Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “Hey, you okay?”

  He touched her bare arms, sending a jolt through her body. The fog cleared from her mind. She looked down and realized she wasn’t faded, and then glanced up at the human. Thin, with a mop of black hair mixed with bleached streaks. Skinny of frame with sallow skin, metal pierced his ears, eyebrows, and lips. Chaos swirled around him in a lazy, unfocused pattern.

  “You're cute.” He leaned closer.

  Cute? She had mastered enough of the language to know what cute meant. But her stomach heaved and she doubled over.

  “Oh, looks like you're gonna be sick.” The man backed up and disappeared into the crowd.

  Her form flickered. In a rush, the energy she’d absorbed bled out of her pores, eyes, nose, and mouth. Poison. None noticed in the dim room the dying Goddess in their midst. The injustice of leaving this world, so soon after gaining her freedom, fired her senses and generated a burst of energy. Her essence spread from her dark center and circled the room, weakening with every rotation.

  Her body dissolved and rained as a mist upon the oblivious humans. She’d returned to her Elemental form. SET had lost his slave. Her revenge against the Egyptians was thwarted.

  A mass of chaotic waves jolted her. Particles suffused her with delicious darkness and dragged her back from the edge of oblivion. She coalesced, hauled her weak body off the floor. Jarred back to life by the succulent taste of a man, she trailed the only source that could keep her alive.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Alexis adjusted the gun hidden under her jacket, in the small of her back. She bent and retrieved her helmet from the chair next to the front door. Caramel, butter-soft leather stretched across her ass, making her aware of each movement. The thong caused just enough friction to remind her why she loved being a woman. She hadn’t felt this sensual in years.

  Good ‘cause she needed the distraction. The call from Internal Affairs had face-planted her into a wall, and she had yet to pick the drywall out of her teeth. The department hadn’t wasted any time boiling the oil to dip her in.

  She’d screwed up again. And so hot on the heels of her other screw-ups. They’d searched for the three gunmen. They’d called in the K-9 unit and a helicopter but were more concerned about frying her ass.

  No one had seen Reign. Dalton and the attendant were down on the floor. The store had no surveillance equipment and the microphone had recorded nothing discerning, only muffled voices. Other than her eyes, there was no proof he was ever there. Just like that day at the morgue when Daniel went missing. On a monitor in the security office, McCabe and the other detectives had watched the video of Daniel rising unaided from the refrigerated drawer. But Alexis had seen a different image. A man, dressed in clothing found in an Egyptian history book, opened the drawer and assisted Daniel. Then a vortex sucked him away, leaving Daniel stumbling and naked.

  And didn’t that make her crazier? The threads of her life were pulling apart, but she wouldn’t sit around waiting for the men in white coats to straitjacket her and cart her way.

  She marched into the apartment’s parking garage, passed her Altima, and swiped the protective cover off her baby. Black with gleaming chrome, sleek, built for speed and all hers. Hayabusa. The bike made her want to bow and pay homage.

  Too many weeks had passed since the last time she felt the fine-tuned hum between her thighs. Among other things missing between her legs. She was gonna get on this bullet and ride until vanishing men and the department were in her side mirrors.

  Alexis swung her leg over. Leather to leather, crotch met seat. She turned the key and cranked the throttle. The bike roared to life and the vibration thrummed through her, cranking her own engine.

  Good girl rules be damned. Reign appearing…then disappearing. Her brain lurched. People didn’t vanish. Fainting into boxes of cornflakes, the reaming from her lieutenant, then Paul showing up, and lastly, the phone call completed the disaster list. Tonight, she needed more than Duracell.

  She needed a release, a few seconds of oblivion, to take her away. Tonight, she needed a drink and a man, then another drink. Exactly in that order.

  She had just slid her helmet over her head when twenty feet away, a shadow peeked around the concrete column.

  Her heart fisted. Reign? “Who’s there?”

  A kid, maybe twelve years old, stepped into the light and leaned against the column. Senses on high alert, she pulled the helmet off and glanced around the parking garage. It wasn’t unheard of to use a kid to distract while another snuck up behind. Alexis balanced her helmet on the tank and cut the engine. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Hands shoved into his jean pockets, the dull brown hoodie shielded his face. But she knew him.

