“No.” The tips of her coiled hair flamed. “You will give me all that I want.”
A Null hurried through the archway and stumbled into a low bow.
“Get out,” she snapped.
“Goddess, The God SET approaches.” The sentence rushed from her.
Her heart lurched in her chest. May Ra damn Anubis!
“One hour, Nephythys. One single hour of my time and then I am free. That is all I will agree too.”
She opened her mouth to deny him, but Reign collapsed against the table. Bowed, mouth hanging open, he struggled to breathe. Though her body barely noticed, the air pressure had changed. She didn’t like this agreement, but the time for negotiation had lapsed. SET had arrived and her lover was no match for the God of All Evil.
One hour wasn’t long enough for him to fall in love with her again. However, there were ways to manipulate an hour to her advantage.
“Kiss me.” Nephythys demanded. Using her illusion, she cupped his face and dragged his lips to hers. He didn’t fight, neither did he respond. He accepted half of the love she carried for him, transferred in a sweet rush. “Until you return to me, I give you immortality, the power to fade and flash, and care for your needs.” With each word, her power poured into his. “Come back to me quickly, Reign, because these powers will not last long.” She rushed and pulled away.
“How long?” he whispered back.
An icy wind blew into the chamber, the precursor to her husband’s arrival. She pressed one muted kiss to Reign’s lips and then he was gone an instant before the first of her husband’s tendrils slithered through the door of her private chambers.
Joined by others, they wrapped around her ankles and stroked upward, over her calves and thighs, skirted her core, coiled around her waist and held her as the rest of him poured into her room.
“SET.” She spat repulsed by his gaseous presence.
“Wife.” The word caressed her. “Your time is up. Prepare yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY- ONE
Stella couldn’t guess why the detective decided to give her a place to stay. This had to be against regulations. If the police department found out they’d crucify, suspend, and demote her, but thank God, Lever offered. She had no idea where she would be right now if the detective hadn’t insisted. Still, she’d only stay one night.
She glanced at Lever and noticed how she checked the rear and side mirrors. Stella unbuckled her seatbelt and turned around in the passenger seat.
“There’s nothing back there. Sit down and buckle up.”
Even if someone was, she wouldn’t be able to tell. But she wasn’t searching for anyone. Roman, she thought buckling the seatbelt.
“Where are we going?” she asked more to distract herself than to find out her destination.
“To my grandmother’s house in New Rochelle. My parents put it on the market last year. It’s a cute little bungalow in a cul-de-sac. I’d love to buy but . . . my wallet and I aren’t in agreement. Maybe someday.” Lever sighed, merging onto the highway.
Stella rolled down the window and let the air pound her. Freedom. She’d never willingly give it up again. Forty-five minutes later, they arrived at Lever’s home.
Lever stepped out of her car and waved to her neighbor. “Hello, Mrs. Kelly,” she yelled, then whispered to Stella. “She’s eighty-six years old and she’s never left the neighborhood. Born, raised, married, gave birth in the same house. She’s a bit eccentric. She and my granny were from that period of time where true ladies wore gloves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her or Granny without a pair, especially outside the house. Oh, I better make sure she recognizes me or else the New Rochelle PD will be here in three minutes.” Lever left her on the curb and quickly covered the distance to her neighbor’s gate.
Stella unlatched the lock on the picket fence. The waist-high gate swung open. She caught snippets of the conversation, questions about Lever’s family, her parent’s health, her brother’s jobs, and her marriage prospects. Mrs. Kelly’s face may be wrinkled and her body stooped, but her eyes were lively and her voice strong as she interrogated the detective. If Stella wasn’t exhausted, she would’ve smiled.
“Sorry about that,” Lever said to Stella.
“No problem. She’s lovely.”
“She’s also better than a security alarm and a dog.” Lever opened the front door and ushered her in. She gave Stella a quick tour of the home and showed her to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. Done in a baseball motif with narrow twin beds on opposite sides of the room, toy cars, GI Joes, and model airplanes in pristine condition gave the bedroom a Smithsonian feel.
