Unbearable Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About Unbearable

  Praise for The Stonebrood Saga

  January 2, Present Day

  January, 1983

  February, 1983

  April, 1983

  May, 1983

  December, 1983

  January 1, 1984

  January 2, 1984

  January 3, 1984

  January 4, 1984

  January 5, 1984

  January 6, 1984

  January 20, 1984

  The next book in The Stonebrood Saga

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Unbearable

  Tally Grey Connors’ final story.

  Carson Connors heads out on one last, minor hunt before retiring forever to raise his daughter, Riley, but as Tally goes into labor, tragedy strikes. The hunt for the last two surviving gargoyles—the strongest and smartest of the Stonebrood clan—warps life and love, straining even Nick and Damian’s four century long relationship, in ways that no one could possibly anticipate.

  Unbearable is an emotion-charged part of the Stonebrood Saga, revealing the tragic events of Riley’s early childhood.

  Get your copy of this Unbearable story today.

  Warning: This is a novella length story (about 80 pages long), and is best read in series order, to avoid spoilers.

  This is Book 2.2 in The Stonebrood Saga:

  Book 1.0: Carson’s Night

  Book 2.0: Beauty’s Beasts

  Book 2.1: Harvest of Holidays*

  Book 2.2: Unbearable*

  Book 3.0: Sabrina’s Clan

  *A Stony Stories tale: Short stories featuring the characters and situations from the Stonebrood Saga

  A vampire gargoyle urban fantasy story.

  Praise for The Stonebrood Saga

  A new world full of action, mysterious sexy men and stubborn heroines that will sure have readers desiring more and more of. Book Lovers Inc.

  Delightfully wicked and erotic. I loved every minute of it. Don’t miss out on this was a wonderful read. Night Owl Reviews

  Vividly captivating paranormal thriller that is infused with edgy suspense, dark passion and an extreme emotional depth that immediately grabs the reader and never lets go! The Romance Studio

  A paranormal lover’s wicked delight. Literary Nymphs

  January 2, Present Day

  Riley crept into the room, even though she knew that Damian, who was standing at the window, would be able to hear her no matter how quiet she was. It was the mood of the house that made her move quietly. In fact, it had been the entire day that made her want it to slide past unnoticed.

  She and Nick had tracked down some rumors of wild animal attacks early that morning, in lower New York state. Nick had been the same—morose and withdrawn, even when they were on their own. It had been like trying to stir cold molasses.

  Nick was bringing up the duffel bag with their swords and Riley had hurried ahead, not quite articulating in her own mind the idea that being on her own for a moment would be a relief. Instead, she told herself she was eager to see Damian after a long day of fruitless work, which was only partly true.

  Yet here he stood, staring out at the spitting snow, as still and silent as Nick.

  He turned when she was barely past the open door and gave her a small smile. But it didn’t reach his eyes, which were sad. Then he held out his arm and relief touched her as she hurried to his side. He pulled her in against him and lifted her chin to kiss her. “It didn’t go well,” he guessed. “Your face is a story of its own.”

  “This whole day has been utterly useless,” she declared. She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know what has got into Nick and it feels like you’ve been bitten by the same bug, too.” She gripped his sweater. “What am I missing, Damian? You know Nick will never tell me. He’d rather stake himself than talk about feelings.”

  Damian sighed. “We’re both guilty of that. Today of all days, especially.”

  She pressed her lips together, holding back her questions. Damian was often easier to provoke into talking about himself and Nick, or about slippery emotions, but that was relative. Nick clung to his British reserve, while Damian was so ancient he had been raised in a culture that celebrated war, not peace. He was just as prickly as Nick. Only sometimes and only because it was her, did he unbend enough to talk.

  But not right now. She could feel the tension in his chest. He had the shields up.

  Nick shut the apartment door and locked it and Damian sighed and let her go and turned to face Nick as he moved into the room. “That’s it for today?” he asked.

  “I am not moving out of this apartment again today even if the fire alarm goes off,” Nick said heavily, dumping the duffel bag on the sofa. “What a spectacular waste of a day.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

  Damian caught his gaze, then glanced at her.

  “What’s going on?” Riley demanded, as Damian moved over to the French Empire desk in the corner of the room and opened one of the drawers.

  Nick picked up her hand and drew her around the sofa to stand in front of him. “This has been a terrible birthday for you, Riley. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Oh….” Her heart jumped a little. “You knew it was my birthday?”

  Damian came over to where they were standing. He was carrying a wrapped gift in his hands, a flat oblong with bows and flowers on it. “We have reason to never forget the date. It is engraved on our memories more deeply than any other event in our lives.” He held the gift out to her. “Happy birthday, Riley. I hope this helps make up for our bear-like behavior today.”

  She took the gift, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  Nick touched the gift. “This will help you understand.”

  She pulled at the ribbon and tore the paper, even though she didn’t want to. Her hands were shaking. The dark mood that had gripped both of them was making her heart hurry along far more than it should.

