Stiff and sore, she climbed off her bike and stretched the kinks from her protesting muscles. A shower, food, and sleep were what she needed. Her chances of getting all three were slim.
Mrs. Kelly waved from her porch. She’d read that the elderly didn’t need much sleep, but why was the woman up so early when she didn’t have to be?
Alexis returned the wave and climbed the porch stairs. The door opened as she reached for her keys. Reign’s big frame blocked the entrance.
God, I’m too tired for this. If only she could shove him out of her way. She had about as much chance of doing that as she did moving a mountain. He stepped to the side, clearing a path into the dim recesses of the house. Sunlight filtered through the sheer ivory curtains hanging in the living room, beating the gloom back and lifting her spirits.
“Anubis.” The word hung in the air.
Alexis turned. Reign stood in the middle of the room. Hands at his sides, his body, an immense unyielding wall.
“The god in the moving images you showed me, his name is Anubis. He is a lesser god, son of SET and Nephythys.”
She noticed he snarled the last name.
“There is no love between mother and son or son and father. Daniel Nicolis is his pawn. I was sent here to stop him.” He stepped closer to her. “I apologize for my deceit. It was meant to protect.”
She studied the drawn brows above his deep blue eyes and the tight lines of his face. He seemed earnest. But then the best liars were. And if he lied about one thing, what else could he be lying about? “I’m not going to let you kill Daniel.”
“I have no intention of killing him.”
At least they got that settled. “I don’t need your protection, Reign.”
“Yes, you do. I am all that stands between you and those animals.”
There was no arrogance in his statement. Just truth. She did need him. She also needed him to be honest. “And that’s the only reason you're here? To stop the beasts?”
“I came to save my brother. But he does not need me.”
“And afterward? When we find a way to stop those things, what then?”
“…I find a way to leave you.” Tight voice, his rigid face held no emotion.
“Good. The sooner, the better,” she mumbled through the lump in her throat.
His eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
“When you leave, do you go back to Chemmis?”
A cold wave hit her. His lips thinned into an angry line and his hands fisted. He nodded once. Hmm? He held no love for the place.
“I need to sleep.” She walked around him and his fingers brushed the back of her hand. A jolt of sorrow caused her entire body to seize.
Then his fingers slipped into her palm. A dull ache welled in her center and spread to every cell, leaving a void in its wake.
The pain wasn’t hers.
Alexis canted her head at Reign. To the world, he was a six foot eight-inch warrior. Deadly to his enemies and her sense of self-preservation. Still, watching his bowed head, feeling the desolation seeping from his palm into her, she saw the truth.
Their gazes locked. Longing lay naked in the depths of his eyes.
“Reign—”
He claimed her lips with a scorching kiss. Raw and hungry, her head reeled. A hand cupped her head. Another gripped her hip and gave a gentle tug. She didn’t fight him guiding her closer or the desire he ignited in her blood. His knee slipped between her thighs and he lifted her until she hooked a leg around his waist. Chest to breast, abs to abs, groin pressed against groin, she felt him lengthen. Her core blossomed. Alexis moaned and his tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted like Sunday dinner at grandma’s, Christmas morning, and Midnight on New Year’s Eve, while his body promised Disney World. His biceps flexed as his hand slid under her shirt and stroked up her back.
She moved her hand up his chest, feeling the cotton fabric, the tense muscles beneath, and the thud of his racing heartbeat. Then her fingertips brushed the bare skin of his neck.
A bundle of conflicting emotions slammed into her. Passion warred with frustration and a simmering rage. Terror and loneliness mixed with a profound hunger and a darkness no sun could penetrate. Betrayal had tainted his memories, leaving an anger that stretched centuries. All of this was woven together by bitter regret.
Questions cleared the lust from her mind. She tore her lips away, aching from pain belonging to Reign. Briefly, his hands tightened on her body. His head dropped into the crook of her neck before she could search his face for answers. Warm breath fanned her collar. She bit her lip to keep from protesting when his hands dropped to her hips and he set her on her feet.
