Chapter Eleven

"I think I should do it," Enrique insisted.

"No," Trynche growled, the arm around his shoulders tightening just a little. "Absolutely not."

Enrique scowled at Trynche. "This really isn't your call, Trynche."

He glanced around the large office. A number of gargoyles in human form as well as their mates—although he hadn't gotten the names of most of them—were gathered there. After his phone call, they'd packed everything up and hurried to return to the ranch.

They'd needed to share Sheldon's actions with the few elders that would be awake during the day—Bodb, Proatai, and Lordoan.

Elder Bodb cleared his throat. The male sat with his arm around Nicholas. After exchanging a glance with his lover, the elder sighed softly and winced before pinning a grim look on Trynche.

"I know you don't want to hear this, Trynche, but Enrique's right." Elder Bodb lifted his free hand, palm out, in an obvious order for Enrique's lover to hold his peace. "It's Enrique's right to choose if he wants to try to help us or not by meeting up with Sheldon"—pausing, Bodb winced—"and the rogues he's been in contact with." Before Trynche could say anything, Bodb leveled a serious look on Enrique. "That doesn't mean we wouldn't reiterate just how dangerous it would be for him. These are people who consider humans little more than cattle and tools, useful only so long as it helps their cause, which is the enslavement of all other races."

Put like that, Enrique sort of wanted to retract his earlier statement that he would meet with them. He winced and stared at the floor.

"You should have seen some of the propaganda we found at Laagstine's estate," Biscane muttered from where he was leaning against the study wall, his arms crossed over his chest. A deep scowl marred his black features. "Their plans are creepy."

"I'm not certain we should send a human into such a dangerous situation," Elder Lordoan stated. His human features made him appear in his late fifties with silver streaks through his ponytail-length medium-brown hair. He pinned his gray eyed gaze on Enrique, his expression giving away that he wasn't impressed with what he saw. "If they discover Enrique's mated with one of our own, he could be used against us."

"He is sitting right here," Enrique snarled through clenched teeth.

Elder Lordoan gave him a disdainful look. "You are new to the paranormal world, human," the arrogant male countered. "So you don't understand what's at stake."

"So explain it to me," Enrique insisted, scowling as he glanced around at everyone again. He didn't like the worried, pensive faces of the guys filling the room. "How could I be used against you, and how could they even figure it out?"

"Your scent is the easiest way," Biscane answered. Evidently, the gargoyle was a blunt straight-shooter, even when it wasn't good news. "You're mated with Trynche now, and even if they don't recognize him directly"—Biscane pointed at Trynche as he spoke—"they'll know you've been intimate with a gargoyle, so you know what we are." Shrugging the shoulder not against the wall, he reminded, "No human form until we're mated, so even if you weren't mates, you would have been intimate with a gargoyle in his true form."

"You would also need to be really careful what you say," Nicholas cut in with a wince. "Paranormals can scent lies, and a gargoyle's sense of smell is even more developed than most."

"Okay." Enrique frowned, trying to figure out workarounds. "So, I can't smell like Trynche." He shrugged as he claimed, "I know how to shower pretty well. Been doing it for years. I can wash his smell off me."

Even as Trynche growled from where he sat next to Enrique—he obviously didn't like his comment—Elder Lordoan sniffed before stating, "It doesn't work like that, hu—"

Enrique wasn't the only one who glared, growled, or snarled at the haughty gargoyle, causing him to curb his tongue.

Lordoan's eyes narrowed, but at least he amended his comment. "You've traded claiming bites. Trynche's scent is entwined with yours on the most primitive of levels... Enrique." Lifting his chin, he claimed, "You can't just wash him off."

Sighing deeply, Enrique clenched his jaw. The guy was an asshole, but considering a few others in the room winced and nodded, he was speaking the truth. A long, soapy shower was out.

Wait. Soap. Scent.

"What about cologne?" Enrique asked, turning his attention to Biscane, since he'd been the most straightforward. "Can I disguise my smell that way?"

Biscane narrowed his eyes and slowly bobbed his head back and forth as if he was thinking deeply, running that through his mind.

"Not a cologne, but yes." Spieron strode into the room carrying his laptop. The vampire never seemed to be too far from the device. Setting it on the coffee table, Spieron grabbed a chair and pulled it close before sitting. "There's a spray that can hide your scent. You'll smell like pine trees." Wrinkling his nose, Spieron added, "And it's a beast to get off you. At least three showers from what my contact tells me."

