by K. T. Tomb
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 is 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 had. She was intrigued—and curious—to discover that she was excited by this revelation.
She was excited by his love.
Chapter Seven
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 lay 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 whom 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 cou
ld 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.
She slid behind him.
He was breathing slowly. He reached again for his sock.
She stopped him, placing her left hand softly on the back of his injured shoulder. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he didn’t move at all. She had suspected that he would resist her, perhaps holding onto his grudge like a child.
She was wrong.
She bent over him. With her right hand, she reached around his chest. His partially buttoned shirt was already beginning to stain with blood.
Her lips were very near his ear. She gently pushed aside the silk shirt, revealing his wound. The skin around it was flaming red and blood was pumping out with each beat of his heart. Most, who were not warriors, would find it hard to believe the amount of blood that could be lost from a narrow stab wound. It was often too deep for blood to coagulate.
His flesh was hot. She figured it was a result of his soaking in the tub and not the result of a fever.
She tilted the vial over the wound and as designed, a single drop of light yellow oil issued and spilled over the serrated skin.
He chose not to watch the healing. Instead, he turned his head and looked at her. “Two times in one night,” he said. “Some hero I am. You ladies sure you got the right guy?”
The wound was healing as he spoke. The skin fused together. A last drop of blood spilled out before the skin itself sealed shut. She carefully—always carefully—put the top back on the vial of oil and set it on the room’s only table. She kept one hand on his shoulder.
“Whether or not we have the right man is for the Creator to decide.”
“Well, when you see the Almighty and get His input on the matter, let me know.”
He had unusually full lips that most women would be envious of. His eyes were hazel, but at the moment, they seemed to shine with the blue of a gemstone. She was sure he was flirting with her. His eyes were sparkling mischievously, as if daring her to kiss those lips. Then again, she could be wrong. He could still be delirious from the loss of blood. Although she had lived many lifetimes, she was hardly an expert on flirting. Serious relationships with mortals were strictly banned. The times she had mated were strictly perfunctory and almost scientific. She had decided long ago that such sporting, which was how she referred to it, was a waste of her time and energy. The experiences did nothing except compromise her body, mind, and even her personal security.
As quickly as it was there, the flirting was gone from Knight’s eyes, and replaced with something else. An intense hunger.
An intense need.
For her.
This look wasn’t daring her to kiss him. In this transitory gaze, he wanted desperately to kiss her.
Not a look of lust, which she was familiar with. Mortal men very rarely held back their lust for her, which was why she often chose to wear the long robes. Her body was perfectly honed for combat and was apparently very desirable to most men.
No, Knight’s desire went deeper. It was an emotion that gripped him completely and she had the sensation that she had been involved in a love affair with this man. A love affair of which she had no memory. It was a disconcerting feeling.
But now, the hunger was gone. The longing in his eyes disappeared, replaced by his impish grin, which he did often and easily. She liked his grin.
But the desire had been there. She had seen it. And she wasn’t about to forget it.
***
Being in such close proximity to her was driving him nuts.
Never in his wildest expectations did he ever truly believe he would meet his dream woman. Now, here she was leaning over him, intimately doctoring his wounds. It was surreal. It was more than surreal.
It was unimaginable.
It was all he could do not reach out and pull her down on top of him. She probably would skewer him like a shish kabob with some hidden implement. He forced himself to look away, to focus on something else.
He thought of the images of her he had painted. The black hair with the streak of white.
Now, she was standing next to him. She was real.
Not a dream.
He was losing his mind. That was the only explanation. The Fallen? Immortals? The real Garden of Eden? The Chosen One?
He needed to be medicated.
Okay, he told himself, you’re supposed to be thinking of something else. Anything but her. His heart continued hammering in his chest. He was reacting to her nearness in other ways. Ways that reminded him of a hormone-crazed teenager.
He tried his damnedest to think of... anything else.
She reached out and gently touched his chin. He was suddenly conscious that he needed a shave. He looked up at her and was shocked by what he saw. Shocked and thrilled. She wanted him. He could see it in her eyes. He had seen the look before in other women, but coming from her was much more fulfilling, gratifying, and exciting.
