Stone of Ascension

by Lynda Aicher

  Behind her, the door clicked closed, the sound echoing through the sudden quiet within the house. It resonated in her ears and transformed in her mind to the last nail being pounded into her coffin.

  Standing there in the entryway of an empty house, sandwiched between two hard men, two strangers, the reality of her situation slammed into her.

  She was trapped.

  All possibilities of escape, of returning home, of the entire situation being a big, colossal mistake were wiped out when she crossed the threshold of the house. The chance to go back was gone. She felt that truth in every fiber of her body. The bird mark flamed to life on her hand and the stone hung heavy, hard and hot between her breasts.

  Damian turned to face her, his grip still in place around her arm. His lips were pressed into a firm, thin line, but his eyes were on fire. They pulsed with the energy she felt. They had deepened to an almost black-blue and swirled with something undefined.

  The energy burned and raced up her arm from where he held her, pushed at her senses and spoke of honor, truth and desire. A desire that coiled through her until her sex tightened and clenched in unknown arousal. She sucked in her breath at the sudden new sensation.

  No man had ever affected her like that.

  The virgin in her whimpered to know the secrets that whispered at the edge of the desire. The forbidden knowledge that she longed to understand and experience but never had.

  In that moment, Amber was more afraid of the desire he stirred, of the longing that slammed through her heart than of whatever lay beyond the walls of the house.

  Chapter Eight

  The air hung heavy, still and silent around the trio. No one said a word as the seconds ticked by. The oppressive air seemed out of place in the stark emptiness of their surroundings. It pressed upon Damian, the weight almost physical.

  He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so on edge. It had been a very, very long time since something had stirred him this much. Long ago he had learned that the only way to survive was to extinguish his emotions. To become as hard on the inside as he was forced to be on the outside.

  And it had worked for a thousand years.

  Now, this one speck of a female had his blood racing, demanding attention and creating a need for something he could not have. She was the Marked One. She had the prophesied sign of evil and destruction scored onto her delicate flesh.

  How could he possibly be feeling anything desirable or protective for her? Unless he too was evil. Unless everything his people had been proclaiming about him was true.

  Never.

  But, there was nothing about Amber that even hinted at evil at this point. If anything, she was the exact opposite of evil. Innocent to an extreme that was hard to believe in today’s world.

  “Where are we going?” Amber pulled against his hold on her arm.

  With more effort than he expected, Damian released Amber’s arm and let his hand fall to his side. The loss of connection echoed through him and made him ache for more. Until all he wanted to do was whisk her away from there and anything that could harm her.

  To where he could keep her safe.

  Foolish.

  He had to turn her in. She was his opportunity for redemption—his chance to finally return to the enclave and redeem himself to his father, his family and the entire community.

  Steeling himself against the unrelenting pull he felt toward her, Damian looked to Xander and found himself fighting another battle. Xan, his one-time best friend, looked at him with zero emotion. Not a hint of the past. Of the closeness they had once shared. There was a time when Xan, Ladon and Damian had been inseparable. The Triple Terrors, a name pegged on them for the trouble they caused both in and out of battle.

  Now, it was as if none of that had ever existed. Amber was his ticket to getting back everything that had been stripped so ruthlessly from him.

  “Let’s do it,” Damian said to Xan, careful to keep all emotion from his voice. There was not a chance in hell he would let any weakness show. Not now. Not ever.

  Xan studied him for a moment before he pulled two black collars from the hook next to the front door. To most, they would look like simple dog collars.

  To Damian, they looked like death.

  He concentrated on holding himself perfectly still as Xan approached. All one thousand years of calm fortitude were forced into use.

  “What are those?” Amber demanded. “What’s going on?”

  Xan stopped next to him and stared, his coal black eyes peering into Damian’s.

  “You’re sure?” Xan questioned again. Something Damian knew he wouldn’t usually do. As head of the Energen Guard—the force that protected and defended the Energen race—Xan never doubted his actions or offered second chances. The safety of the entire enclave fell under Xan’s responsibility. A responsibility he owned.

  “Positive,” Damian responded even though he was anything but. For the first time in years he truly doubted his next move. It was not something he was used to, and he found it unsettling.

  Giving a brief, crisp nod, Xan reached up and clipped the object around Damian’s neck. Damian flinched, unable to restrain the reaction.

  The collars were set as two half circles connected with a back hinge that enabled them to open and close easily around a neck. The hard, black metal felt cold against his skin and had the instant effect they were designed for.

  “Like all circles created by my people, they will contain our energy,” he told Amber around the tightness in his jaw. Every ounce of power he held was now contained. “As long as we wear the collars, we cannot wield the powers or use the energy as we were born to do.”

  He was a prisoner. He had willingly turned himself over to the very people who wanted to see him dead. He clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to pull at the restraint. He swallowed and cringed as his Adam’s apple rubbed against the hard metal.

  “Handcuffs for the mystical?” Amber quipped. “Well, then, you can put that other one away since I don’t have any powers.”