"Your contact?" Bodb cocked his head. "Where are you getting this information from?"

"My coven in Sante Fe has ties to both the Falias clutch in Durango, Colorado, and the Stone Ridge wolf shifter pack in Stone Ridge, Colorado," Spieron told them. Sporting a cool smile, he explained, "When the Stone Ridge wolves were fighting rogue scientists, they came across a formula the group used to hide their soldiers' scents." His attention lowered to his computer screen as he added, "They even used it once themselves so they could sneak into another wolf pack's territory to rescue a kidnapped human."

"Falias clutch," Elder Proatai mused as he rubbed his chin. "That name rings a bell."

"Chieftain Maelgwn leads it," Bodb supplied.

"Ahhh, yes. Of course," Proatai murmured, nodding. "He's one of the chieftains we've discussed voting on offering an elder position."

Bodb nodded. "That's the one. I've met him. He's good people."

"So, the scent isn't the problem then." Enrique tried to get them back on track. "Can it cover lies?"

"No," Spieron immediately replied, shaking his head.

Biscane shrugged. "So don't lie. Tell versions of the truth."

Versions of the truth. I can do that.

"That leaves the question of what'll happen if they realize I'm connected to you," Enrique mused, turning his attention to Trynche. He could see the tense way he clenched his jaw and knew his big lover was struggling not to declare that he not do as Sheldon requested. "What did that mean?"

Holding Enrique's gaze, Trynche answered solemnly, "I would do anything to secure your safe return." His voice came out rough and low. "Betray my elder, out gargoyles to the world, anything." After a second of hesitation, Trynche told him, "I'm nothing without you. I wouldn't want to live."

Enrique realized the bond between them was even more serious than he'd originally thought. Holding Trynche's gaze, he read the conviction in his gargoyle's deep green eyes. Nodding slowly, Enrique squeezed his gargoyle's thigh before returning his focus back to Spieron.

"Would that scent blocker thing of yours hide the fact that Trynche is a gargoyle?"

The vampire narrowed his eyes a little as he hummed. After a moment of silence, he replied, "Perhaps." He arched a thin brow and asked, "What did you have in mind?"

*

Six hours later, with the discreet help of Bodb's gargoyles and the use of Nicholas's large truck and flatbed used to haul hay, Enrique's Blackhawk was back in its place in the hangar. He worked on it quickly with the help of a few others. Evidently, a couple of the gargoyles—Ssimeas and Gladstone—had become pretty good mechanics over the last couple of years they'd been living at the ranch. They were the ones keeping the older ranch equipment up and running.

They followed Enrique's instructions to the letter, giving Enrique time to teach Trynche the basics of piloting the helicopter. While neither expected the gargoyle to have to actually do any flying, they had to be certain their words were close enough to the truth that the rogues wouldn't smell a lie.

Hearing the beep of his phone, Enrique pulled it out and checked it. "Thirty minutes, guys," he called, striding swiftly around his bird. "What's left?"

"This last wiring, and then a test of the systems," Ssimeas claimed from where Gladstone was holding a flashlight on the wires he was intricately putting together. "Give me five."

Enrique nodded. As they finished that, he began inspecting all the other work. There were still a few dents from where the gargoyle had hit the rear of his bird, but most of it had been bumped back out. He inspected the welding jobs on the new metal plating used to replace a couple of broken pieces. The bent landing gear strut had been replaced, too.

"Done," Ssimeas announced, lowering his tools and taking a step backward.

Hurrying over, Enrique took the light from Gladstone and checked all the connections. As far as he could tell, everything was back in order. The last thing to do was fire it up.

"Okay. I'm going to start her," Enrique told them as he headed toward the front. "I need you guys to tell me if you see anything sparking, smoking, or shorting as I go through my checks."

Extra sets of eyes on the exterior never hurt, just in case an alarm didn't sound swiftly enough.

It didn't take long for Enrique to go through everything and deem his Blackhawk ready to fly. After he'd shut the bird back down, he exited the cockpit and crossed to the waiting gargoyles. With a tight smile, he nodded.

Ssimeas grinned and lifted his fist, so Enrique bumped it with his own.

Enrique's phone beeped again, giving him the ten-minute warning.

"Guess that's our cue to leave," Gladstone stated, his serious features drawing into a frown. "You sure you're up for this?"

Enrique nodded. "Yeah. I got this." Sliding his palm against Trynche's and twining their fingers, he smiled at his lover. "We got this." After Trynche smiled back, even obviously worried, Enrique refocused on Gladstone. "See you at the rendezvous point."

