“EJ, I order you to wake up. WAKE! UP! Damn you. Please…”
A sudden sluggishness slowed Ridley’s movements. Darkness crept over her vision. She tried to shake it off, but the movement left her senses spinning. Ridley slumped to the carpet beside the bed, unconscious.
Chapter Fourteen
The second EJ touched the dagger, something shifted inside of him. He thought it was his soul ripping free. After all, that was the purpose of the anu’Ra to harvest the souls of humans, allowing the wielder of the blade to exchange that soul with another from the underworld, and ultimately transforming that human into a quimaera.
Hand clenched around the sharp edge, EJ had felt the harsh tug on his soul. And resisted. Ridley owned enough of his soul; he wouldn’t have another master. A tug of war ensued. The Harvester yanked and the chains anchoring his soul to his body strained under the assault. But, as stubborn as their owner, they held.
The assault changed to an insistent wheedling that reminded him of a child whining for a toy, steadily looking for a way to wear a parent down. All the while, he resisted.
The pressure on his soul relented and twined around his insides as a lover would. It stroked, teased, cajoled, searching for dominance. Digging for it, until with a shudder, it submitted. And much like a slow striptease by an erotic dancer, all of its secrets were revealed…to him.
The process took seconds, though felt like days.
EJ opened his eyes, expecting to have Daniel’s hands circling his throat and them still in a heated battle. What he found was himself, flat on his back, in another strange bedroom. Sitting upright on the bed, he assessed his surroundings and the encompassing quiet. Where was his kidnapper? Muted fury consumed him. He couldn’t do anything about it. His will still belonged to her, but once freed…thoughts of what he planned to do to Ridley filled him. First, he would keep her imprisoned for a while, see how she liked that shit. And torture her slowly, deliberately… in the most delicious way.
Her last orders to protect her at all costs were still in place. That meant he had to find her, which gave him a modicum of freedom. EJ swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and his boots landed on an unconscious Ridley. In an instant, he had her in his arms, cradled to his chest. Panic seized him, then her limp body stirred, and she snuggled closer.
Unexpected relief flooded him. He clutched her tightly until she grunted in protest. Still, he didn’t loosen his grip. His chin brushed her forehead, and he pulled back from her hot, sticky skin. She had a fever. A high one. He stripped off her coat, let it fall to the floor, and stretched her out on the bed.
A small nick marred the column of her neck.
Someone hurt her? Anger razed his brain, leaving the unquenchable desire to destroy the one who dared to touch her. Guilt quick-stepped behind the anger. He was supposed to be her bodyguard, and he’d failed.
Protect her, whispered through him, and he yanked himself out of his self-flagellation and refocused on Ridley. Did she have any more injuries? EJ cupped her face and gently angled her head, checking. He combed his fingers through her soft, short hair and moved to her arms and torso. Everything seemed fine so he moved on to her abdomen and legs. Nothing broken. No blood. No wounds.
He crossed to the bathroom and wet a towel in the sink. She moaned when he placed it on her forehead and her eyes fluttered open. A dreamy smile curved her lips. “You’re alive. Glad you’re not dead.” She licked her dry lips. “Couldn’t stand it if you were.”
I couldn’t stand it either.
EJ pushed the errant thought away and studied Ridley. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glassy. The towel grew warm quickly, and a tremor wracked her body. He took her hand in his. He needed to get her to a doctor.
He started to scoop her up again when she grabbed his arm. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head when he wanted to say, “No, sweetie. You’re not fine. I’m going to get you to a hospital even if I have to carry you.”
Her brow arched with haughty amusement. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m indestructible, all thanks to a pissed off goddess. I’m cursed to live until she pulls the plug in two weeks.” She babbled like a three a.m. drunk. It was sort of cute.
He pressed the back of his hand to her burning forehead and willed her to understand her dire condition.
“The goddess likes to make me suffer. I can get sick, lose a limb, nearly die…I always bounce back.”
Yeah, whatever. She needed help. He picked up her coat to search for a cell phone and noted its abnormal weight. Even if he couldn’t speak, she could call someone…an ambulance.
“Careful, with that. One scratch and you’ll be lying beside me.” She moaned.
Great. Delirium started to set in. He had to find her phone, dial 911, and get her to ask for help before it was too late.
“Don’t believe me. Nobody ever does. Doctors can’t cure what’s wrong with me. Nobody can.” She tugged the coat out of his hand and pulled a knife from an opening in the hem. Before EJ blinked, she slid the edge across her throat.
Blood welled, blossomed into a thick trail, then ran in a raging river down the column of her pale neck.
No! EJ slapped his palm over her throat and pressed as hard as he dared. Blood seeped between his fingers and soaked the floral sheet beneath her head. Why’d you do this? Why! He screamed inside his head.
Her gurgled response infuriated him.
Don’t you dare die! Hear me, Ridley. Stay alive. He swore, prayed, pleaded.
Her chest heaved with each strained breath until her eyes rolled and settled on him.
Don’t—don’t stay with me, Candy Cane. Please. He mouthed, suddenly desperate. Yet he already knew and never in his life had he felt so helpless. He shook her, watched her head bobble on her neck, and never felt more impotent.
The blood slowed to a trickle. Her skin took on a pasty cast and her amethyst eyes dulled. The sparkle in them permanently snuffed. No stranger to death, he’d killed his fair share in the field, seen more blood and body parts in different war zones. What Ridley had done horrified him on a cellular level.
And he couldn’t fathom why. He should hate her, want her suffering. He’d wanted to kill her, though that was his humiliation talking, not his heart.