  The paper fell away. Nick plucked it out of the air as it drifted toward the floor and crumpled it into a ball with one hand.

  Riley looked down at what she was holding. It was a thick wad of cheap office paper. The first sheet was blank.

  She rifled through the rest and saw words. Thousands of them.

  Damian picked up the heavy duffel bag and dumped it on the floor and patted the cushions. “Here,” he said.

  She moved over to the sofa on autopilot, looking down at the manuscript. She sank down into the cushions.

  “Here,” Nick said softly.

  She looked up. He was holding a wine glass out to her, the red liquid winking in the light from the lamp on the table next to her. Riley took the glass, sipped and put it on the table, then lifted the top sheet aside.

  January, 1983: I’m not sure I can tell this story even this way, when it’s just me and a blank screen and no one to hear.

  The words leapt up at her and she gasped and looked at Damian.

  “I know we aren’t good at talking about the past,” Damian said. “Today of all days, especially. I wrote this to make up for that lack.”

  Nick sat next to her. “We won’t always ruin your birthday,” he told her. “But this is the first time in nearly thirty years that you’ve been in our lives on January second and it is making us remember more than we’d like.”

  She gripped the glass tightly. “Should I…do you want me to read this now?”

  “Only if you want to. Or later, if you want to read it alone.”

  “I would like to read it now. But I don’t want you getting all squeamish and self-conscious.”

  Nick picked up the ancient hardcover book s
itting beneath the lamp, leaning past her to reach it. He held it up. “I have Julius Caesar to keep me company.”

  Damian snorted. “That amateur.” He gave her another small smile. “I’m going to cook dinner for you. Thai green curry.”

  “I love green curry.”

  “I know.” He headed for the kitchen while Nick opened his own book, leaving Riley alone with the pile of pages.

  She took another sip, a longer one. Then she began to read.

  January, 1983

  I’m not sure I can tell this story even this way, when it’s just me and a blank screen and no one to hear. I’m writing this for you, Riley, but I think I’m only going to be able to tell this story if I’m just telling it to myself. So let’s pretend I’m just talking to myself, getting things straight in my mind. In a way, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

  Even deciding where to start is a matter of picking one of a dozen bleak days.

  I’ve been through tough times before. Many of them. You don’t live for as long as I have and not collect sad memories like broken seashells on a deserted shore. But 1983 was almost unendurable and it began on the second day of the year.

  Tally’s water broke in the early afternoon of New Year’s Day, not long after Carson Connors, Miguel Sandoval and Nick had left for the Widow Jane mine in response to the marked map that Donna had given Carson.

  Joy and Connie were passed out on the sofa, the fumes of alcohol rising from their bodies like a foul exhaust. Oscar and Donna had left not long after midnight had come and gone. Oscar had looked ill and Donna had been quiet. Jimmy’s death had hit her hard and Oscar was adjusting to that unsavory fact.

  That left me to get Tally to the hospital for the delivery, which I didn’t mind at all. We wrote a note for Carson and Nick and took Connie’s rusty Mustang.

  At the hospital, they parked me out in the waiting room, but Tally knew I was there, so I stayed where I might be useful and waited. I’ve seen enough labors to know that Tally’s first might last for a dozen hours or more.

  Midnight came and went. It was three in the morning on January second when Nick walked into the hospital, almost stumbling over his own feet. When I saw his eyes, I knew. Not the details. I still don’t have all the details, thirty years on. But I knew the shape of it.

  Nick fell into the plastic chair next to me and bent over, trying to breathe. The rich, thick coppery scent of fresh blood wafted up from beneath his zippered coat.

  “He’s dead. Carson’s dead,” he whispered, so low that no one but I could hear it.

  Even though I had guessed, even though I thought I had braced myself, the words still skewered me like a javelin to the chest. My very first thought was, How are we going to tell Tally?

  Then, quickly, like cards shuffling in a waterfall, I saw all the days ahead. A new child, no income, no husband and the world’s deadliest creatures hunting her. Tally’s life would be impossible. “Artemis above…” I breathed.

  “It’s not official yet,” Nick whispered. “I had to put the…I had to take him into the forest around the mine, make it explainable.”

  He didn’t have to expand on that. Out in the woods of New York state, there were still predators that might attack a human, although even in the eighties sightings were growing rare.

  I had no doubt that the gargoyles had eviscerated Carson. Some of the blood scent rising from Nick was the darker, thicker sort that spoke of organs and oxygen-rich arteries. I should have felt blood-lust, but I didn’t. I had stopped feeling altogether at that moment.

  A mauled body in the woods would lead to natural assumptions. A bear or cougar or even a wolf. The human authorities would find a story that seemed to explain the death, if we helped them by almost connecting the dots.

  That meant it would be days before the body was found, Carson’s identity confirmed and Tally officially informed.

  “We can’t say anything to her. Not now.” That made me feel something at last. I felt ill. Lying to Tally was something I avoided. She was too good at spotting lies and evasions and I just didn’t like the guilt it engendered. Which was funny, as I’d known Tally since she was in diapers. I’d changed some of those diapers myself. Tally, the grown woman, though, was a force of nature. She knew what she wanted and she was the best hunter I’d ever seen. I had never said it aloud, but I sometimes considered the almost heretical idea that she was even better than Nick.

