Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2)

by Tmonique Stephens

  The man approached, his boots landing like grenades on the concrete floor. The bright lights snapped on. Though Tyrone couldn’t see all of his face through the long hair, there was no denying who the man was. Same build, same intense blue eyes, same damn face. His brothers cursed. They saw the resemblance too.

  He stopped a nose hair from Tyrone. “You stink of them. Which god do you call master,” he gritted out, for his ears alone. Tyrone stifled his gasp. Only Brayden knew his most guarded secret.

  “Do they know what you are?” the man hissed.

  “Do you know what you are?” Tyrone challenged.

  “I am what I have always been, boy. Do that to me again and I will kill you.” Then his eyes turned to the rest of the men. He glared at each of them before he spun and walked over to the detective.

  He paused and pivoted to his right. Tyrone followed his gaze to a corner of the room. He didn’t see anything, but tonight, that meant nothing. His faith in his abilities had diminished since entering the club. Tyrone gathered the minuscule amount of power he had left.

  The door to the club burst open. “Police! Nobody move!” Weapons drawn, the police entered.

  The man swung Detective Lever’s limp body into his arms and vanished.

  Tyrone sagged. Hands braced on his knees, he sucked in a deep breath. This was worse than bad. This was the Titanic, the San Francisco earthquake and the Japanese tsunami rolled into one fucking colossal disaster.

  “Tyrone, we gotta go.” Brayden cut through Tyrone’s ruminations.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “I know.”

  “Don’t forget the security tapes,” Brayden whispered.

  Tyrone had enough energy left to do both. He fried the electronics and flashed them all a block away.

  Avery doubled over and threw up in the gutter.

  EJ stumbled over to a light pole and held on for support.

  “Dios Mio!” Quin slumped against a parked car, breathing deeply as he prayed. Unaffected, Brayden stood next to Tyrone.

  Quin pointed a finger at Brayden. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He accused between wheezing breaths. “None of this is new to you.”

  Brayden shrugged. “He’s my best friend.”

  “Who was that guy?” EJ asked, climbing to his feet.

  “Couldn’t you tell? He’s Roman’s lost twin, back from the dead, ready to kick ass.” Avery swept the back of his hand across his mouth.

  “Kicked our asses,” EJ mumbled.

  “But you kicked his.” Quin pushed off the car and sized him up as if he’d never seen Tyrone before. “How’d you do that?”

  More police cars squealed to a stop outside the club, along with a news van. “This is not good.” Tyrone looked at Brayden. “We need to go.”

  “True. We need to get home and tell Roman. And I am not playing ‘Beam me up’ again.” Quin pulled himself together and stalked to their car.

  “The man’s getting married tomorrow. This little tidbit can wait until he says ‘I do’,” Avery muttered. A round of agreement circled the group.

  Mother? Through their bond, Tyrone reached for her, but received no answer. Though she appeared seventy-ish and in good health, she was a lot older. And not long for this earth. Dread bloomed in his chest.

  “I can’t go back to RockGate. I’ll catch up with you guys later.” He vanished before they could question him more.

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  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Safely above the riot, Khuket watched the human SET sent her to kill, destroy her quimaera bodyguards. He moved with a fluidity that belied his tall, well-muscled body. The image SET implanted in her head did not do him justice. He was more than human. He was a warrior god, sent to conquer and destroy. Raw energy bled from him in waves as he decimated the beasts.

  And the sword. The blade lived.

  Somehow, the warrior had channeled his fury into the jagged steel, making it a weapon unlike any other. The sword wielded the man instead of the man wielding the sword. Yet they were one. His eyes glowed in harmony with the pulsing crimson aura sheathing the blade.

  The chaos generated from the panicked crowd poured into her, quenching her parched soul. Greedily, she gorged on the most basic of human emotions: fear, until she could hold no more of the delicious banquet within.

