Evermore (Descendants of Ra: Book 3)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Yesterday, it covered his upper back and half of his right bicep. Now, it stretched to his elbow and left shoulder. Never had it progressed so fast. He twisted around and saw it had spread to the middle of his back. It had no discernible pattern, just a random blotch that had no meaning. What had changed?

  Emeline.

  He’d caught her scent when he took the water bottle from her, a desert-rose mix that promised a dangerous ride tortured him. His blood flashed hot and a different kind of fury took hold. He hungered, though not for food. And only one thing would satisfy. He looked at his phone still clasped in his hand and forced the regret away.

  The memory of what happened at the lake surfaced and the thing that attacked him. Through the water and his clothing, her clammy embrace had immobilized and drained his will. Her voice had reverberated inside his head. Give me, it said. If EJ hadn’t pulled him from the lake—I can’t keep Emeline.

  Shit! That came out wrong. I can’t protect her. Especially when something hunted him. She had to go to McIntosh.

  A sound came from the kitchen, but he hadn’t heard Emeline come downstairs. There it was again, the distinct scraping of a lock being picked. Avery used the remote to turn off the motion sensors and waited. Glass crashed to the floor, probably from one of the window squares in the back door.

  Avery grabbed a Glock and went to the archway. His heartbeat slowed as he shut down his emotions and focused on the kill, because anyone breaking into this house had a death wish he would fulfill. For the first time since entering the home, everything in him relaxed, as his body always had when facing a battle, even as the ants started nipping under his skin again.

  He shifted and peered into the hallway.

  ***

  Emeline sat up in bed at the sound of glass breaking. She debated going back downstairs; it’s not like he can’t clean up after himself. Then again, he was a man.

  She slipped on a robe and her slippers, and eased down the stairs, though stopped when she spotted Avery standing in the shadow of the living room archway. Shirtless, smooth, lightly tanned skin stretched over sculpted muscles. Hard pecs her fingers ached to stroke. Flat, tanned nipples her tongue wanted to lick. Rope after rope of muscles lined his stomach and a slight trail of reddish hair led further south.

  An intricate tat covered the shoulder of his right arm. No chest hair for her fingers to stumble over, just perfect lickable skin covering a honed body built for war. All that exposed muscle and tattooed flesh had estrogen spiking her blood. Everything inside her liquefied, then flambéed.

  Until she noticed his scowl, a finger pressed to his lips, and a gun in his hand.

  Questions cleared the fog from her mind as footsteps echoed in the kitchen. Emeline gripped the banister. Her breath caught and fluttered in her lungs. Someone was in her house. Someone had the nerve to break into her house—again.

  Emeline darted back up the stairs and grabbed the baseball bat she kept next to her nightstand. On tip-toes, she eased back down the staircase.

  Avery waved her back.

  She crept closer, the bat ready to hit a grand slam. Wait. She strained her ears listening to the shuffle of more than one set of feet. Two someones were in her house.

  Avery held up his hand, ordering her to stop. Emeline stepped down, one step, then the next. She skipped the fifth step and smiled at her achievement, but the next creaked, loudly. She froze. The bat came up and she lowered to her haunches.

  A barrel-chested man wearing a black, ski mask entered the hallway with a gun leading the way. Their gazes clashed until hers dropped to the nozzle aimed at her chest. “I found her,” came his muffled voice.

  Before she could move, Avery rushed forward. He grabbed the man’s wrist, shoved it up, and twisted. Something popped and a stifled cry came from beneath the mask. The gun clattered to the linoleum and skated her way.

  Emeline dashed down the stairs. She picked up the gun, made sure the safety was on, and dropped the weapon into the pocket of her robe.

  Avery kicked his leg out and swept the man off his feet. As he fell, Avery brought a knee up. The man’s head snapped back and he landed on the kitchen floor, rattling the dishes in the cabinets. Avery hauled the big guy up and into his fist. Three furious jabs later, Avery dropped him and followed up with an elbow into the robber’s well-nourished belly. The man didn’t move again.

  Avery spun to the second man who clasped the same knife Emeline had grabbed to use on Ridley. Avery slid a knife from a flap on the side of his pants.