  The rattling of a door handle forced Damian’s attention from himself. Amber had eased her way back to the front door and was desperately twisting the doorknob in an attempt to escape. He felt a foreign sense of pride at her self-preservation instinct.

  The two men watched her in silence until she finally gave up. She turned to look at them once she realized the door wouldn’t open. Her lips were clamped between her teeth. His black trench coat swallowed her and made her appear small despite her height. Her gaze darted back and forth between the men, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin in a graceful move of defiance. She stood tall and assessed them with cool reservation. She wasn’t cowering in fear or blatant denial of the events.

  Damian held back the smile that threatened to break. Why in the world did her continual boldness, her unwillingness to give up, make him proud? It made zero sense and had no place in his emotions.

  Emotions. There they were again. Yet another thing that made no sense. Why was he suddenly feeling when he had successfully shut out everything for years? Now was not the time to open that door.

  “What are you doing?” Amber looked at Xan with hesitant eyes as he approached her.

  “He needs to place the collar around your neck,” Damian informed her, hoping to calm her some. “Let him. It won’t hurt, and it’s the only way we can leave this house.”

  She looked around Xan and met Damian’s eyes. “I told you I don’t need one. I have no powers. Trust me, after almost twenty-four years of life, I’d know if I did.”

  “It will be safer for you if you wear one.”

  Question and doubt were evident in her eyes, but eventually she gave a slight nod of acceptance.

  Before Xan could move, Damian was next to him, taking the black ring from his hand. “I’ll do it.” The thought of another man touching Amber had his skin crawling with a possessiveness that startled him with its intensity.

  Amber was his to protect.

  E
ven as he rejected the thought, he was pushing Xan back so he could stand in front of her. She looked at him, her golden eyes showing everything she was trying so desperately to hide—fear, doubt, confusion, courage…and trust. That one nailed him like a knee to his groin.

  He swallowed back self-loathing as he moved the collar around her neck. He deliberately let his fingers brush her soft nape, ensuring that none of her hair got caught in the hinge. The tiny click of the lock closing rang in his ears. He leaned forward under the pretense of fixing his scarf, which was still looped around her neck.

  “Keep the necklace hidden,” he whispered into her ear. The light smell of cinnamon invaded his nose and nearly brought him to his knees. How? More importantly, why did he just tell her that?

  He’d acted on impulse.

  She stilled, then nodded almost imperceptibly. He didn’t doubt she would listen.

  “It’s time to go,” Xan said. “I have been instructed to bring you directly to the Council Hall. I assume the full council will be present.”

  Damian turned to Xan and nodded his appreciation for the extra bit of information. They would be presented before the full group of council members, not just the five Heads of Houses. Not unexpected, but infinitely more challenging.

  He guided Amber forward with a hand to her back. The lack of connection left him cold. The collars were blocking the flow of energy between them, something he hadn’t anticipated. He had come to expect and welcome the heat.

  His muscles tensed at that acknowledgement. She swiveled her head to look at him. She noticed it too.

  Once again, he doubted his actions. His instincts were flashing bright red warning signals. But what were they trying to tell him? Whatever it was, he would need to figure it out fast. In a short time, he would be facing a community of people he hadn’t seen in a millennium.

  Since the day he was exiled from the enclave.

  Amber paced around the small, empty room they were locked in. She itched with a suppressed craving that left her feeling both agitated and oddly empty. Her fingers rubbed absently over the smooth, hard surface of the collar around her throat.

  “What’s going on?” She paused and faced Damian.

  Xan had led them out the back of the farmhouse into the warmth of a sunny spring day. Amber couldn’t even process how that was possible. Understanding the events of the day had become an exercise in futility. So she simply stopped trying. Instead, she focused on taking in the details in the hopes she could use them to get away. The urgency to run had only increased with each mile they rode in the little golf cart closer to the large, circular building they were now locked in.

  In the short ride, Damian had become her anchor and only constant in the perplexing world that surrounded her. Should she trust him? Probably not. But her options were slim.

  He looked around the small room then rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. His arm froze when he touched the strange black collar. His jaw tightened and he dropped his hand.

  “We will be presented before the full council, who will pass judgment on my claim,” he finally answered.

  “The claim that I’m the Marked One?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what?” She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of his coat to still her anxious movements, one hand brushing against the carved box from the stone. “What will happen to me?”

  He looked at the ground. “I don’t know. It will depend on if they believe me.” He looked up, his face impassive. “If they believe that you are truly the prophesied one.”

  “I’m not,” she insisted again. She looked at him and tried to convey the truth of her words. “There’s no way I’m that person. I cannot manipulate energy or wield power over the elements of the earth. I’m just a simple antique dealer. Nothing more.”

  He stepped forward until he stood before her. “You are much more than that. I know this for certain.” He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear before he dragged his fingers through the long strands. “I can feel it. So can you if you stop denying it. There’s a reason for the mark on your hand. A reason I was called to you.”

