The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance

Autumn Dawn Iron and Hemlock

Jordon flinched and shielded her eyes. The glow of lightning lit the darkness behind her lids, persisted in dots of colour as she slowly lowered her hand. She blinked, disoriented. Death was a lonely country road?

It was no wonder she was confused. Only moments ago, she’d been crossing the street on her way to meet the bus. When the speeding Porsche had lurched around the corner, then gunned for her with an angry growl, she’d known she was dead. Only the lightning had struck before the car did. Had it somehow knocked her out of the way?

She drew a shaky breath and looked around. No. It was dark here, and stormy. The sun had been directly overhead in Spokane. The city had disappeared completely, leaving nothing but whispering trees and a crawling sense of unease.

A cold wind worked its way through her jeans, stealing her warmth. She hitched her light leather jacket closer and thanked God for the vanity that made her wear her cashmere and silk sweater, though it had been a little warm for it this morning. Unfortunately, the suede boots didn’t fare as well, quickly becoming waterlogged in the rain.

A flash of lightning illuminated the outline of a tremendous stone wall lining the dirt road. A quick glance showed nothing behind her — no lights, at least, which would have indicated people. A hundred yards ahead, the wall was pierced by a wrought-iron gate. As she drew closer, she could see that the panels were unlatched, swaying slightly in the wind, almost in invitation. When she was close enough to touch it, the torches above the gate flared to life, illuminating the gravel path. She glanced up and started slightly at the fierce gargoyles flanking the wall on either side.

As she watched, one of them blinked.

Jordon froze. But she was not the kind of girl who screamed and ran at every shadow, even in such dire circumstances. She watched the gargoyle instead. It did not take long to convince herself that she’d imagined it. The statue was obviously stone.

Still, she felt watched. She looked behind her, but there was nothing out there. Blackness, night. And yet she had the feeling that something was watching her; something other than the gargoyles.

Shrugging her shoulders against the sensation, she slipped through the gates. Uneasy, she glanced back, just in time to observe the wind pushing the gates closed. They shut with a loud clang and remained fixed, as if they had latched. Was she locked in?

She did not have time for further speculation. The sound of hoof beats heading her way made her stiffen. When she saw what was bearing down on her, she ran. She did not need the lightning to see the flames shooting from the head of the midnight-coloured stallion charging her way. His eyes and nostrils blazed, as if he were a living furnace. Sparks flew where his feet struck the earth, and the ground shook.

She doubted he was checking to see if she’d brought oats.

She did not get far before she was snatched from the ground by unseen hands and flung on the back of the nightmare horse. “Hide her, Sam!” a fierce voice shouted as she was dropped astride. She grasped franticly for the mane, scrambled not to fall off. It seemed safer to ride the creature than to fall under its hooves.

Unfortunately, Jordon was no rider. The glance she spared to see who’d dropped her unbalanced her completely and sent her tumbling from the back of the galloping horse. She landed on the wet lawn with stunning force, too dazed to move. Winded, she lay there as chaos reigned around her.

A scream jerked her attention to the right. Jordon peered through the curtain of rain, scanning the darkness. As lightning flashed, she gasped. There was a woman out there. Battling a. griffin?

Jordon had no time to fight with her automatic rationalizations that griffins didn’t exist; the woman was losing. Seizing a fallen tree branch, she struggled to her feet. There was a flowerbed in her way. Without a thought for the daisies, Jordon tramped through the plants and dashed across the wet lawn.

It wasn’t until she’d nearly crashed into the combatants that she realized her mistake. Up close, she could see that the “woman” was nothing more that a wasted wraith, a monster with bones peeking out where pieces of her had rotted away. Jordon could see the creature’s ribs through the rags it wore. It hovered over the ground, using a rusted sword to hack at the griffin. If the griffin hadn’t been such a tremendous jumper, gifted with wings, it would have been dead.

When it spotted Jordon, the wraith’s red eyes lit. It opened its mouth and screamed, a piercing shriek that paralysed her and sent her to her knees. She dropped the branch and pressed her palms to her ears, but nothing stopped the pain. Her ears had to be bleeding. She gritted her teeth, but couldn’t hold back a moan of agony. That sound would kill her.

The banshee had forgotten the griffin. He sprang at her while she was distracted, shredding the monster’s decayed flesh with his razor-sharp talons. The monster fell to the ground, writhing. With one final snap of his powerful beak, the griffin severed her head from her shoulders.

Jordon panted as the pain ceased, cautiously lowering her hands. Shuddering, she watched the griffin rip the corpse apart. Her hand felt through the grass, closed around the branch. Hoping the griffin would stay occupied, she began to back away, eyes lowered, as if she were backing away from a mad dog.

She had not gone three feet when she bumped into something. It moved.

With a war cry, Jordon whirled and swung her stick with all her might. She thought she had struck the head that belonged to the eyes that now hovered above her, but she didn’t linger longer than it took the beast to grunt in pain. She ran towards the house she could see at the end of the gravel path with a speed that would have surprised her old gym teacher, propelled by sheer terror.

The griffin leaped in front of her, landing in a flurry of wings. Jordon cried out, tried to brake, and skidded on the wet grass. She landed on her butt with a wet squish. Terrified, she waited for it to attack.

The griffin eyed her, then sat back on its haunches. It cocked its great head, and began to clean its talons calmly.

Jordon drew a deep breath. Slowly, she got to her feet. A furtive glance to the side showed more dark shapes in a loose circle around her. The night was black, but she could hear them breathing. It was hard to contain her fear, but she put forth a mighty effort. Panic didn’t seem like a good idea.

“It was brave of you to attack the banshee,” the griffin said, giving her a start.

“Foolish,” someone grumbled.

Jordon shifted. The heavy stick in her hand was hardly reassuring. “I wasn’t attacking her.” There was a short silence. “I didn’t realize what she was until I got closer.” She was babbling. To counter it, she bit down. It helped to still the chattering of her teeth, too. The rain may have abated, but the wind was frigid.

“You’re cold,” the griffin observed. “You should go in.”

“Great idea,” she said quickly. “If you’ll excuse me?” She waited for someone to move, but no one seemed in a hurry to do so.

Another flash of lightning lit the circle around her, giving a glimpse of big, winged bodies to her right and left. It was enough to see that there were gaps in the ring, easy enough for her to slip through. Shaking, she took a quick breath and darted between the bodies.

She couldn’t help a glance back, but none of them had moved. Eyes front, she speed-walked towards the house in the distance. She didn’t look again to see if anyone followed. She hoped not.

The driveway must have been a quarter-mile long. Though she could only snatch lightning-lit glimpses, the mansion at the end looked old, gothic. Were there people inside? Only the darkened windows kept her from breaking into a sprint to reach the place. If it was deserted, would she find a door or window unlocked? The griffin had said she should go in. Did he know the people inside?

The storm was fast becoming one of the worst she’d ever seen. Whips of lightning split the sky with almost supernatural frequency. Suddenly one speared an ancient oak tree not fifty yards from her, splitting it in two. The thunder came so quick it deafened her, drowning her shrieks.

Jordon decided she didn’t care if the mansion housed a battalion of zombies; she ran for it. Stumbling up the stone steps, she skidded to a halt at the door and pounded for all she was worth. “Hello? Help! Please let me in.” She looked quickly over her shoulder, expecting to be pounced on at any moment.

It took a determined round of banging on the old iron knocker but finally there came a deep echoing sound as the door grudgingly swung open. An old woman with black eyes, and the biggest nose in Christendom, scowled down at her. “We’re not open to travellers.”

Jordon stood up straight, her composure somewhat restored by the long wait. “Ma’am, I know we’ve never met, but I would be grateful if you’d allow me in. I—” She was interrupted by the crashing voice of thunder. There was a howling note to the wind, like a live thing denied its prey.

