Keepers of the Lost Garden (The Lost Garden Trilogy Book 2)

by K. T. Tomb

  He risked asking questions, even though his curiosity was getting the better of him and taking possession of his tongue. “How old are you?”

  There was a long silence. Something splashed in the water below. In spite of the perfume, he could smell the wet moss that hung above the river. He could also smell death, as if something had died nearby. Was that her? He silently chastised himself for speaking. Lord only knew when she would open that beautiful mouth again.

  “That is not relevant for our purposes, Alexey,” she said after another minute or two. “You know better than to ask.”

  “Forgive me, madam,” he said.

  “You are forgiven. Just know that, ‘I am old, much older than you.’ That is a line from a children’s poem. I have always liked it and found it particularly fitting.”

  Alexey had never heard of the poem, nor did he care. He kept silent.

  “Yes, you were partially correct. I used to be one of them, but no more. I was exiled and yes, I seek to return.”

  “And you need my help.”

  She was silent.

  He grabbed her shoulder and turned her toward him. He suddenly felt that he had the upper hand. She needed him and that was a great feeling of leverage. “Answer me! No more delays, woman! You need my help to return!”

  She smiled at him, but it was a cold smile. Her colorless eyes showed no expression. “Yes, I need you. And you need me to show you the way.”

  “I know the way.” Alexey liked this game. He liked to assert himself, especially to someone who had so recently had their way with him. “The Mountain of God in the northern foothills.”

  “Arrogance does not become you, Alexey Konstantin.”

  “Then you do not know me very well.”

  She looked forward. Her profile was strangely beautiful. Nose slightly flat, chin rounded. She had the most defined features he had ever seen. “I have all time to wait for this moment. I have all time to wait for the fall of Eden. Do you?”

  He chewed on his lip. He wanted this badly. He played it cool, mustering all his negotiating skills. “What can you offer me now?”

  She turned away from him and began walking back down over the bridge, heading back into town. He followed her.

  Like a damn puppy.

  “There are defenses around Eden that I can get you and your men through. Eden is protected by an ancient sisterhood of women.”

  He snorted. “Women?”

  She turned to him. Her hand snaked out and grabbed him around the throat and lifted him. He choked, unable to breathe. His legs kicked in midair. He looked down at her face. Now, those dead eyes were smiling. She was taking great pleasure in choking the life out of him.

  “Yes, women. Do not underestimate the enemy. Do you understand?”

  He was blacking out. His flailing hand fumbled for his pants pocket and he removed a switchblade, depressed its release and the blade hissed to life. He pressed it against her throat.

  “Put...me...down,” he said, or tried to say.

  The knife had her attention, but she grinned easily and lowered him down to the ground and released her hold on him. He sucked in air, fighting to retain consciousness. He didn’t want to pass out now. Splotches of blackness appeared and disappeared in his vision, interspersed with flashes of light. He held the knife before him still, keeping it between himself and Sulna.

  “Don’t ever touch me again!” he commanded. Being that close to her, he had been uncomfortably aware of a particularly rancid or sour tinge to her perfume. It had been almost revolting. “And do not ever underestimate me!”

  “You can put that silly thing away now, Alexey. It’s not going to be necessary, although I do have a new respect for you,” she said as she turned away. She continued walking down the darkened path that led into town. They were in a park of sorts. At least, this was where Alexey had seen kids playing soccer. There were one or two crooked cypress trees growing along the stream’s banks.

  Despite what the woman had said, he did not put the knife away. He carried it at his side as he stumbled forward, willing his feet to cooperate. Eventually, he caught up to her. The woman had extraordinarily long strides. Although she did not appear to ever seem in a hurry, she covered ground quickly.

  “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded.

  “You saw my strength, Alexey. You saw the speed with which I seized you. I had you in my grasp and lifted you in the air before you could react. The women who guard Eden are even quicker and stronger. They practice, they work out, and they hone their considerable skills. Not to mention that over the millennia, they have built defenses around the mountain. They have money as well and a large supply of gold. They have outfitted their defenses with the best money can buy, upgrading constantly. It will take a considerable force to conquer them.”

  “I have a considerable force.”

  “So I’ve heard,” she said. “And the Daughters are few in number. At last count, my spies tell me they were at eighteen. The one from whom you procured your vial of healing oil was one of them. Now, they are at seventeen. Recently, one of them departed for the United States, leaving the Sisterhood considerably short-handed. My best people are tracking her now. With any luck, she should be dead. Now is the time to penetrate their lair.”

  “Lair?” he asked.

  “It is precisely a lair: a complex network of hollowed-out tunnels, complete with living quarters, surveillance rooms, combat rooms, armories, and a control room that could be a clone to Houston’s mission control. From that room, they can initiate a full-scale attack in defense of their mountain.”

  “But how could they modernize everything?”

  “The Daughters of Eve, as they call themselves, have spent an eternity learning their craft. There are those among them who are specialists in what they do and they have been doing it for centuries. This computer age is no different. Many of them are highly accomplished computer engineers. As far as developing and building such a secret network of weapons and computers and such, they simply do what the Arabs did when they hired American contractors to build them military bases.”

