She watched them dance, both completely ignorant of how they destroyed her life. Her conscience twinged. Could she tell a man off on his wedding day?
Yeah, she could.
One step onto the dance floor and her cell vibrated. She fished it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Shit! Her father.
Had the Chief informed him about the suspension? He’d wasted no time. A bead of sweat collected at her temple. She could ignore him. But one didn’t ignore Major General Lever. Hell, there was no way she could hear him with the crowd and music. Alexis made her way from the ballroom and through a side door. The newlyweds would have to wait a moment longer for her wrath.
The sweet smell of fresh cut grass and the late afternoon sun calmed her nerves before she answered her phone on the final ring.
“Hello, Sir.” She grabbed a lock of hair and worried it between her fingers.
“Alexis.” Full of reprimand, her father’s voice stiffened her spine.
Oh Lord, whenever he started a conversation stating her name like that meant trouble. She snapped to attention, ready to salute. “Sir?”
“The bill for the repairs landed on my desk an hour ago.” Immediately, she knew the call concerned her grandmother’s damaged house. The domino effect of one lousy choice kept accumulating.
Damn! Her logical father wouldn’t believe a story about a wild beast and an invisible man. Quickly, she fabricated a story about vandals and a fallen tree. So much for telling the truth. Alexis braced herself for the coming barrage. Retired Major General Lever didn’t yell. He didn’t need too. Precise wordage and a deadly tone whipped the men under his command, and his family, into compliance.
“This bill is outrageous—”
“I’ll take care of it, Sir.” She cut him off and then sucked in a sharp breath. No one cut the General off. You waited your turn to speak, if it ever came.
“Good answer.”
Had his voice softened? No, must be her imagination.
“Your mother and I have come to a decision. We’re not placing your grandmother’s house on the market. In this economy, it won't sell. However, if you make the repairs and pay the property taxes, we’ll consider willing it to you after we die.”
A smile spread across her face. Her grandmother’s house and her family’s respect were the two things she wanted most. Now, she had one. “In writing, Sir?” She didn’t want to have to fight her brothers in court years from now over property they never wanted.
Her father taught her well. Nothing was real unless you had proof on white paper with black ink. Or as the NYPD preferred, a color video with perfect lighting on a full frontal with the victim pointing a finger at the culprit saying, “You did it.”
“In writing,” he agreed and Alexis caught a hint of pleasure in his voice. A group of guests passed her, drowning out her father’s voice, and bringing her back to her current dilemma, Roman Nicolis.
“I have to go, Sir.”
“Your mother wants to speak to you.”
What was it lately about Gloria wanting to speak to her at the most inopportune times? She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. “I'm at a crime scene. Tell her I’ll call her later.”
“Understood,” her father said before the line went dead. If there was one thing her father understood, it was work. His work—the military, the mission—came before family, friends, even God.
She threaded back through the crowd and stopped at the last place she’d spotted Roman. Of course, he wasn’t there. She spun. Nope. No Roman or Stella. They could be anywhere in this f-ing mausoleum. She started wandering, hoping to run into him, when her phone vibrated on her hip. Dad again! She darted back outside. “Sir, now is not—”
“It’s not your father, dear.”
Her wily mother called on her father’s phone because she knew Alexis wouldn’t dare ignore him. “Yes, Gloria?”
“You didn’t listen to me,” she hissed.
Oh hell, what now? Since her last debacle, she purposely hadn’t listened to her mother. “What are you referring to?”
“Did you see him?” She continued as if Alexis hadn’t spoken.
Her heart lurched. ‘Him’ could refer to anybody. “Who?”
Silence. Except for heavy breathing, Gloria didn’t reply.
“Never mind, Alexis. I-I’m being silly. Sorry for pulling you away from work.”
Through a side window, she spotted Roman striding through the house. She didn’t have time for this. She came here with one objective, to confront Nicolis. Not be a guest at his wedding and deal with her parents. Alexis followed his movements, but by the time she entered the house, she’d lost him.
