She looked over at the filthy shell and couldn’t contemplate stretching her senses to cleanse and heal what damage he had done to her. The way he left her, surely some broken bones and internal damage needed repair. A goddess, discarded like rubbish. Her condition infuriated her.
“After my nulls have removed your filth, then I will comply.”
Before she could move, SET’s vis’Ra engulfed her, caged and compressed her into a tight narrow space. Knowing that he couldn’t kill her kept true panic at bay, but there were worse things than death in Duat. Certain things that left a god wide-eyed and afraid of the dark. Eternity imprisoned in the lowest level of the Underworld took on new meaning to an immortal. Nothing in the world, in any realm, was immune to loneliness.
Dear Ra, he couldn’t mean to place me there? What have I done to deserve that?
Reign!
The image of his handsome face flashed into her mind. She met her husband’s hostile eyes and feral grin.
Was Reign still living or nothing more than ash blowing on the wind?
Her strength faltered and SET shoved her essence back into her body. Immediately, she cast a spell to heal her flesh, but Set blocked her vis’Ra. Unable to fix the damage he caused, Nephythys braced herself for the pain. Her senses stretched and touched every cell and nerve ending, and found nothing.
Her eyes fluttered open. Prone, all she saw were the crumpled damask sheets. She inhaled, drew in the heady, musky scent of two sweaty bodies. Is that what sex smelled like? She had never experienced that before. All trace of any activity with SET was erased and her flesh sanitized before she reclaimed her body after her husband exercised his rights. And Reign, their liaisons were an illusion created by her to keep him at her side.
She pushed away thoughts of Reign and shifted onto her side. As she drew her legs closed, ripples of pleasure cascade from her groin and tripped their way through her body until every follicle of hair on her head sighed in exquisite pleasure. And continued on for seconds, minutes, hours, time ceased as the sensation traipsed through her. Breathless, she opened her eyes and found her husband hovering over her, watching her quivering reaction with eyes that held a smug satisfaction she had never seen before.
“Rise,” he commanded and moved away.
She swallowed the automatic ‘No’ that surfaced and rose slowly to a seated position. Muscles that she had never used, twitched sending smaller, but no less delightful waves from her core.
SET drank it in with greedy eyes that left her wondering exactly what had he done to her body. She could smell him on her, not the sulfurous stench he usually oozed, but a different smell emanated from between her thighs. Not completely unpleasant.
On unsteady feet, she stood and willed her robes to cover her body. Nothing happened. She raised an eyebrow at SET. He smiled.
“Too long I have been denied the pleasure of seeing life in your naked form. You are magnificent and I will enjoy this moment.”
“Will you at least allow me to cleanse myself?” The indignity of the situation galled her.
He came close. The black and red of his robes a perfect contrast to his pasty skin. For the first time, in a long time, she looked at the god fate forced her to marry. Deep in the pit of his eyes, she found a man, angry and in pain, but still, a man stared back at her. A smile stretched her face. It pleased her to see his anguish.
“I enjoy seeing my seed upon you. And it will remain as long as I will.” He turned and as he swept away, a force pulled her behind him. She followed in his exact footsteps, marching behind him, passing rooms of utter destruction. Rubble lay everywhere.
Speechless, Nephythys couldn’t appreciate her unscathed statues in the conservatory and the Scrying bowl upon the table, until the waters started to swirl and bubble. She stood next to SET but didn’t command a viewing of the sacred waters. She glanced at her husband. Serene, his dark eyes almost drowned her in the dark depth.
“Don’t you want to see?” SET’s wide grin showed jagged jackal teeth.
He mocked her. It was her duty to see, to judge. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to look into the sacred bowl. “What will the waters show me?”
“The fate of the human you harbored.”
She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. SET's hands clamped around her arms and he grabbed her to him. Braced against his body, the hard length of him pressed against her hip. To her confused shame, her core quivered with unexpected need. She pushed, but he didn’t budge.
“Afraid, Wife?” He released her. She stumbled and banged her hip on the edge of her table.
