Eternity

by Tmonique Stephens

  Angry, the tips of her hair flamed. “What petty scheme are you up to, Anubis?”

  “I shall tell you so you don’t have to wonder. I have scented my champion with the blood of your lover. Return him to earth. I will kill him and cleanse the dishonor you have brought to my father’s name.”

  “You care nothing for SET.” Nephythys voice rose. Her cold, distant composure slipping under pressure.

  Glee danced in Anubis’ eyes. “And neither do you, but he is still my father and I will honor him.” He stated with all the conviction of a dutifully son.

  She laughed. “You are not God enough or man enough to kill him. He has slaughtered thousands and is the best killer nature has ever made.”

  “A challenge.” Anubis nodded. “Good.”

  “A lesser god stuck in the shadow of his father, what do you know about a challenge?” She raked him with scornful eyes.

  He stepped close, close enough to touch her. She could shield herself, but admit fear to Anubis— never.

  “My slave against your lover. That is my challenge.”

  “That pathetic creature you have turned?”

  Anubis’ eyes narrowed and his lips pulled back in a snarl. She struck home, however her joy was short lived. A lesser god challenged her, she couldn’t refuse. The rules of the pantheon demanded it. But that would mean releasing Reign.

  “The challenge is met.” She hid her trembling hands in the folds of her robes.

  Anubis’ thin lips peeled back over sharp canine teeth. His true nature, The Jackal, bled through his human façade. She’d call him a mongrel, unfortunately, she knew well his pedigree.

  “Send your lover back quickly, Goddess. I long to avenge my parent.” He leered. Drool crept from between his teeth and trickled down his chin.

  He wasn’t a god, but an animal. No, he resided lower than any noble creature that walked the earth. “You are never welcome in my presence again.” She started to flash, but just before she faded she heard Anubis whisper.

  “Was I ever welcome, Mother?”

  No, he was not the child she wanted and nothing would ever make her love him.

  Returned to her palace, she paced, flinging objects out of her way as she walked since Kema had vanished. No doubt used and slaughtered by Anubis.

  She couldn’t lose Reign, wouldn’t. Not for SET, not for the pantheon. He was the only bit of happiness she had in thousands of years. He belonged to her and nothing would make her give him up.

  The stark hand of reality seized her by the throat. “I cannot keep him.” She gasped and lowered herself into a chair. “And even if I could keep him, he will not stay.” Especially not after how she treated him.

  What if he were slain? Impossible. About to cast away the absurd thought, she paused. Reign was human, mortal. His life extended at her discretion. Once he left Chemmis he would be as frail as the rest of the human race. She had to see Anubis’ champion, see what his opponent would be. Carefully, she brought forth her Scrying bowl. Made from beaten Egyptian gold and the first sands from the great desert, hieroglyphics covered every inch.

  “Show me,” she pleaded, and the murky Nile waters bubbled, then cleared and showed a night shrouded field. At one end, an animal, a hybrid creation, something hatched from the pit of Anubis’ soul, stalked a couple. She ignored the woman and fixated on the male. The height, the broad expanse of his muscled back tapering to his waist and hips, his ass and thighs—covered in loose blue cloth humans preferred—all seemed . . . familiar. Then he turned and she glimpsed his face—and those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Reign?” The beast already stalked her love. How could this be?

  Nephythys ran to her alcove and found her lover hanging where she left him, still imbedded in the rock wall, chin touching his chest. As his head rose, she stepped back before he saw her and sagged with relief against the wall.

  If he was here, who was it that she saw?

  The forgotten twin! It had to be. She hadn’t cursed one man, but two, was the only explanation for the twin’s survival. But the beast stalks the wrong man.

  A devious grin spread like warm honey across her. All was not lost. The advantage belonged to her and she would use it. With a flick of her wrist, she refreshed her appearance. From goddess to seductress, gone was the demur flowing robes befit her station. In its place, two gossamer strips. One banded around her plump breast, pushing them up until they almost spilled over. The other, knotted across her hips. Her coral nipples and hairless sex were clearly defined through the delicate fabric. Unadorned, except for kohl enhancing her eyes, her sky colored hair cascaded on her bare shoulders. He loved her like this, simple and plain, not a goddess, just a woman. If only he would love her again.

