Eternity

by Tmonique Stephens

  Roman un-wrapped the towel from her hair, drew it around her body, and then returned to his seat on the futon.

  “I see you’ve assembled an arsenal.” He pointed to her weapons.

  The sound of his voice hummed along her senses. “How did you get in here?”

  “Your locks aren’t elaborate. The same way I got in, anyone with a modicum of skill could.”

  “Yet I survived an entire ninety-six hours without you,” she goaded and fumed. How dare he break-in and belittle her attempts to keep herself safe.

  A smile cracked his face, but he didn’t reply.

  Not quite opposite him, she sat on the storage chest near the knife . . . just in case. “I don’t need you anymore.” Her gut twisted at the lie. She needed him more than ever. “Daniel’s dead. I’m free.”

  Silence stretched between them, but she refused to look away. And then she saw it. The angry darkness in his cold eyes softened to a sad regret. Her heart hiccupped.

  “You’re . . . different.” He sighed.

  Yes, she was. The past few weeks had altered her mental DNA. She would never be the same, on any level. He pointed to her knife.

  “Kitchen appliance?”

  “I swiped it from the diner.” She hated stealing from Joe, but it was the perfect size to slip into her boot.

  “Pack, we’re leaving the city,” he said calmly.

  Her jaw dropped open about to launch ‘No’, but faster than a blink, Roman had the dull edge of her knife to her throat.

  “Don’t,” he gritted through lips that barely moved. “Don’t—,” he repeated for her stupid mind to understand “think that your sudden affinity for sharp objects means you have a fucking chance protecting yourself. I’m not asking you to go with me. In two minutes, you and I will leave through your front door, wrapped in that towel or fully dressed will be your only decision tonight.”

  He excited her. She couldn’t help it. And he would never hurt her. Whether her higher reason believed that, without a doubt, her soul did.

  Running a finger along the sharp edge of the blade, Stella drew blood.

  Cursing, Roman flung the knife away. It embedded in the floor. He grabbed her hand. A quivering red bead danced on her fingertip. Deliberately, he guided her finger to his lips.

  Fascinated, Stella watched her finger disappear into the depth of his mouth. Tight and hot, the muscles of her groin pulled taunt. Sweet wetness slicked her core. His eyes closed and a second of bliss crossed his face. When he opened them, they were harder than before. Her finger slid off his tongue.

  “One minute. Tick, tick.” He released her and lounged on the futon. His smoldering gaze never left her face.

  It was a slow ten count before she could answer. “If Daniel’s dead—”

  “I have other enemies or have you forgotten the animal attack?”

  No, she hadn’t forgotten. Would she ever be safe again? Feel safe? Minutes ago, in the shower, she couldn’t live without him. Now, her higher reasoning took over.

  With the hem of her towel, she applied pressure to the small nick. “I don’t want to go with you. I don’t trust you.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “But you’re the only option I currently have. Don’t make me regret it.”

  Stella rose. The towel slipped, exposing skin. She snatched it closed and entered her small walk-in closet and closed the door. She didn’t stop to question why she chose to wear the only black thong and the one lacy bra she owned.

  “Thirty seconds,” he barked, but his voice held a certain tension that hadn’t been there before.

  She kept her laugh to herself. “Thirty seconds, yeah right.” She’d spent at least five minutes dressing and packing. Back in the living room, she struggled into her boots. Done, she retrieved her knife and slipped it into the side.

  “Ready.” She sighed.

  Roman said nothing. His eyes were bright and steady as he uncoiled his muscular body and rose. It would be nice if he touched her, pulled her into him so she could nuzzle his neck and smell his special musky scent.

  Stop it.

  He picked up the bag she’d tossed next to the futon, her gun case, and opened her front door. He didn’t hold it, but waited for her on the other side. She snatched up her keys and reached for her cell.

  “Leave it.”

  “I’m taking my phone.” He let her take the knife, why not the phone, especially after her near death experience She stuffed her cell in her back pocket. Roman didn’t say a word.

  Just two people, but the elevator felt like a coffin as they rode it to the ground floor. A few times she opened her mouth to speak, but what to say?

  Apologize. The word whispered between her ears.

  For what? I did what I had to. As a mercenary, he should understand.

  He didn’t wait for her. His long legs quickly covered the distance from the elevator to the exit. On the street, men moved out of his way, woman ogled while she panted, trying to keep up. Three blocks away he entered a garage and didn’t slow as he walked the ramps to the third floor. By the time she joined him, he was tossing her bag into the trunk of a black sports car.

  “I didn’t know we were in a race.” She wheezed, holding onto her side.

  No answer. Not a single word left his lips, but he did open the passenger door, then stepped back and leaned against the side, waiting for her. Devoid of any emotion, his neutral face didn’t comfort. Didn’t frighten her either. It made her sad when it should’ve made her happy.

  Before Roman, she sought neutrality in all of her social interactions with men. The general disinterest chased away all suitors. Now, the mere presence of him dictated her every action and reaction.