The old lady looked at her with more interest now. “Well now! Got the banshee after you, have you? Heh. Perhaps I ought to let you in after all.” She swung the door open, smiling a rather white and sharp smile at the wind’s protest. She grabbed Jordon as the wind suddenly tried to suck her away from the thick, iron-bound door, and pulled her firmly inside. The sudden quiet as the door slammed was almost eerie.

The woman sniffed. “Nothing like hemlock and iron to keep out unwanted guests.” She picked up her old-fashioned oil lamp from a side table and glanced at Jordon. “Come. You’re dripping on the floors.”

Jordon glanced around as she followed her hostess, taking in the dusty elegance of the house. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Jordon Hearst.”

The old lady raised a brow that was nearly as thick as her nose. “You may call me Mrs Yuimen. I am the keeper of the kitchens here.” As she spoke, she led the way through a great hall with a polished table and murky floors. “The housekeeper has left us some time past and has yet to be replaced. You can see it needs attending to.” She spoke as if this were somehow Jordon’s responsibility.

Jordon blinked. “I see.” She was unwilling to offend Mrs Yuimen, lest she be given the boot. “I really appreciate —”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs Yuimen interrupted. “Now, be seated and I’ll pour you some tea.” She entered the kitchens as she spoke and gestured to the rocker and stool before the old brick hearth. A one-eyed cat looked up from the rug there and growled a warning as Jordon shuffled over, choosing the stool. She didn’t want to take what must surely be the cook’s customary seat.

She cast a wary eye at the glaring, reddish-coloured cat and the odd green flames of the fire. “I’ve never seen a fire burn green before.”

“Driftwood,” Mrs Yuimen said as she moved efficiently about the kitchen, setting up a tea cart.

“Oh,” Jordon said, disoriented. “Are we by the sea?”

Mrs Y. cast her an odd look but otherwise didn’t comment.

The kitchen was so spotless as to seem a world apart from the rest of the house. Mrs Y. had enormous worktables that, while nicked and battered enough to be fifty years old, were polished to a high sheen. Stacks of wooden bowls and crockery lined the shelves, and ropes of garlic, onions and herbs hung from the beams. The stone floors were neatly swept, and the tiled, wood-burning cooking stove was free of soot and food residue. Even the copper tea kettle was brightly reflective.

When she’d assembled the cream and sugar and such, Mrs Y. rolled the cart over to Jordon and poured the tea.

“Thank you,” Jordon said gratefully as she accepted a piece of apple, and some cold ham and cheese from the birch platter. Cold drops of rain water still ran down her neck, chilling her. Carefully, she wrung her hair out over the basin and tried to squeeze some water out of her sweater.

Mrs Y. made an impatient sound and found her a kitchen towel. “Here, use that. You’re making a mess. And take off your clothes — I’ll fetch a blanket.”

“Th-thank you.” Mrs Y. was quick, and Jordon was soon wrapped in a quilt, her feet in borrowed bed-slippers. She watched Mrs Y. wring out all her clothes and hang them over chairs near the fire. They quickly began to steam from the heat, but Jordon knew it would be hours before they were dry. “I was wondering if you had a phone here? I’d like to call for a cab.” She bit her lip, silently questioning just what help a cab would be. She wasn’t exactly in the city here. Looking around, she began to wonder if she were even in the same century. Though that was absurd, right? Where else could she be?

The old woman looked at her with gleaming black eyes. Too large and black, really. Combined with her odd grey hair — like wet soot, with a subtle life of its own — she didn’t look either modern or normal. “I have a suspicion you’re not asking about a hansom, which you’ll not find here in any case. And unless a ‘phone’ is an odd term for a footman, I think you’ll find yourself unsatisfied.”

Jordon opened her mouth to speak and was interrupted by another angry peal of thunder. She glanced warily towards the window and had to stifle a sudden cry. A man stood there in the shadows, just behind the workbench. His chest was bare, the rest of him hidden by the bowls on the countertop. “Who are you?” Jordon demanded, trying not to take a peek at the rest of him.

Mrs Y. didn’t seem disturbed. “Oh, Lord Griffin! This is Jordon Hearst. She was caught in the rain tonight. Join us for tea?”

Griffin came closer and smiled into Jordon’s wide eyes. “We’ve met.”

Jordon looked hard at him. Surely he didn’t mean. but his hair was tawny and crested, more like feathers than hair. His nose was hooked, the jaw strong, but with a rather pointed chin. The eyes were dark, with glints of gold. Her heart accelerated as she recognized the voice. “Griffin?”

He cocked his head, like a hawk considering prey. She took it as affirmation — and fainted dead away.

She didn’t think she’d been unconscious long. Griffin’s feathery hair was still dripping when she came to. In fact, it was probably the drops falling on her nose that woke her.

She sat up carefully, but there didn’t seem to be any new aches. It was then that she noticed he was naked. Since he was crouched beside her, she wasn’t particularly stressed about that — it wasn’t as if he were totally on display. Oh, he was well muscled otherwise, of course. Fighting monsters must be great exercise.

She shook her head, feeling dizzy. “I think I could use some whiskey,” she muttered. With a little help from him, she climbed carefully back on the stool.

He smiled as he helped to steady her. “I’ll bring you some brandy. It’ll take the chill out better than tea.”

She watched him as he walked over to a cupboard. She numbly accepted a jam tart from Mrs Y., trying in vain not to stare at Griffin’s better parts while he poured her drink. It was difficult; there was a lot to look at. She averted her eyes when he caught her at it.

“My apologies. I’ve run with my brothers too long,” he murmured, then reached into a lower cupboard to fetch out a tablecloth. He wrapped it deftly around his waist. “Better?”

Jordon lowered her head and muttered something non-committal. In other circumstances, she’d feel obliged to correct him.

He returned to the fire and handed her the brandy snifter. “See if that helps.”

It did, actually. It even helped her to maintain her calm as he pulled up a chair and sat across from her with his own cup of tea.

He smiled at Mrs Y., then commented to Jordon, “You’re doing very well. I imagine most damsels would be in hysterics by now.”

“Yes, well, American girls are tough,” she said. “We aren’t bothered by drinking liquor with half-naked, shape-changing griffins. Though if we were back home, I’d probably be having an Irish coffee. with a little extra Irish thrown in.”

“Ah.” There was silence for a moment. Maybe he was organizing his questions. “You came through our gates earlier, trailing banshees and storm gremlins. I wonder what they wanted with you?”

She released a shaky breath. If she’d had lingering doubts about his identity, his words erased them. “It really was you outside.”

“Mm. My brothers were there, too.” He took a careful sip of tea, then slanted a questioning glance her way, as if judging the state of her nerves.

He was right to be concerned. Hysterics threatened again, but she stared at the ceiling until they passed. “I have a question. Where am I?” It came out pleading. She felt obliged to explain. “I’m supposed to be in America.”

He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he set aside his tea cup. “You’re in England, darling. I am curious to know how you missed the transition. I’m told it’s a three-month journey by ship.”

She frowned very hard to suppress her distress, though she wasn’t terribly amazed. Both he and Mrs Y. spoke with British accents. “I was struck by lightning. It. did things to my memory. Tell me, what year is it?”

He looked even more curious. “It’s the twelfth day of July, 1837. We have a new queen on the throne.” He frowned. “I say, you’re looking rather pale. Can I get you something?”

Her lip quivered. “Starbucks,” she whispered. “The internet. Real books.” While she enjoyed Pride and Prejudice, it had nothing on modern werewolf romance. And what would she do without Stephenie Meyer? She wanted to cry.

To disguise her distress, she stared at the green fire. If she’d had somewhere to go, she’d have left that instant.