“The bathroom’s down the hall. There are towels, washcloths, shampoo, etc. in the cabinet next to the sink.”
Stella nodded.
“I’m going to order some food. Any preference?”
Too tired to care, Stella shook her head. “Whatever’s fine.”
As soon as the door closed behind Lever, the duffel bag slid off Stella’s shoulder. Thoughts of a bath faded from her mind and she dove for the bed. She was asleep within seconds.
Sometime during the night, Lever shook her awake. Stella pushed her away, however, the smell of hot Chinese take-out demanded attention. Two plates and a shower made her almost feel normal. Stella tried to go back to sleep, but a strange bed, her current circumstances or fear, maybe all, conspired to keep her eyes open.
She ended up roaming the house, touching the knick-knacks and pictures of the detective’s family. Whether genuine or pretend, the pictures depicted a happy home. For a second, Stella remembered the portrait that hung in the living room of her parent’s home before her mother died. Just the three of them. At age ten, her life was perfect.
She placed the pictures down and walked away from the mantle. Goosebumps pebbled her skin as a chill moved past her. Arms wrapped tightly around her, she wore a path in the living room. Facts she could no longer ignore patiently requested her attention. Daniel was alive. That meant one thing. He was like Roman. And he was after her, still trying to kill her. She no longer cared why.
How to kill an immortal? There’s only one person on the planet she could ask that question. For a multitude of reasons, she needed Roman.
Large bay windows in the dining room displayed the front lawn and the road leading into the cul-de-sac. Stella stood there, surveying the unchanging landscape as the night moved slowly by. Surprise wasn’t the emotion she felt when a car with its headlights off quietly rolled down the road and stopped opposite the house.
Anticipation caused her to shiver. It was him.
He’d come for her.
~~~~~~
He’d found her.
Now to get her back.
Roman surveyed the house and detected no police presence. How could they safeguard her here? No matter what her argument, she’d be leaving with him. By force if necessary, but he prayed things wouldn’t come to that.
Hate was not the emotion he wanted from her but was all he seemed to elicit. If he could roll back the clock, he would have ended his relationship with Bianca months ago. All the other issues, well . . . he couldn’t change any of it. Not the curse, his immortality, and not Daniel, but he would protect her until the danger passed. After that, he’d let her go. The thought made his gut clench.
Roman stepped out of the car and took two steps when the front door opened and Stella raced out with her duffel. He drew his gun and ran to her, expecting her to run behind him. Instead, she stopped a few feet away.
He glanced behind her to the house. Nothing chased her.
“How did you find me?”
Her words were rushed and husky. And she wasn’t angry. By her stunned expression, she almost seemed . . . relieved.
“I planted a tracker in your duffel bag.” He braced himself for a blistering attack and scarcely had time to catch her when she threw herself into his arms. Face buried in his chest, her hands clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer.
Never h
ad he expected this. He nearly smothered her in his arms.
“You came for me,” she mumbled against his chest.
He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up. A gust of wind conspired to hide her face behind her wild hair. He smoothed the wayward strands away and cupped her face. Weary smudges circled her eyes. Still, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Always.” Suddenly, his senses buzzed with the same awareness he had in Central Park.
“Get in the car.” He ordered releasing her. The beast was near, but if Quin was correct—and he always was—the beast and Daniel were the same. Two sides of the same twisted coin. How had he achieved it, shapeshifting? It wasn’t possible. Fuck! He was a two-thousand-year-old man scoffing at a shapeshifter.
“I need to tell Detective Lever that I’m leaving.” Stella took a step toward the house.
“No, now,” he growled. Lever might still be alive, however, he suspected she was already dead. He scanned the house. Eyes assessed him from the front window. His hackles rose, bringing the Thracian warrior to the forefront.
He picked up her bag and dragged her to the car.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice cracked with fear.
When she stalled, still questioning about ‘why and the detective’, he picked her up and sat her in the dark interior.
“I’m not afraid, Roman. You’re not protecting me, your running,” she said before he slammed the car door.
He gripped the door and leaned through the window. “Are you calling me a coward?” he asked inches away from her face.
