue squirm for freedom, his feet paddling in the air, waiting to touch the snow-covered rock. When Rogue’s big webbed feet touched the ground, the giant winged creature flexed his large toe, retracting the talon holding the gargdog. Rogue ran in circles for a moment before stopping to look up.
When they touched down, they sank an easy three feet into the snow. His chest and arm muscles tightened as the massive wings fluttered to hold them upright.
Tempest clutched with desperation at the sleeves of the cloak, praying her skin would not contact his. She guessed his legs must weight a ton. Tree stumps would be a good comparison.
Now what?
Rogue approached them head-on. The growl told Tempest her old friend had returned; anger had replaced playfulness. He’d always been her protector.
A deep, low voice boomed from above her head.
“Back-off ankle-biter. I just saved your spotted bald ass, and this is the way you show thanks?”
“Put her down.” Rogue spoke through gritted teeth.
Suddenly, Tempest found herself falling to the ground, to be once again buried in snow. She came up sputtering and shocked.
“Jerk!” she cursed. It never ceased to amaze her; males—of any species—had no manners. She shook her head sending snow flying. Manners, Tempest…You’re lucky to be alive. Besides, you’ve never known anyone with manners.
Rogue’s footfalls crunched in the snow behind her, signaling his approach, and she felt her body being pulled backward. Her hands flung to her throat, yanking on the neckline of the cloak that was choking her. “Rogue, stop it… I can’t breathe.”
Rogue refused to listen until she was at least twenty feet away from their savior. Only then did he let go.
She took a deep gulp of air rubbing at her neck, and turned her grumpy stare on the gargdog who glared up at the creature before them. Slowly, her gaze followed Rogue’s.
She stared, speechless. Her stomach did a flutter, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. There he stood. For the second time in her life, Tempest wanted to touch something.
Not something–him.
His voice broke her stunned silence. “What the hell is this place?”
“I’d believe you weren’t from this hellish mountain, but you can’t expect me to believe you don’t know where you are,” Tempest huffed.
The giant stomped forward, leaving a large trench in the snow. “I can assure you, I don’t know where I am. And, now that I’ve saved your skinny ass, will you please get the hell out of my dreams.”
She was flabbergasted.
He just insulted me…again.
“How could I possibly be in your dreams? I’ve never laid eyes on you before now.”
Well, perhaps.
He stopped just feet before her and Rogue, who growled and prepared to lunge. Tempest grabbed him securely by leathers letting him know that would not be acceptable.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been listening to your crying for days. I had to save you. It’s what I do.” He smirked.
Remembering he really had saved her life and Rogue’s, too, Tempest let her anger dissipate. With a deep sigh, she looked over to the entrance of the cave. How she wished to be warm, dry, and out of the snow, if even for a short time.
“We know this place as Misfit Mountain, or at least that’s what we call it. Misfits are creatures like us. You know…creatures gone wrong at the time of creation.”
Could he read her mind? It seemed so. He had turned his direction sideways, trampling the snow, making a path to the entrance of the cave. She watched as he approached the opening to the cave. In moments, his paw-like hands equipped with enormous talons literally shredded fallen trees and branches that blocked the entrance. He lifted all the wood as if it weighed no more than a feather and deposited it just inside the cave. He appeared to be inspecting the dwelling. After a thorough look, he bowed low, sweeping his arm toward the entrance.
She wanted to cry tears of joy, knowing she had almost died, but instead had survived. Best of all, it would take Fedor quite some time to find this spot. She’d be long gone from there by then.
Already, the snow was starting to accumulate in the pathway. Tempest forged forward and made her way toward the safe haven.
His large frame blocked her path, but he stepped sideways just enough to allow her by. Rogue was on her heels, determined to enter before she did. Unintentional as it was, the clumsy critter hit her legs on the way by. Thrown off balance, with her arms flaying in the air, she tried frantically not to fall into the snow bank. It seemed pointless; she knew there was no way to stop the impending fall.
