Stone Passions Trilogy (41 page)

“They would never have taken a chance had I not given it to them.” He casually shrugged his shoulders, not caring about the bombshell he had just laid at Melanie’s feet.

She stared at him in wonder. Who was he? “Why are you doing this?”

“I look after what is mine,” he said with an eloquent smile and a sparkle in his eyes.

“I’m not yours,” she frowned, unconsciously glancing behind her because she was Vaughn’s. Surely he knew that?

“I never said that,” he said with a halted laugh. He stretched out his arm towards her and held out a vial filled with a thick, slightly sinister looking, greenish-brown liquid. “I brought you something. Now, drink up.”

Dazed, overwhelmed, Melanie took the small glass bottle, mindlessly drinking it down without questioning what it was or why he was giving it to her. The flavor exploded in her mouth, a cross between rusty nails, concrete and pus, startling her from whatever trance she had fallen into. Her face twisted into a revolted grimace as she spit. “What was it?”

Before she received an answer, the sun sank completely beneath the skyline and the movement of Armand behind her caught her attention. Unthinkingly, she turned and watched as the stone griffin transformed into the gloriously naked Armand. She watched as he flexed his sleekly elegant muscles, oblivious of her perusal. His butt was taut and curved to perfection, his thighs were thick and solid and he could have easily been a model for the covers of romance novels.

If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that he was probably even more perfect than Vaughn, though it seemed impossible to be more perfect. Didn’t perfect imply, well, perfection? How could someone be more perfect? And yet, Armand’s body was flawless, with his gleaming skin and sculpted muscles. When he turned and caught her staring, she blushed to the roots of her hair and quickly turned away, but not before noticing that he was as physically well-endowed as Vaughn. Armand was perfection but Vaughn was perfect for her.

“Who are you talking to?” Armand asked. She could hear the rustling of material and knew that he was putting on his robe that he now kept nearby since she moved in and started spending all of her time on the roof.

Melanie looked around and realized that Omari had disappeared. Bemused, she shook her head and faced the now-robed Armand. “I guess no one. I thought you had normal hearing when you were stone?”

He smiled slightly, “I wish to give you privacy with Vaughn so I… close my ears.”

“Ah,” she nodded, not quite understanding but appreciating the gesture none-the-less. He started to go inside but suddenly she didn’t want to be alone on the roof anymore with the reminder that Vaughn was still stone. “What are your plans tonight?”

“I have some business to take care of inside,” he didn’t quite meet her eyes when he talked to her anymore, as if he was slightly uncomfortable around her. Strangely, the thought was enough to make her laugh, though she kept it to herself. Armand was the most self-possessed person she knew and he would be comfortable standing naked in a roomful of nuns. “Will you be staying with Vaughn?”

“Yes.” Her stomach was starting to rebel at whatever that concoction was that Omari gave her but she ignored the grumblings. She wanted to ask Armand to stay with her but he obviously didn’t want to be near her so she held her tongue.

Armand dipped his head once in acknowledgement and turned around, taking a step away from her. Feeling a sense of urgency and a need to have closure with the man who healed her, she called out, “Armand?”

He paused but didn’t face her. Licking her lips, she said, "Thank you – for everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all of this without you.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” she countered emphatically, her belly groaning. “Thank you.”

His back stiffened faintly before he disappeared into the apartment. The moment the door closed, Omari simply reappeared, as if he hadn’t left at all. She jumped but he was looking at her with a soft expression in his eyes. “That was nice of you and I’m sure it means a great deal to him that you care for him.”

“Of course I care,” Melanie affirmed, pressing her hand to her belly. “He is an amazing man.”

“He’s not a man,” Omari countered. He always seemed to be laughing at her, as if he knew something that she didn’t. Of course he knew things that she didn’t; he was a powerful sorcerer or wizard or something. She was a mere human. “He’s a gargoyle.”

She was about to speak when searing pain ripped through her abdomen. The agony was rapidly spreading outwards and she was feeling worse by the moment. Her temples were pounding out a savage beat and she felt hot and cold all over. Were her muscles turning to jelly or were those her bones? Slumping against Vaughn, she breathed out slowly. “He’s incredibly amazing, whatever he is.”

“I
am
sorry,” Omari sighed regretfully, observing her with watchful eyes. He crossed his arms across his chest, the flowing material of his robes billowing out around him, making him look even more like a wizard, powerful and terrifying. How conceited had she been to assume he was her friend? That she wasn’t a mere plaything to him? “But this is the way it has to be.”

Melanie gasped as her body decided to pull itself inside out. Pressing a hand against her stomach, she leaned more fully against the cool stone of Vaughn’s body, her belly tearing itself apart from the inside. Another rippling cramp pulsed through her abdomen, slicing her in half as she clutched at Vaughn’s thigh to remain standing. Had Omari poisoned her to hasten her death, to get Vaughn back? Was the quest he sent Jenna and Rhys on a wild goose chase, merely a distraction?  Did he lie about wanting to give them a chance?

Who was Omari?

Her stomach was on fire and it felt as if someone had taken a burning hook, plunged it into her gut and started yanking out her intestines. Crumbling to the ground, she curled up into the fetal position, hoping that it would hold her stomach together. Sharp, piercing pains continued to spasm through her belly, spearing further and further outwards until everything was screaming in misery and torment.

Sweat or blood glistened on her skin, drenching her dress and matting her hair to her head. Her internal organs were melting and she knew how those men felt at the end of the movie when their faces melted and their heads exploded. She was going to die and she wasn’t going to be able to see Vaughn. The hope that had been growing steadily within her turned to acid, burning even more holes in her aching body, leaking vital fluids and faith in its wake.

