Ganriel Page 2

  Now that he was once more a free man, he didn’t care how much longer he lived. If it was long enough to make Hana safe from her enemies, he would die content.

  His arm slid from around her waist, but he remained close, nose to the air, senses on high alert. The enemy hadn’t yet found this hiding place. The multiple twists and turns of Himura-san’s gardens had been designed for more than beauty. They’d been crafted for just this, to thwart discovery of Gabriel and whoever stood with him, especially by magical means. Keeping his body between Hana and the enemy’s most likely approach, he followed her to the far corner of the garden, where a long escape path tunneled through row after row of seemingly impenetrable hedges, coming out at a never-used door in the back wall of the estate. He’d never seen it before, but both Himura-san and Hana had described it to him in exquisite detail, his warrior’s mind seeing it laid before him as if he’d walked it personally. The door at the end had been kept in perfect condition—its wood treated, hinges oiled—against the day any member of the Yakuza knew would come eventually.

  “Stop,” he now ordered softly, reaching a hand around and placing it on her belly, holding her in place, his body curling around hers in automatic protection. To her credit, she didn’t fight him, but froze in place, listening, just as he was doing. He inhaled slowly, testing the air. “Quiet as a mouse,” he said, finally urging her forward.

  “What do you know about mice?” she muttered under her breath, but did as he suggested, every foot precise in its placement, so that she moved nearly as silently as he did. Which was saying something, because Gabriel was one of the finest warriors who’d ever lived. Granted, he’d been better known for his berserker performances on the battlefield, but war was a multi-faceted endeavor. He and his warrior brothers had been as skilled off the field as on it.

  Her rejoinder made him smile again. His Hana was the very picture of a delicate maiden, but she was anything but. He didn’t know about the “maiden” part and didn’t like to think about it, but she was most definitely not delicate. And for what it was worth, he knew about mice. Rodents had been around far longer than this modern society of hers.

  HANA DIDN’T NEED Gabriel’s whispered “slowly” to approach the secret door with caution. She’d tended it for all the years since she’d come home from university in the U.S., but that only meant it was well maintained—the wood solid, the hinges silent. It was primarily mundane in nature, but her grandfather had placed a minor concealment spell, the most his modest talent could muster and with no guarantee it would work, in case one of his many gardeners happened upon it and became curious. But a magical sensitive could have found it easily enough. And so, she paused while still under cover of the hedge tunnel, searching for any sign of an unwelcome presence.

  “Nothing,” she whispered, for Gabriel’s sake. She didn’t know how much he understood about magic, but he had to have the basics. He’d known of their enemy’s seeker spell, which meant he was sensitive to its use. Not to mention that he’d offended a powerful sorcerer enough to have been the object of one of the cruelest curses she’d ever come across.

  Her grandfather had shared what he knew, what he and his ances­tors had been able to uncover after decades of trying. To have been trapped in stone for centuries and probably longer, while seeing the world pass by. To hear everything, understand every language, and yet be unable to react at all, not even to let the world know he was trapped. She couldn’t begin to imagine his torment. How was he still sane? Maybe he wasn’t, although she didn’t believe that. She couldn’t have explained how or why, but she’d known he was aware of her from the very first day. He’d listened when she’d read to him, learned of the world through her eyes and, she hoped, found solace in her company.

  And now he was free. Her grandfather had never told her the specifics of Gabriel’s curse, although she was sure he’d known at least some of it. While he’d had little magical talent, he’d been a dedicated magical historian. His collection of magical books and devices was unparalleled, and thankfully not stored on the estate, or it would all have belonged to Sotiris after tonight. He’d moved it to a private vault some time ago. Not all at once, but a few pieces at a time, using business trips and vacations as cover. It was almost as if he’d known this day would come sooner rather than later and wanted to be prepared.

  He’d been a hard task master, his life one of uncompromising honor and discipline—traits he’d pounded into her on the mats and in the classroom. But he’d also held her when she was sick and comforted her when she cried, before setting her on her feet and pounding her on the mats one more time.

  She inhaled deeply. There would be a time to remember, to honor his memory. But that time wasn’t now. Her grandfather would under­stand this better than most.

  Reaching back, she brushed her fingers over Gabriel’s forearm. His muscles flexed reactively, and she frowned. She didn’t know the intri­cacies of a spell that could maintain such powerful, toned muscles over centuries without nutrition, but now that he was free, he was going to need food. And lots of it. Hana had dated big men, had observed some of her grandfather’s soldiers. Men like that, like Gabriel, ate a lot. Like a lot. If he wasn’t starving already, he would be soon. So, first order of business, escape the estate with no one the wiser and make their way to one of several bolt holes she’d set up in the city. After that, Gabriel could eat while they made some plans. They couldn’t remain in Nagano. It wasn’t a small place, but it wasn’t huge, either. A gaijin of Gabriel’s size and appearance would draw unwanted attention.

  “Safe?” he whispered, his warm breath sending shivers over her skin. The good kind of shivers.

