Heart of Stone
Authors: Aislinn Kerry
by
Aislinn Kerry
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Aislinn Kerry on Smashwords
Heart of Stone
Copyright © 2010 by Aislinn Kerry
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Pale moonlight filtered through the leafless branches of the trees that arched over the cemetery's entrance. Kestrel shifted the bouquet of wild flowers that she'd gathered to one arm and used her free hand to unlatch the gate. The gate was as old as the cemetery itself, its wrought iron bars rough with age against her palm. She stepped through, latched it closed behind her, and walked along the paths between the headstones. Her boots created muted crunching sounds in the blanket of autumn leaves.
Marble angels, Virgin Marys and other mortuary statues rose like pale ghosts from the black night. Kestrel wandered amongst them, letting her hand trail gently over the cool stones. Her fingers traced the carved letters and dates left in remembrance of the dead.
It was a fitting place to spend All Hallows' Eve, she decided. The night deepened as each minute passed, drawing closer to midnight. It took little stretch of the imagination to envision spirits rising from their graves and taking advantage of their one opportunity to walk upon the earth again.
At least the company was better than what she'd had to suffer through at Callia's party. Amber and Dan would wonder where she was, but she couldn't bring herself to go back. Cheap costumes, fake laughter, and plastic spider webs were not Kestrel's idea of a pleasant All Hallows' Eve.
"I'm sure you enjoy the company, too," she murmured and caressed the curved wing of a black marble statue. She followed the lines of the wing as it sloped around and joined the body of the statue. She expected the voluminous robes and gentle expressions of the angels that had filled the rest of the cemetery, but the ebony statue that guarded this small corner of the cemetery had been lovingly carved in the fashion of a towering gargoyle. Featherless wings curved to join between the shoulder blades. Thick muscles contoured the powerful arms that braced the gargoyle against the pedestal. The face looked vaguely human save for the curved horns that sprouted behind his eyebrows and the savage grin that revealed fanged incisors longer than Kestrel's palm and sharper than a knife's edge. Moonlight reflected off of the stone, giving the statue the look of a sleek, well-oiled beast braced to attack.
Kestrel shivered and looked for an engraving on the pedestal, but its smooth, unblemished polish gave no indication of why it had been erected. Still, it must have been a grave marker or memorial of some sort. It was a cemetery, after all.
Laughter from the nearby party drifted across the still night air, and Kestrel sighed. Halloween was, for most, little more than an excuse to dress in costumes, get together and have fun. Hardly anyone remembered its origins anymore, and even fewer recalled the significance of the day that it preceded: the first of November, All Hallows' Day, All Saints' Day, the day for remembrance of those who had passed and making offerings of flowers and food to the dead.
Kestrel looked over the little cemetery, overgrown and poorly tended, and doubted any of the dead buried there would be paid any respects. Especially not whoever the dark gargoyle statue had been meant to commemorate. Touched by a sense of sorrow that he'd been forgotten and allowed to slip into obscurity, Kestrel knelt and spread the wild flowers at the base of the statue.
"I didn't bring food." She pulled a penknife out of her pocket and made a quick slice across her palm. She caught her breath at the sharp pain. Blood welled, a deep black in the moonlight against her pale skin, and dripped to the grass beneath her feet. "I hope this will substitute."
As Kestrel's blood soaked into the earth, a nearby clock struck the first chimes of midnight. A cold breeze traced through the trees and sent a chill running down her spine. It had been a cool night to begin with, and promised to grow cooler, but the only place she had to go was back to Callia's party.
I'd rather face the dead.
She wiped her hand clean in the grass. The edge of the gargoyle's pedestal stood even with her waist; she boosted herself up onto it and curled up in the protective curve of a wing. The marble's warmth seeped into her back, holding the day's heat and radiating it into her chilled limbs. She curled tighter against the cold and pressed her cheek against the leather-textured stone.
The wing flexed and pulled her close against the statue's chest. Kestrel's heart leapt with alarm. "What the fuck?"
A rumble that held traces of laughter shook the stone beneath her hand. A jackhammer pulse beat against the ear she had pressed against the gargoyle's chest.
