Sacrifice In Stone Read online

  At the front door, Garrick stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her eyes searched his for the answer he was afraid to give.

  “There’s an alarm sensor at the front door but it’s okay.” She tugged at him again, but he was immovable. “We can be long gone before the cops arrive.”

  “I do not know what these cops are of which you speak but ’tis not worry for them that halts me.”

  “Then what?”

  “I fear I cannot leave this place. The magic keeps me here.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re alive. You’re completely flesh and blood. You’re free.”

  Garrick stared at the floor. “I don’t think so, my lady. Somehow the slab holds me. I believe my freedom from the statue is but for a short time.”

  “Fuck.”

  “This is a word I know but I do not think you use it as did the soldiers of my regiment. If you mean it as an oath, then yes, I agree we have fuck.”

  Chapter Three

  Mara knew the answer to their dilemma must be in the Transfero Vita. They retreated to the director’s office where there were no exterior windows to draw the attention of the outside world. Garrick sat at the desk, studying the journal with Mara gazing over his shoulder.

  “There must be something in these passages I couldn’t translate,” Mara said. “Some way to make your freedom permanent.”

  “These sections are written in Welsh,” Garrick said absently. “My mother’s family came from Wales. I think perhaps I will be able to read them given time.”

  How much time did they have? Mara rounded on one heel and made two strides toward the opposite side of the room before the sudden movement caused lightheadedness. She stopped and teetered on the heels of her sandals. “Whoa,” she said, stumbling to the leather sofa, which lined one wall.

  Garrick leapt up from the desk chair and made his way to her side. “Are you all right?” His devouring eyes searched her face as he grasped her hand.

  “Yes.” She tried to reassure him with a smile but she suspected it wavered. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little dizzy for a second.”

  “Perhaps something to eat would be of aid.”

  She hadn’t thought to bring food with her. She’d assumed they would be able to get out of the museum. Scouring the room, she spotted a small fridge in a niche beneath the built-in bookshelves. “If I’m lucky there’s something to eat in there.” Nodding, she pointed toward it.

  Garrick crossed to the fridge and crouched in front of it. He examined the door and its handle with interest. “This is a peculiar cabinet.” Rapping his knuckles against the fridge’s surface, his brows converged. “It is fashioned of some kind of metal.”

  Mara smiled. “Yes. Stainless steel.”

  Garrick pulled open the door. The rubber seal loosened with a pop and the door swung wide. “The cabinet holds cold air.” He glanced back at Mara. “Is this magic?”

  “No. It’s electricity,” Mara said with a chuckle. When she’d switched on the desk lamp upon entering the office a short time before, Garrick had beamed with surprise, leading her to explain about the concept of electricity. Wait until he discovered the wonders of indoor plumbing.

  “Ah. More electricity. This one makes the cabinet cold instead of the room illuminated.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “I have much to learn.”

  Mara’s smile slipped from her face. She only hoped that he would have time to learn everything about this new world in which he found himself.

  “Speaking of that, I should probably explain that the f bomb—fuck or fucking—isn’t such a nice word to say in public. I shouldn’t have said it before.” Mara knew her face must be burning with the rush of blood to her cheeks. She hadn’t really thought this line of conversation through. “Today, some people use it as a curse. But it also means sexual intercourse. It usually means sex without love.”

  “Ahhh, yes. Fornication,” Garrick said matter-of-factly. He was clearly trying to hide a smile. “Is there anything in this electricity cabinet that would meet my lady’s needs?” Garrick asked as he stared into the depths of the fridge.

  From her vantage point two items caught her eye. “How about the Coke and the sandwich?”

  “I have heard of the Earl of Sandwhich. But what has that to do with this cabinet?”

  Then she realized that she’d just spoken the equivalent of gibberish to him. “Never mind.” Rising carefully from the sofa, she took a few steps. Leaning against his shoulder, she reached into the fridge. After retrieving the items, she found that even slow movement was making the room tilt around her.

  Garrick spotted the problem and swept her up into his arms. It only took two strides to carry her back to the sofa and carefully settle her against the cushioned armrest. He took the bottle from her hands and fumbled at the top, examining it to and fro as if trying to decipher the secret of the twist top. Finally he smiled triumphantly and turned it with a quick movement. The top released, accompanied by a hiss.

  “Your beverage, my lady.” Garrick stood and presented the open bottle to her with a bow.

  Mara accepted it with a nod. “Thank you, sir.” She sipped the Coke and instantly felt the sugar and caffeine work in her system. After taking a few more sips, she sighed.

  “Ahhh. So good,” she said. “Try some.” Mara offered the bottle to Garrick.

  He took a swig and seemed to swish it in his mouth before swallowing hard. “Aggh. It explodes on my tongue,” he said. “It is an enjoyable sensation.”

  “Drink the rest,” Mara said. The choked feeling his pleasure gave her…she didn’t even want to analyze it.

  “No,” he said, handing the bottle back. “You must finish the beverage and the food you call sandwich.” He stroked his fingers through her hair and then tucked the a few stray strands behind her ears. “Rest while I finish examining the journal.”

