Rock Candy

Part of The Stone Men Series Vol 2, a scorching paranormal romance collection from bestselling authors Kathy Lyons and Anna Argent, packed with supernatural heat, mythic stakes, and unforgettable alpha heroes.

Chapter 2

It was a short walk up the dock and out to the parking lot. Her gaze immediately went to where Mine stood tall and proud in the moonlight where they’d tied him to the truck. WTF? She’d told them specifically to lay him down. It would be hard as hell to drive him home standing up. Except now, as she rounded the corner she saw something even more disturbing. It looked like both his arms were in place, one still clutching the wheel.

No way.

She crossed the lot at a sprint, her mouth hanging open as she did, indeed, see both arms firmly attached. What—?

“Finally!” A woman’s acidic voice came to her from the hidden side of the statue. “I’ve been waiting forever. I have better things to do than sit here in the middle of nowhere while you take your time.”

Molly jogged to the back only to gape at a woman in bright blue coveralls and a headband that, sure as shit, looked like a glowing tiara on spiky obsidian hair.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” Molly demanded. “That’s Mine!”

“I’m here fixing it, you simpleton. I can’t let him stand around without arms. Not after I went to such lengths to have you find them.”

So many responses clogged her throat as she glared at the woman. What lengths? What had she done? How had she heard? A zillion questions and the only thing that got out was, “How?”

“Magic paste. It’ll take a bit to set properly, so be careful with him.” Then she squatted down until she was eye to eye with Molly. There was a weird color to her face, strongly reminiscent of the angelfish she had seen earlier in the ocean. It had the same flame color along the top and shimmery blue at the bottom. But that had to be a trick of the moonlight. And when Molly blinked, the crazy person looked almost normal, except for the tiara.

Then the woman spoke and Molly had to suppress a shiver. There was something different in her words. As if the sounds and shape of her question burrowed inside and burned deep into her bones.

“Is this statue yours?” she asked.

Molly nodded, her answer coming out with a stammer. “Yes. He’s Mine.”

“Great. There are rules. Do you agree to them?”

“What?”

“Under his right foot. Do you agree? You can’t have him unless you agree.”

Molly felt her anger surge. It wasn’t that the woman’s voice had lost its power. It’s just that Molly had adjusted and was starting to think clearly. “Get the fuck off my truck, you looney.” Then she leaped up onto the bed to look at what the woman had done to Mine. At least that was the plan. She’d barely cleared the pavement when she was thrown back onto it hard enough to slam her head against the shrubbery. It was probably a good thing, because if she’d flown the other way, she might have been knocked unconscious on the pavement. As it was, she had a couple burning, probably bleeding, holes in her scalp and shoulders. But that didn’t keep her down.

She surged forward—albeit a bit unsteadily—spitting profanities like a sailor. But once she ran through her expletives, she added, “I’m calling the cops.” Except she never got a chance to pull out her cell phone. Instead, the woman appeared before her, nose to nose in a blink of her eye.

Jesus, she must have hit her head hard because she hadn’t even seen the woman jump down. And that bizarre skin coloring was back, flame over blue, cleanly bisecting her face across the bridge of her nose.

“Fighting soul,” the woman said, then she sneered as she added the rest. “Completely unskilled.”

Molly didn’t bother with a retort. She was grabbing her phone while simultaneously looking around for help. No go. At this time of night, the lot was completely deserted. And then she was talking, clearly not listening to the part of her brain that said, don’t antagonize the crazy woman.

“I’ll show you unskilled, you freak—”

“Do you accept ownership or not?” the woman interrupted.

“I told you, he’s Mine. Now get out—”

“Rules and all?”

“Yes! Whatever! Now get the fuck away from…” Her voice trailed away. She must have blacked out for a moment. Her vision had gone all underwater-wonky. Like a murky cloud of silt and seaweed had washed across her face. And when it finally cleared, she was alone in the parking lot. She spun around, her heart in her throat as she scanned absolutely everything.

