There was a catch. Had to be. An opportunity this good never fell into your lap without one. Besides, if he wanted something inside the vault, he could steal it himself, instead of freaking her out. She marched up the stairs.
Revenge. Glory. Money. All of it yours.
But not Roman. The basement door creaked like a bullhorn, but she didn’t hesitate. She opened it and stepped boldly out.
No one spared her a glance. Bianca fixed a smile on her face, rounded a corner, and smacked into her father. Anger replaced the brief flash of surprise on his face.
“Daddy,” she said and immediately realized her mistake. The last time she called him Daddy she was eight years old. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into an alcove.
“What the hell are you doing here, Bianca?” Dressed to the nines in his formal livery he looked the part of the head butler of an English estate.
He must not have seen her leave the cellar. “I went to the cottage to visit you and I heard the commotion.”
“Please, Bianca!”
“I swear I didn’t know the wedding was today.” She crossed her heart.
His eyes narrowed and his gaze swept from her head to her feet. “You come to visit dressed in Chanel and Prada? When did I become so worthy?”
She glanced down at the charcoal and burgundy dress and smoothed the silk over her hips. “Well, I couldn’t show up in jeans, Hector.”
“You shouldn’t have shown up at all. Leave.” He looked around. “Before someone throws you out.”
“Of course,” she whispered and lowered her eyes. “I apologize, Father. I just had to see for myself. Before, the break-up wasn’t real…now it is.” Though crying was the last thing on her mind, somehow she managed to generate enough moisture for two tears to travel artfully down her cheeks.
“Bianca, dear, you should go to the cottage and rest, make yourself comfortable, and I’ll check on you when I get a chance.” Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder.
Perfect. “All right, Father,” she sighed and brushed her tears away. “You're correct. I shouldn’t be here." The cottage was exactly where she needed to be. For a multitude of reasons.
***
So much for a homecoming.
Reign threw himself into a chair. It creaked under his weight but held. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. Nephythys, his blue-haired nemesis, once more her lies trapped him. Surprised? Yes. She needed him as much as he needed her.
He loved her once. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it back down. Better not to think of that. He had stopped trusting her centuries ago. But then she showed him Roman in the Scrying bowl with Anubis’s beast chasing him. She called Roman weak, told him his brother had lost his skill and had become like the other men in this current century, compliant and fearful. Reign believed her.
What a fool. In two millennia he had learned nothing. He should have died with his Prophet. Unlike Nephythys, who only wanted body and blood, at least he promised redemption and salvation. All he asked in return was faith and abstinence.
Reign choked back a laugh. Most men would have run from the word. But his Prophet didn’t want him to abstain from temptations of the flesh. He asked him to put down his sword and follow him.
Sometimes, memories weren’t good for the soul. Better to leave them buried. He came to find his brother. Not only was Roman well, he was happily married with a ready-made family. His brother had moved on while he lingered. Reign stood. It was time to find Alexis and go. The door opened and Roman entered.
“Nice trick back there in the vault,” Roman said dryly. “How’d you do that?”
“Blessings to you and your beautiful bride,” Reign said staring at the bookcase opposite him.
“Thank you.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes,” Roman answered without hesitation. “I asked you a question.” He crossed the room and stood in front of him. “How did you become invisible?”
“I don’t know,” Reign lied.
“Where have you been?” Roman demanded.
Anger rumbled through him. How many times had Roman disappeared for days of pleasure and returned smelling of liquor and women, with no explanation? “Question your men, not me.”
“I have a right to ask.” Arrogant, spoken like the leader he now was.
“You seek to control. Control the rabble you have gathered.”
“They’re not rabble. They’re my family.”
He almost said, ‘What am I?’ but held his tongue at the last second. “I am not part of your family?” He snorted.
“You’re my twin,” Roman said.
Reign studied his brother’s face and noted the uncertainty in his eyes.