  “Hi, Dougie. A little late to be out?”

  A careless shrug gave his answer. As little brother to the leader of the local street gang, the words ‘bed’ and ‘time’ were not to be in the same sentence. He pushed the hoodie off his head. Dark-skinned and baby-faced, lanky, Dougie Woodard shuffled forward. “Hey, Detective. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  Talk? She managed to hide her surprise behind a cough. “Yeah, what’s up?”

  He twitched and his gaze darted around the garage. Fear had replaced his usual bravado. What the hell was going on?

  “Why so jumpy?” Hell, his twitching was starting to infect her. He must be desperate to break the cardinal rule and come to her, an officer, for help.

  “Ruthless is missing. Dante, too.” He stepped closer. “Dey went missing ‘bout two weeks ago. Searched ev’rywhere. All I found were their bloody shirts. Thought it was the other gangs, but dey gots people missing, too. Been happenin’ for a while.”

  Dorian ‘Ruthless’ Woodard. One-time high school basketball star, now street corner entrepreneur and HNIC-Head Negro In Charge-rumored to have killed two rivals as his initiation to the gang and dragged the middle brother, seventeen-year-old Dante, with him. Afterward, he tattooed ‘ruthless’ down his arm and seemed determined to live up to the moniker.

  “Did you report it?” Missing gang leaders could lead to a turf war.

  “Tried to. Police don’t care.” He sneered. Tires squealed in another part of the garage. Dougie flinched and ducked.

  Alexis climbed off her bike and went to him. “Is someone chasing you?”

  The boy’s spine stiffened and his shoulders squared. “No. No one’s chasin’ me.” Swagger back in place, except his chubby cheeks and soft brown eyes, didn’t quite hold the malice he would’ve liked. Alexis wasn’t sure about Dougie’s parents, but with both his brothers missing, the boy was vulnerable. And he was a good kid. She had checked out the entire family when Ruthless drew the attention of law enforcement. Dougie was a ‘B’ student and when he wasn’t slacking and running his mouth, his teachers thought he had potential. She agreed with them.

  “Where were they last seen?”

  “They were headed to Central Park.”

  “Why down there? Out of the neighborhood. Aren’t there enough street corners here?” A scowl tightened his face and she regretted her scorn. He came to her for help, not ridicule. Alexis crouched next to him. “Let me take you home.”

  “And let ev’ryone see me wit you? A cop.” He darted out of her grasp. “Nah.” He strolled away, arrogance cloaking him like a bulletproof vest.

  She wasn’t surprised he rejected her help but was glad she tried.

  Cruising onto the street, Alexis replayed her encounter with Dougie. Police ignoring missing gang members, maybe, but you couldn’t search for someone you didn’t know was missing. Well, now she knew. And what the hell was she going to do about it? Waltzing in and opening an investigation when everything she did was under the microscope wasn’t the way to get back into the good graces of her chief. Then again, with her track record, nothing she did would ever get her back into that lofty status.

  Darius Woodard. The last time she’d seen him was the night she’d hauled him in for questioning. The guy who’d shattered his knee was killed
in a drive-by. Darius had laughed, not with joy, but a hollow chuckle, which denied nothing. She’d never forget the guilt in his eyes and his dry laugh. If I.A. didn’t skin her and take her badge, maybe she’d get a chance to investigate.

  As soon as she hit the highway, Alexis opened the throttle. The bike roared and she roared too, screaming beneath her helmet. The October wind whipped her, tore at her body and jacket. She didn’t care. She needed this bit of freedom, this madcap dash down a mostly deserted highway before the noose tightened around her neck.

  Everything she’d sweated for—all of it—could be a memory in a few hours. What would she do then? She didn’t have a backup plan because being a cop was her backup plan.

  Mired in thoughts, she didn’t see the pothole until the last second. She swerved, jerking the handlebars sharply to the right, then overcorrected to the left.

  Her heart plunged to her lap and every muscle cringed. No, she cried, more worried about ‘her baby’ than her body kissing the asphalt. She tried to regain control, but one hundred forty pounds of muscle couldn’t match the combination of ninety miles per hour and a three hundred fifty pound bike. There wasn’t time to be afraid, or review her life and the multitude of mistakes. There wasn’t even time to pray as the bike tipped and her butt lifted off the seat.

