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  Carved in Stone

  Protectors of Magic - Book Two

  Jenna Wolfhart

  Carved in Stone

  Book 2 of The Protectors of Magic Series

  Cover Design by Covers by Christian

  Copyright © 2018 by Jenna Wolfhart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Also by Jenna Wolfhart

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part II

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part III

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Part IV

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  About the Author

  Also by Jenna Wolfhart

  Protectors of Magic

  Wings of Stone

  Carved in Stone

  Bound by Stone

  In the same universe as The Protectors of Magic Series…

  The Bone Coven Chronicles

  Witch’s Curse

  Witch’s Storm

  Witch’s Blade

  Witch’s Fury

  Part I

  A Festival of Wings

  Chapter 1

  I had always thought celebrations were happy affairs, but this one started with a scream. I jumped up from the Scriptorium sofa and threw my bare feet down the cold stone floor, into the hallway, and through Tess’s open door. Shivers coursed along my bare arms as I swept my gaze across the room. Tess sat upright in bed, the thick duvet clutched tight to her chest with fingers the same color as her bloodless face. She didn’t even acknowledge my presence, her gaze locked on the window that overlooked the churning sea.

  And then I turned and saw the horror that had caused her such a shock.

  It was Alaric, one of the last remaining gargoyle shifters who could still transform himself from stone to man. Or, kind of transform himself. Because the man who hunkered on the window ledge looked nothing like flesh and bone. His scaly gray skin rippled; his eyes had no pupils—just endless pits of pure steel. And his teeth, they were sharp and jagged and wrong.

  Tess’s ragged breath sharpened as two pink dots spread across her cheeks. She gripped her fists tighter, closing her eyes. Dark shadows formed around her knuckles, strings of deep black that writhed like angry snakes.

  “Don’t,” I said, before she could throw a fist full of shadow magic into Alaric’s face. “He’s a shifter, just like the others. He means us no harm.”

  “I thought all the shifters were dead,” she whispered, eyes still focused on the strange half-gargoyle, half-man before us. With all the trouble we’d had with the hunters, I never had a chance to tell Tess about Alaric…not that I would have known how to explain him.

  “I think dead is the wrong word to use for what they are now.” I hesitated, not certain of how much to say. Alaric was standing right here. He could probably hear and understand every word we said. It seemed wrong to speak of him as if he had no voice himself. Although he didn’t. At least, I didn’t think he did. “With magic dying in the world, most of the shifters are now permanent stone. Theory is…they’re still in their bodies. Alive but not awake.”

  Tess scrunched up her nose, but the twisting shadows surrounding her fingers faded into nothing. “He certainly doesn’t look like permanent stone to me.”

  “No,” I sighed. “He doesn’t.” Frowning, I glanced back at the flickering skin of the gargoyle. He wasn’t moving or speaking or doing anything at all. He just sat there like the stone gargoyle statues scattered throughout the rest of the City of Wings. “He was the last one to change. Sometimes, I think he still tries to shift back, but this is as far as he gets…”

  Footsteps pounded the floor, and two hulking forms tumbled into the room, their eyes wide and wild, their fists raised. Shit, I thought. They’d been fast asleep while I’d been doing my research in the Scriptorium. If they somehow realized what I’d been up to in the dead of night…they wouldn’t be too pleased.

  “What’s going on?” Jasper barked, holding his topless body rigid and tight. Ready for anything, as always. “We heard screaming.”

  The shifter by his side, a slightly smaller but no less intimidating version of Jasper, relaxed his muscular body and lowered his hands to his sides.

  “It’s Alaric again,” Eli said with a sigh.

  “This is the third time this week.” Jasper frowned. “Do you think he’s trying to tell us something?”

  I swallowed hard, too distracted by Jasper’s rippling abs. Out of all the shifters, he was the one who worked out the most. And it showed. The planes of his stomach were pure muscle. His washboard abs were completely flat except for the ridges that made up his eight-pack. Not a six-pack. I’d counted.

  Ever since our kiss—and his ensuing rejection of said kiss—I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off him. Partly because he always managed to look strong and powerful enough to lug a metric ton boulder on his back, and partly because I couldn’t help but search for confirmation he felt the same electric tension I did.

  But he always refused to meet my gaze, just as he was doing now. His golden eyes were flicking around the room, sweeping across anything and everything but me.

  Eli, on the other hand, was staring at me unabashedly, his mouth half-open in surprise.

  “You, ah…” He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “You look cold. Jasper and I can take care of Alaric. We’ll move him to the roof. Head on back to your room.”

