Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Then he saw her.

  And the beast.

  The same creature that had crashed through her home and nested in the pit.

  Alexis shouted, but her words drowned beneath the music and the thunder of the mob. The creature lunged. She ducked. Then swung around and smashed her helmet into its face. Stunned, the beast stumbled backward and quickly regained his footing.

  Reign’s mind snapped. He forgot to flash and tore through the surging crowd, flinging bodies out of his way, his eyes trained on her and the animal.

  Alexis dodged and scrambled away. The beast snagged her jacket and hauled her back. Claws rushed toward her frightened face.

  At the last second, she raised her helmet. Claws slashed the surface, causing sparks to fly mere inches from her cheek.

  Reign flashed in front of her. Claws sliced into his raised forearm. The Vanquished roared, feeding off his pain. They begged to join the fight. He buried his sword deep in the beast’s gut. The edge of the blade glowed crimson and the flesh surrounding it sizzled and smoked. He glared into the beast’s sinister eyes. His blade blazed hotter and evaporated the animal from within. Immediately, another weight was added to his soul, dropping him to one knee, dragging him closer to darkness.

  Reign shouldered the burden, as he shouldered all the others. Nothing mattered but the goal at hand—protecting Alexis. He whipped around. She crouched behind him, ready to fight.

  He reached for her. His palm open. His heart willing her to trust him. She didn’t hesitate to slap her hand into his. He pulled her to her feet and scanned for injuries. “Are you injured?”

  “Look out!” Alexis cried.

  He shoved her against the nearest wall and spun. Another animal leaped, slashing inches into his shoulder. A kick to the scaly middle sent the animal flying backward. Mid-air, it flipped and landed on all fours. Claws gouge the concrete floor as they found purchase. The beast raced toward him again.

  The Nubian he’d passed earlier burst into the fray. The beast knocked him into the crowd with a swipe from a barbed tail.

  The blighted energy of the Vanquished ignited, burning him with their hatred. Without his twin to balance him, Reign couldn’t control the fury sweeping through him. It wielded him and turned him into de Mortem, the Scourge. He became Death, the name they had once whispered when he walked onto the battlefield because that was his gift to all enemies.

  The reptile scurried forward on all fours, the mist partially obscuring it. Reign succumbed to the vehemence coursing through him. Piceous power plowed through his veins. He latched onto the addictive energy of the Vanquished. It seared through every barrier and restraint until Reign was no more. Only Death remained.

  And he wanted blood.

  The blade became a part of him, and extension of his arm and his will. Two swipes across the abdomen eviscerated the beast. Though its entrails spilled, it charged.

  Reign barreled into it. He grabbed the beast by the neck. But the animal’s tail swept Reign’s feet from under him. He landed on his back. His head thunked hard against the floor. He faded and passed through the center of the animal. Behind the beast, a swing of his blade sliced off a leg. A bellow mixed with the thumping music. The beast collapsed onto the floor and tried to crawl away.

  Reign grabbed the barbed limb and flung the animal into the wall. With a plank from a broken table, he stabbed it through the heart, pinning it there.

  A warning prickled his senses. He pivoted. A fist smashed into his temple. An uppercut to his chin rocked his brain. Slammed to his back; his head bounced on the floor. Stars exploded behind his eyes. They danced with the colored lights swirling around the room. He had to rise. Flat on his back in the middle of a battle ensured death. He lifted his head and spotted, through the mist, the animal stalking him.

  A chair flew over him and crashed into the scaly body. To his right, Alexis had grabbed a metal stool prepared for battle as people darted around them.

  Outstretched on all its limbs, claws glinted in the colorful lights. The animal leaped for her. Reign flew between the two, his sword up, singing in his hand.

  Alexis stumbled back, slipped, and went down hard. Her head clipped the base of a fallen table. Reign speared the beast’s neck and dragged the blade from stem to stern; splitting the creature in two, leaving the halves to sizzle and evaporate. Another weight added to his soul.