  Nick had come by his hunting skills the hard way—through long experience and costly mistakes. Tally was a natural at it. She was that good. Of course, Nick had trained her, so she’d reaped his experience, too. Humans often didn’t do what they should do, but what they felt like doing. I couldn’t say that about Tally. She had absorbed every inch of training Nick had ever given her, reiterated and improved on it, to become the hunter and indomitable woman she was.

  No, I didn’t want to lie to her. My huge reluctance to lie was why it turned out the way it did.

  I hauled Nick to his feet, making everyone in the waiting room who wasn’t almost asleep turn their heads to watch us, then marched him back outside and told him to go clean up. As in, clean everything. The car would have to be scrubbed to remove anything that wouldn’t support the story and put in a parking lot near the body to account for how Connors had got to where he was found. A story would have to be made up to account for why he was there in the first place.

  Tally would have to send up alarm signals in the next few hours, as a wife and new mother naturally would over a missing husband and father. Just the fact that Connors wasn’t here right now would raise questions all by itself. I could avoid the moment when I had to look her in the eye and speak the words.

  Riley Carson Connors was born at five twenty-three a.m. I wasn’t at Tally’s side. No one was. In that decade, the idea of coaches and partners and breathing buddies didn’t exist. Even husbands weren’t encouraged to linger at the bedside where they would get in way.

  Around seven a.m., when the night shift swapped out, I went up to the desk to ask about Tally. The nurse went away, then came back and informed me the child had been delivered about ninety minutes ago, sit down and wait until mother felt up to visitors.

  I wondered if anyone had used that same peremptory tone with Tally and smiled to myself. If they did, they would rue the day.

  Apparently, the day shift staff did try it on Tally for within a few minutes, the nurse at the station was visited by another harried nurse, they held a whispered conference and the first beckoned me to the counter.

  “She wants to see you.” Disapproval was rich in her voice. “These are not official visiting hours,” she added. “Try to avoid getting in the way of the meal carts and the cleaning staff.”

  I was taken back to the ward to see Tally.

  She was lying on the bed with her head turned toward the window, which was frosted on the corners. The sky outside was iron gray.

  The baby was not with her. The room had three other beds, one of them starched and untouched, the other two with bedsheets thrown aside. The occupants weren’t there at the moment, leaving Tally alone in the room. Later—much later—I would be grateful for that.

  As I entered the room I reached for the normal, natural questions. “Boy or girl?” I asked gently.

  She looked at me. Her eyes were huge, rimmed with darkness from fatigue, but the expression in her eyes was not one of exhaustion. It was knowledge. “Where is Connors?”

  If I had been smarter, kinder, stronger, I would have made up some story on the spot. He’d got drunk over the impending birth. He and Miguel had gone upstate to track down an incubus. The nurses wouldn’t let him in. He’d been arrested. Something. I’ve spent centuries lying to every human I meet simply because I exist. That bred more lies. My name, my occupation. The fact that my partner in life was a man who had lived for eight centuries. Demons were real. So were gargoyles, but humans were too self-absorbed to be able to handle that truth.

  The lies stacked up, day after day. After
week. After year.

  I should have been able to concoct a story that Tally would buy. I was good at it.

  I just couldn’t.

  Even as I stood flat-footed in the middle of the aisle between the beds, her eyes filled with tears.

  That got me moving. I hurried over to the side of the bed and picked up her hand, the one with the paper cuff around her wrist that would tell everyone who she was if she couldn’t manage it.

  Even though she was crying she was looking at me steadily, expecting nothing but truth.

  “I don’t know what’s happened, yet,” I said softly.

  “But he’s dead, isn’t he?”

  I just couldn’t say it. So I nodded.

  Her hand gripped mine. Her strength was astonishing. “Lirgon,” she breathed. “I’ll hunt him to the far ends of the earth if that’s what it takes. I’ll destroy him and Valdeg and stomp on their carcasses. I’ll fucking kill them.”

  I jerked in surprise. Tally rarely swore. She could verbally flay a person without cursing. That made her whispered, anguished promise all the more powerful.

  “I’m sorry,” I made myself say. I had liked Carson a lot better than Nick ever had—no one would ever have been a suitable match for Tally in Nick’s estimation, but I had learned to trust Connors, eventually. Even to like him a little. I was as prejudiced as Nick but I saw the way Connors was always there for her.

  Now he wasn’t.

  “He was going to give up hunting,” she said weakly. “He had given it up. Just one last trip with Miguel…God…!” She turned her head away from me.

  I could hear beyond the room. The nurses would be astonished to know I could hear their speculations about whether either of them could get me to give them my phone number and what I might be like in bed. I could hear the matron at the other end of the ward, giving orders about a new mother fighting depression and the drug therapy the doctor had ordered.

  Life was moving on. It always did.