  My cheeks flamed as I glanced down at the thin silky nightgown I hadn’t bothered to change out of when I’d snuck out of bed. It dipped low between my breasts, and the material was so thin that my headlights were fully on display. It was freezing in this stone city, especially during winter, and I’d left my thick blanket on the sofa during my rush to check on Tess.

  Shivering, I crossed my arms over my chest, both to summon warmth and to hide my visible breasts. Though a part of me wanted to stand there tall and practically dare Jasper to look. He’d been the one to kiss me, after all. Surely I wasn’t the only one who felt this…this whatever it was between us.

  But now was not the time to focus on that. We needed to get Alaric back onto the roof and the shifters back to bed before they decided to take a scroll into the Scriptorium and see my research.

  “No, I want to help,” I said. “Three pairs of hands are better than two.”

  “Four. It’s my room. If we need to get this guy out of here, then I should do what I can.” Tess slid out of bed, only she was clad in a more sensible pair of flannel pajama pants. She grabbed a black hoodie from her dresser and threw it my way. “Here. This
should keep you warm.”

  After I shrugged the hoodie over my nightgown, the four of us gathered around the rippling statue. Alaric still hadn’t yet fully morphed back into stone. It was as if he were stuck somewhere halfway between. His eyes were gray and hollow, but his fingers held a hint of pink. And his skin…it shimmered with some strange alien force.

  Magic.

  I frowned, feeling a sadness creep in around my heart. Once upon a time, Alaric had been just like the two shifters beside me. Powerful and strong and full of life. And now…now he was just this.

  “I don’t think we should put him back outside. It’s cold and windy out there,” Tess said. “What if he’s trying to get in where it’s warm? I’d rather he not crash through my window again.”

  “Tess,” Eli said gently. “I appreciate your concern for him, but this is what we gargoyle shifters do when we’re in our stone form. We perch on rooftops and keep watch.”

  “But he isn’t fully in his stone form.” She pointed at the shifter and frowned. “And he keeps trying to come back into this building. If he wants to be inside, shouldn’t we just leave him be? I really don’t want him to come back through my window again. It’s kind of freaking me out, especially when he looks like this.”

  I knew what she meant. He looked tortured.

  “Okay,” I said. “We can put him in my room if that’ll make you feel better.”

  “No way,” Eli and Jasper said in unison. “Why don’t we just move him down the hall and into the main lobby of the Scriptorium?”

  “Fine,” Jasper said as he gripped the stone man’s arm. “Eli, grab his other side.”

  “No, wait,” I said, heart hammering. They couldn’t go in there. They’d see where I’d been camping out on the sofa, flicking through book after book for the past several hours. In fact, I’d spent many nights in the Scriptorium lately. It had been far too long since we’d lost my sword in London, and none of the shifters seemed in a hurry to rescue it from Scotland Yard.

  But Eli ignored me, obeying Jasper. He wrapped his hands around the gargoyle’s opposite arm, and together, the two shifters lifted the stone statue from the floor. In moments, they were out the door, leaving me and Tess to stare after their retreating hulking forms.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered, my eyes burning hot.

  “What’s going on?” Tess asked, frowning. I hadn’t told her about my research either.

  “I’ve been looking into the police station. All my research is spread out in the Scriptorium.” With a deep breath, I flew from Tess’s room, hoping I could gather up the papers before the gargoyles would notice.

  But when I entered the main lobby of the Scriptorium with its lofted ceilings and walls carved with dozens of stone shelves, the two men looked up and frowned.

  “What’s that for?” Jasper said, pointing at the stack of books beside the sofa. I could have pretended none of it was mine, but my favorite mug perched on the top of the pile, along with the flannel blanket I always snuggled into.

  “I, ah…” My face flamed, and I twisted my hands together. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d do a little reading.”

  Eli frowned and crossed the room, picking a book from the pile. “About security systems?”

  I shrugged, doing my best to speak around the lump in my throat. “I thought it might be boring enough to put me to sleep.”

  Jasper’s golden eyes met mine, and something flickered there. Something I couldn’t interpret, but my breath caught in my throat. Everything else dropped away, even Alaric’s shimmering form. It was just me and Jasper and that strange pain that was now written all over his face.

  And then it was gone.

  Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck six. The familiar sound of a tolling bell sent a curl of dread through the pit of my stomach, flashing me back to the moment my sword had been plunged into my heart, the moment I’d been shoved into the River Thames on a rain-drenched, moonless night.

  But that was then and this was now, and this particular bell was a signal of good things to come, not bad.

  Eli lifted his chin toward the sound, and Jasper went still. Neither of their expressions reflected celebration.