Griffin exchanged glances with Mrs Y. “Our guest is tired. Why don’t you prepare a room for her? I’ll keep her company until you return.”

Mrs Y. left without a word. Griffin looked at Jordon thoughtfully. “I’m wondering what happened to you before you entered our estate tonight. The lads at the gate tell me you appeared, ‘between one lightning flash and another’. Normally they would have smelled you coming.”

Jordon drew a deep breath. The brandy was already affecting her judgment. Why not tell him? Maybe he could actually help. “The lightning brought me.” When he remained quietly interested, she added, “I was crossing the road. A car almost hit me — I swear, it was trying to hit me — and suddenly I was here. Well, in the road, at least. I don’t know how.” Despair threatened her self-control. “I’d just like to go home.”

“Hmm.” He stared into the fire for a long moment. At length he said, “Well, I’m no Traveller myself; I don’t know how it’s done. Unfortunately, those who do know are not the sort you can trust to see you home. They’re more the type to take you to their lair and keep you.” He smiled as if he understood the urge. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep you ourselves.”

Jordon’s hackles rose. “I’m not a lost puppy!”

“So I see,” he almost purred. “However, you need a dry place to sleep tonight. I can offer that.”

Her eyes narrowed in warning. “Can you guarantee I’ll sleep alone?”

His eyes swept slowly over her, reminded her that she wore only a blanket and a borrowed pair of slippers. He smiled. “You will be safe here; if you wish to be.”

His words made her stomach tighten under the scrutiny of this unwanted interest. The man was gorgeous, but too confident for his own good. She wasn’t going to encourage him. “Not interested,” she said firmly, and set aside her cup. She didn’t need more brandy when he was in the room.

“Very well.” He rose and offered her a hand up, then tucked it neatly through his arm. The gesture was so courtly she found it hard to object, though the feel of his heated skin against her hand was subtly delicious. She tugged free, saying, “I need both hands on the blanket.”

His smile was wolfish. “Of course. We wouldn’t want it to slip.”

Jordon was not used to blushing, so she tried to hide her face and ignored him. As she did, movement caught her eye. She glanced out of one of the dusty windows and stiffened as lightning flashed, illuminating the large shapes that prowled the yard.

Griffin followed her gaze. “Yes. They are awake. And busy, I suspect. You’ve brought quite a storm with you. It’s a good thing that you came to us. You seem to have stirred up some serious trouble. I don’t think any of the neighbours would have dealt easily with it.”

Jordon swallowed. “Are they like you? Griffins and such, I mean.” For all she knew, she’d landed in an entirely different world. Tonight, anything seemed possible.

He grinned. “I’m afraid not. They’re rather ordinary, for the most part. Careful on the stair; those slippers are rather big for you.” His hand hovered protectively at her back as she took the marble stairs in the floppy slippers.

She wished it wasn’t so protective. She was in more danger of stumbling from the heat of his hand than from the oversized foot gear. She held herself stiffly, ready to object if he got fresh, but the hand hovered, just shy of her back. It was worse than if he’d touched her outright.

Then she found herself silently following him through the draughty, dusty old house. The only source of light was Griffin’s candle and the occasional flare of lightning. Stern oils frowned down at her from the walls as they passed. Sculptures of plaster and older, worm-eaten wood ones gazed at her with solemn, chiding eyes. All around her, the house breathed, expectant. She had the uncomfortable feeling that something was required of her.

To distract herself, she said, “You have a lot of art here. I expect to come upon the statue of David at any moment.”

He smiled down at her. “You’ll find no stone statues here. Gargoyles are touchy about that sort of thing. The idea of being trapped forever as stone. ”

Jordon frowned. “Gargoyles?”

They had come to a lighted doorway. He paused outside and looked in. “Mrs Y. has been busy.”

Jordon peered in. Mrs Y. saw them and grunted in satisfaction. “We’ve not had guests in years. I had to pull the Holland covers off and fetch fresh bedding.” She’d lit a fire in the hearth, Jordon saw. It burned with a reassuringly yellow and orange flame.

Mrs Y. moved to the wardrobe and removed a neatly folded square of white. She shook it out, revealing a long-sleeved, cotton nightgown with a row of tiny buttons down the front. Pretty and old-fashioned, the bodice and hem had tiny blue flowers embroidered with twining silver vines. She laid it across the bed. “There you are, and I brought warm water for washing.” She pulled a large jug from under a tea trolley and poured the steaming contents into the old-fashioned washstand. “And that should be that until morning.”

Jordon paused, acutely aware of the man at her side. It felt too intimate with him here. “The room looks very comfortable, thank you.”

Mrs Y. looked satisfied. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. We rise early.” She let herself out.

Jordon glanced at Griffin. He hadn’t moved. “Well. Goodnight, then.”

He smiled, slow and warm. “It has been. I’ve enjoyed your company.”

Her blood felt thick, her heartbeat a little too strong. She wished now that she’d had nothing to drink. She didn’t handle liquor well. She licked her lips, searching for a reply. and he kissed her.

She instantly forgot what she’d been going to say. His lips were soft, scorching hot. Or maybe she was the one on fire. Her insides certainly seemed to be in meltdown.

His hands were gentle, yet firm as he slid one into her hair, used the other to span her waist. He kissed her as if they were already old lovers, as if he had the right.

It was long moments before she was able to lower her head, breaking the kiss. “I don’t know you.”

He gently stroked the hair away from her face. “You know this.” When she turned her head away, he said, “You’re a widow, aren’t you?”

She looked at him, startled. “How did you know?” It came to her then, just what age she was in. He would have certain ideas about “good women”. It was ironic, considering her origins, that he was actually right.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said with certainty.

“That’s not exactly true,” she hedged, backing away a step. “I don’t understand what you are.”

He looked at her keenly. “One advantage to being more than a man is that I can smell exactly how you feel right now. It is difficult to resist.”

She swallowed. “Make an effort. If for no other reason, you don’t want to father a child tonight.” She had not been on birth control since her husband had passed away nearly two years ago. She had not been ready to risk her heart again.

To her surprise, his eyes flared with interest. “Don’t be so certain! If I thought such a thing were possible. ” He took a careful step back. “Children require a more careful level of courtship. I will have to consider this.” He made her a slight bow. “Goodnight.” Before Jordon could ask him what he meant, he was gone.

As a man of dual nature, Lord Griffin had often had to battle the animal side of himself. Tonight, he was inclined to agree with the animal. He wanted her, and when she’d mentioned children.

He shook his head. Well, it had been coming on him for some time now. He had fought the urge to take a mate, partially because he enjoyed his freedom, partially because he’d never found a woman who seemed right. Of course, he’d never met a woman like Jordon.

She was a puzzle. He wasn’t particularly bothered by her origins, but he was interested to know why the banshee had come after her. As far as he knew, the banshee were never far from their native bogs and moors. He’d never met one in person until tonight. Had she somehow angered them?

He reviewed what she’d told him. Someone from her time tried to kill her — a man? She was brought here, apparently by lightning, and it had saved her life. The banshee attacked her. Had they been sent? A powerful fae could arrange that. Fae could also time travel.

An interesting puzzle, and griffins loved puzzles. He would have to consider this. And since the lovely Jordon was part of the puzzle, he would have to think very earnestly of her as well. Smiling to himself, he made his way to his room.

Jordon dreamed of her killer. She could not see his face, could not seem to remember it, either. Yet she knew it was him.

He was a shadow in her dreams. Warm, seductive. “Ah, Jordon, my love! We got off to a bad start. And here I’ve come to make amends.” He held a white rose in his hand, a sign of peace. “Do you forgive me?”

Jordon was in the same room she’d fallen asleep in, but instead of soft quilts and a cotton gown, now her only covering was a thin silk sheet. In the dream she was aroused, deeply so. It made her angry. “Go away!”