  Stuffed, she almost missed trailing him when he lifted the woman into his arms and flashed. For a second, she looked for Neith. She spotted the former null speaking to a girl with spiky blond hair, but Nu couldn’t linger. She followed the warrior across the city and waited a few moments before passing through the outer wall of a dwelling the humans favored. Faded, Khuket hovered in a corner of the ceiling peering at the tender scene below.

  He placed the woman on the bed. Straightening her limbs and smoothing the hair from brow, he lingered over her. The hunger on his tormented face conveyed all she needed to know. The woman was his weakness. Through her, he could be slain.

  SET wanted him to suffer. To lose all that he loved. If she could turn his lust onto a deadlier path, SET would have his vengeance and she would have her freedom. Never would Khuket, Goddess of Chaos, be bound again.

  Her weaves unfurled from her body and reached for the warrior.

  He spun. His blade appeared, glowing in his fisted hand. His eyes followed suit. He placed himself between her and the unconscious woman.

  Immediately, Khuket withdrew. Wrapping her weaves tight about her form, she shrank. A small, invisible target wasn’t easy to find and harder to kill.

  Minutes ticked by as the warrior guarded the woman, his gaze sweeping the room. He stepped halfway into the hallway, then returned and checked the room again. For a moment, his gaze and the blade lingered where she huddled.

  Did he see her? She shuddered in excitement. Could he kill her like he killed the quimaera? Terror replaced excitement. To come so close only to fall short of her goal? The fallen Gods of Ogdoad would weep if they could.

  Just when she thought he had discovered her, the sword disappeared and the warrior turned away. Back to the bed, he stood over the woman. Her clothes vanished, leaving a flimsy material covering her breasts and groin.

  By the sharp intake of his breath, either he relished what he saw, or he was in pain.

  He grabbed a cover from the end of the bed and spread it over her. After he left, Khuket waited before moving from the corner. She passed over the inconsequential female, drifted from the bedroom into the short hallway, and floated into the living room. She found her prey standing by the windows, gazing at the sleeping city.

  She kept her distance as she watched and wondered about the man that she was destined to kill. But maybe she didn’t have to kill him. If she could turn him, make him take up her cause, be her champion, and lead her fledgling army, the Pantheon would tremble. All that was taken from her would return.

  Not all. Her family would never return or the other Gods. Gods whose names she couldn’t remember.

  Khuket pushed the memories away. She’d spent enough eons brooding on the past. Her future was now, and either way, it began with this man.

  The warrior sat in the nearest chair, stretched his long legs, and let his head fall back. When his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm she crept closer, ready to dart away at the first instance he became aware of her presence.

  With his guard down, Khuket’s weaves encompassed him. Her mind touched his and brushed up against a smooth, gray barrier. Even in sleep, he guarded himself. She searched for a way around the mental shield. Probing carefully for a weak spot, she stroked the surface until an area softened and she slipped in.

  She found herself standing in the back of a vast room. But she wasn’t alone. Thousands of men, dressed in various military attire stood at attention in precise rows. They all faced one direction, a corner at the opposite end of the room.

  Khuket threaded her way through the silent sentinels. Seconds or days, the journey seemed endless, the men countless. She
pressed on and focused on the pinpoint of darkness emanating from that corner.

  Back against the wall, butt planted on the floor, Khuket found a child. The hollow-eyed, shrunken boy resembled nothing of the man she saw earlier in the night.

  Shadows shrouded him, but she could clearly see the dull rusted blade resting in his open palm.

  No. Not rust. Blood coated the metal.

  Focused on the gutted soldier lying at his feet. The boy didn’t acknowledge her. Even when she cupped his face between her hands and tilted his head up. Was this her warrior?

  The shadows parted, skittered away like dislodged maggots feeding on the corpse revealing gray tinged flesh stretched over a skull. No muscle. No lips. No lids or eyes. Just empty sockets. His mouth dropped open, mocking a scream. No tongue moved to voice his pain.

  Khuket plunged into his mind. “Reign.” She discovered and whispered his name as she searched through his past.

