Chapter Two

Trynche flapped his wings hard, chasing the intruder. Over the last several months, there'd been many such rogue gargoyles testing their borders. They would fly or creep as close as they could get, but as soon as they were spotted, they would flee.

All the gargoyle elders staying at the ranch agreed that the rogues—who were being led by a gargoyle elder who'd gone rogue himself, Laagstine—were trying to figure out their defensive capabilities, as well as just how many gargoyles were there at the ranch. That answer—a lot. Hell, the number of unmated gargoyles that roosted in the barn every evening was in the double digits.

Several months before, Trynche had arrived with Elder Claitno. Elder Gurrando had already been there, conferring with Elder Bodb, who lived on the ranch with his human mate, Nicholas. After the three elders discussed reports and experiences, they'd worked hard to locate and extricate other gargoyle elders.

The first pair had been Elder Proatai and his female human mate, Whitney. Then they'd approached and secreted away the non-mated Elder Rhodes. They'd sent several enforcers to Elder Lordoan and had managed to help him escape with his mate just before the rogues had arrived at their secluded castle compound.

For an instant, Trynche thought about Elder Rayzon. He'd been mated to a female lion shifter for centuries. The pair had been missing ever since he'd been visited by Elder Laagstine—the asshole who's gone rogue—and so had his mate. While a shifter was hardier than a human, if Laagstine had killed Rayzon, she would've passed with him.

What a shame.

There were two more elders out there... somewhere... in the wind. Both were mated, and both had seemingly gone underground. All the elders at the ranch were trying to figure out where they were and how to open contact with them... as well as to figure out if they were trustworthy or part of the chaos Laagstine was creating.

As an elder enforcer, Trynche would love to finally catch one of the rogue bastards so they would have someone to interrogate. To that end, focusing on the rogue he'd spotted, he put on a burst of speed. He drew closer to the dark-blue gargoyle.

Trynche had spotted the male climbing through the tree branches. Luckily, he'd been downwind of the other gargoyle, and he'd been able to draw quite close before being detected. As soon as the blue gargoyle had realized he'd been spotted, just as the rest, he'd fled. With how close Trynche had grown to him, he just knew that he could catch him.

So close now!

Just as that thought filled Trynche with the energy to speed up just a little more, the whomp, whomp sound of helicopter blades registered. He glanced around, using his peripheral to watch his prey ahead. A copter that looked suspiciously like military appeared to the west, the black paint reflecting the moonlight just a little.

Holy shit. What the hell?

Trynche's attention snapped back to the fleeing rogue when he spotted the male bank left, then dip down amidst the treetops. He followed, growling under his breath. Even as Trynche realized they were headed straight for the helicopter, he refused to give up.

This asshole is mine.

"Revealing us is a death sentence," Trynche roared, hoping to distract the male. So close. "Don't make your crimes worse."

Instead of stopping, the guy smirked over his shoulder at him. Then he tilted his wings, flapped, and shot upward. He slammed into the rear of the helicopter, sending it spinning.

Trynche stared in shock as the big bird spun wildly, clearly out of control. Even hearing the laughter of the other guy and noticing him speeding away, he hesitated. He knew that having a team of military crash onto their property would be a very, very bad thing.

For a second, Trynche thought the pilot was regaining control as the bird began to slow its rotations. He started to turn away, but suddenly, the spinning began to speed up again. Whatever was going on in the cockpit, the pilot wasn't getting it done.

"Well, shit," Trynche muttered, abandoning his pursuit of the rogue. "Can't let them crash here."

It would cause an investigation that would seriously hamper the ability to hide the many gargoyles living at the Lindson's cattle ranch.

Trynche swiftly dipped under the spinning bird and searched for a suitable place to grab it. Settling on the rear wheel supports, he stretched out his arms and grabbed them as close to the frame as possible. Once Trynche had a good hold, he calculated the windspeed and direction.