“Mother fu-fudge!” Shit, cursing was unladylike. “Gloria, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” She was about to press the end button when she heard her mother’s voice.
“Please be careful.” She hung up before Alexis could reply. Never one for sentiment, the concern in Gloria’s voice threw her. She studied her phone. Her finger hovered over the contact app and debated calling her mother back when she glimpsed an object rushing toward her. The crowd surged. No time to duck, she caught it.
When the women around her attacked, she huddled her mysterious package close to her body and protected it. Only when they stopped tugging and pulling on her, did she finally see what landed in her arms.
Flowers? She turned the bouquet around. No, roses. A huge bouquet of battered red roses. Alexis looked up. Stella glided from the middle of the staircase toward the landing where Alexis waited, clutching the kryptonite arrangement.
“Congratulations. You’re next.” Stella smiled and pulled her into a hug.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Reign wandered through the maze of opulent rooms, searching for his brother. He could feel him, somewhere in this home, amongst the mass of people milling about. His twin was here.
A tingle of evil raced along his spine. People walked around him as he froze in the center of the room, searching for the malevolence teasing his senses. Yet, there wasn’t a focal point.
Then it hit him. The same presence that had greeted him the night he came to this realm and met Alexis. Anubis’s champion was close. Reign swung around, searching for the monster and found a mass of chatting people. He followed the invisible trail, leading him through the house until the sensation faded, sliding away like a slick of oil on a watery surface.
A round of laughter interrupted his thoughts. A crowd had gathered in the back of the house. Head and shoulders taller, he easily peered over everyone and saw Roman.
In the midst of a group of men, all dressed in similar attire, his twin raised a glass high. “We’ve come through much, weathered many storms. We are more than family.”
These were the same men who’d challenged him nights ago: The scarred one, the brawler, the Spaniard and the dark haired one. The group now included a blond he had never met. Fury pounded through his veins in time with his beating heart.
“You all know me better than anyone else. Almost as well as my beautiful wife.” He saluted a woman standing to the side. Reign followed his stare to Stella Walker. His bride.
“We are brothers. I’d lay down my life for each you,” Roman continued.
“Starting to get sappy,” the Brawler grumbled to the crowd’s amusement. “Wrap it up before you embarrass us.”
“Let my husband have his moment,” Stella yelled from the sidelines.
Roman chuckled at the ribbing. “To the men I trust and hold closest to my heart. I raise my glass to you all, those present and far. You have my eternal gratitude and loyalty.”
The shivering crowd parted in front of Reign.
“Oh my, where—did—you—come—from?” a woman asked.
The words rushed past Reign. Betrayal wedged in his heart. Roman laughed while his new brothers slapped him on the back. He embraced each brother as he’d once embraced Reign after a hard battle. A cold wave rolled through his gut. Those spectators closest to him fled for warme
r environs, but Roman…his head snapped around.
Their eyes locked.
For the first time in two millennia, Reign met his twin’s stunned gaze.
And turned away. He swallowed the cold lump of desolation lodged in his throat and strode through the house. Faded again, people darted out of his way, blowing warm air into their cupped hands and wrapping their arms around their bodies. His palm itched. The sword wanted to appear and cleave flesh from bone. He yearned to bathe his anguish in blood. The temptation ate at him. Teased him to comply. To surrender to the horrid gift his father had bestowed. A trained killer. Mercenary. Monster. No better than his quarry.
Though cold, he never truly felt the chill, until today. Looking at his brother’s happy family, the men he’d surrounded himself with, sucked the remaining heat from Reign’s heart. The Vanquished raged inside his head. The urge to kill something nearly smothered him, but a shock of titian curls and a glimpse of Alexis’s fine profile diverted his attention from murder.
Reign swerved to intercept her. He wanted to pull her into his arms, bask in her warmth, use her to chase his demons away.