  She slid her hand down to grip his wrist and would have started forward, but he twisted his hand until he was the one doing the gripping and slid past her. Sneaky bastard. She tried to remember if she’d read anything to him about modern women and feminism. Maybe she should have.

  Coming up behind him, she waited while he laid a hand against the thick wood. He went perfectly still as he searched for sounds beyond the gate, for any scent or sign of the enemy. But his eyes remained open, because no warrior would close his eyes in the midst of battle. There were other ways of concentrating one’s senses.

  With a sharp nod, he stepped aside, watching her back as she traced the runes necessary to open the gate, knowing the small amount of magic would be undetectable against the many vines of spells woven into her grandfather’s gardens over the years.

  Once the gate opened a fraction, however, Gabriel pulled her behind him once more and exited first. She shoved him ahead of her so she could close the gate. Or she tried to. The man was like a fucking statue. She rolled her eyes. Bad choice of words. He seemed to understand what she wanted, though, and after a quick scan of the narrow alley they’d come out to, he moved enough for her to close the gate behind them.

  She took the lead after that, and he let her, since she was the only one who knew where they were going. Hell, he’d never been outside the bounds of the secret garden which had been his hiding place. It was one thing for him to memorize the route and parameters of a hedge tunnel, but another entirely to navigate the frequently numberless, nameless streets of a Japanese city.

  She started off with him beside her, moving quickly, but easily. Anyone noticing them would see an ordinary young couple walking down the street. Or maybe not so ordinary, but hopefully the shadows on the unlit street would conceal Gabriel’s foreignness, not to mention his blatantly anachronistic and military clothing. She needed to do some­thing about that, too. Not his appearance—most of that couldn’t be fixed—but his clothing. Why hadn’t she thought of this? She’d stocked clothing for herself in her bolt holes. But why hadn’t she thought of doing the same for Gabriel? Well, probably because no one—like her grandfather!—had ever told her the fucking statue was going to come to life. Although maybe that was what her grandfather had been trying to tell h
er all those years, when he’d told her the statue was life-sized. He’d been very stingy with details, obviously afraid she might foil Gabriel’s release if she knew too much too soon.

  They crossed two unmarked intersections without pause, but as they approached the third, Hana slowed. It was decision time. The sky was already beginning to lighten on the horizon, and she wanted to be well under cover before dawn. She had two hiding places within safe distance, but they were in opposite directions. She studied the buildings around the intersection. Few lights were on already, but those few would be joined by more and more as people woke to prepare for the day. It was a workday in Nagano, but then, what wasn’t?

  Looking left and right, and seeing no difference in terms of safety, she slid her arm through Gabriel’s, in case anyone happened to glance out a window, and turned left, which would take them to a condo in a small complex that she’d purchased years ago, under one of her several well-established pseudonyms. She’d expended a lot of effort over that time, establishing herself in the complex as a quiet professional who worked nights and slept days. She was unfailingly polite and reserved to her few neighbors, and they were the same. Neither they nor she offered anything more in the way of friendship, which wasn’t unusual in her country.

  She wasn’t sure why she’d chosen this particular bolt hole until they got there. She climbed the single flight of stairs to her condo, with Gabriel moving so silently behind her that she almost looked back to make sure he was still there. It was remarkable that such a big man could move so stealthily. It made her wonder what he’d done in his previous life, other than his obvious role on the battlefield, before he’d become the enemy of a sorcerer powerful enough to trap him in a living prison. Opening the door, she stepped quickly inside, looked around, and smiled, knowing what instinct had brought her there. It was bigger and newer, with higher ceilings and better construction, which meant Gabriel’s every footfall wouldn’t threaten to crash through the floor, and his head wouldn’t brush the ceiling.

  She watched as he closed the door then turned to study the lock mechanism with a frown. Understanding, Hana reached over, and while he watched intently, flipped the thumb turns on the double deadbolts, then armed the security system. Both were upgrades she’d installed herself, working during the day when her neighbors were gone and she was supposedly sleeping.

  Gabriel looked around, and for the first time since he’d been free, she saw his eyes cloud with confusion and . . . not fear. She had a feeling there was very little that frightened her ancient warrior. But something close to despair. She didn’t blame him. Hell, she was sure she’d have been curled in a corner if she’d survived the way he had, only to find freedom in a world that no longer made sense, no matter how many hours she and her grandfather had spent reading to him. For that matter, if she’d known he was literally going to come to life, she might have made different reading choices, with a lot more pictures. But that wasn’t what he needed from her now.

  Stepping close, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him, rooting him in the present with touch and emotion. His arms circled her in return, slowly at first, then tighter. And if he held on a bit too tightly, she understood and didn’t complain. What was there to complain about? He was hers. Her Gabriel was holding her in his arms, something she’d only ever dreamed of, never believing it was possible.