After taking a deep breath, Trynche snapped out his wings, billowing them at an angle, as if they were a drag on a fishing line. He used his hold and wings to begin slowing the rotation of the helicopter. Every once in a while, Trynche had to flap a few times to decrease their descent.

Even as Trynche managed to get the helicopter under some semblance of control, he couldn't help but notice that he was definitely doing all the work. The pilot didn't seem to be helping at all. Trynche hoped whoever was behind the stick wasn't seriously injured... or dead.

I wonder what kind of investigation that would cause.

"Come on, you beast," Trynche growled through his teeth as he eyed the swiftly approaching ground. "Almost there."

After a couple of more hard pumps from his wings, Trynche landed in a small clearing. He instantly bent, crouched, and twisted out of the way, releasing the wheel supports he'd been clutching. Trynche heard the loud thud, the screech of metal, and the crunch of glass as the bird hit the ground far harder than it was designed to.

Grimacing, Trynche swiftly rolled out from under the helicopter and sprinted toward the trees. He leaped at a trunk, sinking the claws of his hands and toes into the bark. Trynche scampered up the trunk with his wings tucked close to avoid branches. Once he'd reached twenty-plus feet, he settled on a limb and eyed the helicopter.

The rotors still spun, but they were slowing. The rough landing seemed to have stalled the motor, or someone inside had turned it off. The forest was still except for the soft whoosh of the slowing rotors.

Watching, waiting, Trynche expected a door to open, but all remained still.

Hearing a soft beep, Trynche glanced at the cell phone he had attached to one of the straps criss-crossing his chest. He knew he was supposed to check in. After spotting the rogue, he'd shot off a text to Bearsley—the gargoyle who'd been on duty in the security office that evening—letting him know that he was going to try to catch him.

Bearsley had responded back with a reminder to check in within fifteen minutes for safety reasons. That way, on the off-chance that the rogue tried to lead Trynche into a trap, he would get back-up sent ASAP.

While Trynche hadn't been led into a trap, he did have a situation to report.

Tugging his phone from the clip on his strap, Trynche looked at the screen and saw the expected message.

Report.

Trynche quickly typed out a message. A helicopter came into the territory. Looks military. Rogue attacked it as decoy to get away. I discreetly helped it land. Watching it now. No activity. Advice?

Then Trynche refocused on the helicopter. The rotors had finally come to a stop, but still, no one emerged. He tipped his head back and sniffed, searching for some scent. Other than the metal and exhaust mixed with the trees and soil, he didn't pick up anything else.

Getting uneasy, Trynche placed his phone on silent and returned it to the clip. He began carefully, silently, descending the tree. Just before dropping the last six feet to the ground, Trynche stilled and again searched for any movement.

When Trynche still didn't see anything, he hit the dirt, and keeping low to the ground, his dark-red wings tucked around him like a cloak, he rushed to the helicopter. He kept his face tipped down, using his thick pale-blue hair to hide his features. Tapping softly on the glass of the cockpit door, Trynche peered inside.

Trynche made out the form of a man slumped in the pilot seat, his body sagging against the harness. The man's helmet hid nothing of his masculine features, and Trynche had the sudden urge to run his fingertips along his jaw to feel the slight stubble he could see growing there. As a gargoyle who had no hair other than what was on his head, Trynche often found himself entranced by the feel of a human's five o'clock shadow.

So sexy.

Shaking his head at his wayward thoughts, Trynche gripped the handle and eased the door open. He continued to listen for noise from the rear of the helicopter, but there was still nothing. Trynche even held his breath for an instant, wondering if there could be some kind of smoke or gas that had incapacitated everyone.

Then, realizing that he wouldn't be able to scent how many others could be in there without breathing, Trynche carefully took in a slow, shallow breath. Instantly, the most tantalizing aroma teased his senses. Unable to resist, Trynche opened his mouth and used the hundreds of extra sensory receptors on his tongue to get a much deeper read of the earthy masculine flavor.

Groaning low in his throat, Trynche felt a shudder work through his body. His blood fired in his veins and swiftly flowed south. His stomach clenched as his cock began to thicken behind his loincloth.