"Well. You get straight to the point, don't you?" The voice reminded her of the roar of water crashing against rocks. Something between terror and understanding took hold of Kestrel. She didn't scream, but held still and waited for the world to explain itself and make sense once more.
The wing around her shifted, and the gargoyle's massive stone face grinned down at her. A glimmer of mischief that she couldn't quite explain away as moonlight shone from his eyes.
"Fucking is definitely one of tonight's priorities." He drew her close and pressed her length against his. Her heart pounded in her chest. His leg shifted, and the burning, unmistakable heat of a cock brushed against her thigh.
Since when do they carve these things with cocks?
She gaped up at him, caught somewhere between bewilderment and sheer terror. "Who the hell are you?"
"Lord Damaris, my lady." His smile widened, revealing a mouthful of fangs that gleamed in the moonlight. His tone didn't quite turn the title into a slur, but Kestrel still had enough of her wits about her to recognize that it wasn't meant to be a compliment. "And who, if I may ask, are you?"
"I--Kestrel." He held her too close. Her heart raced, and warmth pulsed through her in response to his own intense heat. She didn't want to like it. She didn't want to admit, even to herself, that she did. She pushed against his chest, for all the good it did her. He may have been a statue come to life, but he still had the strength of stone, and she could no more escape from him than she could her own flesh. She squared her shoulders and glared up at him. "Let me go."
"Now why would you want me to do that? You summoned me."
She blinked at him, but understanding remained elusive. "Summoned you?"
His heartbeat shook his chest beneath her hand. "That's right."
"I didn't summon you."
"But you did."
"How?" she demanded, defiant.
"There are many ways I can be summoned. Sacrifice, of one sort or another. Ritual, or prayer. Strong emotions, even. I've been summoned by women who sat at my feet and wept with grief, a time or two. But you..." He captured her wrist within his large, clawed hand. He twisted it until her palm faced up and unsheathed a claw, tracing it along the dark line of her wound. "Your blood called me."
"No. That was an offering to the dead." Her heart thudded frantically. Panic flooded through her body, and she fought against his hold again. "This is crazy. Let me go!"
His face twisted into an unpleasant expression. For a moment, she thought that he'd refuse, but finally, he released her. She scrambled off of the pedestal and stumbled backwards away from him. The bitter taste of fear clung to the back of her throat. She wanted to turn and flee, to run as far as her legs would carry her, even back to Callia's party, where at least things made sense and statues didn't come to life. But some innate prey instinct took hold of her and she knew better than to turn her back on him.
He didn't follow her. He didn't even descend from his pedestal. He turned slowly away from her, folded his wings against his back, and hung his head as if he was hurt or insulted at her rejection. Kestrel gaped at his audacity.
"What the fuck is your problem?"
He shot her a dark look over his shoulder. “I get one night a year, and this year not even that, because you thought you could make a blood sacrifice in the middle of a graveyard on All Hallows' Eve and nothing would come of it? Don't expect me to be grateful."
Kestrel stared at him in bewilderment. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"I gathered as much. Next year, do us both a favor and don't mess around in things you know nothing about."
His scorn fueled her anger until it released her from her immobilizing fear. She edged further backwards toward the cemetery gates. She backed into a headstone and tripped over it, falling on her ass and scraping her legs on the rough stone. At her yelp of surprise, Damaris turned toward her. In an instant, he reached her side and wrapped his hands around her arms.
Fear rose again, choking her. Kestrel twisted and pulled against his grip to little avail. "Let go of me!"
"Be quiet," he hissed. "Or you'll bring the whole city down on our heads!"
She struggled again, more desperately than ever. He tightened his grip to hold her still. The tips of his claws sank into her arms and broke the skin. Kestrel drew a breath to scream, but he swore and jerked her against him, pressing his mouth hard against hers.
If he'd been trying to silence her, it worked. Shock rendered her speechless. He took advantage of her surprise and slid his hands up into her hair, opening his mouth over hers. His lips proved softer than she would have imagined. They gently coaxed her into his kiss.
A small, strangled sound slipped from Kestrel's throat. She smacked her fist against Damaris's shoulder and tried to break free. He allowed her to pull back from the kiss, but not to escape.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded.
