Stone Passions Trilogy (Stone Passion 1, 2, & 3)

by A C Warneke

  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 fin
gernail 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 eyes 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.

  She knew she passed several people on her headlong rush to get to Armand but she didn’t stop to chat or explain why she was running around in nothing more than a simple chemise and robe. There was no time. In moments the sun would be setting and Armand…. She smiled to herself: Armand would be changing back to a man and she had one more chance to see the transformation.

  Skidding to a halt, she picked her way through the garden and all of the statues in it. Really, there was little wonder Armand thought he would pass by unnoticed in the extensive statue garden. With all of the fantastical beasts that took up residence there, a mythological griffin could easily belong because who in their right mind would think a statue could simply appear?

  Further back, where the statues were covered in vines, she saw him, the proud griffin that was Armand. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the magnificent gargoyle, his gray stone skin nearly golden beneath the setting sun. His eyes kept glaring at her and if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed and her brain would have automatically assumed he was as he always was. But she was Ferris, Dragon-Mate of Fray, mother of gods, and a little bit of a goddess. She saw him as he truly was and it took everything in her power to keep from wrapping her arms around him and hugging him and never letting him go.

  Tentatively, she reached out her hand and ran it across the hard, marble thigh, loving the warmth of his stone skin. A sound hissed out from between his stone lips as he tried to will her away. She felt the tendrils wrapping around her and she almost melted as Armand’s phantom fingers urged her away. He wasn’t as powerful as he was in the future but she knew that it would only be a matter of time. Also, spending sixty some years as a statue would make him stronger since a gargoyle who gave up his nights received a surge of power in return.

  Ignoring the pleasurable ache, she kept her eyes on his face, waiting for the moment the sun set completely and he was a man once more. The last time she watched him change she had been up close and very personal. And then everything went to Hell and she ended up back in the late 1500’s as Katrina.

  How did she know what era it was? Or, for that matter, how to navigate the house?

  The last of the light flared briefly as the sun set and then the magic moment came and she held her breath as cold gray stone became warm living flesh. The bulky muscles of the gargoyle became the sleek muscles of the man and as her eyes drifted downwards over his hard body she remembered she was supposed to be a virginal miss.

  Blushing, she could only stare as she held the wool blanket up, offering it to the incredibly young Armand. He wore an expression of panic as he gaped at her with wide, beautiful green eyes, as heightened color stained his cheeks. None of the jaded-ness was there in those green depths, just youthful mischief and embarrassment. He looked the same age he did in her time but she knew he couldn’t be more than forty or fifty, maybe a little older. Quickly, he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around his lean hips, covering the very masculine part of his anatomy.

  “You’re magnificent,” Ferris breathed, unable to tear her gaze away from the younger version of the man she had loved for so long. There was no darkness in his eyes, no coldness. He was simply Armand in all of his exuberant youth and her heart ached a little bit in her chest.

  Despite his initial embarrassment, his cockiness asserted itself in no time and he gave her a smile that melted her panties, had she been wearing any. “So, aren’t you a little bit curious about me, about what you just saw?”

  Her blush deepened, moving down her throat as she lowered her lashes and tried to act demure, “Of course. It’s not every day one sees a statue become a man.”

  “You should really forget what you just saw,” he murmured, stepping closer and brushing his forefinger along her jaw. Heat sizzled along her skin and it took all of her will power to not lean into the caress and sigh in pleasure. Even five hundred years in the past his touch still affected her profoundly. She would never grow tired of such a simple yet powerful act.

  “I have no desire to forget,” she whispered, daring to lift her lashes and catching the surprise and hint of something more in his laughing green eyes.

  He grinned at her, “My brothers are going to kill me for being discovered by a human.”

  Cocking her head to the side, she wondered if he was talking about Vaughn and Rhys. But then she remembered how the younger gargoyles were fostered by older
gargoyles. That meant he had to be talking about the London gargoyles, a triad that Ferris had only met once, and only briefly at that. As gorgeous as they had been they had been even more world-weary than Armand and their ingrained apathy made her pity them.

  He arched his arrogant eyebrow and she realized that he expected her to say something. Or do something, possibly faint. With a coquettish smile, she said, “They’ll only kill you if you tell them.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, a deep, rumbling belly laugh that washed over her and through her, leaving a melted pile of Ferris in its wake. “Then I must be off before my brothers discover my transgressions. Thanks for the blanket, Miss?”

  “Fe….” She was about to give him her name before she stopped herself just in time. Slowly, the name coming to her as she spoke it, she murmured, “Featherstone. Miss Katrina Featherstone.”

  Her brows pulled together as the name spilled from her lips. How had she known Katrina’s familial name? Her thoughts were interrupted when he took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. As his hot breath moved over her skin, she didn’t even remember her own name. His eyes smiled as he warmly murmured, “It’s an honor, Miss Featherstone.”

  The heat of his lips spread through her body and all the way to her toes. Catching her lower lip between her teeth and trying not to squirm, Ferris tried for seductive and squeaked instead, “And you are?”

  His smile was back and his green eyes danced with laughter, making her breath hitch almost painfully in her throat. A dark and brooding Armand was deadly; a light-hearted and teasing Armand was catastrophic, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way. His lips moved and she forced herself to listen to his words, smiling as he said, “Armand Nosuntres, at your service.”

  “You're a gargoyle," she hurriedly stated, desperate to keep him near and never let him out of her sight again. At his single nod, she racked her brain trying to figure out what she could say that would make him stay. When he smiled and turned to leave, she blurted, "What do gargoyles do?"