by K. T. Tomb
He reached for the door handle.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” asked a voice behind him.
He winced, sure that his heart had stopped momentarily. Without looking, his back was still turned to her. He was surprised by how incredibly old Sulna sounded. Her voice grated over the words, harsh and ragged.
He spoke over his shoulder. “Yes. I’m sure.”
She sighed. “Then feel free.”
He waited, allowing his heart to restore itself to its natural rhythm. He then reached for the door handle, gripping it just below the blood smear. He cracked the door open, allowing some light to spill out. He pulled the door open the rest of the way.
Lying across the top shelf of the refrigerator, bent around some bottles of juice, was a human arm.
He gasped.
He turned his head and retched. He didn’t think there could possibly be anything left in his stomach.
He was wrong.
“A snack,” said Sulna. “For later.”
There had even been a ring on one of the fingers.
“I hope you won’t allow this to come between our partnership,” she said, stepping into the kitchen and touching his shoulder. He flinched. She reached under his elbow and pulled him up to turn him to face her. The strength within her hands was phenomenal. He had never in his life been handled in such a way, not since he was a child and not by anyone other than his own father.
“It’s who we are. It’s what we do.”
He said nothing, but stared at her with what he knew must have been wide and wild eyes. She reached out and stroked his cheek.
“But don’t worry. You are safe. We need each other.” She paused. “So, I ask you this again. You will not allow this to come between us, will you?”
He opened his mouth, searched and found his voice, while pulling his arm away from her and summoning his dignity. There was too much at stake. The hell if he cared what she did with her free time.
“No, Sulna. I won’t allow this to come between us.”
She smiled as her entire face lit up. She looked like she could have really been thirty, or even twenty-five. Then she reached out and kissed him deeply. His mouth tasted foul, but she didn’t seem to care.
“I’m so glad.”
Chapter Three
Evan Knight used his cell phone to call for a cab while he was at a local Denny’s. While he and Jessima IL Eve waited, he pulled some cash from the ATM and called for airplane tickets. He then discovered the quickest route to Iran was through Germany. The next flight to Germany left at 7:30 a.m. They were going to have to wait out the night.
Soon, they were pulling up to the Hilton outside of LAX. He paid the taxi driver and led the way to the front desk.
As he was signing for the room, a dribble of blood splashed down through his jacket sleeve and onto the form. He hastily wiped it away, leaving a blood streak.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Um, no problem,” said the young female desk clerk, who took hold of the endorsed receipt carefully by one corner and deposited it in a slot in her cash register. “Rough night?” she asked.
“You have no idea.”
“The bellman can take your bags,” she said, without looking up. Apparently, she had decided to abandon her inquiries, after putting some thought into it. After all, did she really care why a man was bleeding on her counter? Knight didn’t think so.
“It’s okay,” said Knight. “We’re traveling light tonight.”
Indeed, he had nothing, not even a change of clothing. He had grabbed his passport, wallet, and keys to the ATV parked under his studio. They had headed out as soon as possible.
On the way to the elevator, Jess said, “You are hurt.”
“It’s nothing. It’ll heal.”
“I can help you.”
“It’ll heal—normally,” he said with emphasis.
“You are sore at me,” she said, nodding to herself as if confirming her own suspicions.
They stepped into the glass elevator and he punched the button for the fifteenth floor. Just as the doors were about to shut, a younger couple stepped in. They were dressed to the nines, both beautiful people who were well aware of that fact. The girl was hanging all over the man, who didn’t seem to mind at all. He flashed Knight and Jess a smile and then his eyes lingered briefly on Jess. Man or woman, straight or gay, Knight knew that anyone with the gift of sight couldn’t help but have their eyes linger on the amazing spectacle that was Jessima IL Eve.
Still, Knight didn’t like the way this man’s eyes lingered on her.
“Did you say ‘sore at me’?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That term is a little outdated. When was the last time you were in the States?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
Knight laughed. “That explains it.”
The man and woman, who were both listening now, laughed a little. The woman was nibbling on the man’s earlobe. They were irritating the hell out of Knight. After all, this was turning out to be an incredibly long evening.
“Well,” she said. “Are you angry with me?”
He was, but he was also so overwhelmed with emotions for her that he found it hard to sustain his anger. However, she seemed highly perceptive and eager to deal with the situation. He decided to be frank with her, with no game playing. He was never much on games.
“Yes,” he said. “I am angry with you.”
The woman stopped nibbling on the man’s lobe and peered at Knight over the man’s shoulder. The man tried to swing her around to get a look at them, but the woman resisted.
“Why?” asked Jess.
“I didn’t appreciate you using my life as a bargaining chip back there.”
“It was the only way to convince her not to pull the trigger. She needed to understand it was futile and that she had but one option. That was to put down the gun and escape with her life.”
Now the man’s head swung around. Knight wanted to punch him for being nosy.