Stella flipped his shades up. “Never. But I’m ready to fight this. I’m not running and I don’t want you to run because you’re afraid for me. Whatever happens, I’m ready,” she said hastily.
Her steady, unflinching gaze didn’t waver under his scrutiny. He wanted to kiss her, tell her thanks for putting her faith in him once more. Roman inched forward as she leaned. No. He couldn’t give in to his urge to hold onto her and never let her go.
“Not here, not now, and on our terms,” he whispered fiercely.
He got into the driver’s seat as the lights turned on in an upstairs room. A second later, Lever’s face appeared in the window. Then disappeared. The front door to the home exploded before he started the car.
The beast stepped through the shattered frame.
“What happened?” Stella screamed and reached for her door handle.
He grabbed her arm, but never took his eyes off the approaching monster. Cast in the shadow of the porch, she couldn’t see him, but he did. His keen eyesight tracked its movement.
“He’s here, the beast from the park.”
“Why can’t I see him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is it?” she whispered.
Thirty feet away and creeping closer, he didn’t tell her. In the dim yellow streetlight, his eyes picked up its shifting color from yellow, to gray, to black. It blended with the night.
“It’s a chameleon,” he murmured.
“Oh, shit.” She choked, leaning closer to the window.
He cranked the key and the engine purred.
“Oh my God, Lever! I’m not leaving her!” She cried and reached for the door handle again.
“She’s alive. And we’re not leaving her—” He gunned the engine. Foot on the brake, the back tires smoked the asphalt, “—we’re drawing it away.” He shifted gears and hit the gas. The Shelby leaped forward, greedily eating up the blacktop as it sped out of the sleepy neighborhood.
He heard gunfire and the distant warble of an approaching siren. In the rearview mirror, the beast pursued them. Even as they swerved onto the deserted main road, it chased, giving up when they hit the on-ramp to the highway a mile away.
Reign’s atoms separated and his body fled from Chemmis. Nauseated, he sank to his knees and tipped over onto the hard black ground streaked with two yellow stripes. Parts of him were still moving, deciding whether to coalesce or fly off and join the universe. Each shifting atom took an individual moment to choose. At best a millisecond—but when added altogether—for ten unbearable seconds, he couldn’t move. Vulnerable in a strange land with powers he didn’t understand, combined with limited time, wasn’t a way any warrior would choose to find himself.
Finally, he stood, naked in the middle of a road, a modern road with lights that weren’t candles, surrounded by small dwellings. Was he free or had Nephythys trapped him in another fairytale of her making? He inhaled deeply, testing the air for ash and sulfur. Naught could hide the scent of the underworld. He smelled nothing, not the stench of Duat—which sent a moment of relief coursing through him—or anything else. Was there no air in this place? Next to him, the leaves on a sickly tree fluttered in a stiff breeze. He braced his body and strained to feel the wind against his skin. He didn’t.
Tension strung his body tight. Danger approached. The sensation hummed along his nerves making his limbs tremble and his vision swim. Death stalked him again, pounding against the inside of his skull, pushing at his control. Reign clutched his head. Like an itch, the low buzz hummed across his skin in an indecipherable chatter that raised the hairs on his arms and rose quickly into a resonating wail throughout his body. The voices of his fallen enemies screamed for revenge.
He peered over his shoulder to find The Vanquished, dressed in the same armor they died in, weaponless in their defeat, standing behind him. Row after row, the spirits of all the men he faced on the battlefield, haunted him and fed him a simmering violence that he had leashed, but now he couldn’t contain. Conquered once, now they gnawed at his sanity. This was his reward for his skill at bringing war to his enemies and the enemies of those who hired him. Imprisoned by Nephythys, they left him in peace. He should thank her for that.
The cacophony of noise dropped him to his knees as memories crowded out all reason. Blood—so warm and wet—that vital liquid, he had waded through rivers of it. All the Spartans, Grecian, Macedonian, he had killed so many, so easily. And each kill made him stronger, faster. Made him the man whom kings paid handsomely. With his brother at his back, they were invincible. None stood before their blades and survived.
