Sacrifice In Stone (4 page)

“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.

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.