  She entered the alcove. Head downcast, Reign refused to meet her gaze. Bare-footed, she padded across the alcove and stepped short of a pool of his cooling blood. Standing in front of him she scanned the flawless new skin covering his perfect physique. Everything about him called to her, demanded her attention with a power no human should have over a god.

  A filmy, translucent copy of herself separated from her body and touched him, gently stroked down his pecs, scrapping sharp fingernails along his rippled abdomen and into the dark thatch of hair between his thighs. Long ago, they played this game differently. Through this shade, they enjoyed all the carnal pleasures their imaginations conjured, eons of fantasy and flames of passion. Through her essence they loved, and laugh, explored each other in a way that Nephythys, wife of SET, could never do. Reign loved her, and accepted their . . . limitations. Now, she had to bind him to the rock wall to ensure he never faltered, never forgot the rules of their pleasure.

  No human or god could touch her. Only SET. That was his price and though steep, she gladly paid it to keep him away from her body. Their pact kept him from her bed for millennia. Tonight, her reprieve ended. She must appear in his chambers and willingly submit, placing her body into his husbandly care. But not her soul. He would never touch her soul.

  Her eyes burned into Reign, furiously willing him to respond to the passion burning inside her, give her one sweet memory before SET defiled her. She stroked from his knees to his cock, soft strokes with ghostly fingertips down the shaft before she cupped his twin sacks. Being near him made her passage slick with desire. She instructed her shade to do what she never would. Kneel, and take him into its mouth.

  A kiss, a lick around his head and she swallowed him. Every technique in her vast arsenal she applied and all she received was a grimace. His impressive sex hung flaccid between his muscular legs. Not even a twinge of life appeared. She glanced into his eyes and a placid well of blue stared back at her.

  Disgusted, she cast her shade away, and then slipped on the bloody floor when she turned to leave. Brought to her knees, she couldn’t tell whether the pain came from her wounded pride or bruised body.

  “Have you injured yourself?” Deep and strong, his voice resonated inside of her. “Release me and I will help you.”

  “Never.” Gracefully, Nephythys rose to her feet. Blood marred her skin and robes. With a single thought, all traces of blood vanished before turning to him. “You will never be free. You, Reign, are mine.”

  Briefly, his eyes narrowed to slits and darkened to black pits. Only to return to that placid, dull façade he carried when she was near. She released him. He dropped to the ground and wobbled on unsteady feet. Then stalked away.

  “Your brother is in danger,” she called after him.

  “My brother . . . is dead. Not even dust remains.” He didn’t pause as he walked away.

  She admired his back and ass, all corded with muscles. “Your twin is alive, for the moment.” He stopped, but still would not please her with a caress from his beautiful eyes.

  “You lie.” His voice vibrated with anger. His body followed suit. Anger or passion, she’d take either from her slave.

  “You know I cannot lie.” Finally, his gaze landed on—not her body—just her
face. He wouldn’t look, even now. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his sex for judgment.

  “I will show you.”

  He followed behind. His heavy footsteps matching her lighter tread. Did he appreciate the graceful lines of her bare back and watched the sway of her hips?

  “After all this time I am allowed to see what lies on the other side of the alcove.”

  She turned and found him staring at the hieroglyphs on the ceiling and walls. He studied everything and still didn’t spare her a glance. She stopped in front of the dais and gestured to the bowl. “Gaze into the waters of The Nile. Think of your brother.”

  “How do I know it is not a memory you have stolen from my mind to show me?”

  “You will know it’s not a memory, and it is recent.” She recited the incantation. Again, murky waters swirled, a vortex in a golden bowl. Reign’s face appeared on another man’s body.

  “Roman.” Relief and sorrow equally mingled in Reign’s deep voice as he saw his brother for the first time in two millennia.

