When Fray didn’t join in on the laugh, she looked at him. He was staring at her with those sapphire eyes and her ribs tightened around her heart and she found it difficult to take a breath. Shaking her head, she whispered, “No.”
“Fall, Ferris,” he said softly.
“Fray.” Her voice was a mere breath.
“Just fall.”
Looking out over the tops of the building, the lights of the city blurring together behind her tears, she took a breath. Her eyes slid shut as she warred with her trust in Fray and her fear of falling.
She didn’t want to die and if she willingly fell even the goddess she became wouldn't be able to save her.
Armand stared at the door that Ferris had just stepped through and the world lost all of its color. After spending days tearing his room apart he thought he had torn her from his heart. But one moment in her presence and he realized she was still firmly enmeshed in his soul, she would always be in his soul. Frozen in place, he tried to tell himself that he was better off without her but he felt empty inside. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any portraits of him in her studio because without her his life was just a blank canvas anyway.
Taking a shuddering breath, he reminded himself that he had existed before Ferris came into his life and upset his entire world and he would exist long after she was gone. If only he could remember how to stuff his fickle heart back into the block of ice that had made living bearable. Or he could suck up his pride and go after her, risk everything for the chance to be with her.
Absently, he rubbed his sternum, frowning at the paintings that covered her work space. Why wasn’t his portrait there?
“What have you done?” an angry voice bellowed. Armand turned his head and saw Michael standing in the doorway, his brilliant green eyes flashing, his pale blond hair standing on end.
Taking a drink of the bourbon, he avoided Michael’s accusatory glare and growled, “Nothing.”
“You’re such a selfish bastard,” Michael spat, venom oozing from every single pore on his body. He crossed the room and got right in Armand’s face, meeting his older brother eye to eye. “You don’t deserve her.”
Armand chuckled, but it sounded hollow, just like he felt inside. Drinking from the bottle, the burning of the alcohol not touching him, he sneered, “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, too.”
Michael huffed, “I’m not in love with her but I do love her. She’s Ferris; all of us love her.”
Armand rolled his eyes, smirking at his younger brother. “Whatever.”
The fist came out of nowhere, connecting with Armand’s jaw and sending him flying backwards, crashing into a stack of canvases. His teeth snapped together, sending shards of white light into his brain and making him black out for a moment or two. Shaking his head, he glared up at the blond gargoyle and growled, “Don’t. Ever. Hit. Me. Again.”
“You’re pathetic,” Michael sneered, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. “You gave your nights up to a stranger and then came back and let her fall in love with you. Didn’t you think about what she would go through once you left?”
Armand stared up at the young gargoyle and blinked his eyes as he worked his sore jaw back and forth with his hand. His brain was still feeling the after effects of the hit and so he dumbly watched his brother continue with his tirade, his own thoughts trampling through his head. His brother’s words did make sense for if Ferris was that upset when he left her then that would explain why his paintings weren’t there. With her tender heart she probably put them in storage because looking at them every day would be too painful. At least, that was what he would do.
After the whole Katrina fiasco he didn’t even speak her name for a hundred years after he awoke from his stone slumber. What he felt for Ferris was infinitely stronger than anything he had felt for the pretty Kat. Absently rubbing his jaw, he nodded to himself in satisfaction that maybe he wasn’t a blank canvas, just one stored away.
“Are you listening to me?” Michael’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Of course,” he mumbled distractedly, pushing himself off the floor and to his feet. Dazed, he looked around and saw the nearly empty bottle of bourbon on the floor next to where he had landed.
“Any one of us would have given her our nights,” Michael continued, his words finally reaching Armand’s muddled brain. “Raphe offered on more than one occasion.”
The words caused a haze a red to descend over his eyes and his hands curled into fists, ready to thrash any of the brothers who made the offer. Michael’s mocking laughter shook him out of his rage, “What did you expect, Armand? That she grow old and die an old maid waiting for you to wake from your stone prison? If it weren’t for father falling in love with her you would have woken up and had maybe a handful of years with her before she was too old for this mortal world.”
The thought of a world without Ferris in it was a hot poker to his heart and he physically recoiled backwards, clutching his gut to keep his intestines from spilling out. Michael continued taunting him, “She spent years trying to find a solution, to find a way to stay young enough to accept your gift when you returned to the land of the living.” Michael huffed out a wry laugh, “She would have been so happy being a fucking gargoyle and you turned your back on her.”
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Armand said lamely. “I never wanted to hurt her.”
“Then you should have made her a gargoyle,” Michael growled. “Because when you went away something happened to Ferris and we lost her, too.”
Armand’s head whipped around at that and he caught the bewildered expression on Michael’s face as the younger gargoyle shook his head. Seeing Armand’s murderous expression, Michael let out a huff of laughter, “Not that way, you idiot. She just sort of… turned away from us, from the Castle. She moved out and created a.. human life for herself. And Ajreis, of course. That little fucker went everywhere with her, him and Marick.
“Hell, she only recently moved back to the Castle because the little imp is prancing around in his new human suit with his mate,” Michael snickered. Gesturing to the studio, he asked, “Why do you think her studio is in such disarray? She has far more paintings than ten years warrant.”