  She wanted the old Roman back. Not this aloof man treating her like a client. Whether angry, joyful, or passionate, his visage always held an expression. Indifference was never one of them . . . until now. Indifference meant he no longer cared. But if that was the case then why was he here? Worried, she chewed on the corner of his bottom lip.

  Apologize.

  Stella stopped in front of him. Staring at his shirt stretched across the expanse of his chest, the word balanced on the tip of her tongue. “Roman—”

  Red and blue strobe lights flashed. Two un-marked police cars sped up the ramp and screeched to a halt.

  Roman pushed her behind him. His hand went to his gun in his shoulder holster.

  “Get in the car,” he ordered.

  “No.” Immortal or not, she wouldn’t leave him in danger again.

  Guns drawn, four men exited the two cars. “Police! Drop your weapons.”

  “Show me your badges,” Roman demanded, hand still on his gun, tense and ready for a fight.

  “First drop your weapon,” came the reply.

  Roman gave a dry chuckle and shook his head once.

  Though she wasn’t psychic, she could see where this was going. Four dead policemen and her and Roman on the run for murder. Stella stepped away from the protection of his body. She left from the side where he had his gun so he couldn’t reach for her without exposing himself.

  “Please, everyone calm down.”

  A growl came from Roman. She glanced at him. Palatable fury lashed her.

  “We’ll calm down when he drops his weapon,” an officer shouted.

  “Are we under arrest?” Roman asked.

  “Not yet,” another one answered.

  “Then why are you here?” Roman demanded.

  “We came to tell Miss Walker she’s in danger.”

  “Danger? From what?” she didn’t try to hide her frustration.

  “Daniel Nicolis, he’s alive and missing.”

  CHAPTER 28

  The ground had opened up and bit her in half. Stunned, Stella stared at Roman’s profile until he turned her way. Wary surprise showed on his face, but he wasn’t shocked.

  “You knew,” she stated. “That’s why you came. After you told me he was dead. You told me I was safe from him.” Hysteria threatened to fray her mind. “You lie
d—again.”

  “I didn’t lie. He’s missing. I didn’t know he was alive.”

  “Is he like you?” Panic laced her voice.

  Roman’s nostril flared. She played with a dangerous edge. Secrets. So many damn secrets, she was drowning in them.

  And damn it! They weren’t even hers. One night in his arms and she poured her heart out. He knew all of her secrets. While she found out about his in drips and drabs, and in the most painful and surprising ways.

  “I asked you a question,” she pressed, not caring who listened.

  He towered over her. Chiseled body and matching face, his anger couldn’t possibly match hers.

  “Apparently.”

  One word, that’s all he gave her.

  She had more questions. A ton, really, but not with an audience. Guns still drawn, the police gathered closer. Stella turned to them.

  “I’m requesting protective custody.” She didn’t wait for an answer, but got into one of their cars.

  “Wait.” She heard Roman say. “She’ll need this.”

  From the backseat of the police car, she watched Roman go to the trunk of his car. Faster than the police could stop him, he retrieved her bag and tossed it to the nearest man. Hands raised, he stepped away from the car.

  All more than a foot shorter than him, they approached cautiously. They needn’t worry. He complied when they ordered him to get on the ground. He kneeled and then lay on the grimy concrete floor of the parking garage. That was her last image of him, handcuffed and prone, while they drove her away.

  For a brief moment, their gazes met. It hurt when he closed his eyes and turned his head away from her.

  Alamut jerked, his muscles spasmed. Not quite in control of his body, he tried to stand, but flopped onto his back. The thin mat did nothing to cushion his fall. A moment of vertigo made him relive the fall from Stella apartment window; the weightlessness, terror and . . . relief. It was over. On his back, he pushed the unwanted memories away and stared at the worn, dusty rafters overhead.

  How did I get to the factory? He thought as the spasms subsided and his muscles began obeying his commands. Wobbly, he gained his footing and looked around the room. Everything was as he left it. Not much to hide or take from the sparse dwelling. He walked outside. No cars or people. Even the homes across the street were silent and dark. His castle was still secure.

  He remembered leaving the morgue, the stolen clothes, the pretend jog through the streets, and into the subway. Something else scratched at the edge of his mind, tickling a fragment of a memory. He was in a room, bound in chains, answering questions posed by a blue haired woman. He tried to remember more, but nothing else came to him.

  The place where Anubis cut him throbbed. When he reached behind to touch the spot, the beast inside him roared. He walked to the edge of the pit and stared at the sleeping inhabitants.

  Is that what he was now? He shrugged his shoulders. Human or beast, as long as he had power to rule, power to destroy, more power than Roman, he would be either. The change swept over him, quickly this time because he didn’t fight. He closed his eyes and welcomed the transformation as the harbinger of better things ahead. His ability to flash also returned. The next few hours he spent changing from Alamut to the beast until he controlled both. One man, two parts, best of both worlds, and in his world Roman Nicolis didn’t exist.

  The beast wanted to hunt. To slay. It prodded him, goading him to obey their master and hunt the man of his choice. He fought the urge to find that man and obey Anubis. His will. Not the Egyptian god would rule the beast inside him. He would hunt whom he wanted and when he wanted. And he wanted Roman and Stella.