A tendril of evil brushed his senses and yanked his focus. Translucent, worm-like tentacles, coiled around his ankle before slithering away. Alamut. The beast’s name filled his head. At times, the Vanquished whispered. His tether to Alexis stretched too far, causing him to double back and lose the tendril. Eventually, his senses led him to a door. He passed through the wooden barrier to stand at the top of a staircase. The wood creaked beneath his weight as he descended into the dark lower levels of his brother’s home.
Stale air circulated between the rows of weathered wine racks. The scents of musty earth, wet concrete, and things long forgotten combined to fill the space with palpable malice. He walked down the main aisle between the many rows of stacked bottles. Alamut drew him. Like a hook deep in the throat of a fish, it tugged on his senses and reeled him in, guiding him toward the wine barrels on the back wall.
The sword appeared and he gripped the blade tight, reassured by its weight. He passed through the door and materialized. Lights clicked on. The room was filled with metal racks holding pictures, pottery, gems, jewelry, parchment, gold, silver, and many more things he didn’t understand. He didn’t waste time trying. He focused on one thing as he walked deeper into the vault and stopped in front of several cylindrical containers of various sizes.
The smallest of the six vessels drew his attention. Round, yet flat on the bottom and top. He flipped the latch on the side. With a pop and hiss, the vacuum seal broke. He lifted the lid and peered inside, then reached in and grabbed a fistful of black hair. Ice swept through Reign’s veins. He ground his teeth to keep from them from clicking. The Vanquished responded to the chill touching his core with a mournful wail. Reign had to stop himself from opening his hand and stepping away.
A hard tug pulled the head free. Trepidation made him pause before turning the head to see its features. This wasn’t Alamut. Only a man who’d suffered a hard beating. Bruises covered his jaw and right cheek. Dried blood trailed from his forehead into his eyes. He flipped open the rest of the nearby containers and found the assorted remains of the man’s body.
While that thought stormed his brain, another joined. The corpse wasn’t cold or clammy, and decomposing. This hacked body still had warmth, as if, life continued to flow through it.
He grabbed the head again. Its eyes flipped open.
Damnation. He dropped the head and slammed into the shelving behind him. Items clattered to the floor, the clank magnified in the confined space.
The head wobbled across the floor and stopped face up. Cold eyes of the deepest blue, much like Roman’s and his, glared. “We meet again.” Rasped through bloodless lips.
Reign’s eyes narrowed. “We have never met.” He picked up the head and held it at arm’s length.
“Don’t remember me?” The features contorted, becoming the grotesque monster he faced in Alexis’s ancestral home.
“Aye, I see you now. Who had the pleasure of dismembering you?” A feral grin stretched his face.
“Your brother,” the head hissed.
“I have no brother,” he growled and pushed thoughts of his twin away.
“And Stella,” Alamut added.
“A woman? Anubis chose poorly when he made you his champion.” He chuckled.
“Yet, I am still here.” One corner of Alamut’s lips curled in an imitation of a smirk.
“Your master’s magic keeps you alive,” Reign said.
“As does yours.”
“I have no master,” Reign barked.
“You stink of Nephythys. You're her lap dog, ordered to kill, but you find you no longer have orders to obey,” Alamut sneered.
“You are still alive, Alamut.”
“Do you call this living? Trapped in a steel prison without an hour’s reprieve?”
“Should I feel sympathy?” Reign’s eyebrows stretched to his hairline.
“No, you and I have unfinished business. Reassemble me or do you intend on letting your brother win your battles,” Alamut goaded.
“I fight my own battles.” He shook the head and propped the stub on a shelf.
“Then fight me and complete the oath you gave Nephythys,” Alamut taunted.
“What do you know of the oath I gave the goddess?”
“It’s the same oath I gave Anubis, to serve, obey, and defeat you. We have both failed. My punishment’s obvious.” Alamut cast his gaze toward his limbs and torso in the other canisters. “What will your punishment be when Nephythys discovers your failure?”
“My death.” The words left a void inside Reign.
