Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Wheeler fought through the dark abyss that had been his reality for what felt like an eternity. There was no telling how long he'd been trapped in the void. It wasn't as if there was any way to check the day or time. He didn't even know if it was night or day around him. There was nothing but emptiness. He'd lost all track of time and space since he'd found himself locked in the darkened state of being.

At first, he'd been disoriented. Confused as to how it was he'd come to be surrounded by blackness. The last thing he'd remembered was being at a fellow operative's home, helping to safeguard Clara—a woman he considered a good friend.

In truth, he'd thought they were dating, only to learn she hadn't shared his views on the nature of their relationship. Which was for the best, seeing as how he was no doubt trying to fill a void of a different kind with her.

One reserved for his mate.

Someone who probably didn't even exist.

Not all supernaturals were gifted one.

At the same time he'd met Clara, his best friend had found himself mated. That left Wheeler entertaining the thought of having someone special in his life. Someone to fill the loneliness. Clara had seemed like a good fit, even with the knowledge she was not his mate. But she hadn't seen him in a romantic light. Moreover, she was the destined mate of Landros Mires, a badass vampire who had been one of the founders of Paranormal Security & Intelligence (PSI). A man Wheeler considered a friend.

Landros's maker, a dickwad who was thousands of years old, had been attacking Clara when Wheeler had rushed out into the light of day in hopes of protecting her. He could distinctly recall Mirza, the dickwad, lifting a hand in his direction a moment before foreign power slammed into him.

That, combined with the light of day, had done something that triggered the side of Wheeler he lived in fear of.

The gargoyle.

He'd turned to stone.

Something he'd feared from the moment he'd learned the truth of his origin. It was part of the curse of his species. People he didn't know personally but had been forced to learn as much as he could about. His ties to them still weren't entirely clear but his lab work, which he'd had done some hundred or so times to rule out error, proved he was from their line.

He'd not even known such things were real prior to finding out he was one.

Since his supernatural side had been triggered through science, not nature, back when he'd foolishly volunteered for testing while serving in the military, he'd only had a few incidents when he'd begun to turn to stone. None had been too serious, and none had affected his entire body. They'd been isolated to his arm or leg. And it had stopped and vanished the minute he was out of the full sun.

This time had been far different.

He'd turned fully, and he'd done so while in human form. Not partially shifted into whatever the hell it was he could turn into. It reminded him of a bat mixed with a lizard, so he tried not to think hard on it. Whatever it was, it was ass ugly.

Blackness had surrounded him, and he'd lost all track of day and time. It felt as if he were stuck in a black void. A never-ending abyss.

Then he'd heard it.

The sound of the mysterious woman's voice. It had been sweet music to his ears, an alluring melody the likes of which he couldn't have ignored, even if he'd wanted to.

Which he did not.

It was the sweetest of songs, yet simply a voice. Since he'd always loved music, playing instruments and singing, he pictured musical notes in his head as the woman spoke. It was soothing and alluring, both sparking his curiosity and turning him on.

More importantly, her voice had given him hope.

A sense that he might not forever be lost to the great nothingness surrounding him. Whether that was true remained to be seen. All he knew for certain was that hers was the first voice he'd heard since he'd been locked in the state he was in, and that had to mean something.

Since he didn't recognize the voice as belonging to someone he knew, there was a layer of mystery to it. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever she was, she was helping him come back from the edge of despair.

And he was forever grateful.

He could sense her presence near him, and then he heard her speaking to someone. She was telling them they'd sent the wrong item. Something about a mix-up and that she'd been expecting a metal sculpture.

Muffled sounds filtered in between her speaking, and he realized then that he was hearing whoever else was near her. But he couldn't make out what they were saying. Unlike her, they sounded garbled—as if they weren't important.

Because they're not , he thought quickly.

Only she was.

He'd heard beeping, like the sound a piece of heavy machinery makes when in reverse. It was then he'd sensed frustration coming from the female presence. A phone had rung, and she'd had a conversation with someone that he'd only caught a small portion of because at some point, the smell of blood had pierced the darkness.