She had been a fool to have put her trust in Omari. He was probably the one who ordered the demon imps to terrify her, to delay her, so he could be perceived as a hero. And she played right into his diabolical hands, telling him all of her secrets and blindly obeying him when he handed her a bottle of poison and told her to drink.  Dots were dancing behind her eye lids and she finally, blessedly, gave in to unconsciousness.

When she opened her eyes, she had no idea how much time had passed and she realized that she didn’t hurt as much as she had, that her guts weren’t spilling out and she was still in one piece. Weakened, but still very much alive, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and glared at Omari, who continued to stand there looking serene and detached. His eyes watched her carefully and when she pushed the hair out of her eyes, his face split into a beaming smile.

“You survived!” he rejoiced, coming towards her and pulling her to her feet. Her legs still felt rubbery but she couldn’t bear being touched by him. Pulling out of his grasp, she stumbled backwards, landing hard against Vaughn’s rocky knee. He winced on her behalf but made no move towards her. “I never said you
weren’t
mine. A gargoyle holds your heart therefore you are mine to shelter. And I am sorry about that.”

Melanie continued to glare at the mad man in front of her, trying not to think of the bruise that she could already feel forming in the middle of the back. Her strength was quickly returning and she felt… different somehow, stronger, a little less mortal, a little more resilient. She wasn’t sure how she felt, but she felt somehow altered. What did it mean to have such a powerful shepherd who watched over her while feeding her poison? Was it a blessing or a curse to be a part of Omari’s flock? “What did you do to me?”

“Did you know that most of the gargoyles’ mates don’t make it back in time to complete the ritual, to accept the gargoyle’s gift?” he asked without explanation. “And even fewer have the overpowering need to have returned what was lost?”

“I don’t even know what you are talking about,” she growled, still angry at him for making her drink something that nearly killed her. Of course, she was the idiot who drank it.

“Of course you don’t because there has been no one like you.” He sighed, walking over and picking up the glass vial that had dropped when she fell to the ground and lost consciousness. Strolling back, he slowly moved the vial back and forth and she felt herself falling into his words. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get blood from a gargoyle? I mean when they are in their stone form?”

Obviously she had fallen asleep and this was a bizarre dream. Standing directly in front of her, Omari ran the tip of his finger along her jaw, “First you have to have the gargoyle’s permission, and then you have to drill a miniscule hole, stick in a titanium needle and extract the thick blood. As you can imagine, it takes a great deal of time to extract the viscous fluid with such a thin needle and when you need an entire vial full? It can take days.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, feeling queasy, but for a different reason. She had the dreadful feeling that she knew where this was heading.

“Medusa’s blood,” he chuckled, taking the empty vial and making it disappear into his robe.

She glanced at the space where the vial had been and she could feel the color draining from her face as she registered hos words. “You mean to tell me that you just made me drink… blood?”

“Medusa’s blood,” he corrected, nodding his head with satisfaction. “Yes.”             

“But… why?” Her head was full of cotton stuffing and she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to remain standing. No wonder she became so violently ill… she had just drunk…. “Did you say it was Medusa’s blood? As in… Medusa? The ‘I-turn-mortals-to stone’ Medusa?”

“You sound surprised,” he seemed baffled by her bafflement. “And really, she only turns to stone those who refuse to leave her in peace. She’s really quite… wonderful.”

There was a wistful quality to Omari’s expression when he talked about the mythical creature, a softening about his eyes, his mouth. Melanie didn’t want to think about why he spoke with such fondness about a creature able to kill a man with a look. She was having a hard enough time believing that Medusa was real. And apparently still alive. “Um, didn’t Perseus kill Medusa and take her head to turn Atlas to stone?”

Omari chuckled, deeply and fully. “Silly child.”

Melanie frowned, feeling immature and childish for thinking myths were only myths and nothing more. Unfortunately, Omari didn’t appear like he was going to explain or clarify her apparent error. “How is it even possible for Medusa to be alive? Even if I was wrong about Perseus, she still has to be like three thousand years old.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed.

Shaking her head from the ridiculousness of the conversation, she remembered why she was so angry. “You had me drink blood.” When Omari opened his mouth to correct her, she clenched her teeth together, “Medusa’s blood.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?” he shook his head sadly, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Of course I don’t,” she ground out. Now that she was aware of it, there a slight aftertaste of pus and metal lingering in her mouth. She squeezed her fingers into fists two or three times and concentrated on her breathing. It would be suicide to wrap her hands around the infuriating man’s neck. “Why would you have me drink bl… Medusa’s blood?”

Omari glanced at the stone gargoyle behind her briefly before returning his gaze to her, laughter still gleaming in his hazel eyes. “It’s to help complete the ritual.”

Melanie’s eyes flew to Vaughn but he remained stone. Turning back, her eyes narrowed on Omari. “You lied.”

“I didn’t say it would complete the ritual, only that it would help,” he chuckled. At her look of disgust, he added, “Don’t worry; the magic is already working,”

“How?” she asked, looking between the stone Vaughn and the unnaturally beautiful Omari. “Because I don’t see how drinking blood could possibly help.”

“Medusa’s blood,” he repeated, exasperated. “It binds itself to your soul.”

“What?!” she screeched, scraping her tongue with her fingers, desperate to get the taste off as well as whatever it was that was binding to her soul. It did not sound like something a normal girl should want. “Why would I want Medusa’s blood – her blood! – to be bound to my soul?”

“To finish the ritual,” he said slowly, as if to a willfully stubborn child. Watching her carefully, he stretched out his words, “You have to complete the ritual on the next new moon.”