  His chest heaved, bloodlust sizzling through his veins. Three beasts had attacked—two were now dead. It wasn’t enough, the Vanquished wanted more. A few feet away, the last one thrashed, trying to extricate itself from the wall. He glanced at Alexis. Groaning, she clutched her head.

  He marched over to the beast. The barbed tail swished, narrowly missed impaling his thigh, but connected nicely with his blade. It flopped to the ground. He grabbed the spiked tail and planted it in the center of the animal’s head. Again and again and—

  “Enough! Kill him and be done!”

  Distantly, Reign heard the command, but nothing could stop him now.

  Bleed him dry, the Vanquished ordered and he gladly obeyed. Blood spurted and splattered. The beast's death cries shivered over his skin. The dull thud of flesh giving way filled his ears with the sweet song of slaying, answering the dark call of his demons.

  A force wrapped around Reign and separated him from his prey. The Nubian stood in his path. “I won't let you do this.” His hand hovered above Reign’s heart.

  “Who. Are. You?” Reign sneered, wanting the name of the man he was about to kill.

  “Tyrone.”

  “Move. Or die.” The words were whispered, but by the widening of the Nubian’s eyes and grim line of his mouth, Reign knew he heard him above the throbbing noise. The Nubian shifted subtlety, braced for attack.

  To the right, the beast had removed the stake from its chest and began climbing out of the wall. Reign cocked his head to the side. “Me or him?”

  The force which immobilized him, released. The Nubian turned toward the beast, to finish what Reign started.

  Reign planted his fist in the man’s jaw, lifting him a foot off his feet. He hauled him back for two more bone-crunching blows before tossing him aside. Then he stalked his true prey.

  “Stop.” The Nubian groaned behind him. “Don’t do this.”

  Reign couldn’t stop. Fury burned his veins. The Vanquished ruled not him. Their howl disintegrated his last sliver of sanity. The sword in his hand screeched. He struck.

  A blow to the back of his head dropped him to his knees. His sword vanished. He staggered to his knees. A kick to his ribs sent him flying into a wall.

  Plaster rained from the ceiling. Had the crowd joined in on the beating? He pulled free and landed in a heap.

  The Nubian placed a hand on his chest. “Control yourself.”

  Reign didn’t hear. His attention focused on the hand touching him, keeping him glued to the ground. How was it possible for a man inches shorter, fifty pounds lighter, to wield this much power? He couldn’t move and only breathed in small panting breaths. He thrashed against the invisible bonds holding him, but they tightened, making him struggle more.

  The man leaned close and whispered in his ear. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

  For a second, Reign thought that might be possible.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Isn’t that Detective Lever?” EJ Nicolis said to his brothers Avery, Quin, Brayden, and their best friend Tyrone Gregory. EJ downed a shot of vodka as he pointed at a woman striding through the crowd. From their table in the back, their gazes followed her until she disappeared in the crowd

  Tyrone followed Avery’s finger, his gaze trailed the tall redhead.

  “Hell, yes—” Quin upended his empty glass onto the table. He whistled low and stroked his goatee. “What’s she doing here?” He stroked a match against the table and brought the flame to a cigar pressed between his lips.

  Avery grabbed his shot glass. A grimace twisted his face as his burned skin stretched tightly over his bunched b
icep and shoulder. He pitched the drink down his throat. “Maybe she’s here for the same reasons we are. Little bump, little grind.”

  “With all that leather hugging her ass, I’ll give her more than a little grind.” EJ tossed back a shot of scotch. He chased it with a gulp of beer.

  “It's slim pickin’s here tonight.” Avery scanned the crowd.

  “Since when are you picky, hijo? What happened to your ‘quantity’ motto?” Quin chuckled.

  Avery’s eyes narrowed. His mouth twisted as if words struggled to slip out. Then he shrugged, pushed away from the table, and headed toward the bar.

  “What’s up with him?” Brayden asked EJ

  “Nothing.” EJ jumped up and followed his sibling.

  “What’s up with them?” Quin glanced between Brayden and Tyrone.