His voice was teasing, though he pretended to be wounded. “Ah, but I’ve promised to make peace with my sister. She was very upset that I put you in harm’s way.” He moved closer as he spoke, trailed the rose over Jordon’s calf. “I’ve been very naughty.”

She gulped and kicked at the rose from under the sheet. “Get out!”

He ignored her, sat on the bed. Jordon hunched into a ball at the headboard. “You’re making me angry,” she bit out. Even the force of her arousal was not enough to combat that.

He scanned her slowly. “It will come to a choice, you know. There could be peace if you choose me. Griffin. he is an animal, you know.” He shook his head chidingly.

“Jordon.”

She didn’t know who spoke her name, but the shadow seemed annoyed. “He would come,” it said.

“Jordon!” It was Griffin’s voice, and he sounded concerned.

“Interfering animal,” the shadow said, and stood up. “Very well. There will be other nights.”

“JORDON!” Griffin roared, and this time her eyes flew open. She sat there staring at him. and then she looked down at her foot. A single white petal lay on the quilts. With a cry of alarm, she kicked it off as if it were a spider. It flew into the air and vanished.

“Did you see it?” she asked Griffin, panicked. “The rose? He brought a rose!”

“I believe you,” Griffin said soothingly, stroking her back. “I heard you through the wall.”

“W-what wall?” she gasped. She was hardly coherent. The dream had scared her so badly.

“Mine is the next room,” he said, still soothing. “I’m glad you woke me.”

But Jordon was in no mood to be soothed, not like this anyway. Fear was not the only lingering effect from the dream, and Griffin was a handy outlet for her seemingly insatiable desires. She threw herself at him, ground her mouth into his. and suddenly it was not the dream alone that drove her.

He tasted delicious. She’d never had a kiss so luscious. His hair was like silk.

Griffin was not the least put off by her demands. After one startled murmur, he enthusiastically took over, curling a hand around her hip to draw her closer. Moments later, her gown flew over her head, apparently by magic. He was not interested in going slowly, and neither was she.

He loved her breasts with tongue and gently nipping teeth. She urged him on, gasping when he reached down and squeezed her. Her legs fell open on reflex, and he laughed as his mouth trailed down.

His lips were oh so soft, but not as hot as his gentle tongue. Jordon screamed, writhing to escape his wicked torment. It pleased him so greatly that he prolonged it, lashing her again and again.

He did not warn her when he was ready, just rose over her and thrust deep. She screamed in instant climax, then moaned as he rode her, watching her face, milking every sensation from her until she was soaked and begging. Once there, his face changed, broke into a snarl. He sank his teeth gently into her neck and drove hard, shaking the entire bed.

She fell asleep on top of him, still intimately joined, and woke again in the night. The words they exchanged during their new round of loving could not be termed conversation. “More” and “yes” were more than enough.

Jordon woke to an empty bed. Hazily, she raised her head and surveyed the tangled sheets. The quilt was sideways, and her feet stuck out. A glance at the window showed it was almost dawn.

She groaned and stuck her head under her pillow. She could still feel him inside her, was still tingling from the last time he’d seduced her. She could not have managed the fourth round without his promise that he’d do all the work. Not that he had in the end. She just couldn’t help herself.

She muttered to herself and threw the pillow off. Lurching to the washstand, she surveyed herself in the mirror there, and winced. No hiding that hickey! The man did like to leave his mark. A glance at her breasts showed faint evidence of his attentions, too.

She hung her head and sighed. Stupid girl. Nice going. One bad dream and she threw herself at the first available man. Lovely.

She looked around for her clothes and remembered that she’d come up here wrapped in nothing but a blanket. Growling to herself, she cleaned up at the washstand and then wrapped herself in last night’s quilt.

She kept her head high as she marched down the stairs, just in case she ran into a servant. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any lurking about. She’d just made it down the stairs and was marching for the kitchen when she was suddenly scooped up like a doll and carried into an empty parlour.

“Griffin!” she shouted, not appreciating his enthusiastic greeting.

He ignored her and sat in an armchair, arranging her on his lap. He kissed her with great energy, as if he hadn’t spent all night enjoying her. “Good morning.”

She pushed him away, gasping a protest. “Griffin! Do you mind —” She broke off in a yelp as he tugged down her blanket and kissed her breasts in greeting.

“Good morning! Hell-o,” he murmured appreciatively. “I’ve missed you.”

She growled at him, but there was no heat in it. It was hard to be stern when he caressed her that way. She slowly relaxed under his soothing hands, loving the rumble of his voice as he praised her.

“Am I interrupting?” a languid voice intruded.

Jordon gasped and covered her chest. There was a man in the doorway, studiously looking at the portrait on the wall above their heads. Dressed all in white and cream, he looked like a gentleman. He held a folded newspaper in his hand, and he seemed rather disapproving of the goings-on.

Jordon struggled to get up. Griffin tightened his arms around her and stood, gently setting her on her feet. “Hello, Sage. This is Jordon Hearst. I’m afraid I waylaid her on her way to the kitchen.”

“Indeed.” Sage glanced over what he could see of Jordon’s neck and swollen lips. “Perhaps I should escort her the rest of the way. You seem to be a somewhat negative influence.”

Jordon flushed, but walked straight towards him and through the door, saying over her shoulder, “I can escort myself, thank you. I was leaving this morning anyway.” Oh, she couldn’t wait to get away! How embarrassing.

Griffin was at her side in an instant. “Actually, I’m fairly certain you don’t want to pass through the dining room right now. That’s what I was going to tell you before I got distracted.”

She stopped outside the door and looked at him with suspicion, “Why? Is someone in there?”

“My youngest brother is likely having breakfast.”

Jordon paled. She definitely didn’t want any of his brothers seeing her like this. She shot a glance at Sage, wondering if one already had. She started to run a hand through her hair, then had to grab for the blanket again. “OK,” she said shakily. “I need my clothes. Coffee, too. I think you can manage that much.” She glared at Griffin as if this were all his fault. “Once I’m dressed, I’m leaving.” She looked around, seeking a refuge. “I’ll wait in the parlour. The front door is closer from there.”

Griffin raised his brows, but seemed to agree. He inclined his head and headed for the dining room. Sage went with him.

Jordon retreated to the parlour and sat stiffly on a chair. She couldn’t wait to get out of there!

Griffin met the interested face at the dining table with a cool stare. He knew his brother Samhain had heard every word. He also knew it wouldn’t be repeated. Sam was no more a tale bearer than Sage. It didn’t stop him from asking questions, though.

“Ms Hearst sounded upset,” he said calmly. But his ears gave him away. He couldn’t flatten them as a man, and the slightly pointed tips twitched. He peered through his mane of black hair as if waiting for a chance to trample his older brother.

Griffin grimaced. “She’s embarrassed. Sage arrived at an inopportune moment.” He fixed a plate for Jordon and poured a cup of coffee. No doubt she’d be hungry. He’d been starved this morning. It had taken two heaped plates to satisfy him.

“Is that for you?” Sam wanted to know.

“No.” Griffin set the plate aside, intending to get it once he’d collected Jordon’s clothes from the kitchen. He was thinking furiously of delaying tactics. He’d decided sometime in the night that he was keeping Jordon. Now he just had to convince her of the wisdom in staying.

Mrs Y. sent him a knowing look as he entered the room. Well, she’d known what she was doing when she gave Jordon the room next to his. She’d been trying to get him to wed for years.

He ignored her and headed to the fireplace. Jordon’s things were dry, and most of her clothes had been folded and placed on a chair.

“I washed her socks and underthings,” Mrs Y. said casually. “I’m afraid she’ll have some difficulty, though. Her sweater seems to have disliked the rain.”

