Tariq's POV

The Gargoyles that would -when it suited them- listen to his commands had made their nest on the craggy cliff side of Mount Giona.

It had been one of a handful of times the flock had acted on his suggestions of moving to the new location, as the mountainous range past Mount Parnassus made it difficult for drones or other electronics to track them.

Unfortunately for him, it was proving immensely annoying now, as his lupine form did its best to keep his footing on the nearly vertical mountainside.

‘Damn rocks with wings.’ He cursed to himself as his claws gripped the rock for dear life.

It had taken him most of the night to get here, first by car and then on foot once he reached the tiny mountain valley village of Lefkaditi.

He’d been driving when it had come over the radio that Athens had been attacked by what appeared to be Costez.

He hadn’t been able to help the anger that had bubbled up from his throat as he hit the dashboard with his fist.

“Al’ama.” The Arabic curse rolled out of his fang-filled mouth in a growl that sounded like rocks grinding together.

He wasn’t built for sliding down the side of a mountain like a damn goat. He was made for tracking and stalking his prey or ambushing his targets. It’s why the Blessed had continuously sent him out to track down information on new Arisen -either to get a freshly minted Blessed under Alrich’s thumb early or to kill a Chosen before they had the chance to seek out a Sect for protection.

He could be very human or very, very monstrous, depending on what the situation called for.

His sour mood from climbing all night was decidedly more monstrous right now.

With a heave, Tariq pulled himself onto a large shelf that was wide enough for the roots of a handful of trees to find purchase in the rock.

Shaking his fur out, he looked around as he scented the air, trying to pick up where he’d marked the trail the last time he’d made this climb.

After pacing a few circles, he caught the scent he had left from scratching an oak tree and started up again once he’d clawed the bark to renew his trail marker.

He pulled back like a spring and let his powerful back legs carry him up onto another shelf as he crept closer to the nest site.

It couldn’t be helped, though.

He’d discovered Lizzie and Cadoc’s scheme as they were issuing commands to the Wraiths and bringing in legions from Turkey and Italy.

Tariq had, of course, been absolutely furious that they had kept these developments from him. Keeping him in the dark was like forgetting to include your infantry in a siege. How did they plan to overtake the area without the bulk of their army?

He was the leader of the Loupgaru.

His beasts were the foot soldiers of the Blessed, able to move about relatively easily among the Mundanes during the day while being a formidable force at night. Their stamina and perseverance were far more than extraordinary, which made them one of the most versatile weapons in the Blessed arsenal.

And they’d been completely discarded in favor of ghastly, graceless monsters like Jorōgumo and Aigamuxa.

He would have taken it better if Lizzie had slapped him across the face.

Not only was this a complete insult to his entire class and his station among the Blessed, but it also threw all of his carefully crafted plans out the window.

For years, he’d been stockpiling and circumventing the witch. He was always half a step ahead of her, always showing her one hand so she wouldn’t see the other.

It hadn’t been easy.

Tariq had to make connections and create a network of unwitting informants to keep his intentions from the watchful eyes of Alrich and the Nobility to which he’d sworn allegiance.

Every waking moment was a carefully executed tightrope act across the edge of a knife, always looking over his shoulder while presenting an infallible, unaffected façade.

Stolen story; please report.

One wrong move, and they’d start asking questions.

One misstep, and they’d see the other hand with a finger on their coin purse.

His only solace in all this had been the siren, Minone. She, too, had no love for the chaos of the Blessed, but neither could she submit to the autocracy that was the Chosen.

It was nice to have a literal a partner in crime- someone willing to bet all their chips on a dangerous game and watch his back.

In all honesty, he’d needed the help.

The speed with which the modern world moved had made it difficult for him to stay ahead, and, by the gods, Minone had natural talent.

He knew she’d find a way to slip Oletta the note without even the Blessed realizing it.

Tariq winced as his claws dug into the mountainside, admitting to himself that most likely she had not heeded his warning.

He’d written it shortly after Alrich had commanded him to either bring her into the fold or kill her. His intentions had been to get her out of the city and let the Blessed sweep through.

She’d be out of the carnage, and the Blessed would get the chaos they craved.

Two birds, one stone.

Unfortunately, he’d made a tactical error in their meetings.

When he’d first met her, he’d assumed she was perhaps a Lecturer or even a Tinker, given that she’d electrocuted him in the car.