  Mara nodded. Opening the plastic baggie, she saw the sandwich was bologna. After drawing out half, she took a bite. She watched as Garrick settled at the desk again and bent over the Transfero Vita.

  Already he was so dear to her. The thought that they would not be able to find a way to free him permanently was a stabbing pain to her midsection. Her eyes burned with the sudden welling of tears. She blinked at them and closed her eyes. She would rest her eyes for a few seconds. Then she would be able to face Garrick with a confident gaze, not a teary one.

  There had to be a way. She couldn’t bear to lose him now.

  * * * * *

  There was no doubt and no hope. Garrick had read the text three times. Eight hours ago, his greatest wish had come to fruition. Now in less than sixteen hours he would turn back to stone with no way of ever bringing him back again.

  The Transfero Vita had been plain. Unless the reanimation was completed within twenty-four hours of his initial freedom from the stone, he would be lost forever to the marble. He’d endured centuries of solitude without descending into insanity. Sometimes the fall had seemed so close, so easy to slide into.

  He pushed away from the desk and strode across the room to stand over Mara as she slept on the sofa. Unconscious. So vulnerable. Her skin was pale, translucent porcelain after her blood loss. The blood that had brought him life, if only for a short time.

  He would have no lifetime to live with her. No possibility of family and children. No chance at a future. Love. None of those would be possible now. He could not have her, and loving her would only make the torment of the coming endless centuries of imprisonment more intolerable.

  The unfairness of it spurred a rage in Garrick. Pacing the room, he found no relief from his angry thoughts. Suddenly, he could not bear to inhabit the same room with Mara. He stormed from the director’s office back to the exhibition gallery where the slab awaited him.

  * * * * *

  Someone was knocking at her door. Mara pulled herself out of sleep—just barely.

  “Go away,” she groaned out.

  The pounding continued.

&n
bsp; Forcing her eyes open, Mara focused on the surroundings. The director’s office. The museum. Garrick. Where was he? Fear clogged her throat as she jumped to her feet and dashed out of the office and through the twisting turn of halls to find the gallery. As she ran, she prayed.

  Reaching the doorway of the gallery, she saw that the only light was spilling into the room through the floor-to-ceiling window from the street lamps outside. She spotted Garrick standing at the foot of the slab; the six-foot metal bench that had been placed in the center of the room for patrons was now gripped in his hands and being wielded like a club.

  He smashed it down and it crashed against the marble. Shards of the stone flew in an arc and then fell to the floor around the base. His breath chugged raggedly as he continued to pound the bench down onto the marble, over and over. The sounds he made as he worked were animalistic…an animal in pain.

  “Garrick,” she shouted.

  Swinging for another strike, one of the bench’s front legs, now bent, fell to the floor. The clatter it made seemed to stop him and he tossed the bench aside. He stood over the slab, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  “Garrick,” she whispered.

  He turned toward her, breathing heavily. His hair dripped with the sweat of his exertion. Perspiration covered his face, his muscled shoulders, his broad chest. Dark eyes burned with a crazed light. He turned from her.

  “Get yourself away.” He seemed to growl the words out.

  “No.” Mara moved toward him with tentative steps. “What’s wrong? You look—”

  “Do not look upon me,” he said.

  Reaching his side, she placed her hand lightly against his back. Garrick jerked away as if burned.

  “Do not touch me,” he said.

  The need to comfort him pulsed like her own heartbeat in her chest. “I have to touch you.” She stroked his back with a long caress.

  “Why?”

  “I need you.” She placed a kiss gently against a spot between his shoulder blades.

  “Stop.” He turned and grasped her by both wrists and held her away from him. “What do you want of me?” His voice was hoarse with torment.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she pleaded.

  He shook his head and pushed her away, releasing her wrists.

  There had to be something she could do. “If you won’t talk to me, then make love to me.”

  He gazed down at her. “Sex?”

  “Yes, make love to me.”

  “Not love.” He stared at a point beyond her. “We can’t love. It can only be fornication. Fucking. It will just be fucking.” His voice was raspy. His words were harsh, but his eyes pleaded with hers.

  “Okay,” she said. “I want you to fuck me.” She didn’t care. Hard or soft. Loving or fucking. She just wanted this man.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her away from him. He pressed his front to her back, grinding his erection against her bottom. “This is what you want?” His breath against her ear and neck was hot. The ridge of him felt thick even through the fabric.

  “Yes,” she groaned. She had to have him.

  His arms tightened around her, trapping her as his hands roamed over her, kneading and squeezing her breasts. Under her clothing, her nipples puckered and tingled.

  Mara whimpered.

  “What of this?” His left hand moved down over her rib cage, to her stomach, and then to the vee between her thighs. He massaged her through the cotton dress.

  “I love it,” she gasped out, shuddering. Turning her head and twisting her body, she stretched to bring her lips to the line of his jaw.

  “No.” He jerked his head away. Lifting her, he rounded so she faced the slab. Bending her over it, with one hand on the center of her back he pressed her down, pinning her there. Her sensitized breasts, her stomach, ground into the jagged stone. She embraced the remnants of his prison and tried to hold on as she panted with desire.

