"Wait–" She reached for him, but her fingers encountered only cold, lifeless marble. She stared up at his frozen face, stricken. She ached for him, and her inability to do anything for him. Slowly, she pulled herself up into his arms like she had hours earlier. She pressed a kiss to his stony cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.
The sun edged over the horizon and cast its fierce light across the cemetery. She grimaced at the glare and dropped to the ground. With a final pat on the curved sweep of his wing, she made her way to the gate at the entrance and the world beyond.
* * * *
Chapter 4
Days passed, accumulating into weeks and months. Life continued for better or worse, although for Kestrel it seemed to favor the latter. Four crappy jobs, two failed romances, and one eviction notice later, she found herself turning to her memories of the single night with Damaris to help her through the worst of it. It made things seem less dire to think of him. Her hardships seemed more like a state of flux and less like a permanent state of despair. How many centuries had he stood on that pedestal and watched over the cemetery? Surely she could endure a few rotten months, she told herself, when he'd been enduring his curse for thousands of years.
Better to be living a hellish life, she told herself during her blackest moods, than not living at all.
The months, too, accumulated, until a full year had passed and Kestrel found herself once again staring up at the dark, looming statue on All Hallows' Eve. This time, she saw no menace in Damaris's visage. She saw his humorous expression in his moonlit gaze, the kindness of his face, and the awe he'd had for her. Her heart swelled within her chest as every horrible thing from the past year melted away.
She climbed up onto the pedestal and sat in the protective curve of his wing, like she had the year before. Lightly, she ran her fingertips along the carved ridges of his abs and the stony strength of his chest, and wondered if he could feel her touch. Except for a few brief stints with asshole boyfriends who had cared more for getting their own rocks off than satisfying her needs, Kestrel had spent the year alone. No man could live up to the intensity of her experience with Damaris, and even her favorite vibrator had paled in comparison. The clock hadn't yet struck midnight, and already she found herself running her hands along the muscles of Damaris's shoulders and arms, his broad, strong back, reacquainting herself with the contours of his body. As soon as the hands of her watch ticked past midnight, she cut a shallow slice across her palm and spilled the blood that would summon him.
The dark drops fell to the grass and soaked into the ground beneath. Kestrel wiped her hand clean and threw her arms around Damaris's neck. Embraced together, she felt the life ease back into him. His muscles warmed and softened against her, his chest rose with a breath, then exhaled and sent that breath fluttering against the side of her neck. With a hoarse sound, Kestrel dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him with a year of pent-up desperation.
"Well." The familiar voice she had heard every night in her dreams rumbled against her ear, cool and amused. "You're eager, aren't you?"
"Damaris," she said, "shut up and kiss me."
He stiffened and pushed her back, staring at her. Shock washed over his face. "Kestrel?"
"Who else?" She tried to pull him back into the kiss, but he wouldn't budge.
"You came back." He sounded like he couldn't quite believe it.
He wouldn't let her move close enough to kiss him, so she nodded and slid her thumb across the curve of his lower lip. "I did," she whispered.
"But...why?"
He still refused to let her move closer. She ceased her struggles and stepped down onto the grass instead. Watching him steadily, she began to unfasten her bodice. "Why wouldn't I?"
"No one ever has."
"Damaris," she said with a quiet sigh. "Every woman you've been with before has been a fool." She cast off her top and took his hand in hers, gently pulling him down to her and guiding his hand to her breast. Slowly, awe edged into his shocked expression. He caressed her with a soft, careful touch, as though he held something delicate and precious and feared he'd break it. She took his other hand, kissed his palm, and stepped into the circle of his arms.
She brought her mouth to his. "Kiss me," she whispered, running her fingers along the edge of his throat. "If all we have is one night, then let's not waste a moment of it."
"Kestrel..." He tilted her head back and pressed kisses along her throat and the slope of her shoulder. "You shouldn't have come back. It's not done."
"It is now." She pressed her body against his. His skin pumped heat into her. She trailed a hand along his chest and stomach. His cock thrust toward her, already thick and swollen with arousal. She curled her hand around it and stroked slowly. "Are you going to forsake your one night because of this?"
"No," he groaned, burying his face in her hair. "I couldn't, even if I wanted to." His hand tightened on her breast and stroked her with greater confidence. She made a low sound in the back of her throat and arched into his touch. Ribbons of heat unfurled slowly, deep within her abdomen.
His fingers tugged on her nipple and sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through her. She moaned and twisted against him. Heat bloomed between her thighs. She tightened her arms around his neck, dragging him to the ground with her.
"It's been such a horrible year," she whispered. She braced a hand on his shoulder and pushed him onto his back beneath her. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
He cupped her breast in his palm as she leaned over him. His fingertips made slow, lazy circles over her skin and guided her to his mouth. She shuddered at the slick caress of his tongue.
"I haven't dared think of you," he whispered, circling his thumb over her wet nipple. "I wanted to, but I never thought you'd come back. It would have driven me mad."
"Do me a favor." She pressed light, nipping kisses along the line of his collarbone.
"Anything."