Hunger ignited in him, making it difficult for him to concentrate. Even the sweet musical sound of the woman's voice had been drowned out by the insatiable hunger for several terse seconds.

Had the fear of being left alone in the darkness not been so strong in him, Wheeler wouldn't have been able to fight through the smell of blood. But worry that he'd lose the sound of the woman's voice and forever be alone in the void left him trying to will down the vampire side of himself that not only craved the blood it smelled, but needed it to survive.

The vampire wasn't in the mood to be tempered. It was starving and the blood smelled like none he'd ever scented before. It was as if someone had uncorked a vintage bottle of red wine with notes of blueberries, dark chocolate, and cedar. All of which appealed greatly to him.

It had been like a jolt to his system, commanding his attention.

When he'd realized the blood was the woman's, the vampire backed off somewhat, as concern for her came over him. The amount of blood he was smelling was more than something like a papercut would yield, but not the level of a slaughter or anything. That knowledge kept him sane when, by rights, he could have spiraled away mentally as well as physically.

The smell, combined with her sweet voice, left him floating through the darkness in the direction he knew she was. Even if he couldn't yet see her, he simply knew she was there, close to him. He'd followed the scent and the sound of her voice with his mind.

It was then he'd sensed danger all around her.

The fierce need to protect the woman at all costs had kept him from panicking about being stuck in darkness, and left him focusing on the woman and her voice. He was shocked when he'd connected mentally with the owner of the voice. The pathway felt as natural to him as his own thoughts did. He wasn't sure why that was.

What he did know was that he wanted her safe.

He'd tried to get her to run, but she'd come to him. Then she'd done the unthinkable.

She'd grabbed his crotch. There was no doubt in his mind that what he felt on his cock was a hand, or that the owner of the hand was also the owner of the sweet voice.

As if he hadn't been struggling enough with being hard all over, she had to go and grab his jean-covered cock. Was she trying to kill him? Did the woman have no mercy?

Had he not been stuck as stone, he'd have probably come then and there.

His dick tended to have a mind of its own, but wanting attention when he was locked in stone form, with the very real possibility of it being forever, should have kept it from reacting the way it had.

Nope.

His cock didn't care.

It had a one-track mind and right now, it was focused solely on the woman.

The only thing that helped him gather something that sort of felt like control was the very real threat he felt looming. It felt as if it might be directed at him, but he knew deep down that she'd be harmed in the crossfire.

That wasn't an option.

She wasn't to be hurt.

The scent of shifters and vampires struck him hard. It was a heady mix of smells, combined with the taint of rot. The telltale smell of hybrids. Men who, like Wheeler, had been tested on in labs, but who, unlike Wheeler, were rejecting the mix of supernatural DNA and dying from the inside out.

They smelled like living corpses to him.

Which was ironic, since technically he was part vampire and did not smell like he'd escaped a cemetery.

Whoever they were, they weren't friendlies.

And he would die before he let them hurt one hair on the woman's head. He just needed to overcome one giant obstacle.

The fact he was locked in statue form.

A prickle of awareness settled over him, and at first he thought it was imagination toying with him. The last time he'd felt anything of the sort was when he'd been near another of his kind—another gargoyle. Walter Helmuth had been an evil fucker who'd headed the paranormal underground out in Seattle. He'd found himself on the receiving end of an ass-kicking by the ops and had gone into hiding. When he'd surfaced, it had been in Savannah.

He'd made a play for Wheeler's best friend, Cody Livingston, and Cody's mate, Gena. The madman had nearly been successful.

Wheeler had gone up against him, barely able to contain the gargoyle side of himself. It had wanted to force him to shift fully into whatever it was he became when he let go. His instincts told him that if he'd have given in to the lure, he wouldn't have been able to return to human form with any sort of ease.

Being stuck in what he'd heard others describe as lizard form, which was a cross between a giant bat and a reptile, was not high on Wheeler's to-do list.

Of course, being stuck in stone form hadn't ranked either, but here he was. And even in stone form, he could sense another of his kind in the area.

It was there, hovering, as if waiting for the right moment to strike.

Since Helmuth was dead (thanks to Cody decapitating him), that ruled him out. This was someone new. And he was a serious threat.