Stone Passions Trilogy (111 page)

She didn’t want to die and if she willingly fell even the goddess she became wouldn't be able to save her.

Armand stared at the door that Ferris had just stepped through and the world lost all of its color. After spending days tearing his room apart he thought he had torn her from his heart. But one moment in her presence and he realized she was still firmly enmeshed in his soul, she would always be in his soul. Frozen in place, he tried to tell himself that he was better off without her but he felt empty inside. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have any portraits of him in her studio because without her his life was just a blank canvas anyway.

Taking a shuddering breath, he reminded himself that he had existed before Ferris came into his life and upset his entire world and he would exist long after she was gone. If only he could remember how to stuff his fickle heart back into the block of ice that had made living bearable. Or he could suck up his pride and go after her, risk everything for the chance to be with her.

Absently, he rubbed his sternum, frowning at the paintings that covered her work space. Why wasn’t his portrait there?

“What have you done?” an angry voice bellowed. Armand turned his head and saw Michael standing in the doorway, his brilliant green eyes flashing, his pale blond hair standing on end.

Taking a drink of the bourbon, he avoided Michael’s accusatory glare and growled, “Nothing.”

“You’re such a selfish bastard,” Michael spat, venom oozing from every single pore on his body. He crossed the room and got right in Armand’s face, meeting his older brother eye to eye. “You don’t deserve her.”

Armand chuckled, but it sounded hollow, just like he felt inside. Drinking from the bottle, the burning of the alcohol not touching him, he sneered, “Don’t tell me you’re in love with her, too.”

Michael huffed, “I’m not in love with her but I do love her. She’s Ferris; all of us love her.”

Armand rolled his eyes, smirking at his younger brother. “Whatever.”

The fist came out of nowhere, connecting with Armand’s jaw and sending him flying backwards, crashing into a stack of canvases. His teeth snapped together, sending shards of white light into his brain and making him black out for a moment or two. Shaking his head, he glared up at the blond gargoyle and growled, “Don’t. Ever. Hit. Me. Again.”

“You’re pathetic,” Michael sneered, pacing back and forth like a caged lion. “You gave your nights up to a stranger and then came back and let her fall in love with you. Didn’t you think about what she would go through once you left?”

Armand stared up at the young gargoyle and blinked his eyes as he worked his sore jaw back and forth with his hand. His brain was still feeling the after effects of the hit and so he dumbly watched his brother continue with his tirade, his own thoughts trampling through his head. His brother’s words did make sense for if Ferris was that upset when he left her then that would explain why his paintings weren’t there. With her tender heart she probably put them in storage because looking at them every day would be too painful. At least, that was what he would do.

After the whole Katrina fiasco he didn’t even speak her name for a hundred years after he awoke from his stone slumber. What he felt for Ferris was infinitely stronger than anything he had felt for the pretty Kat. Absently rubbing his jaw, he nodded to himself in satisfaction that maybe he wasn’t a blank canvas, just one stored away.

“Are you listening to me?” Michael’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Of course,” he mumbled distractedly, pushing himself off the floor and to his feet. Dazed, he looked around and saw the nearly empty bottle of bourbon on the floor next to where he had landed.

“Any one of us would have given her our nights,” Michael continued, his words finally reaching Armand’s muddled brain. “Raphe offered on more than one occasion.”

The words caused a haze a red to descend over his eyes and his hands curled into fists, ready to thrash any of the brothers who made the offer. Michael’s mocking laughter shook him out of his rage, “What did you expect, Armand? That she grow old and die an old maid waiting for you to wake from your stone prison? If it weren’t for father falling in love with her you would have woken up and had maybe a handful of years with her before she was too old for this mortal world.”

The thought of a world without Ferris in it was a hot poker to his heart and he physically recoiled backwards, clutching his gut to keep his intestines from spilling out. Michael continued taunting him, “She spent years trying to find a solution, to find a way to stay young enough to accept your gift when you returned to the land of the living.” Michael huffed out a wry laugh, “She would have been so happy being a fucking gargoyle and you turned your back on her.”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Armand said lamely. “I never wanted to hurt her.”

“Then you should have made her a gargoyle,” Michael growled. “Because when you went away something happened to Ferris and we lost her, too.”

Armand’s head whipped around at that and he caught the bewildered expression on Michael’s face as the younger gargoyle shook his head. Seeing Armand’s murderous expression, Michael let out a huff of laughter, “Not that way, you idiot. She just sort of… turned away from us, from the Castle. She moved out and created a.. human life for herself. And Ajreis, of course. That little fucker went everywhere with her, him and Marick.

“Hell, she only recently moved back to the Castle because the little imp is prancing around in his new human suit with his mate,” Michael snickered. Gesturing to the studio, he asked, “Why do you think her studio is in such disarray? She has far more paintings than ten years warrant.”

Unable to help himself, Armand asked, “Where is the portrait she did for her art class before I left?”

Michael choked on the bitter laughter he was obviously trying to suppress, “That behemoth has a special place of honor in her secondary studio.”

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