Alexis darted up the stairs to the safety of her grandmother’s bedroom. She stripped off her jacket and refused to think about the man camping in her living room. Yeah, right. As if she could order herself not to still taste him on her lips, remember his hands on her body and his tongue stroking her mouth.
How could she feel him, know his intimate thoughts? The good and the f’d up ones. There were a lot of f’d up ones. So many, he was a toxic stew, churning endlessly until he almost dragged her under.
Alexis gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time to decipher the Reign Riddle when Egyptian Gods roamed New York, resurrecting bodies, and wild animals were running loose. If she read it in a novel, she would’ve pitched it into the nearest incinerator.
Her stomach grumbled, but she needed to wash before searching for food. Hot water pulsing out of the shower head swept away the remaining cobwebs and clarified her position. Those things needed to die.
Period.
There had to be a way and she needed Reign to kill them, regardless of her libido. It shouldn’t be hard to get one man to do what she wanted. A spoonful of sugar went down a lot easier than a spoonful of salt, her Nana used to say. Nana should know. Her marriage lasted fifty-five years.
Alexis studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Once her pageant days had ended, she threw away her makeup kit and every form-fitting item of clothing she’d owned. Comfort and practicality ruled the day and every man she’d dealt with had better like it or else. Her single state summed up how well that worked. Memories of Paul tried to float to the surface. Now was not the day to stroll down that rocky road. She nailed the coffin full of memories of her ex closed and reburied the box.
Her stomach rumbled and cramped, drawing her away from introspection. Even though she’d snacked at the wedding, her last true meal was a bowl of cereal twenty-four hours ago. If she was starving, then her guest roaming downstairs must be too.
She opened her phone and saw she had a message. “Hello, dear. It’s Mrs. Kelly. I see you're still staying in your grandmother’s house. I have a list of contractors who are trustworthy to work on the house and update it a bit. I left the names in your mailbox. I hope you don’t mind. Just trying to be helpful. I also made a chocolate cake and left it for you in the kitchen. Figured chocolate would help to make some of what you've been through better. Call me if you need anything. Bye, bye.”
Chocolate cake, the breakfast of champions. Her nosy neighbor must’ve entered the house when they were gone. As unofficial caretaker of the home, Alexis was grateful for Mrs. Kelly’s help. She replayed the message and realized her neighbor may have a point. Nothing inside the house had been changed or replaced since her grandmother’s death six months ago. The actual house could use some upgrading. Her father had agreed to will it to her, that didn’t mean she could do what she wanted to the property. She had to get him to sell it to her outright. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about Gloria removing all the precious items that reminded Alexis of her grandmother in her desire to redecorate.
Alexis glanced at the sturdy ornate brass bed and baroque miss-matched furniture. Along with the ancient knickknacks and the lacy doilies, the items gave the room nineteenth-century feel. Those she would keep. The pictures of long dead unknown family members had to go. She grabbed a handful of the stuff, shoved them into a storage contai
ner, and headed to the pull cord dangled overhead in the middle of the hallway. Easier to do some house cleaning than face the five-ton gorilla waiting downstairs. A hard tug and rusty hinges squealed as the stairs unfolded.
“Do you need my assistance?”
She looked over her shoulder at Reign, her gorgeous gorilla. The hunger and despair had left his features. His expression neutral, he seemed okay. “Thanks, I got it.”
Alexis maneuvered up the squeaky stairs and plowed into a spider web. She yelped and the items clattered to the floor. Eyes shut, she swiped at her face.
“Cease.” A hand landed on her shoulder. Gentle fingers moved across her forehead, cheeks and nose sending sparks through her bloodstream. When she opened her eyes, his deep ocean blue eyes block her view. “You are fine,” he said much too close to her face.
No, she wasn’t fine. She hated spiders and his nearness didn’t help either. “Thanks.” He picked up the container before she reached for it.
“Where would you like this placed?”