Unable to help himself, Armand asked, “Where is the portrait she did for her art class before I left?”
Michael choked on the bitter laughter he was obviously trying to suppress, “That behemoth has a special place of honor in her secondary studio.”
Armand heard the words but he couldn’t quite believe them because if they were true... He hadn’t wanted to know the truth. Clearing his throat, trying to keep it casual, he muttered, “So, ah, can you show me this other studio?”
Michael snorted but he walked past Armand towards the painting of Ferris and Apollo, making Armand flinch as he recalled thinking the worst of her because of that painting. Looking beyond the damning image he saw the door, cleverly disguised as… a door. He could have smacked himself for missing it.
Refusing to look at the painting that broke his heart, he stepped into the other room and came up short. Every wall, every surface, was covered with images of him. Sketches and drawings were pinned to a project board, paintings were hanging on the walls and propped up on easels, canvasses were stacked up against the wall, and all of the images were of him. Every line, every detail, was painfully, lovingly crafted.
Armand stood in front of a covered canvas, his hand trembling. Taking a breath, he took the sheet off and felt his chest convulse. The painting was something out of a grown man’s wet dream, a woman with her head thrown back in ecstasy as she was being pleasured by her lover. Only the woman was Ferris and the lover was him, was Armand. She had captured everything – desire, passion, love – and he could see it all in her painted eyes that gazed at her lover with her soul.
And he had thought she pined for Apollo.
“She couldn’t bear to throw a single image of you away,” Michael murmured, reminding Armand that he wasn�
��t alone. “Sketchbooks full of drawings and ideas are stacked in that cabinet over there.”
Turning his head, Armand saw the stack of books and the sickening dread filled his gut and expanded outward until he was sure he would burst with shame. A cold sweat broke out across his brow as he took in all of the pieces of Ferris’s heart: they all held him. His skin tightened over his bones, pulling and stretching until it felt too tight to contain him and he was going to rip apart at the seams. What had he done?
“Where is she?” His voice was like sandpaper brushing against raw skin, making him flinch with the harshness and pain of it. He thought he would be able to live without Ferris but how does one live without their heart, without the air they breathe? Seeing her paintings, knowing she was his soul and that he was hers, he hated himself for ever doubting her, for pushing her away.
Michael shrugged, unconcerned, “Last I saw her she was in the hall with Raphe. She looked miserable and I blame you and your stupid pride.”
Armand nodded in agreement as he staggered out of the room, desperate to find her and beg her for forgiveness, hoping he didn’t push her too far away this time. Gods, what if she didn’t forgive him? He had been unbearably cruel when all she did was love him and try to find a way to be with him. Picturing her with Apollo still hurt but he took a small measure of comfort in the fact that she hadn’t known who his father was at the time.
How many times did they have sex?
His gut clenched at the thought but he tightened his jaw, determined to not think about it. The next time he saw her he would ask her about it and take the time to listen to what she said before letting his jealousy get in the way. She was simply too vital to him and he couldn’t let her leave. His pace increased, a sense of urgency driving him faster. He had to find her and tell her that she was the blood that ran through his veins, the oxygen that filled his lungs, the passion that made his heart beat. He had to tell her that he loved her, that he has always loved her.
Where was she? He was wasting precious time looking for her when he never should have let her go in the first place. Her room was empty and in disarray, with boxes everywhere and he wasn’t sure if she was moving out or moving in. The first possibility nearly brought him to his knees but he kept going, he had to find her.
Tearing around the corner, he crashed into the hard body of Raphe. He was about to rush past him but then he remembered Michael telling that the last place he saw Ferris was with the young gargoyle. Grabbing Raphe’s shoulders, he met the boy’s eyes and was taken aback by the pain and animosity that blazed back at him. Shaking his head, he asked, “Where is she?”
“Why do you care?” the panther gargoyle snarled, loathing twisting his angelic features. “Haven’t you done enough to hurt her already?”
“I have,” he admitted guiltily, a flush coloring his cheekbones as he tried to swallow another wave of regret. “I’m an asshole but I still need to find her. It’s important, Raphe.”
Violet eyes blinked up at him and the hostility morphed into bewilderment and he murmured, “I don’t know why she loves you so much but she does.” Heaving a sigh of resignation, he nodded his head towards the ceiling, “She’s up on the roof.”
Armand raced up the stairs, his heart pounding madly in his chest telling him he had to hurry or it would be too late. Bursting through the doors to the rooftop he saw her standing on the ledge and his heart stopped beating, his breath stopped coming and his body froze, refusing to take another step for fear of accidentally sending her over. What the hell happened in the ten years he was stone? The Ferris he knew would never take her own life. How badly had he hurt her to drive her to this?
He had to be so careful. A sudden movement, the wrong word could, send her plummeting. Suddenly, time slowed to a crawl and he watched as she put her arms out to the side and tilted her head back, her eyes closed. Helplessly, he reached out to her, willing her to turn around, to not jump.
“Ferris,” he croaked but he was too late: she fell forward and took his soul with her. Mad with shock, grief, he raced to the edge of the building and looked but there was no body down below. His heart was stabbing him through his ribs, thumping in desperation as he jerked his head in every direction trying to discover where she went but there was no trace of her.