  A foot shorter than Avery and inches shorter than her, the little guy had no advantage, even with the butcher knife and no hope of escaping when Avery blocked the back door. That didn’t stop his gaze from darting between her and Avery, assessing his dismal options.

  She wasn’t surprised when he rushed toward her, the closer, weaker of the two, to use as leverage. She knew exactly what she’d do when he came for her. 3D’s. Deflect, disarm, destroy, her personal mantra when in a fight.

  Emeline swung the bat and enjoyed the resounding crack of a Louisville Slugger meeting bone. This time, she wasn’t a victim. The man screamed, but he kept coming for her.

  Avery hooked one arm around the little guy’s neck, grabbed the hand wielding the knife, and hauled him back. The guy flailed, arms and legs going everywhere.

  Avery hissed and both knives clattered to the linoleum. In one move, he had the guy by the throat, a foot off the ground. Wheezing came from beneath the mask. His flailing limbs slowed. Then stilled.

  Emeline grabbed Avery’s arm. Blood gushed from a slash to his forearm. “Put him down!”

  His head jerked her way. She tensed, almost retreated from his feral face and black eyes. Wait? His eyes were green. Not the color of the darkest pit, which pinned her to the spot.

  Now would be a good time to haul ass, Emeline.

  Her legs refused the command.

  “You’re killing him.”

  “You are under my protection. No one hurts what’s mine.” Venom dripped from each word.

  Darkness pulled at her senses, threatening to unravel her mind. Common sense ordered her to run, instead, she grabbed Avery’s face.

  “You will not kill a man in my home.”

  An elongated pause strung out between them. Then, a sliver of green returned to his eyes. He yanked away from her and slammed the man to the floor. The darkness cleared from her mind. It rolled back like fog receding from the coast.

  Avery stalked between the two bodies sprawled on her kitchen floor and grabbed a vase of half-dead daisies. He tossed the flowers on the counter and emptied the stale water into the face of his last opponent. The man sputtered and coughed. Avery tore the mask off.

  “Vito? What the hell! You break into my house?” Emeline fumed. She wanted to press her foot into his neck, but Avery beat her to the punch.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered through missing teeth and a bloody lip. “You weren’t supposed to be here. Thought you were at work.”

  “Why did you come here?” Avery’s voice cut through Vito’s cries.

  “I came here for more stuff, more Egyptian artifacts. My buyer wants more of that broken piece of crap you brought me. She’s willing to pay a lot. We could split the money.”

  “Split the money? You son of a bitch.” Emeline swung at him, but Avery blocked her punch.

  “Who is your buyer?” Avery asked.

  “I can’t tell you that.” Blood trickled from Vito’s mouth, adding to the smears already staining the linoleum.

  Avery removed his foot and eased down near Vito’s head. He slipped another knife from a hidden sleeve in the leg of his pants and let the blade hover above Vito’s left eye.

  Emeline studied the tattoo on Avery’s back; she couldn’t help it. The thing didn’t move with him but seemed to hover slightly above his skin, like another layer of jagged ebony flesh.

  “You have one more chance to answer, then your only choice will be left eye or right.” The knife flick
ed between each eyeball. “Who is your buyer?” He said emphasized each word.

  “R-R-Ridley Cross.”

  Jesus! Emeline staggered away and tripped over the unconscious guy on the floor.

  “How do you contact her?” Avery continued.

  No. She willed Vito not to tell Avery.

  “Email a-a-address.” Vito hiccupped.

  Avery patted him down and yanked a phone from Vito’s breast pocket. “Is it in here?” Vito nodded. “What exactly did she send you here for?”

  “Her friend drew a picture.”

  “Friend?” Avery shook him.

  Vito’s head bounced on the linoleum. “Yeah, she had a friend with her, but I never saw her face.”

  “Where’s the picture?”

  Vito reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a yellow paper. Avery handed the folded sheet to her. She studied the five oval shaped images on the piece of paper, each a depiction of an animal: a scarab, a cobra, a lion, a jackal, and a scorpion on pieces of jewelry. Emeline recognized the lower half of the lion as the design on the broken piece of gold she sold to Vito.