  Her heart raced not at his words, but at his closeness, his tender touch. She inhaled his unique scent, that hint of pine, a tinge of salt and grass…all the various aromas that were carried by the wind. The combination raced through her, tightened her nipples and made her ache.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” He stepped away, jammed his hands in his pockets and paced to the other side of the room. “I don’t understand it all myself.”

  “But you still insist on turning me over to these people?”

  A small tick flickered at the edge of his jaw. “I have to.”

  “Why? Why do you have to?”

  It was his turn to pace. Brisk, quick movements back and forth along the far wall. Amber waited, unwilling to give him an out. Finally he stopped and faced her.

  “It’s my way back into the enclave. I was exiled a millennium ago. You’re my ticket back.”

  “You’re what?” She stared at him in shock, betrayal gripping her. “So my life is expendable and means nothing to you? This whole kidnapping me and claiming I’m some prophesied power of disaster is nothing more than an excuse for you to save face? So you can return to some community that kicked you out a thousand years ago?” She turned around, unable to look at him anymore. She didn’t even trying to process the thousand-year time span he’d stated.

  On second thought, she spun back and strode over to him. Before she could think about the consequences, Amber brought her hand up and slapped him across the cheek. The sharp smack of skin against skin echoed through the tiny room. Her own hand stung from the impact with his flesh.

  His eyes widened and flashed. His nostrils flared and the tic went wild on his clenched jaw. But he didn’t move. The silence hung between them, her haggard breaths the only sound in the room.

  “I deserved that,” he finally bit out. “But don’t ever do that again. You will not get away with it next time.”

  The red mark was still bright and fresh on his cheek, and Amber had a need to make it redder. To make sure he understood just how much he’d hurt her. What did it matter at this point? He could harm her or she could wait for some assembling crowd to stone her death. She might as well get in some hits before she went down.

  “You are a selfish ass,” she said with a calm restraint she didn’t feel. “For some stupid reason I’d started to trust you. I felt the energy between us.” His eyes flashed imperceptibly. “Yes, that strange current of heat that passes between us at every touch, I felt it too. I listened to it and believed we were tied somehow. That you wouldn’t hurt me. What a lie.”

  She reached back to hit him again, despite his warning. The force of her anger was put into the forward motion of her hand. She needed to hear that sound again and feel the pain against her hand. A physical communication of just how badly his betrayal felt.

  Her hand was stopped just inches from his face, his grip firm around her wrist. They stared at each other, the anger stirring in his dark eyes only raising her own. She was tired of being walked over. Of being perceived as weak. And damn it, she wasn’t going to let this man take her down. Not without a fight.

  “I told you not to hit me again.” The low warning was given in even, measured tones.

  Her chest heaved with each gust of air she inhaled. “And I told you to take me home. You didn’t listen to me so why should I listen to you?”

  “Because I never threatened you with violence.”

  “No, you just plan on turning me over to those who will do it for you.”

  “That is not true.”

  “Then what is true?” she challenged, tugging on the hand still clamped in his wrist. “Do you plan to let me go? To take me home?” His eyes flinched almost imperceptibly, but she saw it. “No, I didn’t think so.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor as the resignation set in. Her hair fell forward to form a dark clo
ak around her face. The veil provided an almost tunnel vision down to the toes of his impeccable, black leather dress boots. The need to strike at him was still strong.

  “You present an image of sophisticated righteousness, but beneath that cool exterior lies a heartless, selfish man. One who will use someone else for gain, even if it means hurting that person.”

  “That is not true,” he venomously denied. His grip tightened on her wrist, but not enough to hurt her. He jerked her closer until her chest was inches from his, her eyes level with his neck. “You know nothing of me. I have sacrificed the last thousand years of my life because I believed in the truth. In good. In doing what is right.”

  “Then listen to me. Believe what I’m telling you.”

  “How do I know you’re not manipulating me?”

  “If your body responds to our energy the way mine does, then you’d know that I have no control over what is happening,” she insisted. “The heat, the burning, the flash of sensation that eats at my core is not something I want. Something I’m manipulating.”

  The sound of his deep inhale broke the silence and caused her to look up in question. The second she saw the heated intent, the hunger that deepened the blue of his eyes until they were bright pools of desire, she realized her mistake.

  She stood transfixed, unable to move as his head descended in a quick, conquering move. Fear stiffened her muscles as flashes of Nate invaded her mind.

  Despite the quick, fierce approach, Damian’s touch was gentle. His lips firm but yielding, not plundering. The light brush held such promise, such hints of passion that she found herself stretching up, reaching for more. Wanting more.

  Anticipation flared, heating her from the inside out, blending with the sudden flash of energy to send hot licks of longing through her body. Some part of her brain realized she should be scared, that this was something she shouldn’t want. The insanity of it was beyond reason. To desire the very man who had abducted her, put her life in danger, was crazy.