Alexis waved her hand in the direction of an already crowded shelf. “Over there, somewhere.” She walked deeper in the attic. The warm appraisal of his gaze flustered her, made her head swim. It’s hunger, not him. She thought as the room dipped. His hand landed on her shoulder again. He stepped closer. Her heart fluttered.
Annoyed with him, but more with herself, she slapped his hand away. “Can you leave, go downstairs, something, anything!” Alexis flung her hands in the air.
Spine stiff, he jerked around and left, his footsteps receding like rolling thunder on the wooden floors.
Alexis sank into a dusty rocking chair, irritated at the unexpected wave of guilt rushing through her. Since when did she begin to care about his feelings? No. She didn’t care. She was just a nice person and being nasty never got anything accomplished. Now her stranded ghost—spirit—stalker—whatever hated her. Not a good thing if you wanted him to kill for you, and if you had to be haunted, one would prefer Casper rather than the ghostly apparitions from Poltergeist.
Besides, he was a liar. Not to be trusted.
Alexis huffed a heavy sigh and then noticed her grandmother’s steamer trunk. The October nights had started turning cold. Plus, she could stick the pictures in there and retrieve some blankets. She moved the stack of books from the lid and released the latch. Rusty hinges fought the invasion of the box’s privacy, but her strength prevailed.
Grandmother’s patchwork quilt peeked out from the folds of tissue paper. She had forgotten how beautiful it was. Nana’s lilac scent filled the stale room when she freed the king-sized multicolored quilt. When would she stop missing her lazy smile that had told everyone to slow down, her ample bosom that had pillowed Alexis’s head when she didn’t want to sleep in her own bed and the walnut brownies she made every Sunday after church for dessert? She wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and pretended the quilt was Nana’s arms.
A very poor substitute, but she would take what little she could get and hold onto the memories of the rest. She started to close the lid when she spotted a black satin box sitting on top of a collection of brown leather books.
Nana had no jewelry so there couldn’t be anything of value in the square container. Still, a quiver of excitement shook her hand when she reached for it. Alexis opened the box and gasped.
A triple coiled gold bracelet on a red velvet bed lay within. At both ends, the delicate head of a snake, one with ruby eyes, the other emerald. The thing had to be worth a fortune. She stroked a finger down its golden scales and found it slightly warm. Where did her grandmother, an elementary school teacher, get this? From every angle, the thing was exquisite. Even in the dim light of the attic, it glowed. Gloria always claimed they came from wealth, but any wealth originated from the paternal side of the family. Nana was as middle class as one could get.
How would it feel on her arm? Would it be heavy and weigh her down or light and hardly noticeable. She fought the temptation to wrap the bracelet around her wrist. Never one to wear jewelry of any kind, she shouldn’t care, but she did, badly.
What’s wrong with me? Now isn’t the time for this. She had more on her plate than to obsess over a piece of gold. She snapped the lid closed. Once out of sight, the temptation eased. Her first instinct was to return it the trunk. If she wore it, she wouldn’t be able to let it go.
She opened the satin box again and stared once more at the bracelet. The green and red eyes twinkled, clearly begging her—just once—to see it gleam on her skin. She snapped it closed again, her decision resolute.
Sell it and get out of debt, her inner voice argued. Maybe not all of her bills, but at least her credit cards, maybe even her car note. Instead, she peeked inside the trunk hoping for more hidden treasure, but the books were all that remained.
Alexis expected to find Reign waiting for her at the bottom of the attic stairs and ignored the thread of disappointment. The silent house didn’t fool her. She walked into her bedroom, placed the jewelry box on the dresser, and tossed the books on the bed. One popped opened, showing faded yellow pages. She reached over to pick up the journal, but her eyes zeroed in on the second line.
January 1938,
I met him. He’s the one. He doesn’t know it, but I do. I’m going to marry that man and live happily ever after, just like Cinderella.
1938, her grandmother was sixteen years old. Did she mean Grandpa? No, they didn’t marry until 1950. This had to be a teen crush before Grandpa came into her life. Alexis read on, hearing her Nana’s imaginary teenage voice as she shared her distant longings for a man that didn’t know she existed.
