Stone Cold and Stone Dead
Liquid Silver Books
Trapped by a curse, Erac Dane has been stone cold and stone hard for twenty-five years. Erac has had to watch silently as other men pleasure the woman he desires, but no longer. With twenty-five years of frustration burning through him, Erac is going to finally have the woman he wants, and nothing and no one is going to stop him!
He had spent years watching her, first from the sunroom, now in the backyard. Always there for her. Vena Waring had worn him down to nothing, and he had never even touched her. She hadn't been this upset for a long time and he wanted to beat the bastard who hurt her to a bloody pulp.
Erac Dane couldn't do anything. His helplessness was due to Vena's grandmother, Malvena Waring. She had been a cruel old bitch and he was glad when the witch died. At the time he didn't even care her death had brought pain to the young woman who sat at his feet and cried.
That had changed over the years. What he wouldn't give to make Vena his. Anything to touch her, take her the way he'd dreamed of so many nights. Thinking about it gained him nothing but an excruciating hard-on.
No matter, Malvena being alive wouldn't have changed his predicament one iota. Only Rekat could do that and he'd been absent too many years.
The sun eased toward the horizon in the western sky and a breeze stirred. It ruffled Vena's newly shorn, wheat colored locks. The bobbed hairstyle didn't suit her at all but Erac couldn't tell her that; hell, he couldn't say a single word.
She always followed the current fashion in everything—clothing, what pumps were in style—all of it. Many a night he'd listened to her on the phone with one friend or another chattering on about such things. He'd smile to himself at the way her brow quirked or her soft, luscious mouth curved into a beautiful smile, lighting up her face. Those lips could bring such pleasure to him.
Then there were the times when he called, like tonight. Erac wanted to throttle him for bringing shadows of sadness to her blue eyes. At the same time, he wanted to … shit, that wasn't going to happen.
Join Etah Dane as she escapes her stone prison and sets out on a journey of vengeance. Fueled by rage and sexual desire, Etah's needs threaten to destroy everyone and everything in her path!
She was pissed off and had been pissed on for the last five days by the same soon-to-be-dead son of a bitch. Weren’t there any bathrooms in this godforsaken place? His alcohol-laced breath reached her on the breeze and if she could, she’d have vomited on his damn feet.
Etah Dane could see the town clock. In less than a half an hour it’d be over—the curse would be lifted and she’d be free. She needed release badly. Her life had been punctuated by dalliances with men and women, and right now her body shuddered inside her hard shell at the mere idea of sex.
To push the thought of physical release away, to abate the pain, she let her mind drift to the one man who had influenced her life the most. Thinking back, there was nothing she would have done differently.
At a young age, Etah had traveled alone back to the place she’d been born. She needed to know the man who was the closest thing to a father she would ever have.
Seeing him for the first time, he appeared kind and caring on the surface. Etah soon learned better. Though she’d never shared the information with anyone, discovering what he was affected her tremendously.
Night after night of watching his drunken debauchery, the meanness, Etah hated him. Afraid of becoming like him, she pushed the memory deep into the recess of her mind. She returned to Falmouth, Massachusetts, and tried to forget.
What she wanted to forget most was what he’d done to her.
Etah had been so naïve. The wall she wrapped around her heart became harder than the stone that covered her.
Sex for her kind was a way of life. It was beautiful and more than physical. Etah smothered that part of herself. Using it to assuage the pain, she wouldn’t allow feeling to enter into it. She wasn’t brutal like him unless she had to be, and though she mimicked his drinking alcohol, it didn’t affect her in the numbing way it did humans, but uncaring and unfeeling took on a whole new meaning.
Etah became what she feared most.
Like her creator, she was angry and mean.
Bong. Snatched back to the here and now, she saw there was only minutes left.
The creep in front of her with his cock hanging out was going to die.
Bong. Bong. Nine more. The second hand of the clock slowly inched its way around the gigantic face. Her heart beat matched each tick tock of the antique contraption.
Bong. Rock crumbled down her torso, freeing her upper body first. When shaped by her creator, Etah’s arms had been raised high, palms pressed together in prayer. She hated the sappy and pious pose.
Because of her crafted stance, she’d been passed from one parish church to the next until she ended up in a square near a cathedral in a tiny suburb of Philadelphia.
For the first time in twenty five years, she felt the wind in her waist length blonde hair, a warm, albeit urine scented, breeze buffeted her cheeks.
“Oh God, Mother of Mary, forgive me!” The man’s eyes were saucers in his head as he tilted his wine bottle and took the last swallow.