  “This one.” She turned the paper around and pointed to the lion. “I sold you a piece of this.”

  “I came for the other half and anything else I could find.” Avery grabbed Vito’s neck. The man’s eyes bulged and his raspy breathing ceased.

  “Don’t kill him!” Emeline touched his shoulder and the tattoo. The ink moved beneath her palm and a shock raced up her arm. She jerked away.

  Avery stopped the pressure on Vito’s throat but didn’t look at her. “He came in here to steal from you, possibly rape and kill you. You don’t leave shit like him living to return to finish the job.” He seethed and she had the uncontrollable urge to join him.

  She fought it, pushed back her bloodlust, and remembered she wasn’t a killer. The muscles in her palm hurt. She glanced at her hand, the one that touched Avery. It felt…alien. As if a surgeon had attached someone else’s hand. She shook it and beat her fist against her thigh. Worry later, she thought while moving toward Avery.

  “He has a family. I know his son.” Emeline leaned close to Vito. “You need to leave town. Close up shop and take a long vacation. And when you come back, forget you saw these images, came here or knew me.”

  Tears streamed from his eyes, but he managed to blink hard.

  She took that as a yes.

  When she moved away, Avery hovered over Vito. “You ever come near her again, I will kill you. There will be nothing to bury. No body to claim. Then I will kill every member of your family, starting with your son. Understand?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He hauled Vito up and threw him out the back door and onto the concrete patio. His partner followed with a sickening crunch of bones. Gently, he closed the back door and flipped the lock, though air whistled through the broken window pane.

  “Y-you didn’t mean that,” Emeline said from a corner of the kitchen. The steady wall against her back kept her from slumping into a heap. It wasn’t the break-in that unnerved her. It was Avery. He stood in the middle of her kitchen, blood streaked his chest and abdomen, like a pagan god delighting in a barbaric ritual. Her stomach heaved.

  She stared at his hard, vacant eyes as he approached, wondering at the emotions beneath the diamond surface of the man hired to protect her. He stopped a few feet away and studied her as she did him. The man she’d lied to.

  “I meant every word.” His gaze didn’t waver from her face.

  “I don’t need you killing for me.” Her hand stung as nerve endings came back to life. She could’ve handled both men, but not with the brutal efficiency he possessed. And his threats to Vito… nope, they weren’t idle.

  “It’s not for you. No one crosses me and lives. You’re under my protection.” A single finger touched the center of her chest. “That makes you an extension of me.” Blood dripped from his arm in fat droplets that splattered on the kitchen tile.

  Emeline glanced away from the red speckling on his pale face and swallowed the lump in her throat. His dark eyes were too intense. His presence overwhelming. They’d been together less than four hours and already her head was underwater. He turned away and she was grateful.

  She exited the room first to steady her nerves, second to retrieve the first aid kit from the living room where she’d placed it after Grand had moved in.

  So much mystery and lore surrounded the Nicolis men. It started with Roman and his missing twin Reign and spread to the rest of the brothers. Secretly, she thought much of it was B.S. Until now. There was so much she already knew about him. His file detailed the childhood fire in his home that took both his parents and nearly his baby brother. In all her time watching him, she’d never seen his burn. Even in summer, he’d worn long sleeves. Now she could understand why. The skin was horribly puckered and the muscle underneath deformed. It had to constantly hurt, be a constant reminder of that day. No wonder he had it covered with a tattoo.

  For a second, she’d thought she had sifted him. His thoughts filtered through her mind, but the sensation was so brief, it couldn’t be real.

  Avery remained in the kitchen, eyes closed, chin on his chest. Hands balled into meaty fists, his chest heaved with each breath. He lifted his head and his eyes—a beautiful green with a patch of black in the inner one third—stared back at her. The tattoo, the eyes, what the hell had Ridley dragged her into?

  “Your wound,” she motioned toward his arm, “let me clean and dress it.”

  He glanced down and frowned. “Thanks.” He covered the wound with his hand. “I got this.” And moved to the sink. “You should go back to sleep.” He shoved his arm under the faucet and pink water swirled down the drain.