“Not eager to die now that you finally live? Maybe you won't. Nephythys may reclaim you and your life with her will continue as it has for the last two thousand years.”
God, to be trapped with her again. Bound, buried, manipulated, and lied to, all for the sake of her pride. He’d loved her once, long ago. In the beginning of their tortuous relationship when he thought, he died and she’d saved his soul.
“Reign?”
He spun.
The door to the vault stood open and Roman blocked the exit. His expression stunned as he stared at his brother. Slack-jawed, he rushed forward until his gaze shifted to the head perched on the shelf. He stopped and the joy on his face vanished, replaced by a calculated stare.
“Who are you?” Roman demanded.
After two thousand years, his brother no longer knew him? Had the resemblance ended when their separation began? Reign touched the bristly hairs on his cheek and had a moment of surprise. Nephythys preferred him clean-shaven. His whiskers must have grown when he left Chemmis.
“Roman—” Reign began but then Roman’s new family appeared in the doorway. Four men filed in and fanned out behind Roman.
Again, his palm tinged. The sword called, wanting death.
Like the buzz of a million bees nesting between his ears, the Vanquished whispered, growing louder until they roared.
Alexis.
The tether had stretched too far. Reign closed the distance between him and Roman.
“Out of my way.” He grabbed a fistful of his brother’s wedding clothes and shoved. Roman shoved back. The screams inside Reign’s head escalated. His knees threatened to buckle. Someone grabbed his arm. Anger whipped through him. He spun and grabbed the man who dared touch him and tossed him into a shelf. Ready to brawl, he pivoted, fists swinging toward the next enemy. Roman blocked his punch. Stunned, Reign didn’t fight when his brother pushed him aside to protect someone other than him.
“You protect him…over me?” Reign’s blood boiled and the dark sword manifested in his hand. Roman’s gaze shifted to the blade. The Vanquished demanded war, yet Alexis pulled on his soul, taking him an atom at a time back to her side. In the last seconds, he caught Roman’s startled expression as he faded before their eyes.
Reign rose from the lower level to the ground floor. He darted throug
h celebrants and the structure of the house, continued higher until he found her in a bedroom.
A scream rent the air. He spared a look at the bride darting away from him to the opposite side of the room.
“Can’t you knock! Stella, it’s all right. I can explain,” Alexis shouted.
His brother’s wife stopped before escaping out the door. Her gaze darted between the two of them and then settled on him. Her mouth parted as her eyes widened. She stepped closer, a question pursed her lips. Yet before she could ask, the door burst open and the room filled with Roman and his brothers.
Reign looked at the men fanned out around him, weapons at the ready. All prepared for battle, but none more than him. Deep inside, a moan echoed through his gut, transformed into a wail as his hungry ghosts appeared. They filled the room, surrounded the men and his twin. For a moment, he thought his personal demons were there to protect him. But their anger filled him and magnified the simmering rage he battled to control.
“Brother, are your men prepared to die?” Reign sneered.
“Brother? You are no brother of ours,” the blond said, stepping closer.
“—Who are you—”
“—How did you get in here—”
“—Leaving in a box—”
Voices filled the room and competed with those in his head.
“None here question me,” Reign spat. Crouched in a fighting stance, his black sword gave a mournful cry as it manifested in his hand.
“Everyone back away.” Alexis stepped in front of him.
Reign faded, passed through her, and solidified once more. The men braced for attack. Knives and guns palmed in their hands, aimed at him. Neither they nor the fists beating his back would stop him. He took a step forward. Roman blocked him, still questioning, still not believing.
His black sword raised a fraction of an inch, ready to attack his twin.
Roman’s eyes narrowed. He raised the sword clutched in his hand and took another step closer.
Wild fury surged through Reign, demanding vengeance for the unspoken challenge. But this was his brother. Locked together in their mother’s womb from conception until the day of the curse. They’d beaten each other senseless plenty of times, but not like this. Never had they lifted their hands in true anger against each other.
Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2) Page 12
