Stone Lover

by A C Warneke

  With those cryptic words, she was standing inside of the building, wondering briefly how she had gotten there so quickly. It didn’t matter; she had a date with a gargoyle.

  Her body was really feeling the effects of her injuries and she was sure she wasn’t doing them any good by being up and about. She didn’t care and as she made her way to the elevator bay, she was oblivious to the curious and dark stares coming her way. Part of her wanted to turn around and go back home; she didn’t want to see what had become of Vaughn. The other part, the larger part, had to see him, to be with him no matter what his form.

  The elevator ride was uneventful, depositing her on the fourteenth floor without incident. But when she tried to open the door to get to the roof, she found it locked. No matter how hard she struggled with it, it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t help that her left arm was in a cast and her grip was weaker than usual. With a snarl of frustration, she returned to her rooms, surprised to find the door unlocked and the apartment number removed.

  Once she got inside, she understood: her room was in the process of being converted into large bathroom with a huge hot tub where her tiny kitchen used to be and a sauna where her bed had been. All of her things were in boxes. Upon closer inspection, she saw that her parents’ address was written on each one; they were going to mail her stuff to her old house. Well, at least her family would have known something was wrong and would have come for her. If she had waited a few days, she would have woken up to the love of her family.

  With a sigh, she mindlessly wandered into Vaughn’s kitchen and found a knife before returning to her apartment and cutting open one of the boxes. She was not going to run around in a hospital gown a moment longer. If she had had any functioning brain cells earlier, she would have realized that a hospital gown was completely inappropriate for anywhere other than a private hospital room: her ass had been hanging out the entire time. She briefly wondered why Omari hadn’t said anything, if he even noticed. He was such a strange man.

  It was in the third box that she found something to wear that she could get on without too much trouble: a pair of sweat pants and a over-sized sweat shirt. Unable to untie the gown, she used the knife to slash the ties, letting the blasted thing fall off without any more effort. She didn’t bother with a bra; even if she had found one, she didn’t think she would have been able to maneuver her body into one.

  Standing naked, she looked at herself in the large mirror that hung where the refrigerator had been. Her body resembled Frankenstein’s monster, long lines of black stitches marched across her stomach, her arms, her thighs; the glass must have shattered and sliced her up. If she had thought her face was colorful, it was nothing compared to the mottled colors of her skin. No wonder why she was in so much pain; she was a walking deep-tissue bruise.

  Even so, she managed to get the loose fitting clothes on, wincing only a little each time she hit a cut or bruise. But how was she going to get up on the roof? She could wait until she heard Armand and/or Rhys in their suite of rooms but she had the strong feeling they would be less than pleased to see her, let alone help her. Putting her hands on her hips, she walked over to the window and did a double take: A ladder was leaning against the wall, tall enough to get her to the roof. All she had to do was overcome her debilitating fear of heights and figure out how to climb it with a battered and bruised body.

  No problem.

  Taking a shaky breath, as deep as her wrapped ribs would allow, she got onto the balcony and stared up at the ladder. “Okay, don’t look down; just don’t look down.”

  She was trembling before she even touched the ladder and her heart was beating too fast and she was taking too many breaths but she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. Her palms were slick with perspiration and she had to concentrate each time she grabbed another rung. By the time she reached the top, tears were streaming down her cheeks and her hair was sticking to her face and she had to collapse on the ground to regroup, catch her breath.

  She still had another minute or two before the sun disappeared completely; there wasn’t enough time to…. She didn’t want to think; she didn’t want to see him unmoving and cold. Maybe it had all been a dream and when she opened her eyes, the sun would set and he would be there smiling down at her. Her face wouldn’t be cut up and swollen and she’d be able to smile back without re-splitting her lip.

  The thought made her lips curve slightly and she winced when the split opened once again. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit back a cry; it was time to see him. Rolling over onto her right side, she pushed herself up, grunting at the effort it took. She should have looked at her hospital chart to see if they had prescribed any pain killers; oh, well, it looked like she was going to be taking a couple of aspirins when she got home.

  Where was home?

  Okay, it was time. Slowly, she turned around and saw his back; he was staring east, towards the sunrise. Could he see? Could he feel?

  She took a step towards him and staggered, her body refusing to cooperate. Everything hurt now; her face, her arm, her ribs. Her heart. If she could just touch him she’d be able to breathe again. She took another halting step and another until she found a rhythm to move closer to Vaughn. Another step and she’d be able to reach out and….

  Powerful hands clamped down on her shoulders halting her progress and making her aware of another excruciatingly sore spot. Biting back the scream she stiffened as Armand growled, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  A squeak emanated from the back of her throat but other than that she wasn’t able to make a sound; how could he expect her to talk when tears were clogging her throat? He made a sound of disgust and then shoved her forward; she staggered into Vaughn’s back and wanted to cry at how cold he was.

  Heedless of the two naked men behind her, she ran her right hand over Vaughn’s carved back, the bulky muscles so different from the sleek muscles of when he was human, so perfect and so frozen. It broke her heart all over to see him so motionless, so cold; she wanted to wrap her arms around him, to take him into her body and warm him up.