  “Who knows? Secrets run thick between those two,” Tyrone murmured. Hell, they all had secrets. He had more than all of them combined. Besides, it wasn’t Tyrone’s place to mention the object of Avery’s obsession worked here.

  Quin stood. Tyrone noticed his knives peeking from his waistband. Undetectable high-grade polymer plastic, Quin never left home without something sharp.

  “Something’s brewing. I better go and keep an eye on them.” Quin stalked after Avery and EJ Brayden jumped up and followed Quin.

  Tyrone faltered. A strange energy had entered the building and had taken a razor to his senses. His submerged vis’Ra awakened. A growl started in the back of his throat. He shook it off, reined himself in, and focused on the erratic patterns which circled the interior of the club. He tried to focus, but with so many bodies, and the manufactured mist, he couldn’t pinpoint the origin. Some of the energy swept over him, giving him a chance to study the weaves.

  They weren’t completely unfamiliar. Traces of the pattern were definitely—Egyptian!

  Tyrone spun. His mouth dried to desert sand. An Egyptian was here! In this realm. After all this time, they had finally found him.

  The club erupted. Fists connected with flesh, chairs, and bottles flew through the air, and the crowd stampeded. He spotted Brayden decimating an opponent’s teeth. As always, Avery and EJ fought back to back, leaving all comers planted. Quin stood in the middle of the room doing his best Jet Li impersonation, smiling as he flipped and landed a kick to a guy’s sternum. At least he hadn’t whipped out his knives and sliced anyone open. This disaster was manageable.

  Tyrone spotted a huge man standing in the middle of the crowd. Waves of vis’Ra energy radiated from him in a pattern Tyrone had never seen before. Sinister, edged with crimson flames, the man’s vis’Ra beat against his senses. The beer rolled in his stomach.

  Then he saw what shouldn’t be. The quimaera. Three of them. Soldiers of the Egyptian Pantheon. Here in New York City.

  What The Fuck!

  He glimpsed the man again. A sword clutched in his hand, lifted into the air, ready to kill the quimaera stalking him. His aura vibrated and he seemed impossibly larger.

  He smelled them. A fetid meaty odor. He had to get the people and his brothers out before the police arrived. And he had to kill the quimaera.

  Tyrone shoved through the shifting throngs in time to see the man’s sword glow crimson as the blade impaled the beast. Smoke curled in the air. Flesh sizzled and evaporated.

  A chill raced down Tyrone’s spine. Egyptian legend told of an ancient blade that sang as it drank the blood of its master’s enemies. That was one of the stories his mother told him as a child that he never believed, until now.

  From the day of his birth, he’d listened to the dire warnings against using his vis’Ra. Moderation and caution. And above all else, never draw attention to yourself. Tyrone looked around the club. Although fights were still in full swing, maybe this disaster could be mitigated.

  Screams echoed from a rear exit. A mob had gathered, causing a bottleneck in the narrow doorway. Only one side of the double steel doors was open. He used a bit of his vis’Ra to open the blocked door and free the trapped people.

  He turned back to the club and automatically searched for his brothers. Three were engaged, having fun as they gave better than they received. He glimpsed Avery near the bar blocking a chair from crashing into the woman he couldn’t keep his gaze from all night. Avery pushed the woman toward the exit then stalked the unfortunate fool who had thrown the chair.

  Tyrone swept the room, searching until he spotted the Egyptian through the mist. The quimaera was a bloody mess, ready to be put down, but the man continued his pummeling, clearly intent on reducing the beast to something a Shop Vac could suck up. He was no better than the animal he tortured. And less sane.

  Tyrone had no choice but to delve into his dormant energy. He bound the man, temporarily halting the onslaught and turning the focus onto him. Soulless eyes glared out from a man’s face—an eerily familiar face. They studied him. Tyrone’s muscles clenched. He braced and poured more energy into the restraint immobilizing the man.

  The beast pulled itself from the wall. Unable to stop both of them, Tyrone released the man and turned his attention to the quimaera. Fists snapped his head back. He crashed onto the concrete, his jaw hanging at an odd angle.