Instead of answering, she clasped the bowl between her hands and drew it closer to her. After a moment of hesitation, she looked into the ancient Nile waters, and regretted it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A few hours after calling Judge Mitchell, Nicolis Grayfield and Senator Orley, Roman and Stella waited in the driveway of RockGate watching an ambulance roll up the driveway. Power did have its perks. Cutting through red tape was high on the list.
Stella fidgeted beside him. The waning sunlight bathed her in a warm glow. They should’ve been sailing the Mediterranean aboard a private yacht on the second day of their honeymoon. He didn’t need to wonder whether she would’ve preferred sunbathing on the deck of a boat instead of waiting here listening to the beep of the ambulance backing up.
He took her hand to stop her from twisting her fingers and kissed her. Her delicious lips parted and drew his tongue inside. His breath caught and his body tightened with love and longing. He had to force himself to stop. “You’re worried. Why?”
The EMT’s hopped out of the cab and approached the back door of the ambulance.
“I-I don’t know.” Her chin dipped to her chest.
He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted until her anxious gaze met his. “This is where your sister belongs. Here, with people to care for her, love her. With you.”
The techs had the doors open and were climbing into the ambulance.
“W-what if she doesn’t wake, doesn’t get better?” Tears streaked down her cheeks before he could wipe them away.
Once again, death stalked them. He could protect her from so much, but not this. Finding her sister after all these years was a mixed blessing. If the child died…
“We can’t know what the future holds. All we can do is make Ember as comfortable as possible.”
“You're right, I know.” She nodded and dashed away another tear.
The stretcher wheeled by with Ember, EMT’s and a nurse beside her. So peaceful, anyone would’ve thought she was sleeping, not in a coma.
Roman and Stella followed, watched as they moved her to the hospital bed in the room Stella once inhabited a few doors away from the master suite. A feeding pump, cardiac monitor and other monitors were hooked up. The entire procedure was completed within a half an hour. Just in time for his other guests to arrive.
Hector directed him to the solarium where Tyrone and his mother, Hathoria Gregory, waited. The jumbled story Avery and EJ gave him made limited sense. Better to get the true story from the source.
Roman entered the room only to find it empty with the door to the garden open. He joined Tyrone by the stone birdbath. Roman studied the man, searching for the hidden powers Avery and EJ had detailed. Tyrone appeared the same: tall, muscular, brown skinned, glistening bald head. But where was his mother?
Roman spotted movement by the naked rosebushes. He crossed the garden to greet his guest. Twenty years ago, he’d met Hathoria Gregory. She was a late in life mother, giving birth to her son at age forty-five. Though the natural movements of time had taken their toll, he thought she was beautiful. Widowed shortly after her only child’s birth, she struggled as an artist, selling African art on the sidewalk, at street fairs, flea markets, where ever she could.
Brayden and Tyrone had met at The Dalton School. At forty thousand per year, he assumed Tyrone had a scholarship. When Tyrone became a permanent fixture at his dinner table,
Roman did a cursory investigation and found a modest trust fund, which paid for Tyrone’s education. His late father had provided for his family.
Christmas was the last time he saw Mrs. Gregory. Though frail and clearly starting to wither, she had a vibrancy that made him look at her twice and try to picture the woman she was 50 years ago. The beautiful woman coaxing a dormant bud to blossom on the rose bush couldn’t be her.
The wrinkles at her eyes and laugh lines bracketing her mouth were gone, replaced by smooth, tight, perfect milk chocolate skin. The tight skin at her chin revealed a slender, elegant neck. Supple hands clasped the rose. Her swollen knuckles and misshaped fingers had vanished along with the age spots that once speckled her skin.
Roman looked into her eyes. Eyes that were milky from cataracts, now were bright, honey brown and staring right through him.
All of her was golden. She sparkled in the sunlight and seemed to hover above the grass. It had to be a trick of light. Suddenly, she was young and old at the same time. The husk of the woman Roman knew stood on terra firma, while the serene, beautiful young woman hovered above.