Alone.

Well, except for Mine. Who was still strangely intact, arms and all.

WTF?

It took her a moment to quiet down. And even longer to double-check her statue and all the ties securing him to the truck. He looked really good in a perfect eye-candy kind of way. There was marine life crusted on, but surprisingly little. The only explanation was that he’d been buried deep underground and only recently exposed. Probably after their last hurricane.

Whatever the woman had done to Mine had smoothed over cracks and set the arms right in place. Now that he was intact, Molly could see that he was holding onto the wheel and gesturing to the side, though at what and why she had no idea. Besides, it was his face that caught her attention. Even through the crustaceans, she could see that there was a look of resignation there. As if he knew what was coming and accepted it with dull fatality. Kind of heartbreaking to see; that total acceptance of inevitable death.

And how she knew that from a partially obscured face, she had no idea. But that was art. It spoke its own language.

She thought about trying to lay him down in the truck bed but everything was secured tight. And since it was the middle of the night, the streets would likely be deserted. She’d just be extra careful as she drove home.

She went at a whopping ten miles an hour on surface streets. Palmetto Bay was blessedly quiet because it was early January. They weren’t into spring break season. But when she arrived home, she realized she had a problem. No way could she get Mine into the garage without decapitating him. He was too tall while standing on the truck bed.

Too tired to deal with it, she pulled in halfway and parked. Then she double-checked everything again. With the light on in her garage, she could see much more clearly the lines where his arms had been re-attached. She already knew about the pock marks along his body and the crap that had attached to his exposed face and torso, but all in all, not so bad. And she found it ridiculously funny that his impressive privates remained unscathed.

She stifled a yawn, torn between the need for sleep and the bizarre attachment she had to Mine. He was just a statue, but part of her wanted to sleep right here in her truck just to be beside him. Ridiculous, especially since she had a nice soft bed inside. She was just about to go inside when something caught her eye. A piece of paper underneath Mine’s right foot.

It couldn’t be.

She crept closer, her eyes narrowed as she peeled up a corner. The writing was large and dark, which made it easy to read, though she could only make out one word.

Rules

Chapter 3

There was no sound, and the silence was making Thabo insane. It was better than before when he sat fathoms deep in the silent ocean. Then all he was was the occasional fish, and that was only after Zeva had created a hurricane to uncover him. He was above ground now, but all was muffled and dim. He studied what lay before his marble eyes. He faced away from his new curator’s house to stand sentry over a smooth street and houses so much more elaborate than the huts of his childhood. Trees so beautiful they made his heart ache. But none of them were her, the woman who would be his curator.

What a fierce little warrior she was! Hair like liquid flame, flowing over her head to coil around her shoulders. Even her white skin had freckles where her hair had flamed so hot, she’d burned.

His thoughts were fanciful, the imagery growing more elaborate the longer he stood in darkness; neither in her home nor out of it. But with nothing to do but think, he grabbed on to her as a way to stay sane. He thought about her breasts, large and tempting. He thought about the way he could see muscles in every part of her body, but not like the other women in Zeva’s army. Her strength was softened by curves that made her beautiful. And he thought about hearing her voice clearly. Though he had listened to her negotiation with Zeva, he had not been able to capture the true notes of her voice and he longed to do so.

His view changed just as he was thinking about her pert chin. About how she’d lifted it in challenge to a goddess who could have easily killed her. But then, his awareness snapped back to his view as a car appeared before him. Only now could he pick up a muted rumble from its engine. He knew cars from his years training for War. This was a black SUV filled with large men, given the way it ran low to the ground. But he couldn’t see if the windows were bullet proof or what weapons the men carried. He thought at first they would just drive by. He’d seen two other vehicles zip past, but this one stopped and pulled into the driveway.

Light burst across his senses. Floodlights triggered the moment the vehicle crossed the boundary of the property. Four men winced as they got out of their car. Thabo couldn’t even twitch, so his vision was temporarily blinded. Didn’t matter. There was nothing he could do standing here encased in stone and covered in barnacles.