"Oh, gods," Trynche hissed, as he stared at the pilot before him, hanging in the harness. Eager anticipation filled with worry flooded him as he slowly reached for the unconscious human. "You're my mate."

Just saying the words out loud caused a rush of excitement within him.

At long last.

At nearly eight hundred years old, Trynche had been waiting a long time for Fate to bestow the gift of his mate upon him. He knew during wartime wasn't the best time to get him, but he would never question her timing. Now that Trynche had found the man before him—whoever he was—he would never let him go.

As those thoughts flew through his mind, Trynche realized something else. Only his mate's scent came from within. While he was loath to do it, Trynche moved to the side of the helicopter and the sliding door. He opened it slowly and took a discreet peek inside.

Empty.

He's here alone.

Why?

Knowing he wouldn't get any answers from his mate while he was unconscious and wondering why he was unconscious to begin with, Trynche returned to his side. He gave in to his need to touch and reached into the cockpit. With one hand, Trynche cradled his human's jaw and used the hold to lift his face just a little. He crooked the fingers of his other hand and slid them down the side of his jaw, enjoying the feel of the prickly hair growing there.

I wonder what that'll feel like on other parts of my body.

Just as a shiver of anticipation trickled down his spine, Trynche spotted something disturbing—a dribble of red oozing from beneath the edge of his mate's helmet. Releasing the human's head carefully, letting it hang down once more, the edge of the helmet hid the red once more. Trynche gently unbuckled the helmet—noticing something that looked like a camera attached to the side caused him to frown—and eased it off his human's head, earning a moan from the man when some bloody hairs stuck to the inside of the headgear.

Wincing, Trynche whispered on instinct, "I'm so sorry, my mate."

He set the helmet on the floor of the cockpit, making certain the camera was facing away from him. Lightly, he scraped his claws through the man's short, thick, black hair, searching for the source of the blood. When he found a thin slice above the man's temple, he wondered how on earth it had happened with his helmet on. Shaking his head, he realized it didn't matter. His mate needed to be treated.

"Let's get you to the ranch, my mate," Trynche stated. After a quick perusal of the straps, he wrapped one arm around the human's torso. He unbuckled and removed them, maneuvering them off his mate's body. Then Trynche slid his second arm under his legs and pulled his mate from the cockpit.

Feeling the weight of his mate in his arms caused his blood to heat, his body reacting to the man's nearness and scent. It didn't matter that he was still unconscious. Just holding him felt right in a way he'd never before experienced.

With a smile, Trynche spread his wings and took to the sky. He angled his wings and flapped, sending them soaring in the direction of the ranch house. Several rooms of the large bunkhouse behind the house had been set up as infirmary suites, and Trynche knew Doc Glover would be able to help his human.

Trynche had made in nearly halfway there when he spotted several forms flying toward him from the ranch's direction. He recognized the enforcers Ssimeas, Lludd, and Ruacin. Grinning, Trynche couldn't wait to share his good fortune with his fellow enforcers.

"You didn't respond to Bearsley's last text, so he contacted us," Lludd stated, glancing from the human Trynche carried to his face and back to his mate. "What happened? Who's this?"

As Lludd was the younger brother of Elder Bodb, the gargoyle who was mated with the human who owned the ranch, it made sense that he would take the lead. As Lludd had been speaking, the three had pivoted and begun flying beside Trynche—Lludd and Ssimeas on his right and Ruacin on his left.

With a wide grin of satisfaction, Trynche declared, "I don't know his name, but this human is my mate." A burst of pleasure warmed his gut just upon saying the words.

The men looked surprised, but they still offered congratulations.

Trynche wouldn't have been able to wipe the grin off his face even if he'd been inclined to try. Hearing the human in his arms moan and feeling him shift a little, he realized his mate was beginning to wake. Even as anticipation flooded him, worry did, too.

Flying through the air is definitely not how I thought I'd greet my mate for the first time.