  Something yanked her back. Her ass landed hard on the leather seat, jarring every bone in her body. The bike wrenched to the right and still tried to skid out from under her. She grabbed the handlebars and countered the tilt by shifting her weight. Her baby shimmied, straightened, and continued to race down the highway.

  Damn, Evel Knievel could kiss her ass! Nothing like escaping death to make you feel alive. Her heart returned to the space between her lungs and did a happy dance only to lurch to a halt.

  The wind no longer beat at her but glided by as if she sat in a glass cockpit. And behind her, something solid pressed against her back.

  Her lungs stopped working. She couldn’t take her eyes off the road. The bike weaved unaided between three cars in its path. Fear warred with higher reasoning, which warred with her sixth sense. She wanted to look behind her, but if she saw ‘him’ she might faint again. Though she doubted passing out would be fatal. Her personal guardian angel wouldn’t allow it.

  Alexis took the next exit. She pulled into the first parking lot she came across RedZone nightclub, and hopped off her bike.

  Nothing was there. Rather, no one was there. Not finding a body sitting on her bike was just as bad as finding one. Circling the machine did nothing but stretch her legs instead of giving her a clue as to why she wasn’t dead. She should be road kill, or at least broken and bloody, waiting for rescue to fail miserably at keeping her alive long enough to be an organ donor.

  She backed up until a parked car stopped her retreat. Slumped against someone else’s vehicle, Alexis braced her hands against her knees and concentrated on breathing. In and out, in and out. Anything more and her brain would short circuit.

  Laughter broke through her survival instinct. She sucked in a fortifying breath and straightened as a gaggle of girls strutted by in micros and stilettos. They glanced her way, laughed a little harder, and paraded on.

  Yeah. The last time she’d been to a club, she was seventeen and it was the night before a pageant. Only one dance and Gloria had barged in and dragged her back to the hotel.

  Funny how a smell, a sound, the glimpse of something from the corner of her eye, could dump her back into her childhood. She didn’t go to clubs. Her body didn’t dance. The whole sweating to music thing annoyed the hell out of her. She went to bars for billiards or sports. No dancing allowed.

  Alexis wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead. God, I need a drink and here’s as good a place as any. And maybe some anonymous man would get lucky tonight. Her last sexual escapade was eight months ago and not worth remembering. All of them were like that, except Paul. Initially, they had clicked on so many levels. Her first partner, he’d taught her how to handle herself on the streets and in the squad room. Then he’d handled her in bed. It worked for fourteen months until she’d gotten her gold shield, and he didn’t.

  She checked her gun and wallet and tucked her helmet under her arm. Her lungs emptied on a hard sigh as she walked to the front of the line and showed her badge. The bouncer moved out of her way. The perks of being NYPD.

  House music. Damn, she hated house music, but the gyrating crowd squeezed onto the dance floor didn’t have a problem with the DJ. Not the typical nightspot, the club boasted a large dance floor, an equally large stage, and stripper poles off to the right. She veered away from the hooting men waving cash.

  At the bar, she gave her helmet a seat and stood. The only woman not showing yards of skin, the bartender spotted her immediately. Tequila, no ice, no umbrella. She couldn’t stomach drinks that mimicked smoothies. She sipped instead of throwing it to the back of her throat and gulping. Gloria would be proud. Her brothers wouldn’t. Those three jarheads had corrupted their little sister with lessons in liquor, poker, and how to make a guy regret touching you.

  The mirror behind the bar reflected the writhing bodies. Technically, she was in their age group, the twenty-somethings, yet whatever remaining exuberance secretly stored in her atoms was buried deep and unreachable. Coming here made her feel ancient. Her membership card in the exclusive club had been revoked when she’d joined the academy and the notice had landed in her inbox years ago. She finished her drink with a smooth gulp and upended the glass on the bar.