  CHAPTER 27

  Four days had grinded by since Stella saw Roman and everyday was a little worse than the last. Memories of her past lives tormented her. Stella as a brown haired girl in a Victorian gown, then a stooped old woman with hair the color of steel, or a curly headed flapper in a beaded dress downing watered whiskey in a Chicago nightclub, in the middle of the night these images came to her. Different women, different periods, all with one constant. . . . Roman. In the background, beside her, lifting her up, standing behind her, holding her hand, Roman was there. Almost always.

  Hungry for his presence, she second-guessed every decision she’d made and regretted some of the harsh, hasty words she said. Regretted the day she met him, but prayed for his safety every night.

  Was he still in jail? He couldn’t be. Wealthy men didn’t stay in jail and if he wasn’t in jail, why hadn’t he come for her? That was an easy question to answer. With Daniel dead, she no longer needed a bodyguard. With her out of the way, Bianca could return.

  She should be glad it was over. And she was. Her life would return to normal. Yeah, normal. Pre-Roman normal. She refused to question whether that was a life at all.

  “Stella! Stop dragging your ass and pick up.” Joe slapped a plate down in the window and rang the bell. Whether he took pity on her or he wanted to cash in on her infamy, Joe rehired her when she walked into the diner and asked for her old job back. Before the attack, her daily schedule didn’t cause her to fall asleep dead to the world. Now, after two days of work, she wanted nothing more than to sleep and never wake up. If she could do that, maybe her misery would be over.

  “Sorry, Joe.” Balancing the tray of plates in her unsteady hands, she dragged her tired ass to her tables.

  Cathy lingered at the counter eyeballing a guy with a dark brown buzz-cut hair and a wicked tribal tat that extended from his impressive bicep and disappeared under his muscle tee before reappearing on his other bicep. A metal cuff clung to the side of his left ear. No other visible jewelry decorated his body. She guessed the tats were enough. On the way back to the kitchen, she caught him staring in the mirror behind the counter. No lust in the gaze as he assessed her. Only speculative curiosity crossed his features. Her heart beat faster. She turned to confront him and touched her uniform pocket. The cool metal knife she recently sharpened boosted her confidence. Along with the coffee pot she grabbed to offer him a refill, she was invincible. If necessary, she’d douse him with the hot coffee, whip the knife out and stab him in the eye. Go for the vulnerable spots, Roman said.

  “Use what’s around you and pick vulnerable areas.” His voice echoed in her head, but as she approached, she noticed the tats weren’t smooth and orderly. The skin beneath the elaborate design was gathered, puckered and scarred. Sometime in the distant past, he was burned, very badly, but survived. The coffee pot wavered in her hand.

  “Here, let me get that for you.” He leaned over the counter and took the pot from her. Once he refilled his mug, he set the metal container more than an arm’s length away from both of them.

  Up close, he was bigger than she first thought, but still compact. No excess of anything enhanced his frame. Lean whipcord muscles covered by burned tattooed skin. For some reason, he reminded her off a rogue lion, proving himself by simply surviving.

  “What do you want?” Her hand drifted to her pocket. His eyes flicked there and returned to her face. He wouldn’t give her a chance to remove the knife and wound him before he disarmed, or worse, killed her.

  “I’m here for the coffee.” He lifted the java to his lips. Muscles and tendons bunched and stretched, pulling his skin too tight not to be painful.

  Two seats down, a chair scraped along the floor, dragging her attention away. Roman slid into a seat. Shades covered his eyes, but her skin flushed as if caressed by his stare. Dressed in black, he sucked in all the light around him. Cut from the same cloth of the night, he embodied everything dangerous. A man to avoid. So why did her heart lurch, her mouth dry and every joint in her treacherous body loosen. Joy flourished where anger should while she feasted on the man. His once clean-shaven face had days of growth. He looked leaner, meaner.

  Damn, he looked good enough to tie his ass to the chair and ride.

  Vaguely, she heard buzz-cut’s cup clink as it returned to the saucer, then change hit the counter and the familiar rustle of bills. She spared a glance and noticed the empty space and the retreating back of the man disappearing into the night. A second later Cathy came rushing out the back.

  “Fuck! Where’d he go?” Cathy’s hands landed angrily on her hips. She saw Roman and her gaze swiveled between the two of them. “Oh—Okay.” She backpedaled, grabbed her food off the window and left.