  “I guess that means it’s here,” Eli said quietly, hands slung into his flannel pajama pockets.

  “I can’t believe Kipling is making us endure this bullshit.” Jasper crossed his arms and sighed. “You’d think with only five of us left, he’d give up this stupid ritual.”

  “Why the glum faces?” Tess said, hooking her arm in mine. “I thought today was supposed to be a celebration.”

  “A festival.” Jasper scowled. “The annual Festival of Wings. Only this year, it’s just a reminder of how few of us there are left. And, as for this research…” He gestured at the books. Eli had moved on to another, one that gave tips on how to pick locks. “I hope whatever you’re looking for makes you happy, since being here with us clearly doesn’t. You just can’t wait to get your sword and move on.”

  And with that, he was gone, taking with him a broken piece of my heart.

  Chapter 2

  The hall was abuzz with activity. Kipling stood in the center of the clamor, and I swore the gray hair around his temples had gone a shade lighter. The witches who we’d rescued from Dreadford Castle were coming and going through the open double doors, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves.

  It had been a couple of weeks since I’d faked my death, and tensions had been running high. The shifters didn’t like the witches, and the witches didn’t like the shifters. And a scattering of smaller factions had broken out from the previously unified coven. They argued about...well, about pretty much everything. Whose fault it was that the castle had been transported smack dab into the middle of London. What they could do to the fae in order to get them back for their trickery. Where they were going to go next, because not a single one of them wanted to stay in this graveyard of stone. Not long-term anyway.

  And...me. They argued a hell of a lot about me. Whether they should trust me, fear me, or hate me.

  But, things were different today. As I strolled through the massive hall, I passed by witches whose pale faces were brightened by smiles rather than darkened with frowns. They were chattering loudly, swinging their arms by their sides as they sized up the massive display of food covering every surface of the long oak dining table. Kipling had gone all out. There were serving plates full of every type of morsel imaginable, from the classic roast turkey to make-your-own tacos.

  And this was only a portion of what the evening would bring. Because it was the Festival of Wings, an annual event held in the City to celebrate the centuries-long existence of such a beautiful place. My heart squeezed tight as I spotted Silas hovering in a corner, his eyes cast onto the stone floor.

  While the witches were excited about today, the gargoyles very much were not. The memories of what this place once was...they were painful. Too fresh. They haunted their every step, particularly Silas, since he was the only one of the five of them who had refused to leave as the city fell further and further into decay. He’d seen his friends and fellow shifters fall day by day until there were no more left. Until he was alone in this place.

  As if he sensed me watching, he lifted his ice blue eyes and met my gaze across the crowded room. With a slight smile, I gave him a wave.

  He crossed the room in an instant, wrapping his hand around my elbow and pulling me close. “Can I have a minute? I need to show you something, Rowena.”

  Our eyes locked, and his fingers were tight with tension. His jaw clenched, a rippling that spread across his strong jaw. His face was so angular, the cheekbones carved into his face as if a sculptor had spent years perfecting each tiny dip and curve. There was something haunting and different about Silas, and a cloud of past pain followed him around, hovering on those hunched shoulders of his, constantly reminding him of whatever had happened to make him the man he was now—quiet, closed off, angry.

  Only he never showed t
hat anger to me.

  “Show me something?” I raised my eyebrows. “Are you finally going to let me have a closer look at your paintings?”

  “Nice try.” A ghost of a smile. And then he stepped back. Held out his hand. “No, this is better. Much, much better.”

  I stared at his hand, my breath caught in my throat. For some reason, I couldn’t force myself to reach out and slide my fingers through his. The mere thought of his skin on my skin alarmed me and made me flush from panic. Sure, he’d spent that night in my room, keeping me calm and safe and warm. And I’d woken up tangled in his arms. But we hadn’t spoken of it since.

  He frowned, taking my hesitation to mean I didn’t want to go. “Don’t you trust me, Rowena?”

  Swallowing, I gave him a slight nod. “Of course I do.”

  He inched closer, that strong hand only an inch from my waist. I reached out. Our fingers brushed. A swarm of butterflies spun through my gut, and I fought the urge to pull back.

  Honestly, I thought, rolling my eyes at myself. You’re being an idiot, Rowena. I was making a big deal out of something that was very much not a big deal. So what if Silas wanted to show me something? And so what if he was now weaving his fingers through mine, the warmth of his body rushing through me? As he pulled me close, I breathed in the scent of paint and oranges and stone. His eyes locked on mine as his fingers tensed. Just slightly, like a whisper of a touch.