The elevator chimed on his and Jess’s floor. Knight stepped aside and allowed Jess to lead the way from the elevator. The man and woman could not have looked more disappointed that the battle was over for them and almost seemed ready to follow them.
Knight turned back before the double doors closed and said to the still-staring couple, “Too bad. It gets real good from here on.”
The door shut while the woman stuck her tongue out at him. Her tongue was pierced with a silver ball bearing.
Knight caught up to Jess, who was already standing in front of their suite three doors down from the elevator. The woman had a hell of stride.
Knight produced the key cards. He used one to pop open the lock, then opened the door for her. As he did so, he resumed his argument: “You know, until I met you, I was sure of a few things in my life. One being that people had normal lifespans.” He shut the door behind him. It shut louder than it probably had to. “The other being that I will die only once. Not twice, or three times. When I go, I’m gone, sister! I don’t want to be brought back through the pearly bright tunnel.”
“I understand,” she said. She had stopped just inside the suite, folded her arms across her chest, and was leaning a hip against the foyer table. It was one hell of a sexy pose. He tried to focus his thoughts on his anger. “But she didn’t pull the trigger. You are alive and we both shall live to fight another day.”
“How do you know your oil can bring me back from the dead?” he said, pointing to the leather thong around her neck. “I mean, does this shit always work?”
“This shit,” she said, slightly offended, “has kept me alive for twelve hundred years. Not only that,” she said, pausing. “It brought me back from death. Twice.”
“Someday,” he said, “when I’m not so pissed and tired, I want to hear both stories. Deal?”
She shrugged.
His shoulder was stiffening up badly. A little of that oil would go a long way right about now. He touched hi
s forehead, where she had cracked him sharply. There was nothing there, of course. The oil did work, at least on minor flesh wounds. But pride prevented him from requesting the use of it now.
The suite was large, with two rooms and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. All he wanted to do was soak his body.
“I’m going to be in the tub. Pick whatever room you want,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked over to the window and pulled open the curtain and gazed down onto L.A.
He shut the bathroom door.
* * *
Jess was replaying Morina’s words in her mind: There was an army marching on Eden, led by a man named Alexey. Of course, Alexey would just be the money man. The true leader would be Sulna, who knew the Sisters’ lair inside and out, for she had helped build it back in the beginning. She would know her way around and she would know the Sisters’ weaknesses. Most important, she knew how to find the Garden of Eden and how to disarm the final obstacle to the Tree of Life.
The Sword of Fire.
The Sword could be defeated, but one would need to be prepared.
Jess knew Sulna would come prepared.
They were stuck in this hotel until morning. She gritted her teeth. There was certainly nothing she could do about it now. Northern Iran was a world away and now, she had Evan Knight to chaperon.
He was a great warrior, it was true. She had seen him in action tonight. He had proven himself well under pressure. Hell, not just pressure. Extreme pressure. Few mortals could have handled the Fallen as he had and he had escaped with barely a scratch.
Begrudgingly, she admitted that he would have made a damn fine Cherubim.
That is, if he had been a woman.
She stared down at the lights of L.A. The city was amazingly expansive. It was impossible to tell where it ended and where the dozens of suburbs began. Unlike the big cities of America’s East Coast, L.A. had surprisingly few skyscrapers. Instead, there were hundreds upon hundreds of shopping centers and malls. The number of malls alone was staggering.
Jess, of course, would never admit that she secretly loved L.A.’s malls.
That was information she would never divulge even under the most extreme torture.
The rumble of airplanes landing and taking off filled the room. A sound that was somehow comforting. The airport was behind her and she could see a series of lights coming and going, arching overhead.
Jess also admitted to herself privately that the lack of men in Eden tended to make things dull. Of course, the Daughters were permitted to have their occasional liaisons when they were on assignment within the world of mortals, but few mortals had ever interested her.
Her thoughts went to Knight.
He interested her, but for different reasons. Why had he been plucked from obscurity to save the Tree of Life and the world? What made him so special? Was it the Mother Daughter’s prophetic dreams?
Or his own?
He was tough and battle-worthy, true, but those weren’t the only prerequisites for being the Chosen One.
He was also dashingly handsome. She would never tell him that. In fact, she didn’t ever think in her twelve hundred years of life, that she had ever given a man a compliment.
Ever.
Now, as she stood staring out into the night, she saw her own ghostly image in the tinted glass of the window punctuated by the twinkling of city lights. She reached out and touched the glass, and her image reached for her as well. Her thoughts were still on Knight.
There was such pain in his face. Such pain in his voice.
In his eyes.
But, then she had seen the relief as well. It was his utter relief at finally seeing her. His confusion must have been staggering. He had a lifetime of confusion, questions and self-doubt. Who could he have turned to for answers? No one would have believed him. He would have been thought mad.
But she saw something else in his eyes when he gazed upon her. It was that something else that ultimately gave her pause and dually scared the life out of her.
And she rarely, if ever, was scared.