  She wanted him to wake up.

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” Armand growled, fury emanating from him. She could feel him pacing behind her, back and forth in shorter and shorter strides as he fought against slamming his fist against something. Possibly her. Probably her.

  “I tried getting here on time,” she said softly, unable to tear her gaze from Vaughn’s broad, stone back. Moistening her lips, feeling the cut with her tongue, she rasped, “Please tell me it isn’t too late; tell me there’s something I can do to get him back.”

  Turning her head, she looked at him with glossy eyes, “Please, Armand, tell me there’s a way I can get him back.”

  Armand sucked in a harsh breath as he saw her face; he would hardly recognize her if he saw her in the street. Abnormal color exploded across her cheek bones, her chin, her forehead; black stitches curved along her eyebrow; her lip was swollen and bleeding and her nose had been broken, giving her two black eyes. In that instant he loved her for choosing Vaughn, even if she was too late. Taking a step forward, he ran a finger lightly along her less bruised cheek. “What happened?”

  Ignoring him, she turned back to Vaughn and pressed her forehead against his back as a tear slid down her cheek. Her strength was nearly gone and it was getting difficult to remain standing. Unthinkingly, she climbed onto the ledge and into his lap, unaware of Armand grasping for her, thinking she was going to jump.

  Wrapping her good arm around Vaughn’s thick waist, she rested her head against his chest, at the curve of his neck. Closing her eyes, she knew that she would stay there until she became stone as well; until she was a part of him and he was no longer frozen in stone.

  The statue shifted and she flinched, the briefest flare of hope dying just as suddenly when she realized his brothers were turning Vaughn around, so that he was facing the roof instead of the world. Armand slid his arms beneath her but she tightened her hold on Vaughn, r
efusing to be moved, glaring at the black-haired man who meant to take her away from Vaughn.

  “You’re trembling,” he murmured, stepping back and putting his hands in the air to show her he wasn’t going to do anything she didn’t like. Briefly, she noticed that a robe was covering his nudity. Rhys was standing next to him and he was also covered, concern etched across his brow.

  “I h…hate h…heights,” she stammered, not realizing how paralyzed with fear she was until she was no longer dangling over the edge of the building. Closing her eyes, she snuggled further into Vaughn’s stone body; if she pretended hard enough, she could almost imagine she could feel warmth coming from him.

  “Shouldn’t you be in a hospital?” Rhys asked softly.

  “Why?” she asked, trying to find a comfortable position where stone wasn’t pressing against a cracked rib, or a broken arm, or a bruised shoulder. “I just got out of one.”

  “What the hell happened?” Armand asked, demanding answers from the girl before she lost consciousness. It seemed like a really bad idea to not take her to the hospital; she looked as if a light breeze would knock her over.

  “Car accident,” she mumbled, her brows furrowing as she fidgeted. Her lips pressed together and the color faded from her face as she kept knocking against a sore spot on her body. And since her entire body was sore….

  “Jesus, Melanie,” Armand growled, ignoring her protests as he carefully slid his arms beneath her body. “You need to get inside.”

  “I can’t leave him,” she objected, unable to struggle out of his strong arms. “If I hadn’t removed the necklace, I would have been here on time and he wouldn’t be stone now. He wouldn’t have to wait for me to die to wake up.”

  “You actually planned on completing the ritual,” Armand whispered with wonder, staring down at her and seeing her as if for the first time. Her eyes were closed, the thick lashes a curve on her battered cheeks; she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She was going to complete the ritual.

  “Yes, of course,” she scowled. “Of course I was. Please let me stay with him.”

  “You need some rest,” Armand contradicted. “Sleep and when I feel you are strong enough to stand on your own you can come back up.”

  He was so demanding but she was too tired to argue. “You’ll let me see him?”

  “Yes,” Armand murmured, taking her into their living quarters, into Vaughn’s room. He gently laid her on the bed. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know you loved him enough.”

  “I shouldn’t have panicked,” she mumbled, breathing in Vaughn’s familiar scent as Armand placed her in the comfortable bed.

  “You’re only human.” Amusement laced Armand’s voice but Melanie had a hard time finding the humor. At the moment all she wanted to do was close her eyes and lose herself in the oblivion of sleep. She started to roll onto her side when she felt the pull of fresh stiches; she tried moving the other way but the bed pressed against her ribs.

  “Let me see the damage,” Armand murmured, carefully removing her clothes. She was too overwhelmed with grief to care over much that she lay naked before him. Turning her head to the side, she closed her eyes as Armand clinically and methodically examined her cuts and bruises, his hands lightly moving over the tender wounds.

  “Can you heal her?” Rhys softly asked from the door way.

  “Of course, but it will take a little time,” Armand answered, warmth spreading outwards from where he touched her with the tips of his fingers.

  “Why?” Melanie asked the question but her voice had no sound and the scent of Vaughn filled her head. Warmth pulsed through her wounds and the world disappeared.