She had simply… vanished into thin air. Was this part of her powers? Was he ever going to see her again? Gods, he had to get her back! He’d walk through Hell to get her back. And after everything he put her through it was the least he deserved.
Chapter 17
Falling
“You won’t die, Dragon-Mate” Fray whispered and Ferris had a brief moment of absolute peace. Holding her arms out to the side, she closed her eyes and fell. The wind rushed past her face and she had a slight panic attack that perhaps she shouldn’t have trusted the golden pocket dragon. After all, he spent most of his time as a tattoo on her body and couldn’t really have the power to keep her from splattering all over the sidewalk. She was sorely tempted to dredge up the powers she had spent years suppressing and simply fly away, if such a thing were even possible.
Fray's velvet rough laughter wrapped around her as the sensation of falling became the sensation of floating. Morbidly curious, she opened her eyes and watched the modern world blur around the edges before fading to whiteness and she thought perhaps she had died and her soul was flying off to Heaven.
Except as she watched the white clouds faded. She stared in fascination as the landscape changed before her eyes, the buildings being built in reverse, the roads being rolled up to nothing, until the land was a mass of farmlands and then acres of massive trees. With a whoosh she was flying over the virgin country, across a massive body of water, to a world made of stone and bricks and wood.
Then she was falling and her arms and legs flailed out, her heart jack-knifing in her chest. But she simply fell a foot and landed on a soft, feather bed. The room’s only light came from the open windows, letting her see the dark wood, gorgeous tapestries and heavy furniture that dominated the space. It was like something out of a historical movie and she swung her legs over the side of the bed and started to stand up to explore her new surroundings.
But her legs got tangled in the calf length linen chemise and she frowned as she sat there and straightened the material out. It quickly became apparent that her body was not her own. With a sharp inhalation of breath, she studied her hands more closely, seeing that the pale flesh was wrong and where was the midnight blue fingernail polish? Running her fingers over her face, her blood burned as it pulsed through her body: her face was the wrong shape, her nose had a slight bump and her mouth was too small. In dread, she ran her tongue over her teeth followed by her fingers when she felt the uneven teeth.
Flying off the bed, she looked around for a mirror or a reflective surface or anything to find out what was wrong with her. There was nothing on the walls or the dresser so she stepped back and looked around the room, her hands on her slightly wider hips. With a frown, she looked down at her body and saw that her breasts were also smaller than she remembered and she seemed a little closer to the floor. Was that right? Did she shrink a couple of inches?
Slowly, trying to take in the changes to her body, her surroundings, she made her way over to the armoire and pulled the doors open to find a stranger staring back. She almost apologized and closed the doors before she came to her senses and realized that the stranger in the armoire was her, looking at her from a highly reflective piece of metal. Her long brown hair was even longer but it was now blond; her blue-green eyes were a warm, chocolaty brown; her face was a little rounder in shape and she was very pale, as if her skin had never seen the sun.
Touching her mouth, she manually pulled her lower lip down to examine her teeth, not especially shocked to see they were slightly colored and crooked, though not too badly. When she curved her lips she found she had a nice, rather shy smile. A hysterical giggle escaped and she slammed her hand over her mouth, watching in surprise as her brown e
yes flashed blue-green. Leaning closer, she watched as the color morphed back to the warm brown and she frowned.
“The eyes are the hardest to disguise and their true color keeps shining through.” Fray’s familiar deep voice murmured from behind her. Spinning around, she saw the golden dragon lounging on the bed, his lips curved into a brilliant smile. “Under heightened emotional situations, they’ll flash between your color and her color.”
Ferris took a moment to absorb his words, her pulse fluttering madly as she put it all together. Still, she was afraid to ask, afraid she already knew the answer. “Who am I?”
Fray’s smile grew even wider. “Do you really need to ask?”
Ferris put a hand against her stomach to quell the butterflies that were whooshing around in her belly as she anxiously looked around the room, realizing why it looked like a set in a historical film. She was Katrina, the evil bitch who broke Armand. Turning back to her image, she had to admit that Katrina didn’t look evil. Instead she looked young, maybe twenty, and incredibly… innocent. And so bloody sweet it hurt Ferris's heart to look at her. Even her crooked teeth were endearing.
Examining herself in the reflective surface, she pulled the gown taut against her body to examine her new shape. As she thought: her hips were slightly wider and her breasts were slightly smaller. While her body was thin it wasn’t exactly toned, as if Katrina didn’t spend her days at the gym. Ferris snorted at her own thoughts; she didn’t think there were modern gyms in Elizabethan England.
Spinning around, she faced Fray again, a smile stretching her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if the smile was from excitement or sheer terror. “Exactly how far back did you take me?”
“The beginning,” he grinned.
Looking outside at the setting sun, she squealed in delight and threw on a robe. She grabbed a thick, wool blanket and rushed through the country manor as if she had navigated the mid-sized mansion all of her life. She didn’t spare a second thought questioning the skill. In her haste to get outside to the garden she didn’t waste any time looking around at her surroundings either.
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