  She gave him a final squeeze then pulled back, blinking as she noticed for the first time that his fangs were gone. They’d been one of the most distinctive features of his statue, the one that had made her wonder if he was something other than human, or if the enemy sorcerer had added them to convey his hatred. Gabriel saw her staring and dropped his arms at once, as if afraid he’d taken unwanted liberties with her body. Hating the uncertainty that lingered in his eyes, she threaded her fingers through his and said, “You must be starving.”

  He paused, as if needing to think about his answer. “Food would be welcome,” he agreed. “The curse provided whatever sustainment required to keep me alive and aware, else how could we suffer as our enemy intended?”

  “We? There were more of you?”

  He nodded. “Myself and my brothers. There were four of us.”

  “You have brothers?”

  “Not of the blood. I was my father’s only son. My brothers were by choice, warriors I fought beside for decades, united in our loyalty to the great sorcerer Nicodemus.”

  “Do you think—?” she bit her lip hesitantly, not wanting to cause him any pain, “—could your brothers be alive the way you are?”

  His gaze blanked as he thought about it. “It seems likely. We were, all four of us, cursed on the same day. Most likely the same curse, though the words must have been tailored for each of us, because Himura-san told me what he knew of my—”

  “Grandfather knew the specifics of your curse? Knew what it would take to free you? Why didn’t he—?”

  “Gently, Hana,” he said softly. “Your grandfather didn’t know exactly what it would take. He only knew the sense of it. He also knew if he told you that much, you’d be unable to resist trying to break the spell, and he worried any precipitous attempts would make the curse unbreakable.”

  She grimaced. “I knew that. Well, not before tonight, but once I thought about it, it made sense.”

  He grinned. “I’m happy to truly meet you at last, Himura Hana.”

  She grinned back. Even knowing they had a million decisions to make—where to go, what to do next—she couldn’t help responding to his joy. He had that indefinable quality that some people possessed, a charisma that made you want to bask in the warmth of their presence. He was intensely masculine, with thick black hair curling to his shoul­ders, where it met up with a beard of the same color that disguised everything but brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence. “It’s good to meet you, too, Urban Gabriel Halldor.”

  He frowned. “Just Gabriel, if you please. Urban was my father, may demons feast on his flesh.”

  Hana’s eyes widened, but she let that one pass. There’d be plenty of time later for an exchange of parental horror stories. “Okay, Gabriel, let’s get back to food, then. I have steak in the freezer, and probably some fries. Or rice, if you prefer. No fresh vegetables, I’m afraid.”

  He was eyeing her patiently, as if waiting for her to finish. “I don’t know this world. I’ll trust your judgment.”

  She smiled. “I could get used to this. Why don’t you shower . . . or would you rather a bath?”

  He gave her that same look, one eyebrow raised. Right. He’d never have taken a shower before and had no comparison.

  “How about a shower, then. It’s faster, and we have decisions to make. Come on, I’ll set you up.”

  She walked into the bathroom, which was reasonably sized, although nothing to brag about. Pulling back the shower curtain, she turned on the hot water first, letting it warm up, while she pointed out the hot and cold faucets to Gabriel. Turning, she looked up at him and realized they’d have to change his appearance. His size was notable, but while big wasn’t the norm in Japanese society, it wasn’t unheard of, either. But the curl and length of his hair, and that beard. . . . She sighed and looked up to meet his gaze.

  “You need a haircut, and . . . I hate to say it, but the beard has to go.”

  Those brown eyes widened. “In my world, only small boys and eunuchs went beardless.”

  She regarded him silently.

  “But this is not my world, so I am at your mercy.”

  Hana grinned. “It’s not that bad. Here, sit down.” She nudged him toward the closed toilet seat. “We can’t risk taking you to a salon, so let me see what I can do.”

  Reaching into a drawer, she pulled out a good pair of scissors that she sometimes used to cut the blunt ends of her own long, black hair when she didn’t have time for anything more elegant. With that and a fine-toothed comb,
she set to work.

  GABRIEL SAT PERFECTLY still, listening to the snick of the double- bladed instrument that Hana had called scissors while she cut his hair. Thick lengths of it fell to the towel she’d wrapped around his shoulders, and he tried not to wince. Even as a child, he’d had hair to his shoulders, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that the Himura men had all begun to wear their hair short some decades ago. There were a few who wore their long hair snugged back into a tight queue, but they were the exception rather than the rule. As for beards. . . . He swallowed his sigh. Men in this country didn’t wear beards, or if they did, they were wispy things completely unlike his own full, thick bush that covered his chin and touched his chest. A buzz of noise drew his attention as Hana held up an electric device for him to see. His gaze lifted from the buzzing thing to her eyes.

  “It’s an electric shaver. I use it on my legs and”—she blushed, sud­denly unable to look at him—“other places, but it should work well enough on your face. Even though it’s pink.” Her blush deepened as she gave herself a small shake then studied his beard far more intently than necessary. “I’ve never cut a beard before,” she said briskly, “but I think we’ll do better if I use the scissors first, just to deal with the length, and then go to the shaver. What do you think?”

  “I think I used to trim both my hair and beard with my belt knife, so there’s no need to be delicate about it,” he responded dryly.