"Don't think." She drew his nipple into her mouth and sucked on it until he groaned and stiffened beneath her. His hand clenched tight in her hair. He held her close, but suddenly pushed her back, gasping.
"It's too much, Kestrel."
She smiled slowly and released him, but continued her lazy path of kisses across his chest. She licked a line down his stomach, felt his muscles shiver and tighten beneath her. A drop of fluid gathered at the tip of his cock; she licked it from his skin and wrapped her lips around him. Her fingers moved up and down the shaft while she drew him into her mouth.
Damaris made a low, guttural sound. His back arched, pressing himself deeper into her mouth. She smiled and licked a slow path along the length of his cock. Her tongue wrapped around him, traced the veins that ran just beneath the surface. When he was slick with her saliva, she drew back and flicked her tongue across the very tip of his cock. He grunted and jerked beneath her.
Kestrel smiled and crawled up the length of his body until they were face-to-face again. She watched pleasure and anticipation chase across his features for a moment. "Last time, you gave me a gift," she whispered. "This time, I want to return the favor."
His brows drew together in a slight frown. "I don't—“
"Quiet." She lowered her mouth to his and nibbled at his lips. "It's my turn."
He bit back his protest and subsided beneath her. A vague smile at the edges of his mouth dispelled any illusions she might have had about dominance. Her hand slid over his chest, polished and smooth and as hard as the stone that trapped him for most of the year. His muscles barely yielded beneath her touch. She seemed impossibly frail in comparison. She'd never be able to make him do anything he didn't choose for himself.
It was enough that he let her pretend.
She straddled his hips and rose up on her knees. With one hand, she reached behind her and grabbed his cock, angling it until she'd found the position she wanted.
She watched surprise transform his face when he realized that she had positioned him against her ass. His body stiffened and
he pushed up onto his elbows. "Kestrel—“
"Be quiet," she said again, gently. She slowly lowered her weight onto him. She shuddered at the feel of him sliding inside of her. "I don't do this with just anyone, you know."
He closed his eyes and flexed his hips, thrusting slowly into her. She drew an unsteady breath and gripped his shoulders tightly. "Why with me?" he asked.
"I want to. Isn't that reason enough?"
He flicked his tongue over her nipple. She gasped and tightened around him. "I can't think of a better one," he murmured and pushed into her again.
Kestrel threw her head back and shuddered with the sensation that rippled through her. Need built within her until it was the only thing that mattered. She brought a hand to the moisture gathered between her thighs and circled her fingers around her clitoris. She bore down against his thrust, driving him deeper. Her cry of ecstasy mingled with his groans.
He stretched her, buried his length in her. Impossibly, it was even more intense than last time. She'd half-convinced herself that she must have exaggerated it in her memory, that it couldn't have been as staggering as she'd thought. Now, it was even better. She dipped her fingers into her heat and spread the slickness over her clit. She caressed herself until she was trembling and gasping, so close to coming.
His fingers circled her wrist and pulled her hand away. Kestrel's eyes shot open. "No!" she snapped. "No, damn it, let me—“
"Let me," he murmured. He set her hand aside and replaced it with his own. His fingers pressed into her, filling and stretching her. His thumb rubbed over her clit and his fingers thrust within her. They rubbed back and forth in a steady rhythm until her hands fisted on his shoulders and she cried out. She shook beneath the waves of electricity that rolled over her.
Even then, he continued to slowly thrust and caress, drawing further violent tremors from her though she'd thought there couldn't possibly be anything left to give. At last, she collapsed forward onto his chest with a low groan. She pressed her face into the hollow of his throat and waited for sanity to return to her.
Damaris circled his wings around her and held her close. The warmth that radiated from his skin protected her from the cool night. She sighed languidly and settled against him, lightly running her fingers along his sides. His chest rose and fell with his sigh, an echo of her own.
"Well, now..." He brushed his lips across her temple. "That was quite a gift."
"I think maybe I got the better end of the deal." She spoke lazily, too drowsy to stir. His hands traced lazy curves over her back and a heavy blanket of contentment settled over her. She wished she could stop the moon in the sky, so day would never come and they'd never have to move.
"Tell me something," Damaris said softly, some time later. He brushed his fingers through her hair and pulled it back from her face.
She lifted her head and looked down at him. "What do you want to hear?"
"Tell me about your year. Tell me what's happened to you."
She frowned and turned her face away. "Not much. Nothing particularly worth talking about."
"Not much?" His lips curved in a gently scolding smile. "I spend my year frozen in stone, Kestrel. Do not speak to me of 'not much.'"
She sighed and propped her chin against his shoulder. She told him about the endless cycle of one crappy job followed by another even crappier job, about how she'd had to forego heat in the dead of winter in order to have the money for rent, and how even after all that, her landlord had decided he'd had enough with the inconsistent payments and had kicked her to the curb with little more than the clothes on her back and a single box of her possessions. She told him about the months she'd spent living off of her friends' charity, crashing on their couches and tidying up what she could to try to make it up to them. She left out the worst parts, the ones she didn't want to dredge out of the dark corners she'd buried them in.