Then she’d called the storm and vanquished the Minotaur, and for the first time since his Rising, he’d begun to question if the Gods actually existed.

Naturally, he thought that maybe she was a Queen, given that she was the most powerful Chosen he’d ever heard of until, once again, Oletta turned the world upside down by turning one of his soldiers into a dried-out corpse with a touch.

At the time, he’d been given instructions by Lizzie to kill the infant Queen so there was one less piece on the chessboard and, like a conductor leading an orchestra, he’d been the one to execute the attack on the Hospital using Costez mercenaries and the Blessed under his command.

His plan had been to make a spectacle. He wanted to put on an elaborate show so that the Blessed wouldn’t be able to fault him when Oletta got away.

Of course, every great drama needs a plot twist, and what better way to keep the Witch from thinking too hard about why the attack wasn’t successful than to offer up an appetizer of chaos to come - by plucking Mother Dearest from helpless Oletta’s grasp.

Lizzie would be satisfied that he’d tried and think that Oletta and the Chosen were just a bit more slippery than they had anticipated, and he’d manage to keep Oletta out of their claws a little longer.

It was unfortunate, but if the Blessed had managed to grab Oletta instead of her mother, it could easily have ended in disaster for them all.

His error, though, was underestimating her wrath.

Like a phoenix that burned and reshaped itself in the fires of retribution and rage, she’d risen up with a scream in her throat and a thirst for blood in her belly.

What had started out as a young university student jumping at her own shadow became an elemental force of destruction with him and the Blessed as her targets.

Oletta Black was now driven by vengeance and harbored a ruthless fury; he’d seen it after examining the dens she’d cleared this day.

Alrich had given him the impossible task of persuading her to join their cause after Tariq had put in motion the attack on the hospital.

‘I am so fucked.’ He grunted as he climbed, knowing that he’d destroyed any possibility of getting Oletta on his side or, at the very least, letting him get one word in before she turned him into dust on the wind.

How does one try to smooth things over after watching their mother be carried off to certain death on his orders?

It was this question that made him believe the Vampire had begun to suspect him of playing both sides.

And it was for this reason that Tariq was climbing up into the Gargoyle’s nest in the hopes that the bones of Oletta’s mother were in good enough condition. He needed to plead his case to Lizzie that, with her mother gone, they had lost their last bargaining chip, and the Blessed would have to focus their efforts on an all-out war against Oletta and the Chosen.

Put all their forces onto the front line and emptying their other strongholds.

Don’t pay attention to those missing supplies or ammunition.

Pay attention to one hand and not the other.

The trouble was that he needed those bones to get the Blessed moving in the direction he wanted, and it was a long, long way up.

‘They couldn’t put their nest somewhere relaxing, like Malta. Santorini would have been nice, too. Lots of tourists for them to eat there. Noooo, they had to park themselves in the middle of nowhere on this gods-awful mountain.’

He was muttering angrily to himself all the way up as he cleared the treeline before something gave him pause.

‘They’re suspiciously quiet.’

He should hear them by now.

Tariq was still several meters below the nest, but at this time of night you could hear them scratching around the rocks or fighting each other for scrapes.

More than that, you could smell them.

Gargoyles were like bears on steroids—they ate just about anything and didn’t have a concept of cleanliness, so their smell was positively atrocious.

He could always tell the nest was close because the scent of rotting flesh, garbage, and moss would hit you in the face with the force of a sledgehammer.

Tariq could smell something disgusting, but it was faint and stale. To his sensitive nose, it was comparable to entering an abandoned house in winter versus the summer when the sun was baking hot - the smell should be a lot worse at this point.

Confused, he let out a low grumble in his throat to announce his presence, but there was no response.

‘They can’t be sleeping already. It’s only a few hours till sunrise.’

This far past the treeline, the rocks had turned into boulders, with the smallest being the size of basketballs and weighing nearly half as much as a Mini Cooper.

Despite how heavy, they were loose enough to move and roll down the side of the mountain with little effort. When Tariq pulled himself onto the last shelf, one of the boulders shifted to reveal a strange formation on its other side.

For a moment, his brain wasn’t able to put together what he was seeing.

There was the flattened nose, the harsh, protruding brow, and the serrated upper teeth that identified what he was looking at.

A Gargoyle head minus the jaw - and the rest of its body.