Sacrifice In Stone (6 page)

Only when the last of her shudders ceased
and she was weak and limp did he stop and kiss her lips.

“We’re not done yet,” he said. He moved
between her legs, fitting himself against her. With passion-roughened hands, he
pulled her knees around his hips. He pressed himself to her entrance and then
pushed inside. Back and then forward again he moved, pumping hard and deep.

Faster and harder he thrust. His breath
chugged against her cheek.

His eyes locked on hers.

“Come with me.” He gasped out each word.
Leaning back and holding her legs wide, he drove himself into her with long
strokes until he felt her clenching around him.

“Aghhh,” he moaned, tightening with his
own release claiming him. He collapsed on top of her and she lay with her arms
clasping him to her as he continued to shudder inside her. His breathing heavy,
he lay still with his head resting against her breast. He slipped into sleep.
His first in more than two hundred years.

In the aftermath of pleasure, Mara fought
against sleep. Her mind was consumed with remembering every feeling, every
sense. Running her foot up the back of his calf, the hair on his legs tickled
her. As she held him cradled in her arms and between her legs, she could almost
forget their time together was so short. Her fingers slid through his hair and
she felt the change. What had been silky now felt course and gritty. As if the
strands were coated with concrete.

* * * * *

Over the next few hours the two of them
talked, ate and petted. They even played a game of slide using the slick floor
of the museum and its area rugs. The idea of living a lifetime together in a
few hours was ridiculous, but Mara was going to try her darnedest.

Very deliberately, she ignored the
blotches of alabaster coloring that had broken out on Garrick’s skin and were
multiplying. She pretended not to see the way his joints were stiffening until
his movements began to resemble Frankenstein’s monster. Garrick cooperated in
her self-deception. It seemed that he also wanted to deny the inevitable, but
the time came when further denial was impossible.

As they danced to slow music playing from
the computer, Garrick stopped. “Mara. I do not think I can move my right leg. I
fear this is the end.”

* * * * *

His blood was turning to marble sludge.
Slowly seeping through and expanding in his body, Garrick knew he was turning
to stone. His legs were heavy, stiffened. His arms hung from his shoulders as
if he held boulders in his hands. He glanced down at his chest and saw the
strange stony patches covered almost all of him. It was his skin that was in
patches now.

He dragged his eyes up to his love.
Mara’s eyes leaked tears. Her cheeks were wet and her expression stricken.

Garrick managed to lift his ten-ton arms
to grasp her by the shoulders. The tips of his fingers were numb. Oh, how he
missed the softness of her skin.

“You must promise me, Mara.” The words
were stilted through his stiffening lips. His breathing labored as if the air
were filtered through gravel. “Promise you will not try to sacrifice yourself
for me when I can no longer stop you.”

Mara shook her head, but another
voice—a man’s—spoke. “Oh, I can assure you she won’t.” He stepped
out of the shadows into the room.

“Uncle Hobart,” Mara said, positioning
herself in front of Garrick. “How did you get in here?”

Her uncle held up a ring of keys,
dangling them to make a tinkling sound. “The director of the museum is a close
friend of mine.”

“She called you after all.”

“Of course,” he said with a grin. “We’re
going to dinner later.”

He raised his other hand. It held a gun.
“Step away from him, Mara.”

“Do as he commands,” Garrick said.

Mara didn’t move. It was as if she had not
heard him. “You knew he was trapped in the statue, didn’t you?”

“Oh yes,” Rushworth said. “Don’t look so
shocked. History is full of foot soldiers sacrificed for the sake of bringing
prosperity to prominent families. This young man’s sacrifice was no different.”

At Mara’s horrified expression, Rushworth
giggled. “You are such a bleeding heart, Mara. Just like your father. He wanted
to let the soldier go also. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘What do you mean?’” he taunted in a
sing-song voice. “Don’t you even care that our family’s stock portfolio
decreased in value over three million dollars just this morning? Can you
imagine what would happen if he were free permanently?” Shaking his head, the
muzzle of the gun wavered back and forth with each movement. “You don’t care.
Like your father before you. No consideration for obligation to your family.”

“What are you saying about my father?”

“I’m saying, you fool, the accident I
arranged was supposed to kill all of you but you didn’t die.”

Garrick struggled to speak but his lips
no longer moved.

“Bastard,” Mara said.

“You didn’t die then, but you’ll die
now.” The gun Rushworth had been waving stilled as he pointed it directly at
his niece.