  Nineteen

  “Why are you so much more powerful that your brothers?” Melanie asked Armand several days later as he continued to heal her body. He had explained why her body would go into shock if he healed her too quickly: it wouldn’t understand the difference between healing and infection and it would retaliate, hurting her even more. And then things would get really messed up.

  In a lightweight camisole and a pair of skimpy panties, she was strangely comfortable wearing so little in Armand’s presence. His touch was tender and full of affection, but it was the affection of a healer for a patient. Or a brother towards a sister. They didn’t talk much; she had been pretty much out of it for the first two days and today was the first time she felt human again. She just had to learn to live without her heart.

  “I gave up my nights for a woman once,” he explained distantly, but she had already figured that much out. With a negligent shrug, he added, “I lost the girl and I gained some power.”

  That was such an understatement.

  She looked down at Armand’s large hands on her left arm; the cast was gone and there was no pain. Running her hands over her ribs, she discovered that they were no longer wrapped in bandages either. She took a deep breath and felt her lungs expand to full capacity. Moving her free hand over her face, she no longer had any stitches and there was no more pain. Armand had told her that she would always have the faint scars but they would continue to fade; they were hardly noticeable now. She was continuously amazed by how quickly she was healing, even if it wasn’t instantaneous.

  Armand wasn’t just good, he was incredible. She had had no idea he was so powerful. She was lucky that it had been Vanessa that night in her apartment; she would never have met Vaughn….

  Hell, maybe it would have been better if Armand had erased her memory; then Vaughn would still be a living gargoyle and she wouldn’t know this crushing agony. But then she wouldn’t have known Vaughn and that would have been tragic.

  “Do you hate her?” she asked softly, glancing up at Armand from beneath her lashes; he truly was a stunning man with his black hair and piercing green eyes and sculpted-to-perfection face. He cocked the head to the side in question and she licked her bottom lip, “Do you hate the woman for not choosing you?”

  He was silent for a long time, staring intently at his hands on her left arm. The silence grew deafening and Melanie was debating whether or not to ask again when he rasped, “It was easier to blame her for not choosing me and I think I must have hated her for not loving me enough.” He laughed without humor, “I even told her about the repercussions before we ever began and she was eager to be my eternal mate. But in the end she changed her mind.”

  A tear ran down her cheek and her lips trembled, “Did you ever forgive her?”

  His eyes searched hers, perhaps trying to find the answer. Brushing the tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb, he nodded his head once, “Yes; I believe I have.”

  “Do you think Vaughn hates me?” her voice was barely more than a whisper but she knew he heard her; his head jerked back as if she had slapped him.

  “No, sweetheart,” Armand said vehemently, cupping her face in his palm and forcing her eyes to meet his. “No; he loved you until the end. He still loves you.”

  “Will he be able to forgive me?”

  Closing his eyes, he gathered her up in his arms and held her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck as tears fell unheeded against the navy silk of his shirt. Stroking her back, trying to comfort the devastated girl, he whispered roughly, “I wish I could take all of your pain away.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” she managed to get out between gut-wrenching sobs as her grip tightened and her body was intimately pressed against his. She was nearly crawling into his skin and she was unaware of how little she wore.

  Armand’s arms tightened as well and he could feel how much weight she had lost in the last couple of days. In addition to having spent a week in a coma, she hadn’t been eating since waking up. She pecked at the food he and Rhys brought to her but in her grief she had no appetite. Pressing his nose against the curve of her neck, he inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “There may be a way.”

  Abruptly, she pulled away and looked at him, her blue eyes swimming in tears. A small smile trembled on her lips as she remained nearly in his skin, “R
eally?”

  Clearing his throat, he swallowed, “I take his place.”

  Her brows drew together and she frowned at him, “I don’t understand.”

  “You preform the ritual with me,” he said roughly, holding his body and emotions tightly together. “If I give up my nights for you than he should be free.”

  She stared at him as if he was mad and perhaps he was. He swore never to give up his nights again and he was offering to do so for this girl, knowing that the ritual would never be completed. She would still grow old and die but at least his brother would have a few years with her….

  She fell out of his arms and flung herself back onto the bed, laughing. “Oh, Armand, I do love you but you know that is an impossible solution.”

  “Melanie,” he growled, leaning over her until she was beneath him and they were face to face. He rested his forearms against the bed on either side of her head as he glared down at her. “Damn, it, Melanie, I’m serious.”

  Reaching up, she stroked the silken skin of his cheek and gazed at him with a soft expression, her blue eyes sparkling with tears and broken laughter, “I know you are, Armand; but I’m not going to do that to you or to Vaughn.”

  With a sigh, she turned her head to the side, “Maybe Omari knows how to get him back.”

  Armand went preternaturally still atop of her, “You know Omari.”

  “Yes,” she sighed again, a slight smile curving her lips. Before she could explain how she knew him, there was a deliberate cough from the door. She turned her head to see Rhys standing in the doorway, an amused expression on his face as he took in the scene before him.

  “Sweetheart, your sister is here to see you,” Rhys grinned as Armand pushed himself from Melanie’s bed and stood up, keeping a wary eye on the girl.