When the sun faded behind a cloud, the hovering form sunk into the old woman and the two merged. The youthful glow faded and the Hathoria Gregory that Roman knew, sighed. She breathed deeply and turned her milky gaze toward him.
“Mrs. Gregory.” Roman greeted her with a small bow.
She smiled. “I’ve always liked you, Roman. Otherwise, I never would’ve allowed my only child to associate with this family.”
“I would expect nothing less from any parent.” He extended his arm and guided her back to the solarium.
Seated on the lounge, sipping a cup of tea, she stared at him over the rim. “We are here at your request. I am ready for you to ask your questions.”
Roman glanced at Tyrone. His neutral expression gave nothing away. “What are you?”
She smiled and the familiar wrinkles moved in slow motion. “I am Hathor. You would know me as the Goddess of Love.”
For the first time in his life, Roman had no answer.
Hathor sucked her teeth and muttered a curse. “Men.” Like stepping from one plane to the next, she peeled the façade of the elder off as if it was a jacket she wore to keep the cold away.
Before Roman’s eyes stood loveliness. Dressed in traditional Egyptian robes of a simple linen sheath and a collar made of turquoise, lapis, and gold, kohl lined her eyes in a supple face. She was regal. Power radiated from her body.
Roman fell to his knees in adoration. He loved this woman. This woman was his mother, lover, wife, child-
“Enough, Mother.” Tyrone commanded.
She sighed heavily. “If felt so good to be me for a moment.” She withdrew and again she was Hathoria Gregory, elderly, dignified matron.
It took him a moment to come to his senses again. To shake off the overwhelming love he felt and remember who, and where he was. He stood slowly and looked at the shrunken woman facing him. Roman’s mind raced. After two thousand years, he’d seen a lot—but not this.
“Goddess.” Wary, he honored her with another short bow, but never took his gaze from her.
A giggle escaped and behind her eyes, something stirred. “It is good to be me.”
At present, she looked like anyone’s mother, elderly, and slight in form, ready and able to care for her son with a meal and a tongue-lashing. It was all a deception. She was so much more. A goddess sat before him. He could never claim any psychic ability, but all of his senses told him this did not bode well.
“If I was younger, I would turn the intensity of your stare into something much more satisfying.”
Roman blushed and looked away. Then he caught himself. He hadn’t blushed since his initiation.
She gave a throaty laugh. “One is never too old to experience youth. Blush while you still can. Immortal or not, take the full measure of joy.” She seemed younger again, stronger, straighter in the chair opposite him.
“Leave be, Mother.” Tyrone snapped. “Stop expending energy you don’t have.”
Once more, she withered. “What do you know?” She grumbled like a cantankerous child. “Don’t lecture me. I am still your mother and I out-rank you.”
Roman gave Tyrone a quizzical look. “So what are you, Tyrone? If your mother is a goddess, what does that make you?”
“I am niSf Al-laah, a demi-god.” Tyrone took a swig from his bottle of beer.
“My husband, his father, was human. My love sustained him for longer than a normal human would have lived but in the end, he left us.”
“Forgive me for asking, but, how old are you?”
“So asks the two thousand year old man. Whose age are you asking? Hathoria’s or Hathor’s?”
“Both.” He shrugged.
“This shell, this woman that is Hathoria Gregory, who loved and gave birth, she is 150 years old.”
“Are you going to die?” Roman asked.
Tyrone gagged and beer trickled down his chin.
“How old are you, Tyrone?” Roman asked. “A hundred or so?”
“No, he’s 27 years old.” Hathoria took a sip of tea.
“And Hathor?” Roman persisted.
“The Goddess of Love? I have been here since the beginning, in one form or another. I am the peace after war, the healing after the hurt, the blessing after the curse, the baby after the birth. How long have I been here? I don’t even know.”
“Are you dying?” Roman repeated.
“Considering that this body is human, yes, eventually I will fail.”