  Alexis picked up her helmet. This bad idea needed to end before anything else happened. Skirting the edge of the crowd, a column and secondary bar station blocked her way. She glanced around the room for another escape route. She had to reverse directions and squeeze by the dance tables and a man blocking her path, if she was going to make it to the exit. Her gaze snapped back to the man. It wasn’t his obnoxious or drunken conduct that drew her, but the blank, glazed stare as he watched a dancer spin around the pole, legs spread eagle, upside down.

  He stood off to the side. No emotions on his slack-jawed face, though from the bulge in his pants, he was interested. His hands were relaxed and empty of weapons. Yet instinct warned her to keep her gaze on him.

  Alexis threaded her way through the crowd. Her senses screamed at her to do something. Maybe it was the smoldering, dark aura whirling around him. She blinked and damn, that aura still surrounded him.

  What the hell was in that tequila?

  A bead of sweat collected at her temple and rolled, unchecked, down the side of her face. Concentrating on her breathing, Alexis fought the panic clawing its way up her throat.

  No one else seemed to notice him. Still…he hadn’t moved. In fact, he seemed rooted. He stared, unblinking for a full minute before his bottom eyelid rose to meet the top.

  Her breath caught. Humans didn’t blink like that.

  A pack of people parked themselves between her and the man, blocking her surveillance. A crowd and a gun equaled stampede. She needed to get him out of here, away from innocent lives. She pulled out her badge and pried her way through the people.

  “Sir, please step away from the table and come with me.” She yelled. A few feet away, That Smell slapped her. The unmistakable rancid odor. Adrenaline pumped into her system. Her heart bolted like Secretariat out the gate at the Kentucky Derby.

  His head turned slowly. Eyes latched on to her. She sucked in a breath. Vertical irises. Inner translucent lids that blinked from left to right.

  Alexis’s hand crept to the small of her back.

  ***

  Reign followed Alexis when she stormed inside the building. Confronted by the narrow entrance, he faltered and struggled to place one-step in front of the other. The dark narrow hallway closed in. The curving walls shrank around him, squeezing, reminding him of his time spent in the bowels of Duat. Decades blended into centuries until Nephythys rescued him into slavery. People pressed themselves against the walls to avoid him, repulsed by the cold wave
he generated. Good, they needed to stay out of his way.

  His breath seized, trapped in his chest until he burst forth into an open area. A cacophony of throbbing sounds deafened him while colorful, pulsing lights blinded him. When his blurred vision cleared, his jaw hit his chest.

  Men and women—barely clothed women—jerked, grated, grinded, touched, kissed, palmed each other in a frenetic, decadent orgy. He’d heard of things like this. Knew this happened in the camps of the followers as men, women, and children offered the only true commodity they had—their bodies. He and Roman refused to allow women to be used and mistreated in any camp they stayed. In all these centuries, nothing had changed. Men still warred with weapons that killed hundreds of thousands instead of one at a time and women still used their bodies as a lure for protection and survival.

  Temper stretched thin, he searched the crowd for Alexis and spotted her crown of red hair just as a mist circled the room from a machine overhead. He opened his mouth and her name almost slipped from his lips. He wanted to call, have her turn, and smile at him. Instead, he closed his mouth. Neither friend nor lover, she wasn’t his to call out her name.

  A man crossed his path, a burn covered by intricate ink stretched over his muscular arm and shoulder. A beefy brawler with short hair walked close behind. A Nubian trailed behind the brawler. By their stance and the way they surveyed the crowd, they were warriors. The voices of the Vanquished rose in his head. They wanted blood.

  Reign fought it. So close to the abyss, his soul couldn’t accumulate any more. He came here to kill one being. Just that one and no more. He focused on the vow he had made so long ago. On his knees, he had bowed before a prophet and swore to lay down his weapon and retire his sword. Before a fortnight had passed that vow laid ground into the dust, mixed with the bones of the prophet and a legion of soldiers. He had failed on every level.

  Had that failure led to his downfall? Centuries of questions and he still hadn’t secured a single answer.

  Screams pierced the heavy music. People streamed by, rushing for the exits. He spun, searching for Alexis and glimpsed her in the strobe lights. Heat seared his palm and his fingers wound around his sword in a tight hold. The metal hummed as he lifted the weapon. The crowd jumped back and Reign surged through the throng.