Panahasi didn’t find out about his failure until the next night at dusk. He was beyond enraged as the sole survivor, the female Bodywalker minion he had sent, related the tale of what had happened. He realized belatedly that he should have sent more forces, but he hadn’t thought there would be more than just the Gargoyle to deal with. He screamed out like a temperamental child. He would have beaten the underling messenger if not for the fact that she already looked like she was close to death. The last thing he needed was for Apep to find another dead body in close proximity to him.

“You will keep yourself hidden from sight until you heal,” Panahasi commanded of her.

“Yes, my lord,” she mumbled, still fighting to breathe from the lungs that had been bruised and the ribs that had been snapped. She’d had to hide from the sun in an old, unused hangar for the entire day, which was no mean trick when airport security had been combing the area for whatever it was that had torn up the tarmac and killed what appeared to them to be two humans. Eventually, they would come to the conclusion that it had been some kind of freak lightning strike, an autopsy revealing nothing except human remains that had been struck by lightning.

Panahasi paced, trying to think of his next course of action. He didn’t have the resources to attack the Politic stronghold. And even if he did he couldn’t because he knew that Odjit was planning some kind of attack on them at some later date. He suspected she was waiting until after the birth of her child so she could spearhead the attack.

There was a great deal of speculation about the child. Odjit kept saying how the offspring would be the most powerful child of all time … which made no sense because Bodywalker children were mortal children and did not carry the power of their Bodywalker parents. So that called into question the father of the child. The running bet was Kamen. Kamenwati had been her first lieutenant. For many reincarnations now their followers had suspected they were lovers, but there had never been any outright proof. And if Kamen were the father the same question arose. The child would only be mortal. There were many who believed it was another Nightwalker. What kind was a good question, but no one would know, he supposed, until after the birth and right now Panahasi had more things to worry about than who his mistress had been screwing and getting knocked up by.

This was going to take some thinking.

“My lord,” the useless female underling said.

“Do not speak to me. Your failure disgusts me! Now be gone from my sight.”

“But my lord, the pendant you asked about … the one you sent us to retrieve …”

Panahasi turned to her with a vicious glare, unhappy to be reminded of his failed goal. “Speak and then be gone from my sight,” he snarled at her.

“It is being worn by a mortal girl.”

That gave him pause. “A mortal? Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. The Gargoyle was protecting her as if she were in jeopardy … taking the Curse of Ra fully, risking death for himself just to protect her.”

“That’s his job,” he ground out to her. “The Gargoyles protect us.”

“This was different. And she didn’t use any power against us. She ran to a car and cowered within.”

This was an interesting piece of news, Panahasi realized. If the girl was mortal then that meant she could easily be killed or taken captive. The trouble would be getting her away from the other Nightwalkers and Gargoyles in the complex. But surely she would want to leave eventually. Sometime when she would be unescorted? Yes. That was entirely possible. All he needed to do was wait.

“Tell me everything there is to know about this female mortal. Then go and send in Morris, Havamati, and Skylar. I have a task for them. Maybe they can accomplish what you failed to do.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Katrina awoke shortly before dusk. She had borrowed a shirt from those in Ahnvil’s closet to sleep in, but had no clothes to change into other than what she had worn the day before. She showered in his bathroom, touching his razor, smelling his shampoo. All of it seemed to suit him, right down to the T-shirts that engulfed her yet were no doubt snug across his muscled chest. She donned a fresh shirt, and, intent on asking one of the other women for clothes, she made her way out of his bedroom and down into the main body of the house. The only person she found was Ihron, another Gargoyle from the force that guarded the house. Apparently he had foregone rest and regeneration in order to protect the interior of the house while everyone else slept. As she understood it, they often chose one of the Gargoyle sentries to do this. He would be the first line of warning and defense if anything should happen within the house. He would then either regenerate in the dark for several hours or forego regeneration until the next day at dawn.

The only thing she was concerned about was Ahnvil. She would not relax until she could see him for herself at nightfall. She had only slept because she had been exhausted after such a long trip and the tension and effort necessary to keep Ahnvil from changing into permanent being. But it had been worth it. Worth saving him. She wished she could go out there and touch him. Wished she could hold him until he changed back in her arms, back into the warm flesh and blood of a man. Just as he had done the last time they had been together.

“Is everyone still sleeping?” she asked. She kept looking at the clock. The polarized glass made it impossible to judge the height of the sun. To them it looked like it was night outside.

“They’ll be stirring soon enough,” he said soothingly as he made her a cup of coffee. She noted he had the exact same accent that Ahnvil did and it made her very curious. “Sugar?”

“Yes. And milk.” He dutifully prepared the cup and handed it to her. She perched nervously on the barstool of the counter and blew on the hot beverage. Karma had come up to her, nudging her big head under her hand and, getting the message, she absently began to pet her. She looked at the clock again.

Ihron chuckled at her. “Soon,” he said. “He’s fine. Doona worry.”

She laughed sheepishly. “Does it show? I guess I’ll feel better when I see him alive and breathing again.”

“He made it in time,” he assured her. “He has his touchstone.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” But she looked at the clock yet again. “You would know, right?”

“Aye.”

He came around the counter and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, coming to see you will be the very first thing he does. If I know him he will look on you as his tae protect. ’Tis what we’re bred for.”