There was such hope and certainty in her words and voice. That was her Granny. She lived never doubting her life or the possibilities.
October 26, 1938
How do I explain what happened? John and I…well, I can’t bring myself to put it on paper. He made me his. I love him so much. I want nothing more than to be with him. I’m so giddy, I can hardly think.
What? Whoa! John was not her grandfather. Robert Jameson was her grandfather’s name. Her saintly grandmother wasn’t a virgin on her wedding day? Alexis nearly closed the book.
It wasn’t what I expected. Margie told me what would happen, but I didn’t expect to feel like I did. I mean, it was okay, it hurt a little. John tried to make it nice, and it was, but the moment he started touching me, my parts, and such, something came over me. I no longer felt like myself. And I could hear John. His thoughts were inside my head.
Alexis plopped onto the bed. Her eyes scanned the paragraph again.
His thoughts scared me. They were dark. I wanted him to stop, but I didn’t know how to say no. The word sat on my tongue but just wouldn’t come out. It wasn’t bad, he was kind and gentle, but I felt like I was looking into his soul. How could I do that?
Francis.
Her thoughts tumbled. Nana had experienced the same thing as she had. The next few entries were filled with romantic details Alexis truly didn’t need to know about her grandmother. Then the entries changed.
June 29, 1939
I confided in Margie. I just had to tell someone. I thought she would say I was crazy. But what she told me was simply outrageous. Some cockamamie story about Egyptian Gods and nulls. She even told me she was a null. What the heck is a null? I asked her what had she been sipping. Turpentine? Really, I thought she was my friend.
The journal shook violently in Alexis’s hand as flipped to the last page.
September 3, 1940
I cannot breathe. I may never breathe again. John is dead. Will I ever have that connection again? The complete oneness I found with him. I pray not. To be that completely lost within someone again is not something I would choose to repeat. Margie came to the service with me. We stood in the back, away from the family. Margie’s the best friend I could ever have. She held my hand. I wish I could feel her palm against mine. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so alone. But the gloves prevent that from happening, thank god.
&
nbsp; Dear Lord, is this now my life?
Trembling, Alexis closed the book and tossed it on the bed. So many things clicked into place. Her grandmother always wore gloves outside the house. She was never without a pair. And Gloria was the same. She thought it was just a family eccentricity that thankfully skipped her. Now?
Alexis studied her palms and fingers and then curled them into fists. I’m the problem, not him.
The secret to so many things lay within her. Is that why she chafed at the constraints life had placed around her neck? The one person who had the answers was buried in Oakleaf Cemetery. Her headstone faced east to catch the rising sun. Good thing her grandmother’s best friend was still above ground and living across the street, and still not minding her own business.
Alexis snatched up the journal and marched downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Reign demanded as she passed him in the living room.
She kept walking out the front door, down the steps, across the street, through the gate, to knock on the front door of her favorite neighbor and her grandmother’s best friend.
“Coming,” Mrs. Kelly called from somewhere in the house.
A lock clicked. The knob turned and Mrs. Kelly’s wrinkled, smiling face appeared.
“Alexis! I have cookies cooling. I planned on bringing them over for you.”
Alexis watched her slip on a pair of worn cotton gloves. “What am I?” she asked without preamble. She waved her grandmother’s journal in front of her neighbor’s face. Mrs. Kelly’s eyes widened just enough for any doubt Alexis had to fade.
“I don’t understand, dear. What do you mean?” Mrs. Kelly folded her gloved fingers in front of her.
Head to the side, a questioning grandmotherly stare didn’t fool Alexis one bit. Reign’s footsteps thundered up the steps and across the porch. She didn’t have to turn around to know he stood directly behind her. Besides, Mrs. Kelly looked past Alexis’s shoulder and her head tilted up, way up.
“Greetings, Mrs. Kelly,” Reign said.
Alexis whipped around. “You know her?” She turned back to her neighbor. “You know him?”
Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2) Page 17