He shot her a curious look, then lifted the soft blue sweater from the pile to have a closer look. After a moment, he smiled. Somehow he doubted Jordon would be in a hurry to leave in this.

Jordon was dismayed to see her favourite sweater shrunken to the size of a handkerchief. But she rallied quickly. She was not going to allow it to slow her down. “I’ll need to borrow one of your shirts.”

Griffin made a face. “Darling, it would swamp you! If you’ll be patient, I’ll send for the village seamstress. She’s really very good.”

Jordon looked at him coldly. “I am not sitting around in a blanket all day. Nor am I going to wear that.” She glared at the maid’s uniform that he’d brought along as an alternative.

He looked over her head and drew a breath as if to control his temper. He did not seem interested in helping her leave. The storm was over. She needed to go home if she could.

She worried about that as she put on the shirt he brought her, ignoring the way it hung to her knees. She grudgingly thanked him for the jacket.

“It’s chilly this morning,” he said off hand. “Shall we?”

She wished he wasn’t the one walking her down the long driveway. Walking gave her too much time to think. She began to feel apologetic. “I’m sorry about last night.”

He raised his brows in enquiry. He was still being cool and aristocratic.

She hated it. “It was my fault. If there are. complications. ”

He stopped. “I suggest you stop right there. We can discuss this after you’ve had a look at the road. Once you’ve ascertained for yourself that you can’t go home, we’ll discuss it further.”

She looked at him grimly. “I think I should say it before I disappear. There may not be another chance.”

“I doubt that.” He began walking again, rapidly this time. “Magic doesn’t work that way.”

“What do you mean?” She had to stretch her legs to keep up with him.

He saw it and slowed to an easier pace. “You were brought here for a purpose. You’d do better to spend your time discovering what that is than. ” He trailed off. “No, forgive me. I suppose you’re being reasonable enough, from your point of view.”

She looked at him, surprised at his capitulation. “Really.”

He smiled charmingly. “I’m merely upset that you’re so eager to run away from me.”

She coloured and looked forwards. “About that. I’m not in the habit of leaping on men. It’s just that it’s been a while.” She saw that he was listening attentively. “My husband’s been gone two years now. He was killed in battle.”

“I’m sorry,” Griffin said respectfully. “You loved him, of course.”

Her throat tightened. “Yeah.” They were approaching the gates now. It seemed important to make him understand. “I think it’s become a habit, you know? The grief. I’ve been searching for a way to. heal, I guess. Last night, I think I used you.” She swallowed.

He stopped her. When she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he took her hands. “Jordon Hearst, I do not feel used. Have you considered that finding a new love is one of the best ways to heal?”

She jerked her hands back with a gasp. She wanted to berate him. How dare he? And yet. “I don’t love you. I barely know you.”

“Today, that’s true. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

She didn’t want to discuss this. She strode through the gate, still hoping he’d leave her alone. She searched the ground carefully, glad for the excuse to hide her eyes. She didn’t love him. There was no such thing as love at first sight.

Of course, there were no such things as griffins, either. Or time travel, for that matter. She ignored that errant little thought, concentrating on her task. She didn’t have time for nonsense.

She didn’t know what she expected to find on the road. In the daylight, it was an ordinary country lane. She walked over to the place where she estimated she’d arrived, looking for a feeling of otherness, for any sign of what had transported her last night. There was nothing. The only significance about the area was its proximity to the mansion gates. She glanced at them and sighed. She had a feeling she knew what Griffin would say about that. Annoyed, she ruthlessly began to search the trees at the side of the road for anything that might trigger a portal home.

Griffin seemed to be searching, too, though she got the feeling he was more interested in possible danger than in portals. His head was up, and his nostrils flared as if scenting the wind. After last night’s fight with the banshee, she couldn’t blame him. She even found she was glad of it.

It was as she searched the ditch that she felt the growing sensation that something was wrong. She glanced at the woods, as if she could peer through the trees to see what might be coming. “Griffin?” she said uncertainly.

He saw the direction she was looking. She thought she could see his hackles rise. He grasped her arm and began walking her towards the gate. “Quickly now.”

She didn’t resent his taking command. She knew something wasn’t right, too. A zing ran down her spine, and her breath came faster. The feeling didn’t make sense, but she hadn’t forgotten the banshee. Never mind that she’d never been bothered by so much as a stray premonition before, Jordon headed for the gates at a rapid clip. She would have run if Griffin hadn’t kept her at a walk. Something was coming!

He appeared before the house when they were halfway up the drive. Dark, urbane and unapologetically other. Beautiful danger, seductive killer. He stood there dressed in an old-fashioned, midnight-blue frock coat, white ruffles spilling from the sleeves and cravat. Long hair, a burnished black, spilled from under a beaver top hat. Both hands rested on a polished ebony cane with a silver knob. He studied her with blue, blue eyes.

“I know you,” she whispered, appalled. “You’re the man who tried to kill me with the car.”

Griffin looked at her sharply. He seemed coiled, tensed to fight, but he stayed quiet and listened.

The stranger smiled slightly. “A miscalculation. I’ve come to pay my. respects.”

“Your respects!” Anger flashed through her veins, tightening her muscles. She was ready to lash out at him when another thought occurred. “You know how to take me back!”

His mouth quirked. “There would be no point, you know. The house would only draw you back here.”

She glanced suspiciously at the house behind him. “It’s not alive.”

His smile grew razor sharp. “You haven’t been here long enough to appreciate it. Meanwhile, I hope to further our acquaintance. I am called Naturu. The pleasure is mine, Jordon Hearst.” His scintillating smile hinted at the kind of pleasure he meant.

Griffin smiled with white, shar p teeth. “Don’t be so confident, fae. She’s spoken for.”

“Am I?” Jordon asked sharply. She turned her attention back to Naturu. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. I’m not usually thrilled to meet a would-be assassin.” She expected him to protest, or attempt to charm her, but he only inclined his head.

“As I said, I regret the circumstances of our first meeting. As a token of apology, I came to offer a friendly warning.” His tone was silky, caressing. “Do not leave this place alone, Ms Hearst. There are more than shadows waiting outside these gates.”

Griffin’s lip curled.

A chill kissed her spine. She remembered the fear that had made her run back to the house, knew without a doubt Naturu was right. It didn’t make her like him any better, though. Acidly, she said, “You’re too kind.”

He smiled seductively. “I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome. Accept my parting gift, then, and think of me with better favour.” He bowed, then disappeared in a swirl of black smoke. She glanced around, but he was nowhere in sight.

Griffin met her gaze with hooded eyes. “He’s gone. For now.” His eyes swept over her, his expression carefully neutral.

She followed his gaze, blinking in surprise as she caught sight of her clothes. She was now wearing a blue cashmere dress over a pale blue, silk under-dress. The sleeves and neckline were liberally adorned with pearls. There were even matching silk slippers upon her feet. It was beautiful, but. “Stupid man! Those were my favourite jeans.” She was not inclined to look with favour on Naturu’s gift. He’d tried to kill her!

Sage spoke dryly from the front door. From his words, he must have witnessed most of the conversation. “Be grateful he didn’t turn you into a lowly moth. That one could have done far worse.” He frowned at the dress. “It suits you better than Griff’s shirt, at any rate.”

Both she and Griffin glowered. Neither one of them liked Naturu messing with her clothes.

Griff gently took her arm. “We ’ll have the seamstress in today. You deserve a choice of clothing.”

She hesitated, glanced back at the gates. Had she really searched as well as she could have?

Griffin leaned down to whisper in her ear. “It’s not worth the danger. You can search again another time.”

She considered, then reluctantly allowed him to escort her inside. He was probably right. for now.