He never enjoyed war, but he did excel at it. Though he never enjoyed the killing, being the best at the deed had left him little choice. A mercenary’s life was of hardship, pain, and loss. And blood. So much, he drowned in it.
Bloodlust pulsed through his veins, destroying his thin thread of reasoning. Propelled to his feet, Reign spun and a sword appeared in his hand. Part sword, part ax, the blade was long, jagged, and black, like a slice of midnight. It hummed. Then sang a song so divine to his ears. It called all to a beautiful death. His blood fired with a frenzied rage surging through him. If he didn’t leave this place soon, all of the people would die, but he couldn’t. His will was no longer his own. The Vanquished would have their revenge. Innocence would die today.
A noise startled him. A metal monstrosity growled yards away from him, ready to attack. Something to kill. Delighted, Reign raised his sword. He was about to charge when the door opened and a man stepped from inside the object. Dressed in all black with his eyes and half of his face covered behind reflective glass couldn’t hide the man’s identity. Reign knew the body, face and the man . . . because it was his own. A copy of himself.
His twin.
Roman had found him. The sword and The Vanquished faded.
A door opened behind Reign. He pivoted. A woman rushed from a dwelling, passed right through him and stopped in front of his brother.
Am I dead? Has Nephythys left nothing of me except this ghostly form?
Startled by his non-existence, Reign missed their exchange, but it didn’t matter. She leaped into Roman’s arms and he didn’t push her away. He pulled her closer until they were almost one person. She belonged to him.
Roman stared at the house, and then his head seemed to shift a little in his direction.
“Cristo.” Reign swore his brother sta
red right at him. Saw him.
And turned away.
He couldn’t believe his twin found him and then left him. He watched as his brother climbed into the metal beast and the thing roared to life.
“Roman!” He bellowed. Behind him, an animal howled in outrage. A spawn from the bowels of Duat crashed through the wall of the same house his brother’s woman ran from. It also passed through him, paused, and sniffed the air. Its massive head jerked around and its bulging eyes rotated and seemed to lock onto him. For a moment, they eyed each other as enemies, then quickly it spun and sped away, chasing after his fleeing brother.
Reign started to follow. One step and his knees buckled. He crashed, landing on the unforgiving ground, pain stabbing up his thighs, into his torso. He fell forward onto his hands and couldn’t move. Every muscle clenched. The Vanquished screamed in his head. Their phantom claws ripping at his soul, while they wailed in agony at their suffering, or ecstasy at his own. Their bleating whine started to drive him insane. This is why he chose slavery in Duat. In the realm of The Egyptian Gods, the voices of the condemned ceased and he found some semblance of peace, a respite from the torment of his cursed existence and their unrelenting fury.
Nephythys could lift the curse, in exchange for his undying servitude . . . and his love. Once he gave that to her freely, no longer. She wanted a pet to heel at her feet, not a man by her side.
The pain inside his skull tripled. He needed Roman to manage the curse. Without his easy temperament to balance the darkness in his soul, Reign couldn’t control the rage The Vanquished generated inside him and the madman he became. He wouldn’t be able to save himself from the goddess or Roman from her son.
He heard a whimper and turned his head a fraction toward the house. A woman staggered out of the opening. She stumbled forward, into the yellow streetlight, approaching the stairs and a frightful fall. Blood plastered her wavy hair to the side of her head and painted part of her face. Any moment she would trip on the debris scattered around her and tumble headfirst.
He begged the voices to end. They ignored him and continued shredding the inside of his skull. With The Vanquished trailing him, Reign crawled, praying he had enough time to reach her. On the sidewalk, he grabbed onto the white fence and pulled himself to his feet, then lurched forward. As the distance between them shortened, his torment and paralysis eased, enabling him to throw himself beneath her falling body. She wasn’t a small dainty thing like the woman that departed with Roman. She was tall for a female and by the feel of her lying against him, well-formed. A puff of air caressed his cheek when he leaned close. Then he brushed her hair from her face.
Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1) Page 24