  Yeah, like she could sleep after this. Emeline turned off the water. She patted his arm dry with a stack of gauze, noting how well the gash appeared. She’d swear it looked deeper before she got the kit. Next came a splash of rubbing alcohol. His muscles spasmed, yet not a sound came from his lips.

  “You need stitches.” She doubled the gauze, placed it over the wound, and taped it flat. Her fingers brushed his skin and she sensed that darkness again, though not as strong.

  “This’ll be fine.” He moved away. “Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?” He opened the pantry and peered inside.

  She may as well have advised a wall. Emeline shuffled over to the sink and opened the cabinet beneath. She moved out of the way for him to retrieve rags and Lysol. Pools of blood and castoff marred the white countertop, refrigerator, and linoleum floor. He moved to the floor first, spraying, and wiping. Efficient in everything, his strokes were quick, and his tattoo was a one dimensional, nondescript piece of art on his broad back. She grabbed some paper towels and dropped to her knees.

  “Don’t,” he said, but didn’t look at her. “I’ll do this.”

  She studied him, confused by his rebuke, and went to the counter.

  “Why were you pawning jewelry?”

  His question took her by surprise and embarrassed her. “I needed money to pay the back taxes on the house. Grand’s pension took care of his nursing home, but didn’t leave anything else.” Emeline paused. She couldn’t tell him she was trying to gather enough money to leave town when she pawned what she thought was a hunk of junk. “Plus college tuition. I had no idea anything I pawned was valuable. I mean, I knew it had monetary value, not value that would make someone break into my home.” She took a deep breath. “What’s up with your tattoo?”

  He stiffened but continued wiping without answering.

  Fine, I have secrets too.

  She finished disinfecting the counter and then pulled the paper out of her pocket. All of the drawings had hieroglyphics etched into the surface. Somewhere, at some point, she’d seen them.

  He came to her and held out his hand. “May I have it.” A demand, not a question.

  Emeline handed the paper over.

  “And the gun you pocketed.”

  Emeline handed the we
apon over too. As she walked away, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the drawings, then started texting. She glanced at his back. The tattoo seemed different, layered, and angry. She stared and swore the ink vibrated. When she blinked, it was gone.

  I’m not crazy. She returned to her bedroom and plopped on her bed. That is no ordinary tattoo, just as he is no ordinary man. She forced thoughts of Avery aside and remembered all of the stuff she’d pawned had come from the basement, but she didn’t remember anything resembling the drawings.

  A memory tickled her brain. She had seen the images before, though not in the basement…in the journal. She glanced at the leather tome on her night table.

  The time to read through it would come later. Now, she ignored her grandfather’s scribble and flipped through the worn pages quickly. Three-fourths in, she found it. Grand’s drawing had more detail with cartouches on each Orb. Unfortunately, she couldn’t read hieroglyphics. The Order had tried to teach her and Mrs. Kelly had insisted she learn, however pictures as words didn’t compute in her brain. But she knew someone for whom it did compute—Belinda Randolph, member of the Order, lead researcher in the archives, and Lincoln’s older sister.

  Chances were, Vito was headed straight to Ridley or Ridley was waiting for him. He wouldn’t keep his lips shut for long about whom he’d bought the fragment from and who had kicked his ass.

  The front door opened and closed. Emeline darted to her bedroom window and watched Avery—dressed again—storm in the direction of his car. Now or never, she stripped off her pajamas and dragged on a pair of jeans and tee shirt without pausing for a bra. A thin jacket substituted for her winter coat which was a hostage in the living room. She couldn’t risk retrieving it.

  Emeline opened the door next to her bathroom. A blast of frigid air slapped her, made her want to rethink her hasty plan. In the end, she still jogged up the stairs and opened the door to the rooftop patio. She walked across five rooftops to the fire escape on the apartment building adjacent to the last townhouse.

  Two blocks away, she hailed a gypsy cab that operated in the low-income neighborhoods the nice yellow cabs refused to travel. A half hour later, she pushed open a door to a house in the affluent hamlet of Bronxville a little north of Yonkers. Loud music and a crowd of dancing bodies had her weaving through the home.