  “Ahhh,” she sighed, reveling in the violence wrought at his hands. Battle upon battle, he killed and maimed. His unparalleled skill brought victory to those who paid his price and death to all others. But instead of joy at thrusting his blade into yielding flesh, he abhorred his skill. So much so, the men gathered were manifestations of his guilt.

  Khuket’s weaves ripped into him. Disgusted by his weakness, she poured chaos into him. At the same time, she shifted through his memories, searching for anything she could use against him. Images of Nephythys surfaced.

  Only a few days past her incarceration and already humans repulsed her. So many conflicting needs and wants clogged their minds. None greater than love that skewed, fleeting emotion.

  To her utter disappointment, she discovered that this warrior was no different. He willingly gave up his freedom to be a slave for a transient moment of bliss with the goddess, Nephythys.

  The fool.

  Hate was the only true emotion that held any value. Constant and everlasting.

  The boy struggled. He pulled away from her invasion, but Khuket held tight, even when feet shuffled behind her. She pushed the memories of Nephythys aside. Neither the goddess nor the unconscious woman he guarded mattered. If she unleashed enough chaos within him, she would control him like she controlled the quimaera.

  Barriers popped up as she delved into his mind. She blasted through each one. So close to gaining everything she needed, nothing could stop her now.

  The men behind her shrieked. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see them lunge. Thousands of hands grabbed her. Tossed into the air, her weaves snapped.

  These men weren’t apparitions. They were remnants of the slain men somehow attached to the warrior. Khuket slammed into a wall and slid to the floor.

  Weapons drawn, the warrior’s private army threatened her. She looked at him. Still in the guise of a child, in the same corner, he was slumped over with shadows creeping closer.

  She moved. A sword pressed to her throat. Very real. Very pointy. She had to leave. If Reign awakened, he would feel her presence in his mind. After what he did to the quimaera, she wasn’t ready to face him or his blade.

  She glanced at the child again. Shadows blanketed him. Only a lump remained until the shadows rolled away revealing an empty corner. The men tore into each other.

  Khuket slipped away. But before she vanished, she searched the corner again for Reign. Only an inky stain on the gray floor remained.

  A deflected sword missed her by inches. Khuket retreated and once she was free of Reign’s mind, she hovered to study her handiwork. A grimace had replaced his peaceful expression. His hands fisted, clutching air.

  Khuket smiled. Chaos had taken root.

  ***

  The goddess Nu, co-creator of the Egyptian Pantheon, floated through the corridors of the mansion unseen. The house was UN-warded, unprotected. The child could not live here until the situation was rectified. She stopped on each level blessing, cleansing, warding.

  She turned her attention to the grounds, which were beautifully decorated in white and gold for the coming nuptials and glided to the tree line. Making sure to cover every inch, she brought up all the dead things. Bugs, rodents, animals. Dead for a day or for one hundred years, she removed their lingering spirit and reburied them. She needed to do the entire woods, all of the property, but she couldn’t. She was too weak for a true warding. Instead of imposing her will, she cast spells like a novice priestess.

  Nu lifted her head to the heavens and chanted. The earth beneath her feet, the wind caressing her face, the water from the lake on the property and the animals dwelling nearby, nature answered her call. They gave her their spirits and joined with the essences of the dead. Blended and bound together, she wove the strongest protection spell possible. The colorful weaves weren’t as strong as she’d like, still, only those of the Nicolis line, her line, could cross the boundary. When they did, she would know.

  For now, this was the best her weakened form could do. Reborn as an infant, her unlimited vis’Ra were bound to that child’s form and the energy its small body generated.

  Pitiful.

  In the past week, she had drained the body almost to the point of no return. Now, the child lay unprotected and vulnerable.

  Unacceptable.

  The child’s death meant Nu’s death. Until she ascended, she was as weak as any mortal. Except when her spirit broke free of its human confines and some of her vis’Ra was at her disposal. This was Ra’s punishment for abandoning the Pantheon. One she gladly accepted. Without Ra’s guiding hand, the Pantheon became treacherous.