Gladstone and Ssimeas nodded, then fled out the side door of the hangar, leaving Enrique alone with Trynche. His gargoyle glanced around, then eased into his space. A frown marred his features.

"I know it's you, but you don't smell right," Trynche grumbled right before pecking Enrique's lips. "After this is over, we're spending an hour in the hot tub scrubbing this shit off of us."

Chuckling, Enrique grinned at Trynche. "It's a date."

The sound of a couple of vehicles approaching forced them apart. No way did they want Sheldon to realize they were a couple. The fag-hater would raise a hell of a ruckus, most likely causing the whole plan to backfire.

Enrique shoved his fists into the pockets of his bomber jacket while Trynche took a few steps backward to stand closer to the Blackhawk. Waiting, staring at the door, he spotted two large SUVs. They drove inside and parked off to the side.

When the engines turned off and the doors opened, Enrique felt a trickle of unease slither down his spine. He prayed to any god who cared to listen that this would go smoothly. Enrique knew Sheldon thought these guys were monster hunters, and he was supposed to fly them to where he'd recorded the creature.

Trynche's people would be waiting, and they would take them by surprise. Enrique would pretend to be forced down, and the rogues would be captured.

Easy-peasy, right?

The six large men dressed in black jackets and camo pants who'd gotten out of the vehicles with Sheldon made him question his decision.

"Everything here ready?" Sheldon asked, grinning widely. A malicious gleam filled his blue eyes. "You get your Blackhawk fixed?" With a scoff, the ex-mayor looked over his repaired helicopter. "Didn't realize you had one of these, but it sure ended up convenient."

"Yeah, she's fixed," Enrique replied, wondering what Sheldon was talking about. Wondering about something else, he asked, "I didn't tell you that it was my Blackhawk that was damaged. How'd you know I have it?"

Sheldon smirked as he waved toward the two large men who'd followed him. "Grecian told me." With a negligent shrug, he added, "Guess he'd planned to buy it, but you got to it first."

Enrique took in Grecian's dark features and cold eyes that gleamed black in the early evening light. Knowing the guy was a gargoyle—mated, since the sun hadn't set quite yet—he kept his mouth shut and just nodded. He highly doubted the truth of that story anyway.

"So, you're monster hunters, huh?" Trynche commented from where he stood. He leaned against the side of the helicopter with his arms crossed over his chest. Trynche snorted as if he thought the whole thing was ridiculous. "You believe in that sort of shit?"

"Who are you?" Grecian asked belligerently. He scowled at Sheldon. "You never said anything about anyone other than Enrique."

Sheldon scowled at Enrique. "Yes, who is that man?"

"Tryn's my co-pilot," Enrique replied. Sticking as close to the truth as possible, he added, "When I'm in my Blackhawk, I like to have an extra pair of eyes and hands." With a roll of his eyes and a depreciative laugh, Enrique stated, "That way, shit like what happened last time doesn't happen."

Grecian eyed Trynche with a curled lip for a few seconds before saying. He even took a not-so-discreet sniff before wrinkling his nose. "Fine. Whatever." He looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Get the net guns and get'em hooked up."

When Enrique saw the massive, harpoon-like gun that a pair of men were carrying toward his bird, he lifted a hand. "Wait a second. I never agreed that you could put holes in my helicopter." Pointing, he said, "Gear is one thing. Adding a weapon is something else."

Snorting, Sheldon asked derisively, "How exactly did you think we were going to catch a flying monster?" He rolled his eyes. "Idiot."

"No," Enrique declared. "This wasn't the deal."

No way did he want there to be any way these guys could actually hurt any of his lover's friends.

"Worried you'd feel like that." Grecian's smile turned creepy. "Cuzcone."

One of the large men exited from the back of one of the SUVs. With him, he dragged a trussed and gagged Parish. His friend and employee stared at him with wide eyes, fear filling their depths.

Shoving down his own fright, Enrique glanced between a surprised-looking Sheldon and a clearly homicidal Grecian. "What the fuck?"

Oh, yeah. That was eloquent.

"Do your job, fly the chopper, Enrique," Grecian ordered coldly. "Or your little buddy over there gets it."

Knowing he had no choice, Enrique backed up a couple of steps and watched in silence as the rogues added a pair of net guns to his Blackhawk, utilizing the existing weapons mounts.

After everyone was loaded, Enrique lifted his bird into the air—Trynche pretending to help—and he wondered if there was any way to warn the guys.