“And when that happens?”
“I’ll return from whence I came. To Chemmis. To exile. I’ve been free for so long I won’t know how to assimilate. I must though. I’ll miss all that I have here.” She looked toward her son. “But I’ll never be far.”
“And you, Tyrone?” Roman studied the man he welcomed into his family as a brother.
“I’m immortal. I’m gifted with some abilities.” Tyrone shrugged.
“Obviously,” Roman said dryly. “Brayden and the others told me what happened. I suspect you have more to add.”
Tyrone sighed. He glanced at his mother and received a slight nod. “Your twin is corrupted—”
“I know that already.” He sensed that from the moment he saw Reign. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Roman glared at Tyrone.
“By a god and something else.” Tyrone finished.
Roman’s shoulders fell.
“You already knew,” Hathoria whispered.
“Not about the god part.” Roman wished he had a glass of whiskey. “For so long, we were equals in all things, the best warriors Thrace had to offer. We fought for our country, our honor, and our family.” Dead memories crawled into the sunlight. “Sometime around our twentieth year, I faltered, began to doubt our purpose. My conscience ate at me and I began to see the men I killed on the battlefield…apparitions. I tried to ignore them, but they wouldn’t leave me. They tainted me with their hate.”
“In the middle of a battle, I succumbed, better to die beneath the blade than a crazed fool roaming the countryside. Reign saved me, not just from the battle. He took the souls that haunted me into himself. I don’t know how he did it. He never spoke of it, but he shouldered the guilt for both of us. My brother saved my sanity.” Roman shuddered. He scrubbed a hand over his face to chase the memories away. “We’ve always been able to sense each other.”
“And now what do you sense?” Hathoria pushed.
“An endless pool of rage.”
“Did you cost him his soul?” Hathoria leaned forward, her gaze unforgiving.
From the first, Roman had avoided that question. “Not at first, but yes. I’m first born. I should’ve accepted the responsibility for both of us—”
“Your brother did what you couldn’t.” Hathoria touched his forearm.
Roman pulled his arm away and stood. “You don’t understand.” His fist balled, needing to hit something. “He removed my conscie
nce and with it went all my inhibitions. I became a person we both despised until I met Elyssian and she gave me back part of what was missing.” He paced like a caged animal. “My brother is haunted by the men we slew as mercenaries.”
“Why just those men? You have soldiered in many wars since your brother was imprisoned. What was different about those men you’ve killed?” Tyrone questioned.
“Those wars were just and my reasons for fighting weren’t about payment.”
“Roman, we are mercenaries now.” Tyrone stood. Aggression crackled from him.
“True. And every client or company we’ve protected has been just. I made sure,” Roman stated. The conviction in his voice didn’t waver.
Some of the tension eased from Tyrone. His shoulders relaxed and the heat left his eyes. “Reign is out of control. I’m the only thing that stopped him from killing everyone in the club. And he has the powers of a god,” Tyrone said.
“I sensed Nephythys when I gifted you my vis’Ras, Tau,” Hathoria said using her son’s nickname.
“Who is Nephythys?” Roman asked.
“Goddess of the Dead. SET’s wife. She sits in judgment of the souls condemned to the Underworld. She’s often fair in her judgments, but always bitter toward her husband and her son, Anubis.” Hathoria spat and shifted in her chair.
The pieces of the puzzle started to fit together. “Alamut said his master was Anubis.”
“Who is Alamut?” Hathoria asked.
“Alamut is or was Daniel. A hybrid beast, part man, part cobra and part crocodile. Stella and I dismembered him in the woods outside of my cabin.”
“Quimaera, they are called. Devils created by a petty child,” she murmured with a distant gaze. They waited for her to continue. “Eons ago, an invading warrior promised his daughter in exchange for an army to defeat a pharaoh. The quimaera were the result.”
“Three of those things attacked Reign.” Tyrone stood next to Hathoria’s chair.
Everlasting (Descendants of Ra: Book 2) Page 20