“You and I are more than family, we are one.” Roman moved to lean against his desk.
Reign heard the hesitation in his voice. “So much so that it took four men to replace me.”
“Yes. And it took more than that.”
“Who are these boys?”
“All of the men here are family, most through Oria.”
Oria. Their sister. Reign hung his head. Centuries ago, when Nephythys falsely showed him Roman’s death, he forced himself to forget their sibling. Thinking about her life, how she survived their disgrace and disappearance, weighed heavily on his conscience.
“She lived a hard life. Our shame left her with nothing, but her beauty.” Roman confessed.
Reign’s head shot up. He gazed hard at his brother while his hand gripped the arms of the chair. “Sh—she was not a—a—” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“No.” Roman sharply shook his head. “She married a farmer and had five children. All except one of my men are her descendants.”
Reign remembered the Nubian he encountered and how Roman’s men rallied around him. He must be the addition who was not their descendant. Their line continued. Some of Reign’s anger ebbed and his shoulders slumped. Then he thought of the rag-tag group of men Roman had amassed, a useless bunch with little skill and no backbone. If this was the state of their lineage, then the gods help them.
Roman’s grim face made Reign believe his sincerity. He dropped his guard, opened his senses, and felt the confused anguish hemorrhaging from his brother.
Too much. He severed the link they’d formed in their mother’s womb.
Roman’s head snapped back as if slapped. He grabbed his temples and looked at Reign. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Reign murmured.
“Then tell me. I'm here.”
Reign opened his mouth, but the voices of the Vanquished filled his head.
What to tell him? Tell him how I, the greatest warrior, cried for centuries for my brother. Tell him how I begged for light, sound, a friend. How the flesh was ripped from my body, regrown, and ripped again. Tell him of my torture and how I came to love my tormentor.
He shook his head.
Tell him what a coward I am.
“Never!” The word ripped from his throat. Reign lunged to his feet. Rage and guilt boiled his gut. Roman retreated, a wounded look in his eyes.
“Brother—”
A knock sounded on the door. Roman’s gaze never wavered from Reign, waiting for him to continue. “I’ll start again. Where have you been?”
“Enslaved.” Reign cursed. He balled his fist to keep his hands from trembling.
“Because we failed?”
No, I failed. “You were cursed for your failure, and I for mine.” The memories came fast, too fast to block them. They dragged him back to a time when he still believed his actions could change things for the better. He could play the ‘if only’ game. If only I had turned right instead of left. If only I had done this instead of that. For millennia, he tortured himself, repeatedly listing his failings, until death became his only recourse. But Nephythys’s betrayal ran deep enough to keep him alive, regardless of his desire.
“The prophet you failed to prote
ct? I wondered if I caused your curse.”
Which one? The Vanquished or the enslavement at the goddess’s hands? He swore and dragged his hands through his hair. When he looked back over the course of their lives, he wondered if they weren’t cursed from birth. Nephythys promised to free him of his demons, but the price was too steep.
“No, the fault lay with me.” Reign met his brother’s inquisitive stare. “My failure enabled the goddess Nephythys to imprison me on Chemmis, the isle of the Egyptian Gods.” He paused, waiting for Roman to say something. Roman stood in the middle of the room staring at him. Hell, he’d just told the man he was enslaved and his brother showed no damn reaction. This stoic bastard wasn’t the brother he remembered.
Reign paced to the other side of the room. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against a bookcase. “I am her champion and she has charged me with destroying the man you have quartered in your cellar. You have done my job.”
“Is that a thank you?”
“No. You will keep him confined—”
“—until I find a way to completely destroy him.”
Destroy Alamut and I return to Nephythys. Reign was about to order Roman to do no such thing when he paused. His brother would want to know why. He couldn’t tell him all his enslavement entailed.
“You don’t know how to finish him.” Reign chose his words carefully.
“And you do?” Roman’s raised eyebrow mocked him.