And when the sympathy on his face became too dark, too much like pity, she told him about the alley cat that had adopted her, the one night there had been no spare couches available and she'd had to spend it out on the streets, pacing the stretch of sidewalk between two store fronts, too cold and frightened to dare to sleep. Sometime during the night, the cat had appeared behind her. He'd pranced along in her footsteps while she paced like it was the best game in the world, and stubbornly resisted all her attempts to discourage him.
Damaris laughed at that and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She smiled against his chest.
"It's nice to be able to live again," he said quietly. "Even if it's only vicariously through you."
She gave him a lopsided smile. "Sorry I couldn't have shared a less depressing year with you."
"No, don't be. Conflict is what makes life interesting. It's what gives it the spark."
Kestrel laughed hard and shook her head. "I could use with a little less interest in my life, if that's the case." Slowly, she sobered and touched her hand to his cheek. "And you could use with a little more. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He drew her mouth to his and kissed her until she'd almost forgotten about her guilt. At last, he pulled away and gazed up at her with sad eyes. "Thank you for this night, Kestrel. Thank you for coming back. You can't know what it means to me. It's nearly dawn, though, and I must go."
She nodded and got to her feet. She gathered her clothes and dressed with her back turned toward him, so he couldn't see the heartbreak in her eyes. She thought she'd stay like that until the sun rose, so she wouldn't have to say good-bye, but as she heard him climbing back up onto the pedestal, her heart seemed to leap into her throat.
"Wait." She spun and ran back toward him.
"I can't. There's no time."
She climbed up with him and pulled his mouth against hers for a firm kiss. "Think about me," she whispered.
He stared at her. "What?"
"Think about me, Damaris. Don't try to forget me. Think about me coming back next year."
His face twisted with a heartbreaking expression of pain and hope. He started to speak, but before he could say anything, the sun's edge slipped above the horizon, and once again, he turned into cold, hard stone.
* * * *
Chapter 5
Once again, months passed, although there were times Kestrel didn't know how she could manage to endure them. She missed Damaris fiercely, not the yearning for his heat and excitement that she had felt the previous year, but a yearning for his gentleness and laughter and quiet conversation.
She took to visiting the cemetery almost daily. At first, she had come because the ache of loneliness had filled her and she'd needed something to ease it, but the sight of him on his pedestal, frozen and lifeless, had been more than she'd been able to endure. She'd fled from the cemetery, gasping with pain.
She returned a week later, steadier and better prepared to withstand the sharp stab of pain at the sight of him. She'd apologized for leaving, and climbed up with him to curl into his arms. She spent the last hours of the evening there, crying quietly against his chest.
She spent the next evening in his arms also, but she didn't cry again. The next, she'd begun a slow, hesitant monologue about the events of her life. She didn't know if he could hear her, if he was aware of anything beyond his stony prison, but she told him anyway. It made his absence easier to bear.
She brought the cat and let him climb all over Damaris until he found a spot he liked and curled up there, peering down at Kestrel from between Damaris's thick, curved horns. Kestrel had howled with laughter and apologized to Damaris for any indignities his ego may have suffered at the treatment.
When life calmed down and she found herself with little of interest to tell him, she began to bring books to the cemetery. She read aloud to him, flamboyant tales of battles and adventure. Since he longed for interest to ease the monotony of his imprisonment, she thought he'd like them the best. After she'd exhausted the offerings of her home library, she read him poetry. A few times, she'd brought a battery-run CD player with her a
nd had played a small sampling of music for him.
As the night of Damaris's freedom approached, Kestrel grew unbearably anxious. The sun began to set on All Hallows' Eve and she found herself standing frozen in her room, staring at herself in the mirror. Part of her thought it was immeasurably silly to spend so much care on her appearance and outfit since Damaris would only strip it off of her and cast it aside for the night. But the rest of her couldn't stand to go to him looking anything less than her best. She settled for a compromise. She applied a light layer of make-up and donned a slinky dress that enhanced her best attributes and, conveniently enough, would also be a snap for her to get out of. She took a final look at herself in the mirror, squinting against the reflection of the dying light, and finally deemed herself ready to leave. She spun toward the door, and quickly rocked back on her heels, startled. Amber stood in the doorway, one arm braced against the jamb, a small pout turning down the edges of her mouth.
"What kind of Halloween costume is that?" she demanded.
Kestrel blinked at her. "I'm sorry?"
"Look at you." Amber waved a hand to indicate the entirety of Kestrel's body. "Kate told you that this was a costume party, didn't she?"
"Er, yes." A blush heated Kestrel’s cheeks. "Look, Amber, I'm not—“
"Oh, whatever." Amber grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway. "We can say you're a lady of the night, or something. You know, a courtesan?" She peered over her shoulder at Kestrel, surveying her critically. "I think they'll buy it. Come on, we'll be late!"
"Amber, wait." Kestrel dug her heels in at the front door. "I'm not going to the party."
Amber turned back to her with a bewildered look. "Of course you are. We're all going."
"Not me." Kestrel stepped backward toward the house.
From behind her, a pair of hands settled on her shoulders and pushed her forward. "Of course you are," Dan said firmly.
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