  I am not afraid.

  The words repeated in her head, becoming a mantra, a shield, a thread to hold onto her sanity. But as she walked deeper into the prison, each clang of the metal door locking behind her, shredded the mantra, destroyed the shield and severed the tenuous threads holding her together.

  They’d taken everything: Her duffel, her clothes and shoes, earrings and necklace. Her fingers tips were black from ink and she still saw the flash of the camera light every time she blinked. McCabe and Lever didn’t tell her she’d be fingerprinted and photographed.

  “They’re going to put you in solitary confinement for your own safety,” Lever said. She stayed with Alexis through the check in process until she’d changed into the orange jumpsuit.

  Solitary confinement? They forgot to inform her she’d enter jail, not as a guest, but as a prisoner. “How long will I be here?”

  Lever gave a slight shrug. “A few days, maybe.”

  “Days?” Stella’s heart fluttered.

  “We’ll catch Daniel soon and this’ll be all over.” Lever nodded to the guard.

  A hand touched her elbow. Stella glanced at the burly guard and forced herself not to pull away. The metal door clicked open behind her. She took a fortifying breath, steeled her spine and turned away the detective.

  Five steps and she had crossed the threshold into another area of the prison. The clang of the door closing behind her punched her in the gut and left her panting.

  “Are you all right?” the guard asked.

  No. She was in prison while a maniac roamed free. What part of that scenario was All Right?

  “Yeah. Great.” Stella shuffled next to the guard, dragging her feet as he guided her deeper into the prison. He didn’t waste any effort on small talk. Good, ‘cause she didn’t have any to share. She glanced at the tile and was disappointed the squares weren’t green and Tom Hanks wasn’t waiting at the end as if the actor could somehow make being here better.

  Muffled noise drew her attention. Voices mingled with laughter.

  They passed through another locked door and security station manned by two guards. Both gave her the once over before one pressed a button on a control panel. A buzzer sounded and the door slid open. Stella stepped through and halted. This couldn’t be solitary confinement.

  Suddenly, she was sixteen again and entering the group home for the first time. Conversations ceased and twenty-two pairs of hostile eyes landed on her. She’d found her green mile after all.

  “I thought I was going to solitary,” she murmured.

  “You’ll have your own cell. We’ll keep you inside when the others are out.”

  Like an animal in the zoo. The crowd parted as they walked through. Whispers came to her. Questions of who was she and why did she get her own cell circulated.

  Memories of the group home she was sent to after her father died blocked coherent thoughts. Vicious little girls greeted her when she arrived. They beat her, stole her clothes, and destroyed the only picture she had of her father. If she looked hard enough she was sure she’d find familiar faces on the women watching her.

  “This is your cell,” the guard said.

  How many times had she seen a prison cell on TV? One hundred? Two hundred? Well, the set designers deserved an Emmy. Cinder block wall, rolled thin mattress on a concrete slab, with a metal toilet in the corner.

  What the hell was I thinking agreeing to this? Her, in prison, locked up, locked down for twenty-four hours, for her protection. She wanted to leave, needed to go, had to escape this cage, this protective custody prison. After this, she’d never jaywalk again. “I need to speak to Detective Lever.”

  The guard placed her in one of the lawyer interview rooms. Half an hour later Lever returned.

  “I’d hoped you would’ve lasted longer than twenty minutes. What happened?” Her gaze darted between the guard and Stella.

  The guard shrugged and tilted his head toward Stella.

  How could she explain how being surrounded by the inmates threw her back to the worst period of her life.

  “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t stay here.”

  “But you would be safe in here. Are you sure you want to leave?” Lever asked.

  “I’d rather be free and take my chances out there.” Stella pointed to a random wall.

  “You know
you can’t go back to your apartment.”

  “Yes,” she huffed. She had no idea where to go, but away from here was the first step.

  “All right, I’ll get you checked out of here.” Lever left the room, and thankfully it didn’t take her long to return. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Through the prison, her badge opened doors and moved people out of the way. They stopped at the property room where all the items inside her duffel: Bras, panties, lingerie, jeans, tees and toiletries were displayed on a table for her to count and sign a release form. A guard droned, counting and comparing each item to the list on his clipboard before passing the document to Stella. She scribbled her signature and let Lever guide her to the nearest bathroom where she stuffed herself back into her clothes.

  With her badge dangling around her neck, Lever quickly navigated the twisted corridors and metal bars of the county jail.

  Stella couldn’t get the words out to tell her how grateful she was for her help. As the distance to the exit shrunk and daylight replaced fluorescents, the words lodged in her throat and scorched. Tears blurred her eyes. “Thanks. I appreciate you getting me out of here.” She hefted her duffel onto her shoulder and made for the way out.

  “Miss Walker, wait.” Lever grabbed her again before she made her escape. “I shouldn’t do this, but . . .” she grumbled. “I could get into trouble, but I can’t let you walk out there alone. I can take you somewhere safe until the morning. Then we’ll go to McCabe and see if there’s somewhere else we can place you.”

  “Now you want to take me to a motel? No.” Her hair whipped back and forth.