Griffin waited until Jordon was settled in the parlour with a tea tray before making his offer. He worked up to it, of course, and made a very fine effort.

Jordon was not impressed. “Marriage.” She grimaced and set down her tea. “There’s no reason for that, Griff.”

He looked at her steadily. “There is the possibility of a child.”

She sighed and looked around the dusty parlour. “I think you need a maid more than you need a wife. What happened to this place?”

“We were away. Our help deserted us. Unfortunately, it is not easy to find servants who can adapt to our household. Fae work well, but they were threatened in our absence. I don’t blame them for leaving. About my offer—”

“I’ll entertain it, but I need some answers first. Who is Naturu? You didn’t seem surprised by him.”

He clearly disliked the subject change, but he humoured her. “He is the brother of our matriarch. The house, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. What about it?” she asked, slightly irritated. “There seems to be an unspoken assumption around here that I know things. Maybe you’d better back up and give me some of the history of this place.”

He thought for a moment. “Very well. It might help simplify things.

“Many years ago, there was a fae named Hyani. As a child, she played with the young of a clan of shape-shifters. Eventually, she came to love a young shifter named Traic.

“Her family did not approve. They forbade her to be with him. Instead of obeying them, she ran away to be with her love. By the time their hiding place was discovered, they had already produced three children. Her parents, while angered, did not want to discipline their beloved daughter. Not all fae felt the same way.

“There was war. Traic was killed in battle, but his friends the gargoyles helped Hyani and the children escape. They fled to the mortal world, but Hyani could not overcome her grief. In her despair, she transformed herself into a form that could shelter her children, but would be unable to suffer the pain of loss. She became this house.”

Jordon blinked. “She became a house? How is that possible?” She looked around, trying to see a living being in the walls around her. It looked ordinary enough to her, if richly appointed and rather dusty.

Griffin shook his head. “After all you’ve seen, how can you doubt? Have faith that the house is what remains of our ancestor.

“It is said that the ladies of the house sometimes hear her guidance. I wouldn’t doubt she had a hand in bringing you here. It’s been a long time since there was a woman she could talk to.”

“Mrs Y. is here,” Jordon pointed out.

He smiled. “Mrs Y. is extraordinary, but she is not family.” Before she could comment on that, he went on, “Hyani’s children were of mixed blood and inherited long life, something that infuriated the fae, who were jealous of the gifts. They did not want to see mortals rival them in any way. There has been strife between the two races ever since, though the fae are careful never to attack Hyani in any way that would raise the ire of her family, for fae children are rare, and she is still much loved by her parents.

“Her brother is not as reserved. Although he seems to care for his sister and is thought to commune with her still, he considers her children to be freaks. We’ve suspected that he works with her enemies. The attempt on your life seems to confirm it. I think he knew you were someone of interest to Hyani, a possible successor. She has been known to matchmake before, very successfully. He would not like to see another mated pair.” He smiled. “He was right to be afraid.”

Jordon tried not to squirm. “You don’t know that’s what’s going on.”

“It seems logical. Which brings me back to the point. Will you marry me, Jordon?”

Jordon tapped her back teeth together. “I’ve not given up on going home, you know. If the house could bring me here, she could send me back. All I have to do is convince her.”

“Luck with that,” he said, not in the least upset. “She’s not known to change her mind. I’m interested to know how you would plan to raise a griffin child alone, by the way. They tend to be headstrong. She would need guidance.”

“What makes you think it would be a she?”

He smiled. “Most first children tend to be, in honour of their grandmother. I would be pleased with a boy or a girl. I would enjoy being a father.”

She didn’t appreciate him being so nice about this. It made him harder to deal with. “You don’t know that I’m pregnant. In light of that and the fact that we hardly know each other, I think marriage is fairly premature. You don’t even know that we’re well suited.”

“Hm.” He stared thoughtfully at the mantel. “A valid point. I propose a courtship period, then. What say you to a month? Surely that would be long enough to give you an idea of my character.”

Jordon didn’t recall specifically agreeing to his request. He somehow managed to make it seem as if she had. He even went so far as to formally introduce her as his fiancée to his brothers at lunch. When she called him on it later, he said, “I’m the confident sort.”

She took it to mean that he was arrogant beyond measure.

Servants began to appear at the house over the next few hours. Jordon couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was odd about them, though Griffin informed her they were the fae who had formerly served in the house. Noses were too big on some, fingers too long on others, as if they couldn’t quite master the nuances of the human form. Seeing them cleaning industriously made her wonder, though. “How long were you gone, Griffin? A couple of months?”

He shrugged. “Oh, fifty years or so. They get touchy if you’re gone for a while, and we’ve been home only a matter of days. Now that we’re here, Mrs Y. has set about coaxing them home.”

She stared at his face. Considering he didn’t look older than thirty, that seemed amazing. It was not something she felt comfortable asking about just then, however. There was something more pressing she wanted to know. “Tell me about the gargoyles.”

He looked thoughtful. “I could show you instead. You seem brave enough to handle it.” He smiled, but it slowly faded. He looked at her seriously. “There are other things you should know, too.”

She was wary. “Like what?”

He glanced at the windows, perhaps tracking the path of the sun. “Samhain, Sage and I are shape-shifters. It’s part of who we are. We need to spend part of each day in our natural forms, or we suffer.”

“Suffer how?” She pictured agonies of the damned, men screaming in pain.

“It’s melancholy at first. We become moody and withdrawn, go off our feed. If left for a very long while, some shifters become suicidal. You could give us the best things in life, and we still could not cope with the grief. We need to be ourselves.”

“Oh. I see.” His explanation made sense.

He watched her carefully. “Good. You’ll understand then when I tell you that we chose the night to be our animal forms. We are nocturnal by nature, and it keeps our neighbours from noticing. Since it’s also the time when the gargoyles awaken, it is most convenient. It’s also why we eat dinner just after sunset. Gargoyles wake hungry.”

Jordon thought about that for a moment, then cleared her throat. “OK. You’re telling me that you’ll all be at the dining room table as your true selves.”

He smiled at her. “This shape is also a ‘true self. I’ll just look a little different.”

“Right.” She nodded, then kept nodding as she processed his revelation. How did a girl brace for all that?

Griffin suggested she meet the gargoyle clan first, hoping it would be easiest on her. “You might also want to ask Rook how his nose is doing. He was the one you hit with the stick. He’ll be the black one, with white hair.”

She winced. “Sorry about that. I was a little shook up last night.”

“Hm. Well, I won’t let him eat you. You should know he tends to be moody, though.”

As a result of his warning, she was feeling a little nervous as they approached a gate set in the high shrubbery. The gate itself was hidden from the house by an oak tree and a group of flowering bushes. Griffin had to unlock it.

“The gate is warded to drive away any guests we might receive. We don’t want visitors to wonder why the statues change positions from day to day.” He held the door open for her.

Jordon stepped inside, looked curiously at the group of five statues within the large garden. Each one rested on a wide stone pedestal, and no two seemed to be the same. There were several that she recognized as gargoyles, though none of them were the squat, ugly monsters she’d been expecting. They were alien, yes, with hard, sharp angles, like the one with spikes on his elbows and wingtips. He had claws, and his face was set in a snarl, but she saw the beauty in his features, too. There were others like him, though each was unique in his own way.

Jordon hadn’t known how the sight of them caught in stone would affect her. The thought of seeing them wake should have daunted her more than it did. Stronger was the urge to see them free.

She gently touched the foot of the gargoyle closest to her, felt the stone flex under her hand. She gasped and pulled her hand back. The stone subsided.

Griffin grinned. “It’s all right. They’re close to waking. No doubt you startled him.”