  The children she’d birthed had turned on her and had tried to bind her to the Isle. Born from the spirits of the universe, she’d escaped their confinement by releasing her energy back to its home. Now on her third reincarnation, she couldn’t believe Ra had crippled her by attaching her essence to a child. Nu sighed. Cursing her erstwhile consort would serve no purpose other than blighting the land around her.

  Immediate grounds complete, she returned to the house and the place housing pieces of Daniel. She descended to the vault where the head lay covered in a steel case. She didn’t have the energy to open the door and see the evil SET and Anubis had wrought. Damn her son and grandson.

  What was she to do? Undo the five children she brought into the world near the beginning of time? And what is good without evil?

  Although she abhorred everything about SET, he was necessary to the balance Ra set in stone before he created all. She loved her children. But SET wanted more than to be free. For now, he concentrated his effort on the Pantheon and his errant wife. If ever he turned his attention to this realm, she had to be strong enough to defend this world or all would be lost.

  She was tired. Her vis’Ra had started to ebb. It was time to return to her host. Nu sighed as her spirit floated through the house and over the grounds once more. Soon, all of her plans would come to fruition.

  ***

  Alexis’s eyes slid open. She blinked back sleep and stretched before sitting up. Sunlight streamed through the curtains and caressed her face. She squinted into the light and didn’t care to check the time. It was daytime. That’s all her brain needed to know right now. In the bathroom, she emptied her bladder and splashed cold water on her face. Then braved the mirror.

  “I look like shit.” She leaned against the rim of the sink. Her body ached like road-kill still twitching on the asphalt. She threaded her fingers through her hair, but didn’t tame her bed head. Her teeth were furry, her tongue as flexible as a brick.

  How long had she been home? She wondered, brushing her teeth. She’d forgotten something. Something important had slipped from her memory. Alexis scooped up a handful of water, rinsed and spit. Then ran her tongue over her smooth teeth and sighed.

  Alexis slowly sifted through the jumbled mess in her mind. The information didn’t want to surface. A headache burst behind her eyes and spread, deflecting her focus. She doubled over and pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. Images of Reign flickered.
His face, body. His huge blade.

  Nothing else. She slammed into a big fat mental roadblock. Zilch made sense. She needed liquor, no ice, no glass. Good thing she kept a bottle of Jack in the kitchen for this kind of emergency. She slipped a black satin robe over her bra and thong and shuffled to her living room.

  Reign, sprawled on her worn sofa like an erotic ornament, snored softly. Her gun and handcuffs in his lap. The headache evaporated and details of the night flooded her brain. The bike, the club, the animals attacking her, and Reign. He had been there.

  Her knees jellied, but she didn’t go down. She crept across the room until she stood in front of her sofa. Her breath caught. Not because he was gorgeous or living, breathing, real. Her breathing ceased because whether awake or asleep, the man was deadly. To her career, to her body and especially to her senses. Being around him threw her off-kilter.

  Not good. Whatever he was…wait. She gave herself a mental slap and let the thought settle into her psyche. Yeah, okay. Whatever he was, he had to go. Once in custody, the CIA, NSA, Area 51—they could all get together and figure out what the hell he was. Away from her.

  She eased her gun and cuffs from his lap. Stepping back would’ve been wise. Instead, she leaned forward to study his face. Pale, tight skin stretched across sharp cheekbones and a broad forehead. His short beard effectively covered his jawline and softened his features a bit. No wrinkles, no crow’s feet, no freckles marred the perfection of his face.

  Her fingers tingled. She longed to touch him but stopped herself from brushing the tangled hair resting on his forehead. So unlike her wiry, coarse, Brillo head, his was spun silk.

  His eyes snapped open and their gazes collided. She brought her gun up and stepped back. The Glock never left the center of his chest. Still, she felt like prey instead of a predator.

  “Get on the ground,” she ordered.

  Him, on the ground and immobilized was the only way she would get out of this alive.