***
She was surprised by her sudden need to taste his full lips. “Evan Knight,” she said, reaching out and touching his chin, “may I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She cupped his face gently in her hands and leaned down, hovering slightly over his lips. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly open. She pressed her lips against his.
So soft and warm. She cradled his head and then pressed her lips much harder against his. Never had a mortal inspired such a hunger within her.
Then again, he was the Chosen One.
Wasn’t he?
***
It had been a long night.
He had been exhausted after his lecture alone. Thrown on top of that was a fight with a wild hellion named Jessima IL Eve, a battle with a legion of undead, and then escaping from the police along the beach. He had every right to collapse into sleep and yet, when their lips met, he felt more alive than ever.
An unexpected energy surged through him. Never had he ever expected to meet his dream woman, let alone kiss her.
Now, here she was, leaning over him tenderly rubbing his recently healed shoulder. Her lips moved slowly over his, tasting him carefully.
It was more than he could bear.
He groaned.
She pulled back, startled. “Are you hurt?”
“Quite the opposite. I’ve never felt better.”
He stood swiftly, knocking over the chair. In one smooth movement, he swept her up neatly in his arms.
She gasped. He thought she was about to flip out of his grasp; then he realized that she had probably never in her entire existence been swept up into someone’s arms, let alone a lover’s.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I have you.”
She relaxed, and draped her arms around his neck, then found his lips with her own. As he carried her over to the bed, perhaps just a dozen feet away, he tried to hide the fact that his arms were already shaking.
She was a big girl!
***
Never had she been hoisted in a man’s arms. Her first instinct was to attack, to rip off the offending man’s ears and then dig her fingers into his skull, but this man was not offensive in any sense of the word. He was enticing. When she allowed herself to be swept away, she had felt a thrill rush through her that was equivalent to the thrill of battle.
He was breathing hard. Perhaps with passion. They kissed as he headed toward the bed. He occasionally stole air from the side of his mouth.
He set her gently on the bed. Although he did his best to disguise it, he knuckled his lower back before he slid in next to her.
Evan Knight reached over and swi
tched off the bedside lamp.
Chapter Eight
Myora IL Eve, the Mother Daughter, gasped and bolted upright in her bed. The small, private chamber was pitch-black. She was alone.
The dream had been so vivid, so real. In it, there had been that final, blinding explosion that had jolted her to lucidity. Sweat rolled from her brow and her hands were shaking. Her dreams lately were always the same. In them, she saw the imminent destruction of the Sisterhood, exploding bombs and the carnage of her dear Daughters. She was among the dead and she viewed the destruction from above, from a bird’s eye view.
There was no one left behind to administer the healing oil.
The bodies left unattended quickly decomposed into nothing more than grinning skeletons.
This day was coming.
She was sure of it.
It was coming soon, based on the frequency and vividness of these dreams. She had learned long ago that she had been given the gift of prophecy, along with the herculean task to protect all life on Earth. When this day came, Eden would be exposed. The Tree of Life would be at the mercy of those who did not understand it. Or worse, it would be at the mercy of those who sought to use it for nefarious means.
She had lost two Daughters. One was dead. She was sure of it. Her dream had been clear on that account. Her death was the catalyst for the coming destruction. The other. Well, the hope of Earth rested with her and the young man. That left fifteen to defend all of life on Earth.
According to her dreams, they would fail.
And they would all die trying.
She hadn’t told her Daughters. She couldn’t. Not yet.
Time. That’s what they needed. She needed to give Jessima and the man known as Evan Knight, as had been revealed to her in her dreams, time to return. Time to do whatever it was that he was put on this Earth to do. She didn’t know what it was and she especially did not know what made Knight so special and yet, there he was in her dreams. Centuries earlier, he had been just a vague image. A face indiscernible in her dreams, but the name was then unknown. He had appeared rarely, but often enough for her to know that the dream was prophetic. Admittedly, she often had trouble discerning the prophetic dreams from those that were not. As the years wore on, he appeared with more regularity. She had named him the Chosen One and she had shared this knowledge with her Daughters.