Without warning, the Vanquished screamed and Reign dropped to his knees. His insides shredded and his atoms flew apart.
And landed in the passenger seat of Alexis’s conveyance. From her downturned lips and drawn brows he didn’t need to guess her emotions.
“Sorry for yanking you out of there, but it was time to go,” she snapped.
“What has happened to upset you?” He demanded and shifted in the cramped seat.
She gripped the wheel tighter before shrugging. “Nothing.”
Reign doubted nothing had her white-knuckling the wheel. He wanted to shake her and command she tell him. As they flew down the road, windows open, her hair whipping behind her, he didn’t think taking that action would be wise.
“Tell me,” he growled.
“No.” She glowered and quickly re-focused on the road.
Frustration ate at him. The women of his time were never so stubborn. If they weren’t in the car, he would make her comply. Thoughts of how hardened him. Her gaze shifted to his. Those coppery eyes challenged him in more ways than she probably imagined. Then her gaze strolled down his body.
Maybe she did know.
“As you wish.” He faded, though it felt more like a retreat when he glimpsed the smirk that curled one corner of her lips.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Reign’s cold aura surrounded Alexis. He might be gone from sight, but his presence lingered in the dark interior. The vacant seat beside her lied. Dear God, she wanted to run and put this nightmare behind her. She couldn’t do that with her personal stalker mystically attached to her rear.
She’d thought she remembered all the events of the night at the club. The averted wreck on her bike. The beasts’ attack and Reign’s appearance, until Brayden, Avery, and EJ cornered her in the mansion when she stepped out of the solarium. Their words repeated in her mind.
“You and Reign make a cozy couple.” Brayden walked up to her.
Couple? Being magically attached to someone didn’t make you a couple. It made you a Lifetime Movie.
“We’re not a couple.” The wind kicked up, whipping her hair about her face.
“Seemed like it at the club,” EJ said from the other side of her.
The club? Yes, they were there fighting on the periphery. Why didn’t she remember that before? “What were you guys doing there?” She pulled a pair of shades from her breast pocket to shield her eyes from the afternoon sun.
“Women and liquor.” Avery snapped, joining the conversation. “And you?”
“Men and liquor.” She snapped back. “Did you guys stop me to inquire about my social life?”
“Reign is a dangerous man, Detective Lever,” Brayden said.
“Really.” She knew that the first time she saw him, touched him, felt his hard body on top of her. He was danger in font sixty. She pulled her thoughts away from Reign and studied the men surrounding her. All were well over six feet tall, muscular, and aggressive as hell. An aura of deadly efficiency oozed from their pores. Would a gun protect her? Maybe? An image of Reign in the club-wielding a sword popped into her head. In a fight against all three, she’d bet money on Reign.
“Aren’t you all dangerous?”
“Enough talking,” Avery said. “Reign decimated those beasts with his shiny sword. No one helped him.”
“He was brutal. He beat one to a pulp before incinerating it.” EJ grunted.
“The other he cleaved in two,” Avery added.
She was there, so why didn’t she remember? No matter how hard she tried to recall it, the memory eluded her.
“Detective, are you okay?” Brayden asked.
No. Since meeting this family, okay had taken a long vacation. “Fine,” she said through clenched her teeth.
“You’re not fine. Whatever connection you two have, sever it.” Brayden continued.
Damn it. Tell me something I don’t already know. Her nails digging into her palms kept her from screaming. Lately, every man she met thought they could tell her what to do. “Look, I don't take advice from the three brothers I already have, so you three stooges don’t have a sinner’s chance in heaven.” She pushed her way through the men and stormed out of the mansion. Only to end up in a speeding car with her invisible stalker.
Alexis parked in front of her grandmother’s house and looked at it. The contractors Mrs. Kelly hired had done a beautiful job on the repairs, though Alexis couldn’t appreciate their efforts. The day had stretched too long. She exited the car, slamming the door behind her. Her keys jangled in her hand as she jogged up three stairs and shoved the key in the lock. She entered the house and smacked into Reign’s broad chest. His hands steadied her.