  He grimaced, anticipating the pain and snapped his jaw back into place. Painful, but just until his limited vis’Ra flooded his system and healed him. He climbed to his feet in time to see the last quimaera incinerated in a bright blue flame.

  The bastard with the sword turned and searched the club for someone new to kill.

  “No,” Tyrone shouted.

  The man stalked away.

  Tyrone flashed in front of him. “Control yourself,” he said.

  Dull lumps of coal peeked through shaggy hair, eyes that wished to hide in the man’s haggard face. The sword still clutched in his hand, quivered with constrained energy. A low-pitched whine rose from the blade, not as an off-key violin string, but chanting in the language of Tyrone’s mother.

  ‘Hal Manah Eirbo Na’al Cu. I am the bringer. Face me and be judged.’

  Tyrone gritted his teeth. His jaw answered with a throb. He wouldn’t allow the shedding of anyone’s blood. He released a third of his vis’Ra and pinned the man to the floor of the club.

  Ra! The man was strong. As his opponent struggled for freedom, Tyrone’s power faltered. His muscles trembled from the effort to restrain him.

  Who the fuck is this guy?

  He had to make a choice: Either use more of his vis’Ra to stop the man or release him to kill. Neither option was good; each had its own disastrous consequences.

  Tyrone looked deep within and found the pathway to the locked door holding his true self, the powers his mother had warned him to never use. Yet, she had still trained him in their purpose because one day he would need them for both their protection.

  A sealed door at the end of a bright hallway guided him forward. He walked the path. Touched the knob.

  “Tyrone! What is it that you do?” His mother’s thoughts joined his.

  Before he could answer, her essence blocked the door and pushed him back.

  “Mother, you don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “I don’t have time.” Sweat covered his straining body. He only had seconds left.

  “Time matters. Make time.” She demanded.

  “I must do this.” He strained.

  “Why? I will not move until you tell me why you are ready to free your vis’Ra and let the Pantheon know you live.”

  The man had gained his footing. He faced him.

  “If I don’t, many will die! Starting with me.”

  His mother looked through his eyes and saw his opponent.

  “Leave Tyrone, he is not human!”

  “I will not! Now move and let me be what you created me to be!”

  For a second, his always-decisive parent faltered. “Take my vis’Ra.” Her energy began flowing into him.

  He pulled away.

  “No, mother!” He tried to sev
er their bond, but he was no match for her.

  “Better they find me than you. They can only punish me. You, they will kill.”

  Her vis’Ra flooded him. In vibrant hues of red, it blazed out of his extended hand and enveloped the man in binds. He raged, flexing against the restraints.

  “Tyrone?” Brayden loomed near with Avery, EJ and Quin gathered close.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Quin clasped his knives in his hands.

  “Bro, what the fuck are you?” EJ’s eyes popped wide. Avery stood beside his sibling, one gun trained on the man, the other on Tyrone.

  Before Tyrone could answer, sirens sounded and warbled to a halt outside the club.

  “Now is not the time boys, we have to go,” Brayden stressed.

  “Release me.” The man interrupted their discussion.

  “Don’t.” The group behind Tyrone chorused.

  He didn’t want to, but as his opponent struggled against the bonds, his mother’s donated powers started to fail. She weakened. The ruby threads frayed. She was formidable, yet in her current form, she was too old for this great display. He couldn’t continue much longer or this loan would cost her.

  “Are you calm?” Tyrone prayed silently to Ra the man was calm because he didn’t have power left to stop him.

  No answer.

  Energy dropping fast, Tyrone released his opponent slowly, lowering his vis’Ra in increments until the man rose to his full height. God, he was taller than all of them.

  The man eyed them all. An unspoken challenge? By the hard set of his jaw and flinty eyes, he wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not ever.

  From his peripheral vision, Tyrone saw his brothers line up next to him. Not true siblings, though they couldn’t be any closer. Shoulder to shoulder, together they faced this new threat. Silently, he thanked Ra because he had nothing left. His mother’s vis’Ra had winked out, leaving him with just his own paltry energy. Though they probably didn’t stand a chance against him, they would all fight to the death. Together.