“Well, well,” a man’s voice drawled. “That is impressive.”

Thabo focused on a muscled man with a thick neck. He wasn’t the largest by any means, but he wore authority the way some men carried a very large weapon. It was there for all to see and sometimes he used it just because he could. The man stepped to the back of the truck, peering up at Thabo’s form as if appraising it.

Two other thick men flanked him, but the third—smaller and more wiry—bounced nervously around the truck bed, shaking his head as he tugged at the restraints that locked Thabo in place. “Dumb to leave him standing. One bad bounce and we could break him.”

Thabo felt a rush of panic at the idea of losing his arms again. He had no idea how solidly they were re-attached, but he knew he wouldn’t get full use until he animated at least once. The warriors who regularly went between Idola and Earth were always the most fit. Meanwhile, the leader reached out and rapped Thabo’s calf with his knuckles.

“He’s pretty solid. We’ll drive him a couple blocks then lay him down once we’re clear of here.”

No! They were planning on stealing him. On driving him away from her and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. And while that was disastrous for him, it would be death for her. Curators who lost their statues could be disappeared. Unmade, as if they had never been. Unless, of course, they made a different bargain with the goddess. And no one came out the better for that.

But what could he do? He was a statue and—

“Uncle Sully, what are you doing here?”

Her. She was somewhere behind him, out of sight, but her voice was getting stronger as she came closer.

“Molly. What are you doing out of bed?” the uncle asked.

Her name was Molly.

“Strangers are messing around on my property. Of course I’m up. And I thought we were going to meet tomorrow afternoon.” Her voice was cold and angry, but Thabo could hear faint tremors underneath. She was frightened of this man she called family.

“Yah, but I heard about this little find of yours.” He gestured to Thabo. “Had to come see it for myself.” The uncle’s voice was light, but there was iron underneath.

A shiver rippled down Thabo’s spine as he anticipated the danger. One of Zeva’s rules allowed him to animate without an expressed order. If his curator were in mortal danger, then he could come to life and defend her against these hard-eyed men.

But as much as he willed his muscles to soften, his form remained locked solid. She wasn’t in mortal danger yet.

“Well sure, Uncle Sully,” she said, her voice taking on an edge of its own. “There’s a pedestal inside. Just help me carry him there.”

No one moved to do as she asked. They wouldn’t. Not until the uncle agreed, and one look at the man’s greedy eyes told him that Uncle Sully would release nothing to her.

Come closer, Thabo silently urged. He wanted to see her. He wanted to know how to best defend her when the danger escalated.

“Why’s he holding a boat wheel?” the uncle asked.

Because he’d been the only one strong enough to manage the rudder during the storm, so many years ago. And when it became clear that they would sink anyway, he had turned to stone while still gripping it.

“Haven’t a clue,” she answered. “It’s a miracle he’s still intact, even buried so deep.”

“How old is it?”

“No idea.”

“What was the boat’s name?”

“No idea.” Her voice was getting more clipped, her tone annoyed. If only she would step around in front of him. If only he could see…

There! She’d moved to confront her uncle, nose to much smaller nose. At least now Thabo could see her.

She’d clearly just risen from bed. She wore loose clothing up top, and next to nothing below. But she was still small enough—and fierce enough—to step between the truck and her uncle. And when she spoke, he heard the low, raw notes of fury.

“He’s Mine, Uncle Sully. I found him. I salvaged him. And I’m not giving him up.”

A heat burned at the base of his spine. A searing brand muffled through stone, but it was sharp and he wanted to howl at the pain. Owned. Never free. How far gone was he that he welcomed this woman as his mistress? She was a damned sight better than Zeva, but she was not freedom and part of him resented her for that.

Meanwhile, the uncle’s hand settled thick and dangerous on her shoulder. A shift of his fingers would have him choking her.