She gave Griff a wide-eyed glance, then went back to watching the silent gargoyles. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the stone flexed slowly, moved like a living thing. All around her, chests expanded, drew in air. Colour bloomed over the stone, turned it to onyx, jade, carnelian, quartz.

Jordon paced backwards, the better to view the change. As stone slowly became flesh, a powerful joy seized her and, with it, a sense of helpless fear. She didn’t know these beings. She had no cause for joy. What was happening to her?

She still felt awkward at dinner. By then she suspected that part of what she was feeling came from the house itself. All day it had seemed as if it were whispering to her, subtle thoughts that just brushed her mind. That was odd enough, but the reality of sitting across from seven mythical beings was almost overwhelming.

Griffin sat on her left in his griffin form, the size of a horse. A handsome, gleaming brown with golden beak and claws, he was rather intimidating. It was difficult to convince herself that he was also the man she’d spent the day with, and much of last night.

The gargoyles were able to sit, though Jordon thought they would have been more comfortable on stools than in high-backed chairs, for their wings draped uncomfortably behind them, and none of them seemed to rest their spines against the upholstery. She speculated that the pressure on their wings was uncomfortable.

Sage and Samhain stood at the table, though the stallion’s food and water was actually on the floor. Jordon wasn’t terribly shocked when Sage was brought a couple of whole, raw chickens. He was a giant white owl, after all, easily the height of a man. It did cause her some consternation when a bowl of freshly butchered rabbit was placed before Samhain’s stallion form, along with a bucket of strong black coffee. She didn’t comment, of course, but she did pour herself a little more wine. Unfortunately, her own excellent meal was going mostly untouched. She was too tense to really enjoy it. Though they were on their best behaviour, she was just not used to such extraordinary company. She sipped at her glass of wine.

She studied them carefully, trying to be subtle. In return they eyed her boldly back as they shoved food into their maws. There was very little talking. Eating was serious business.

After a few minutes, Jordon left off picking at her soup. When she saw Griffin eyeing it, she shoved it his way. “It’s good, but I’m not very hungry.”

He drank it carefully, making the bowl look dainty as a tea cup. “Very nice.” It was odd to hear his voice coming from a griffin’s beak.

She cleared her throat. “Do you often eat human food when you’re a griffin, or is meat better for your body?” Someone had poured more wine into her cup. She took a sip.

“I prefer meat, though cheese makes a nice snack. Bread is pretty tasty, too.”

“But no vegetables,” she said, smiling a little.

“Definitely not.”

She accepted the next course from a freckle-faced boy. She doubted he was as human as he appeared. Jordon couldn’t imagine too many Victorian citizens would take the sight of her present company in their stride. It wasn’t too many years past the time when a supposed witch would have been burned at the stake. She assumed the same would happen to gargoyles and such, should they be caught.

She lowered her eyes to her salmon and buttery fried parsnips. She noticed the gargoyles were served the same, and plenty of it. Unlike her, they didn’t seem to be as careful of fish bones. She drank the last of her wine and poured some more. “Mrs Y. is a good cook,” she said, trying to make small talk. “You’re lucky to have her.”

Rook coughed, amused. “The local farmers are lucky we have her! Happy for them, not all of us enjoy raw meat.” Like the others, he didn’t bother with tableware, deeming his fingers utensil enough.

“And the farmers frown on missing sheep,” a sharp-edged gargoyle called Vicious said between bites. He had black hair, blue skin and wings. Chuckles followed his statement.

“They wouldn’t really steal,” Sage explained to her calmly. “The estate provides for all of us. As night guardians, they hardly have to beg for food.”

Jordon looked to Griffin. “If you’re all awake at night, who guards the place when you’re asleep?”

“Unlike the gargoyles, we can be awake in the daylight. We need little sleep,” Griffin explained.

The blue gargoyle grinned a sharp white grin. “It gives him more time to cat around. The ladies like his company.”

Griffin growled in warning, and Vic lost his smile. “What?”

The wolf-like creature next to him, Howl, snickered. He had roast beef stuck in his teeth. “Don’t mind him. He’s not too smart.”

“Vic’s barely thirty,” the thin purple one across the table from him spoke up, cutting across the brewing fight. Jordon thought his name was Lance. “He probably hasn’t noticed what’s happening between you two.”

Jordon stiffened, set down her fork. “I wasn’t aware there was anything happening,” she said with strained calm. She didn’t like to think of the relationship between her and Griff as public, not when she barely knew what to make of it herself. She nervously took a sip of wine.

Lance stared at her. Cornered, he shot a glance at Griffin, and quickly changed the subject. “I’m the best flier. Howl tracks like a wolf.”

“Better,” Howl shot back. He crammed a whole boiled potato in his mouth.

Jordon let them change the subject, but her appetite was completely gone. What was she doing, sitting here like this? She should be trying to convince the house to take her home. She didn’t belong here. “Excuse me. I don’t feel well,” she said. Avoiding Griffin’s eyes, she quickly stood and left the table, praying he wouldn’t follow her. She was quite sure she would start wigging out if she had to sit still one more minute and pretend that everything was normal.

Everything was not normal! She was trapped in a living house, out of her time, and slightly drunk. She stumbled on her skirt as she was climbing the stairs and upgraded that to “definitely drunk”.

Since it was either leave the table or climb the walls, screaming, she thought she’d made the right choice.

She didn’t even try to reach her room. Tonight she rather wanted to be lost. She didn’t want Griffin to find her too soon, not when she felt so confused. She needed time to think.

That was how she found the balcony. Stumbling through dark rooms until she found one lit by moonlight, she followed the white path to a double French door. It swung silently open to reveal a cosy balcony overlooking the front lawns. A brisk wind blew at her, perfect for clearing her head.

Jordon closed the doors and leaned on the rail. As long as no one went for a flight, she’d have her privacy. She smiled a bitter smile and closed her eyes. Ah! How did things get so complicated? This had all come on her much too fast. Was there a way to prepare for something like this?

“Take me back,” she told the house, putting her heart into it. “We are not a good match. You know it, too. I’m no good for him.”

“Is he good for you?”

Jordon blinked. The quiet thought hung there, as if waiting for a response.

She didn’t have one. Griffin good for her? Jordon broke it down, simplified it. Was Griffin good? Of course. Though she hadn’t known him long, she felt sure of that. Was he good for her? She bit her lip and stared over the shadowed lawns. Though she wrestled with the question for a good long time, she couldn’t find an answer.

The chill finally forced her inside. Somehow she was not surprised to find him waiting there, and in his human form. At least he was dressed.

He bowed, very formal. “This place can be confusing. I thought you might have gotten turned around. May I lead you back?”

She sighed. “I wish someone would.”

They were silent as he escorted her back to her room. When they reached the door, he looked down at her solemnly. “Am I invited tonight?”

Part of her was tempted. She would have loved to be held. Instead she shook her head. “It’s no good, Griff. I’m not good company tonight.”

He nodded soberly, reached for her chin. He hesitated just before touching her. When he spoke, there was unhappiness in his voice. “May I kiss you goodnight?”

His pain made her heart ache. She nodded softly.

She recognized that kiss for the mistake it was an hour later, when she’d had time to think. Griffin was a ruthless seducer. Only now, draped naked over his drowsing form, did she have time to acknowledge it.

He’d worn her out. She closed her eyes, promising she’d deal better with him tomorrow.

At first she didn’t realize she dreamed. She was twined with Griffin, but there was another presence in the room: the shadow man.

He studied the pair of them critically. “Well, that was quick! I see my sister has gotten her way again.”

“Naturu,” she whispered, barely able to speak, to move. She felt as if the air had become a pressure, holding her down. “G’way.”