  Alexey knew something about that. “They were blindfolded and led to secret military bases, sequestered for many months, but treated and paid quite well.”

  “Yes,” said Sulna. “It’s amazing what one would put up with for bags of gold. And the base is constantly being upgraded. By now, I imagine, it’s a modern-day marvel.”

  “My men and I are supposed to take down this...this fortress?”

  “With my help,” she said. “All things are possible.”

  Alexey thought he’d heard that somewhere. Perhaps in the Bible. She smiled at him and turned down a side street that would lead to their hotel. He followed. He hated to follow. Using long strides, he caught up to her, and was slightly out of breath. The woman sounded like she had a God complex. He knew the feeling well.

  He reached out and touched her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. He felt the muscle beneath her sweater flex. “And what’s in it for you?” he asked.

  “We want the same thing.”

  “The Tree of Life?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want with it?” he asked, suddenly very suspicious.

  She shook her head slowly. In the moonlight, her features were beautiful. Her scent was nauseating, but it was amazing what one could get used to.

  “Fine,” he said. “Would you care to come up to my room?”

  She reached out and pulled his head toward her and kissed him deeply. A wave of revulsion and pleasure swept through him. He fought the bile that threatened to come up in his throat, even while the kiss excited him.

  How did one kiss an immortal?

  She pulled away from him and he was relieved and dismayed at the same time. “Are you still interested in having me come up?” she asked.

  She had left a taste in his mouth. A bad taste. Literally, but he didn’t care. “Oh, yes. I’m very interested.”

  She put her ar
m through his and began walking. “I think we’re going to get along brilliantly.”

  Chapter Two

  Alexey awoke alone the next morning in his four-poster bed to an upset stomach. He launched himself out of bed and into the massive bathroom adorned in brass fixtures and leaned over the toilet and vomited. He did so over and over, until nothing more remained in his stomach. He dry-heaved, staggering, holding onto the towel rack until it ripped from the wall. He braced himself against the wall, gasping and wiping the vomit from his lips.

  Then he showered, as long and as hot as he could stand. He used a washcloth and half a bar of soap to rub his skin clean, until his skin glowed red from irritation. Then he just stood under the hot water and thought about the previous night.

  What a woman.

  Her nude body had been unbelievable and was perhaps the most exciting thing he had ever seen. She had kept herself toned. She had curves that men dreamed about and women, no doubt, envied. The stench coming from her nude body was unbearable. It smelled like a mix of decay and sour milk. And when she had become sweaty, he fought the rising bile with all of his will.

  When he finally rolled off her, panting and disgusted, she had seemed disappointed in him. As she dressed, she looked down at him without expression. She asked when the restaurant closed. He had checked the time and said they were just closing then. She had smiled, stood and said that maybe she would get a bite to eat.

  When she left his room for her own, taking her disgusting stench with her, he could not have been more relieved. Before he collapsed into an exhausted sleep, he removed the bed sheets and slept directly on the mattress.

  She had been ravenous. Her taste for flesh had not been satiated, even after hours of lovemaking. She displayed none of her calm reserve in the bedroom. Alexey looked at his forearms, now rubbed raw from the washcloth.

  Nail marks and fresh open wounds.

  They were on his back, his shoulders, chest and legs. All had stung from the soap, but he had been too driven to purge himself of her stench to really notice the pain. Now each wound throbbed as he grabbed hold of the nozzle and shook his head in amazement.

  Never had a woman ravaged him so.

  But he loved it.

  * * *

  He threw open the French windows to his suite to air out the room, and stepped out onto the balcony. He inhaled the fresh air and let his head clear as he wondered what the hell was going on. On the street below a crowd of people gathered in a nearby alleyway, along with several police officers and what passed as a medical examiner’s truck in these parts.

  There was a knock on his door.

  The thought that it could be Sulna filled him with dread and excitement.

  There were only a few who had access to his suite. It was more than likely that security would not have allowed Sulna up the private elevator that led to his room. He had not given prior permission, although the security last night would have known of her.

  Either way, more than likely—

  “Come in,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  The hotel was nice enough, but the walls were notoriously thin. His voice traveled through the length of the suite and immediately, the door was open and his assistant Alexis Milek was soon by his side on the balcony. The little man was sweating and nervously looking around the room.

  “Sir, have you been sick?” he asked.

  “Yes, Milek. I have been very sick.”

  The little man pushed up his glasses and sniffed the air. “I’ll call the hotel service and have them clean the room for you.”

  “A good idea,” said Alexey. “Milek, what’s going on down there in the street?”

  Milek peered over the ledge, which came to the little man’s chest. Sweat dripped down his nose and he seemed relieved to get some fresh air. “They found a body in the alley. From all reports, it was hideously mutilated. There are some who think that a pack of wolves, which have been known to roam these hills, might have come down into town.”

  “Why wolves?”

  “There is some evidence that he might have been eaten.”