  “Stella.”

  Guttural and deep, his voice touched intimate places, making her ache. She panted slowly.

  “Coffee, please.” Velvety smooth, he purred or did she hear what she desired?

  Seconds ago, she barely had the energy to place one foot in front of the other. Now, her hips swayed with purposeful intention as she walked away. She glanced over her shoulder and swore the corner of his sensual mouth curled. Yep.

  “Black coffee, the way you like it.” The steaming cup danced slightly in her hand.

  “The way I like it? What do you know about what I like?” Gruff voiced, he studied her from his seated position.

  “Days ago I knew what you liked.” The words tripped off her tongue. Days ago he spent the night locked between her thighs. The memory tightened her nipples and hollowed her.

  He drew a sharp breath before his jaw clenched and his hands grabbed the edge of the table. Stella knew he relived their night together. He stood quickly. Towering over her, he leaned in slightly. She couldn’t stop herself from swaying toward him, seeking his touch, but instead of a caress, Roman tossed money on the table and exited, melting into the night.

  A buck-fifty cup of coffee, he left a hundred dollar bill.

  Tears clouded her vision. She didn’t expect his rejection to hurt so much. And she refused to answer the unspoken ‘why’.

  Stella couldn’t take any more. When he walked out the door, what joy she had, left with him. If she were going to cry, she’d do it alone. Without an audience. She ripped off her apron and told Joe she was leaving. In the small locker room, she changed into street clothes. No Converse. Now, a pair of Volatile combat boots covered her feet and calves, leaving enough room to slip her knife in. Not trusting she wouldn’t shoot herself, she left the gun at home. With mace stuck in her jean pocket and her keys threaded through her knuckles, fear retreated into a dark corner.

  No longer stupid, she used her ninety-eight fifty tip and called a cab. She gathered her things to wait in the doorway of the diner. She didn’t wait long. The cab pulled to a stop in front of her. Once she checked the driver, she got in and told him her address. Ten blocks later, she locked herself into her apartment.

  A cool shower to wash the day of
f her skin and a cold beer to quench the anxious fire in her belly is what she needed to end this shitty day. She unloaded her makeshift weapons onto her storage chest and stripped out of her clothing.

  Beer first. The initial sip of a cold Sam Adams put a smile on her face. Naked, she downed half the bottle then perched it on the lip of the bathroom sink while she showered.

  Her soapy hands slid across her skin, touching places that needed a stronger touch. A man’s touch. She leaned against the wall and tipped her face into the pathetic spray. The tears still came, along with wrenching sobs she couldn’t control.

  “That’s the last time I’ll ever see him . . . most likely. People like me don’t have happy endings, but I did have a happy moment. I had a few hours where everything was perfect,” she mumbled into the cascading water.

  Those few moments would have to last her a lifetime. Her soul screamed at the outrageous thought of finally having him and everything that has conspired to keep them apart.

  “Get over it, Stella. He’s just a man,” she whispered, sad she couldn’t drown herself in the shower.

  He’s not just a man. He’s Roman.

  Half an hour later, she pulled herself together, peeled the curtain back and stepped from the tub. She wrapped a towel around her wet hair, but nixed the idea of a drying herself. Her wet skin felt too good drying slowly in the warm air and she didn’t have the energy to spare. All she needed now was sleep. An image of Roman flickered through her tired mind followed by the memory of his chest pressed to her back as he curled his body around hers.

  “Stop dwelling,” she ordered, and stepped into the living room.

  Hunched over, elbows braced on knees, Roman sat twirling her half-downed beer. His head turned toward her, in one long pull, he drained the bottle. Then stood.

  Stella didn’t breathe as he approached, radiating hostility. She tilted her chin up and tried to meet his shaded eyes, but couldn’t. Inches from her, he halted, not touching. Her heart lurched, yet that didn’t stop her from reaching up and pulling the shades from his chiseled face. The blue eyes she’d come to love, glared frostily at her. She didn’t give a damn. Her hand skimmed down his hard cheek. He sucked air through his teeth, and briefly, heat replaced his icy stare.