  Yanking the hem of her dress upward, he revealed her pink bikini panties. His calloused fingers hooked the waistband and tugged them down around her knees. He placed one booted foot onto the crotch. The tiny garment fell to the floor.

  He brought one thick thigh between her legs and the course wool of his pants scratched at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Angling his leg, he pushed her legs wider. She shivered at the coolness of the air-conditioned room against her backside and her most delicate parts.

  The knuckles of his fingers brushed against her as he worked at the opening of his pants. The pleasure was so excruciating, Mara’s inner muscles clenched. Then she felt his erection spring free of his pants and prod against her.

  He entered her and inched forward.

  “Aghh. Take all of me. You must—”

  Shoving inside, he buried himself to the hilt, filling her and rubbing against her most sensitive tissues. Penetrated. Impaled. Completely carnal.

  Dragging back against her and then thrusting forward again. A delicious friction. His movements quickened with the increasing slickness of her channel.

  She gasped with the almost-painful delightfulness of the feeling. “Oh my god.”

  He paused. “Do I hurt you?”

  “Don’t stop,” she said, squirming against him. “It’s wonderful.”

  He chuckled and the motion began again. “I can be less…forceful.” He punctuated the last word with a hard thrust.

  “Don’t. You. Dare.”

  Tilting her hips brought him even more roughly against the spot she craved most. She convulsed. Her inner muscles clenched tight around him and pulsed violently.

  Behind her, his body tautened and strained. Then his hot seed spurted into her, bringing a second inner rippling. She felt him arch and then collapse against her.

  Mara’s breathing slowed as she rested against the cool marble, with the furnace-like heat of Garrick draped over her back.

  “This fucking did not work.” His words were muffled against her shoulder.

  That wasn’t what a girl wanted to hear at a time like this. Apprehension created a lump that stuck in her throat.

  “It did not work…to prevent feelings of love.”

  Mara smiled. “That’s okay then.”

  * * * * *

  Lying on the sofa of the director’s office with Mara stretched out over him, naked, her head on his chest, her leg hiked over his thighs, her hand stroking his arm, Garrick relaxed into the feeling of peace that filled him. He held her to him with one arm wrapped around her shoulders. His hand stroked through her hair while the other caressed her arm. There could be no better moment than this one if he lived an entire lifetime. Perhaps the absolute perfect moment of a lifetime had been the one just a few minutes before when Mara had ridden him to completion.

  He was content.

  From the floor where he had tossed Mara’s dress, a scream rent the air. He jerked into a sitting position.

  “Relax,” Mara said. “It’s just my cell phone. My uncle’s calling again.”

  They reclined again and eventually the screaming ceased.

  He hated the thought of leaving Mara to her uncle and his abuse once he was gone. “Where are your parents?” he asked.

  “Dead. Both dead.” Her words were monotone. Unemotional…too unemotional.

  His arms squeezed around her. “What happened?” he asked gently.

  “I was twelve. We were on our way home from vacation. I was in the backseat and fell asleep. I woke up when I heard my mother scream. The car had swerved off the road, through a guardrail, and we rolled end over end down into a ravine.” Her fingers dug into his chest, the short nails cutting into him.

  Vacation. Car. Guardrail. Garrick did not understand more than half the words she was saying. Nevertheless, he knew her genuine pain. He wished that he had not opened such a painful topic, but now that Mara was in the midst of it, she had to finish.

  “We were all trapped.” Her voice was choked as emotion broke through her strong façade. “The front of the car was com
pletely smashed and crushing in on my parents. My seat belt had come loose at some point and I ended up wedged on the floor of the backseat. The top of the car was pressing right against my chest and face. I could barely move.”

  Mara inhaled a ragged breath. “I heard my mother moaning. My father told us to hang on. Someone would find us…” Her voice trailed off and she was silent for a few moments.

  When she spoke again her voice was stronger. “My father was wheezing and I knew he was badly injured. He was so brave. He just kept saying that we had to hold on. After a few hours he started to cry and I realized my mother was dead. Eventually, my father stopped talking to me and I knew he was dead too.”

  Garrick knew that she was leaving unspoken the horror of being trapped with no way to move as she heard her loved ones suffer. He knew that torment too well.

  “Two days later, a hiker discovered our car. Firefighters cut the car apart to get me out, but I wasn’t injured. Hardly even a scratch.”

  By the time she finished, his arms were so tight around her he had to deliberately relax his hold for fear of hurting her.

  Then his stomach growled. Then it growled again more loudly, as if demanding attention. The sound made them both laugh.

  Mara slid across him and stood. “Time for a picnic,” she said with a smile. Clasping his hand, she drew him off the sofa.

  The two of them emptied the cold air cabinet, which Mara called a fridge. Then she rifled another metal cabinet Mara said was for something called filing. Instead of these filings, she brought out crackers and a jar with a brown creamy substance she said was peanut butter.

  After placing a blanket from the sofa on the floor, they arranged their bounty around them and began to taste. Garrick did not care for the food called sandwich, but the peanut butter on crackers was delicious. The peanut butter was even more delicious when he licked it from Mara’s laughing face.

  “How about this?” He lifted a small packet.