Fighting against the weight of his own
solidifying body, Garrick lurched, throwing himself against Mara. She fell. The
muzzle of Rushworth’s gun flashed and the bullet zipped past Garrick, lodging
in the remains of the slab.

Managing another step and then another,
Garrick lumbered toward Rushworth. A superior smirk formed on the man’s lips as
he pointed the gun at Garrick and squeezed the trigger. Another flash from the
muzzle and a splinter of rock broke away from Garrick’s midsection. He never
even felt the impact of the bullet. At least there was one advantage to
becoming a slab of rock.

Two more times the other man fired as
Garrick advanced. The smugness slipped from Rushworth’s face when still there
was no effect.

Garrick felt like Atlas lifting the world
as he raised his arms to lock Rushworth in a stone embrace and squeezed.

Crush him. Crush him. Crush him. The
chant repeated silently in Garrick’s mind.

The effort was worth the priceless
expression of disbelief on his enemy’s face when Rushworth realized that he
should have run from Garrick rather than depending on his gun.

As marble replaced the cornea of his
eyes, Garrick had but one more thought. At least Mara was safe.

* * * * *

“Garrick,” Mara screamed springing up
from the floor. He was fixing in place as she watched him crush her uncle in a
hug.

“Let go,” her uncle screeched. He
thrashed against the rock-hard arms of stone imprisoning him.

Frantically, Mara searched out the clock
on the wall. She knew at best she had a few minutes before the twenty-four-hour
deadline expired. At worst, time was already up.

She needed a weapon. Where—? She
remembered the stone dagger in her pocket. The dagger she’d placed there to
hide from the museum director.

Jamming her hand into her dress pocket,
she wrapped her fingers around the handle. She heard her breath, raspy with
desperation. She tugged the dagger and it caught on the fabric.

“Please…”

Another tug and the seam of the pocket
gave way, freeing the dagger. She held it in her palm, staring down at it for
what seemed like an eternity. Could she do it? She must do it. Thoughts of her
parents last moments flashed in her head. Dread for Garrick’s fate gripped her.
She ran to her uncle and brought the dagger up in an arc.

“
Gwaed
aberthu. Dy enaid am ei
.” She recited the incantation. “Blood sacrifice.
Your life for his.”

Mara plunged the dagger downward with all
her weight, driving it deep into her uncle’s neck. Blood spurted. He screamed,
high and keening. She continued to chant as the blood flowed, coating sections
of Garrick’s statue form.

Her uncle’s eyes stared into hers, the
hatred along with the life finally fading away. Eyes vacant, he slumped and
hung in Garrick’s statue grip.

Omigod.
It was too late. Her uncle was dead but
so was Garrick.

Knees buckling, she stumbled and fell
against Garrick. She leaned against his back.

“No. Please, Garrick. Come back,” she
whispered.

Complete silence hung in the room.

The body under her cheek shifted. Mara
heard a long breath dragging, labored. Under her cheek, she felt a heartbeat.
Was it her imagination?

Lifting her head, she saw that his skin
had pinkened. The splotches of alabaster were still there but receding. The
same splotches covered her uncle in an increasing area.

Mara blinked at the moisture burning her
eyes.

Eventually the transference was complete.
Her uncle stood as an edifice of marble. Garrick, flesh and blood, slid weakly
to his knees on the ground.

Mara knelt beside him, her arms going
around his shoulders as she nuzzled at his neck. His head came up and turned.
His eyes stared into hers. Chocolate going from hard to melting. He smiled.

“Mara,” he said. “Is this a dream?”

“I think it’s real.”

As she helped him to his feet, Garrick
glanced at the statue of Hobart Rushworth. “I can almost feel sorry for the
bastard…Almost.”

“Let’s get my stuff and get out of here.”

Garrick took tentative steps toward the
front door of the museum. A look of wonder crossed his face. “Nothing is
stopping me. I can leave this place with you.”

She leaned into Garrick. Rising on
tiptoes, she pressed a long kiss on his mouth. She pulled back and giggled. The
laughter turned a bit hysterical and bounced in an echo around the gallery.

“What is it?” he asked, eyebrows arched.

“I just had a thought. Even if the police
find us leaving here, we won’t get in trouble. My uncle had the keys and I’m
the heir to the Rushworth fortune. I own that statue.”

“You own me too, my lady.” Garrick said.

# # #

**Thank you for
reading
Sacrifice In Stone
. If you
enjoyed it, I hope you will post a review at Amazon.com. And if you would like
to know more about me, please visit my websites at
http://www.patriciamason.net
and
http://www.prmason.net
You might find out
about freebies there.

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