In a flash, the giant reached out and grabbed her hand.
“No!” she yelled in fear.
A torrent of wild visions tore through her mind. Mentally, her body tumbled in violent circles, feeling every emotion and physical sensation that came with the person’s touch. The onslaught of foreign sounds, smells, and feelings overwhelmed all of her regular body responses. She would live each experience just like the person who had touched her hand. Physically, her body would be unresponsive while the visions played out like scenes on a stage, but inside, she was anything but unresponsive. Tempest never had any idea how long they would last.
When the first vision began, she reached up to cover her ears from the deafening sound of metal on metal.
Swords clashed as the blades ground, accompanied by heavy breathing caused from physical exertion. Her arms ached and shook as though she herself fought with the heavy sword. The smell of fresh blood caused her nostrils to flare, and her stomach recoiled from the grisliness of the scene. Death and peril was everywhere.
Tempest crumpled inside when the second vision formed.
She was fighting some odd type of creature. There were many creatures, all of which were bent on destruction. Their evil seeped into her every pore. Black hearts filled with hatred, their constant duty in life was to inflict pain and destruction.
Tempest screamed at the sheer brutality, wishing for the scene to end.
She fought unyielding in the battle. Rage—his rage, but now hers—scared her to death. The hatred and blackness in his heart seemed no different than the creatures he strove to defeat. His body was tattered and torn, and she felt every slice of the thick, sharp blade. One attacked from behind, but she landed a back-kick, successfully rendering one down. Two more attacked from the sides. She was grossly outnumbered, and in a flash, a long serpentine creature swung his spiked tail making direct contact with her eye and face.
Pain seared through her head unlike anything she had ever felt. A river of blood ran down her face. Rage blocked the pain, but she would never give up, even though her eye had been taken.
Tempest wept uncontrollably for him.
It all seemed for naught, until a battalion of other winged warriors arrived to aid in the battle. She harbored hatred for herself. She’d lost her eye, and along with that, a piece of her soul. She considered herself imperfect, disfigured.
She thought of herself like a bird without full vision…incapable of hunting or protecting properly. A gargoyle with one eye was…unworthy.
In the third vision, she had some reprieve from the dreadful fights.
She laughed and poked fun at other men who laughed along with her. She had no wings, gone were the paws and claws. She bore normal hands and feet, and was under half the height of the gargoyle form, but still he towered over the other men.
For the first time in her life, she actually smiled while in a vision. His laughter made her happy.
She wasn’t prepared for the fourth vision. She saw herself through his eyes—her desperate pleas for help as she trudged through the blizzard, wishing for death. It seemed surreal to see herself this way. The compassion flowing through his body humbled her. He didn’t even know who or what she was, but he would do whatever it took to save her.
A tear slid down her cheek. Nobody other than the gargdog had ever shown her any type of compassion.
Abruptly, one more setting took shape, and she fell from a tower in a nosedive to the ground. Why would she not fly? Tempest screamed in terror as she experienced his fall. It resembled falling in a dream and knowing one couldn’t wake up.
She hit the hard ground, feeling and hearing the sickening sound of bones cracking and breaking. Her breathing stopped as she was stunned by the instantaneous pain. As fast as the bones broke, they began to repair. Her gut tightened with trepidation, watching herself fall through the air.
Her head spun out of control, and she prayed this would be the last vision.
The final image terrified her.
She stared down at the red crescent-shaped burn on her paw. The mark was almost identical to hers. Tempest balked at the sight, and tried desperately to fight the pain.
Blackness closed in.
No! Fight to stay awake. You need to see this. Why does he have the same mark?
The revelations were coming to an end. Each time, she knew she would convulse and vomit. It would be dry heaves; she had nothing to discard from her starving belly.
The gripping sting and smell of the burning flesh made her continue to gag. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The burnt mark glowed.
What does it all mean?
Beyond exhaustion for the third time in one day, she sought the solitude of unconsciousness.