  “Eaten? Does anyone know who he is?”

  “Yes. A young man who works here at the hotel. He was a waiter in the Upstairs Grill. I remember the boy. A good-looking chap. Looked a little like that American actor, Tom Cruise—Alexey, are you okay?”

  The Russian pharmaceutical giant had leaned a hand against the granite balcony. He suddenly didn’t feel like a giant. He felt weak and suddenly, very mortal. He felt as if he were part of a nightmare. His knees were weak.

  She had killed him.

  And eaten him?

  ‘What time does the restaurant close? I think I’ll get a bite to eat...’

  “No, Milek. I’m most certainly not all right.”

  “Shall I call a doctor?” The little man, who was watching his employer closely, squinted slightly through his round glasses. “You’re as white as a ghost.”

  Alexey was silent and then shook his head. He continued to hold himself up against the railing. He suddenly had an urge to run, to flee back to Moscow and forget this madness. And it was madness.

  Glorious madness.

  He had never run from anything in his entire life.

  Never had the stakes been so high.

  Immortality. The Tree of Life. The possibilities were infinite.

  Below him came the sound of the milling crowd, the shouts of policemen to keep their distance, and the honking of horns. “Milek, prepare a meeting with Colonel Sharif immediately. I want to introduce him to Sulna.”

  The little man looked skeptical. “Perhaps after you rest...”

  “There is no rest for the wicked, Milek.”

  “Of course. Shall I retrieve Miss Sulna as well?”

  “No, I will fetch her.” As his assistant turned to leave, Alexey added, “Have housekeeping clean in here as soon as possible.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  She was in the palace suite on the same floor. All accommodations were paid, of course, by Alexey. He rapped loudly on the door. Alexey was admittedly never one to rap softly on anything. His Rolex told him it was 8:39 a.m. His mouth still tasted like the contents of his stomach, although he had scrubbed his teeth and tongue twice.

  He heard footsteps and then, the door swung open. He was immediately impressed by two things. First was an amazingly attractive woman standing before him. She was as tall as Sulna, with hair so blond as to appear white. Blue eyes and a long-limbed body that was hidden under a traditional robe she must have picked up recently. It was clear she was not from around here, or anywhere near here. The second was more of the foul odor. He briefly turned his head to inhale deeply the sweet stale air of the hallway.

  He turned back, breathing through his mouth. “I’m here to see Sulna.”

  “Sulna is resting,” she said in a silky Russian accent. “As you well know, she had a busy night.”

  He looked down at the white-tiled floor along the suite foyer. There was a dark spot. Then another. It could have been anything. It could have been blood. “Wrong answer,” he said. He reached out to push the door open further, but it wouldn’t move. The woman was seemingly holding the doorknob lightly, but he couldn’t budge it. “What is it with you women?”

  He slipped his body in sideways through the open door, squeezing past her. She was three inches taller than him, which he continued to find irritatingly disconcerting. As he passed, she looked down at him oddly, their faces inches apart. He had the sensation that she found him amusing, attractive, or appetizing. Never had a woman looked upon him in such a way. Sulna, of course, had the same look on her face when she’d gazed upon the waiter.

  He stepped into the suite, resisting the urge to tuck his nose into the crook of his arm to block the stench.

  “Is there something wrong, Mr. Konstantin?” she asked smoothly. She seemed to be enjoying his discomfort.

  “Can you open a window?”

  She looked at him for a
moment. “Yes.”

  She moved off down the hallway and he looked down at the floor. There were more splotches of what had to be dried blood. Also, he could see a hotel washcloth resting on a mirrored table. He had caught someone in the act of cleaning. The washcloth was set down, probably to answer the door. There was blood on the washcloth. The trail of blood stopped adjacent to it. But the blood had been rounding a corner...

  He followed the trail. In the next room, he could hear curtains being thrown open. The trail of blood, before being partially wiped clean, led to the suite’s kitchen complete with a refrigerator and microwave.

  Someone had been hurt. And bad. But who? What had happened in here last night?

  The kitchen was empty.

  No, not entirely.

  He took a step inside the kitchen and peered more closely.

  Blood was on the handle of the refrigerator door. Just a faint smear, but clear enough on the polished metal. Someone had taken a swipe at it with something, probably the washcloth, but had failed to clean up the entire mess.

  He discovered that his heart was beating harder than he could have believed. It pulsed in his chest, and obscured the voices that he now heard coming from the other room. Apparently her majesty Sulna had been awakened by the platinum-blond Amazon.

  He focused on the refrigerator door handle.

  If you’re bleeding and hurt, would you come straight from the front door and into the kitchen and open the refrigerator door for a soda?

  No. He didn’t think so.

  You would head straight to the bathroom and bandage and clean the wound.

  He moved closer to the refrigerator, his shoes were quiet on the tiles. He continued to breathe through his mouth. His throat was dry now. He needed something to drink, something cold. The whole suite felt stuffy. He continued the relentless battle of keeping down his bile. He was almost getting used to this battle.