“You will tell me now what happened at my brother’s home.”
His dark presence loomed over her in the small foyer. Goosebumps spread across her skin. Alexis yanked away and stumbled back. She flipped on the domed overhead light. His granite face and simmering gaze hadn’t improved with illumination.
“What happened at the club?” she blurted. His eyes narrowed. She expected him to look away, the telltale sign of a person about to lie.
“I killed the beasts.” His gaze never left hers.
“How?”
He grimaced. Then looked down. His open palm faced her. “With my sword.”
A black blade appeared clasped in his hand. She blinked.
“How did you do that?” Rattled, she backed away.
His powerful shoulders lifted, then fell. “I don’t know. I wanted it, so it appeared. When I no longer want it…” It vanished from his hand.
“Bring it back,” she whispered. In a blink, the blade was back. She approached him cautiously. “Will it vanish if I hold it?”
“I don’t know.”
“May I?” She held out her hand expectantly.
He shook his head. “It is very heavy, Alexis. You will not be strong enough.”
Her lips pursed in anger. “I’m stronger than I look. I don’t plan to swing it around my head. I just want to hold it.”
He turned the handle to her, then pulled back. “Only if you let me hold your weapon.”
She leaped back and her hand went to her gun. He sighed in annoyance. “Woman, I have made no move to harm you.”
“A police officer never gives up their gun. Never.”
“A warrior’s motto.” He nodded and hair fell around his face. Reign approached. A frisson of fear shafted through her, sending her heart thumping. Alexis drew her gun.
“Still you point that at me?” he said.
Not
once did his steps falter as she backed up, stumbling to keep an equal distance between them.
“I have been with you for many days and could have killed you a dozen times, but I did not.” He crowded her until her back was against a wall and her gun was pressed into the center of his chest. His face was the only thing she saw. Her breath caught. Her insides fluttered.
“Do you wish me harm, Alexis? If you do, your weapon will achieve nothing. I do not know if my sword will achieve anything, but I dare say you would have better luck with my blade than with your gun.” The word rolled off his tongue like a sensual sigh. She lowered her weapon and shoved it back into the holster.
Hilt first, he handed the sword to her and waited until she had a strong grip before releasing his hold. It pulled her down and thunked into the carpet. She tried to lift it, but couldn’t. Reign smirked and sat on the sofa while she dragged the blade—cutting a slice in the faded carpet—to the chair. Well-polished and honed to a sharp edge, the sword glinted as she traced a finger over the intricate design. The cold metal tantalized as she imagined him wielding above his head while he charged onto a battlefield. The image was terrifying…and erotic.
Braided leather wrapped around the handle and scroll characters traveled down the blade. No, not characters, hieroglyphics. “Do you know what this says?” She stroked the metal. Puzzlement crossed his features, then a dawning awareness. She thought he was about to lie and say no. Instead, he nodded.
He stumbled over the pronunciations a few times before speaking. “‘I am the bringer. Face me and be judged’. I have never read Egyptian before.”
“How’d you end up cursed in Egypt?” Instead of answering, he looked away. Okay. Next question. “Why does the tether hold you here?”
His gaze swung back to her. “The Vanquished. When they come and I can no longer function.”
“Who’s the Vanquished?”
“Conquered warriors haunting my soul. They are my penance, my tormentors. The only peace I find is when I’m within one hundred feet of the one who balances my soul. You are that person.”
She was about to say she didn’t want to be that person when his gaze turned sultry, swept across her face, down the column of her throat and rested on her breasts. An internal switch flipped and she flushed. Her fingers stroked down the blade as images of him—of them—entwined and doing things she dreamed about flickered in her head. The positions, the thrusts, the licks, and touches. Orgasms after orgasms. She, crying out his name.
Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2) Page 14