“I’m afraid not.” He examined his cane, his tone off-hand. “You realize I don’t approve. We’d whittled the numbers down to seven, my friends and I. I’ve no interest in seeing a population explosion.” He looked at her with regret. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you.” He took a brisk step forwards, raising his cane that now sported a barbed tip. His eyes were locked on Griffin’s chest.

“No!” she shouted as the paralysis abruptly lifted. She sat up, threw a pillow to deflect his aim. “I won’t let you kill him!”

He took aim again. To her surprise, Griffin was shaking her, telling her sharply to wake. Her eyes flew open, and she looked around wildly. “He tried to kill you!”

Griffin’s jaw tensed. He put a calming hand on her shoulder, then looked to the spot where she’d last seen Naturu. “Come out. I can smell you.”

Naturu’s voice came out of the air, bored, as if he hadn’t just tried his hand at murder. “What would be the point in that? I find it’s much easier to kill you this way.”

Griffin smiled grimly. “Brave fae! Noble foe to come at your prey in the dark. I had heard that you’d become craven over the years, O hero.”

“One does not require chivalry to slay an animal.” Naturu’s voice had a distinct edge.

Griffin smiled as he baited him. “And in your sister’s house no less. She’ll certainly forgive that.”

“What is it you want? Shall I give you a sporting chance?” Naturu spat. “Very well. Tomorrow, at dawn. I will meet you before the house. Winner gets the girl. and any monsters she might be breeding.” The voice held sinister promise.

They waited in tense silence. Finally Griffin said, “He’s gone.”

“Was he really here?” she whispered, still shaken. “He was in my dreams. ”

He tucked the blanket around her shoulders and held her close. “He’s fae. They do that.” He nuzzled her temple. “This one won’t bother you again, however. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

She jerked her head up, nearly clipping his chin. “What? You’re going to fight him? That’s what he meant, didn’t he? No! I don’t want—”

He shushed her, first with his voice, then with gently persuasive kisses. “I’ll be careful. I promise. All will be well.”

She tried to argue, but his lips stilled every argument, until she finally just pushed him back. “Look. There has to be a better way.”

He took her hand in his, kissed it. Then he slowly coaxed her to lie against his chest. “Very well. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. We’ll sort this out.”

Her breathing slowly began to calm. “You will? You think he’ll listen?”

“I can be very persuasive,” he said reasonably, stroking her hair. “I’ll have my brothers with me, too.”

That calmed her. It wasn’t as if he’d be all alone. She didn’t know what she could do against Naturu, but she would be there too, of course. She’d talk to the house if she had to, get her to intervene.

As her pulse slowed, her eyes got heavy. Promising herself she’d sleep lightly, Jordon drifted off.

A bone-jarring thud woke her the next morning. She opened her eyes, stared out the window with bleary eyes. An angry groan came from somewhere far below her window.

She glanced at the lightening sky and gasped. Dawn! Grabbing her dress, she dashed for the window. She was just in time to see her Griffin climb to his feet and launch himself at the giant black griffin snarling on the lawn.

Jordon bolted for the door, struggling into her dress as she went. The hall seemed endless, the stairs a dangerous slope as she flew down them barefoot. The front door was ajar, and she threw it open, skidding to a stop on the landing. The griffins were locked in unequal battle, Griff biting and feinting viciously at the monster twice his size.

“He allowed Griffin to choose the form,” Sage said calmly as she stared, appalled. He didn’t seem surprised to see her barefoot, with the back of her gown hanging open. He did hold out an arm to block her as she tried to run past. “He doesn’t need your help.”

“He needs someone’s!” she cried, trying to get past. “Why are you just standing here? Help him!”

Sam moved to block her way as well, shifting sideways with his back to her. He barely spared her a glance. “What? You want the fae to continue pestering you? Griff told us he was haunting your dreams.”

Jordon opened her mouth to answer, then stiffened as Sage moved behind her and began to efficiently fasten the back of her gown. She watched the battle, wincing from time to time. Naturu was fast for such a big monster. It was fortunate Griff was faster.

“You need a ladies’ maid,” Sage murmured, fastening the last hook.

“I need an Uzi,” Jordon shot back, twitching with the urge to help Griff. She needed a weapon!

The sound of a meaty smack made her look back at the battle. Griffin flew through the air and smashed into an oak trunk. There was a cracking sound, and he was still.

When he didn’t move, Naturu relaxed. He stood on the lawn in a watchful, but not aggressive, stance.

Jordon feared the worse when the men stood back and let her through. She ran to Griffin, checked as gently as she could for a pulse. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. “Griff, please wake up! Can you hear me? Please.” There was blood, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was his. For all she knew his worst injuries were internal.

Panic threatened, but she fought it down. The grief was harder. How could she care so much in such a short time? “Griffin? Please. I don’t want you to go.” Did he stir? Hoping her words were reaching him, she pleaded, “Please live — for me? I’ll stay here for you. It’s not so bad, really, even if it is stuffed full of griffins and gargoyles. I don’t mind if you’re feathery once in a while.”

He actually laughed, though it was weak. “You hated dinner. You’re afraid.”

She drew a shaky breath. “I’m afraid of losing you. There! Are you happy now? I admitted it.”

His body heaved as if he were trying to get to his feet. “I need to finish him.” He groaned and flopped back down.

“You need a doctor, or a vet,” she said severely, trying to push him back down. Remembering Naturu, she turned around, but the griffin hadn’t moved. There seemed to be some kind of force field surrounding her and Griffin. “What is this?”

Abruptly, Naturu was his fae self once again. He smiled bitterly. “My sister has decided to take a hand in things, it seems. She has no sense of fair play.” He considered Jordon broodingly. “I’ve half a mind to claim my prize anyway. I’ve clearly won.”

Abruptly Griffin was on his feet, looking far too hale for a creature near death. “Not today, foul one. Why don’t you take yourself off?”

Naturu’s eyes sparked, but then he looked at the house. “Ah, sister! Very well. I’ll humour you for now. There are other ways we can settle this matter.” With an enigmatic glance at Jordon, he disappeared in a swirl of black smoke.

Jordon stared at the place where he’d been, then she turned to glower at Griffin. “You were playing possum.”

He took a step towards her and winced. “Mostly.”

She bit her lip, unsure if he were truly hurt. “It might help if you turned back into a human. I can’t see your injuries through your feathers.”

Abruptly, he was a naked man, covered in gore. He smiled ruefully as she started. “You’ll have to get used to it, darling. After all, you did promise to stay here with me.”

She pursed her lips. She had said that. She was starting to realize that she’d meant it, too. She really did want to be with him. “I didn’t say how long I’d stay.”

He smiled and pulled her close, ignoring the way she squirmed away from the blood. “Finicky, tricky woman. Just try and leave.” He kissed her temple, smiling to himself. “You’ll have to wait until the dressmaker finishes your clothes, at least. This one is ruined.”

Though she suspected he’d ruined her dress on purpose, Jordon did stay until she had new clothes. She remained through the summer, in fact, and on into the fall. By then the babe she carried was obvious to all.

Griffin had let her go two days before presenting her with a ring. “We’re married,” he said flatly. “We’ll have a ceremony here and do things the human way so that there’s no doubt. You’re staying with me, though.”

She frowned at the ring, then squinted up at the ceiling, which was now blessedly free of cobwebs. The new maids had been busy. “I don’t know. There are a lot of things about my time that I might miss. Good coffee—”

“Mrs Yuimen makes excellent coffee,” he said sternly.

“Books—”

“I’ll give you the library. We’ll kick Sage out,” he promised.

She looked at him and smiled softly. “You. If I went back, I would definitely miss you.” His expression made her heart go soft.

There were many things about her new home that were strange to Jordon, and none stranger than her new husband. She loved him though, this knight who had saved her from a bad end. If she must live in a faerie tale, at least she would get a happily ever after. That was something even a modern girl could appreciate.