Somehow, and in some way, he was in love with her.
It was the most shocking revelation she had ever had in her entire existence.
A mortal, whom she had only recently met, was in love with her. That was a first even for someone who has lived as long as she. She was intrigued—and curious—to discover that she was excited by this revelation.
She was excited by his love.
* * *
Knight was dismayed to see his tub water quickly turning pink. The wound was in his right shoulder. The muscle of his anterior deltoid was severed by a one-inch-wide puncture wound. So, he tried propping his shoulder above the waterline, while pressing a hotel washcloth up against the wound, but the damage was too deep and the bleeding wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Instead, blood soaked straight through the washcloth. He should probably see a doctor and get stitches.
He hated getting stitches.
Most of his body, in one place or another, had been stitched.
He was a human quilt, thanks to his life devoted to martial arts and sharp-edged weapons. However, the choice of learning the art of swordsmanship had not been a random one.
In his dreams, he saw himself wielding the sword. In his dreams, he could feel the sword’s power, so he’d spent a lifetime learning the trade and mastering all types of sharp-edged weapons. None were flaming, of course, but that didn’t stop his compulsion to learn the craft of swordplay.
He was getting light-headed and less alert, as his shoulder inadvertently slipped below the waterline. The sting of water against his wound, as the water rapidly soaked through the already blood-soaked washcloth, jerked him upright and had him gasping for air.
It was deeper than he thought.
The oil would be handy. Damn handy.
Just let it do its magic and be done with it.
He laid there, soaking with his shoulder throbbing and couldn’t for the life of him remember why he was mad at Jess. It had to do with something careless she had done. Something he had thought was careless, at least. She gambled with something...was it his life?
She was beautiful, though.
He jerked himself awake.
It was probably not a good idea to fall asleep in the bathtub. Especially now that the washcloth had moved away from his wound and without the added pressure, a trail of blood was running down his shoulder and bicep. The blood was flooding the bathwater, which had gone from a slight pink to a darker vermillion. For all intents and purposes, he was really just soaking now in his own blood, which he found to be nauseating.
He pulled the drain plug, pushed himself up with one arm and turned on the shower, rinsing his own bloody residue from his body.
After his shower, he checked his watch. It was 2:10 a.m.
He still needed to find a doctor.
What a night.
* * *
He was being stubborn, she knew, because he had thought she had been irresponsible with his life. Perhaps she had been. Perhaps the Tree of Life, with its healing oil, had made her reckless.
She didn’t think so, but through the eyes of a mortal, she could see his point of view. How did he know she could bring him back from death? He hadn’t until she’d told him. Healing a wound was one thing, which he had witnessed, but bringing back the dead would be something he had to take entirely on faith.
He had trusted her, or so she thought.
True, he had put up a minor debate with her back at the house, but ultimately, she had seen in his face that he had believed her, although he might not have agreed with her bargaining tactics.
But he had trusted her.
His belief touched her.
Powerfully.
She suddenly felt responsible for this mortal. This man who she was beginning to believe more and more was the Chosen One. This man who knew so little of the ways of the Sisterhood and Eden. This man she was sent to find. This man who had been waiting for her
his whole life.
The door to the bathroom opened.
He looked like the living dead. Face pale, cheeks slightly sunk in. In fact, he looked like one of the Fallen they had just met up with. He was wearing his same clothes, as they had not had time for him to gather a change of clothing when they had bolted from his home. His pants were unbuttoned, with the belt hanging loosely. His silk shirt was unbuttoned as well. He was making a haphazard attempt to stop the bleeding. He was leaving pink puddles of water on the tile.
He went straight to his cordovan loafers, which were by one of the suite chairs. He sat and moaned as he started pulling on his socks with one hand. The other was trying to keep the bloodied washcloth in place.
He cursed. His feet were still wet. The sock wasn’t going on easily.
“Where are you going, Evan Knight?”
“I need stitches.”
He looked pitiful and yet prideful. She had help waiting for him hanging around her neck, but the very source of the help—the oil—had earlier been the source of their confrontation. He was being stubborn and if he wasn’t nearly faint from loss of blood, she would have laughed at his comical attempts to pull on his socks with one hand, while adjusting the cloth with the other. The cloth periodically slipped, causing more blood to dribble free and more curses uttered from his lips.
She reached inside her robe and gathered up the leather thong and extracted the amber vial. She moved toward him.
He had sat back, regrouping, the sock only partially on his foot. He was unaware of her movements. Jess knew she could move as stealthily as a panther.
She opened the corked top. The scent of the oil was sharp and earthy. It always reminded her of a damp forest, pine needles and grass. In fact, she secretly suspected that the scents that emanated from all of the world’s rainforests, woods, jungles, glens, copses, meadows, and fields could be found in the Oil of Life. If one tried hard enough, the damp of a Scottish glen could be discerned, or the vivid miasma of a tropical rainforest. It was all there. In each drop.