EJ gathered Ridley close to his chest and rocked. Holding her one last time seemed vital to his sanity.
Damn it! Why did you do this?
The question needed an answer. None would be coming. Ever.
He crushed her to him, held on for a final precious moment before he had to let go.
The air around him thickened and crackled with an unusual energy. An electric charge made the hairs on his arms stand at attention. His gaze bounced around the room, expecting to find a threat lurking. Someone, something, he could hurt to divert the ache in his heart.
A shudder ran through Ridley’s body followed by a muffled cough against his shoulder. Though he couldn’t show it, inside he jumped a foot with joy. He eased her back onto the bloody pillow.
Her chest expanded on a deep inhale. Several more hard pulls of air and her cheeks pinkened. EJ grabbed the discarded damp cloth he’d used on her forehead and wiped away the blood from her throat.
Unmarked skin mocked him. What the hell?
Relieved, he sat in a nearby wicker chair, which creaked under his two hundred and seventy pounds. It’s not that he hadn’t seen miraculous recoveries. Daniel was a living jigsaw puzzle stuffed into steel containers after Stella hacked him into pieces. Avery’s tattoo was an ever-changing Rorschach painting. However, seeing Ridley come back to life…he couldn’t name the emotion burning in his chest.
One fact suddenly slammed home. Everything Ridley said was true. It had to be. Maybe. Probably.
Hell!
The knowledge rattling his brain and the list of questions he’d compiled. And she would answer them. Every last one of them as soon as he was free.
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you see what I see, Bro
ther?” Reign pointed to the brown, brick two-story building across the street.
Roman nodded. “If you’re talking about that shimmery barrier, then yes, I see it. What do you think it is?”
“Someone chose to hide—” Reign started.
“—in plain sight.” Roman finished. The two shared a speculative glance.
They’d flashed to a dark alley across from the address Quin had texted Roman. The bank camera had caught a glimpse of EJ getting out of a cab across the street from the ATM. It was only a brief sighting, but here they were. They’d follow any lead to get their brother back.
From the alley, Roman sized up the quiet street and the building where the cab had stopped. Together they crossed the street and didn’t pause at the barrier because it parted for them. The single man standing guard at the entrance of the establishment wasted time doing a double take at their identical features. He reached into his jacket pocket a second too late, not that quicker reflexes would’ve changed the outcome.
Beneath his leather coat, the hilt of Roman’s sword dropped into his hand from the holster attached to his right arm. Once gripped, the sword flared to life with a blinding light.
Reign didn’t bother with his blade. Moving faster than the human eye could track, he had the man dangling by his neck a foot off the ground. With his free hand, Reign riffled through the man’s pockets. He retrieved a gun, a cell phone, and a half-empty pack of Winter Fresh gum. He passed them to Roman who saved all except the gum for delivery to Quin.
“What is this place?” Reign shook the man and received a gurgle as a response.
“He can’t answer if he can’t breathe.” Roman shoved his blade into his holster and adjusted the sleeve.
Reign arched an eyebrow. “I remember a time you were particularly adept at deciphering which gurgle was in the affirmative or negative, Brother.”
Roman snorted. “And now I am civilized. Put him down, Reign.”
His brother dropped the guard. The man didn’t move from his slumped position. “He’s not dead. I am also civilized.” Reign’s grin dared Roman to disagree.
Another time, another place, they would have this discussion on who was civilized and what the word meant.
Roman led the way into the lighted building. Red walls and floors, white leather booths lined the walls with a mirrored bar off to the left and a dance floor in the middle. Thirty people, mostly men, crowded around a platform in the middle of the room. On the platform, arguing with the throng, stood a man dressed in a white button-down suit.
“I say we hunt them down and kill all of them. It has been awhile since we hunted a few of our own,” a burly, bearded man shouted.
“Time to bring the tradition back,” another agreed.
“The old ways do not apply in the modern world,” a lovely brunette said. Draped in a mini version of a Greek chiton, she was all legs.
“Your plea for leniency is laughable, Serene. Your great-great-grandfather, Ares, would be appalled,” the white suit said.
“He would have to know I exist for that.” Serene folded her arms across her chest.
“The decision is made. Ridley Cross is mine to enslave. You may have the man with her to kill. Whoever brings me his heart for dinner will be rewarded,” the white suit shouted.
A raucous cry circled the room.
“Rethink that decision.” Though quietly spoken, Roman’s voice echoed throughout the club.
The mob turned. He imagined their thoughts as they took in him and his brother. They were dressed similarly, not on purpose. They were identical twins and favored the same dark clothing among other things.
The crowd parted and cut off their escape route as Roman and Reign stopped in front of the apparent leader.
“More party crashers. Are we suddenly trending on Twitter and no one told me?” he shouted, as though amused with himself. The humor didn’t reach his calculating eyes. He leaned forward, sniffed the air, then spat; hitting the inch of space between Romans' left boot and Reign’s right boot. “Egyptians. You pissants seem to be everywhere now. It was so much better when you yahoos stayed in your tombs.” He laughed and the crowd joined him.
“I say we add them to the hunt,” someone yelled behind them. “Twin carcasses to mount behind the bar.”
Reign didn’t break eye contact with the leader, as Roman knew he wouldn’t. The two fought in a silent staring contest while Roman scrutinized the surrounding faces. Something was wrong. That wrongness set him on edge and raised his hackles to the point he was ready to slaughter someone—everyone.
Do you feel it, brother? Reign’s voice whispered inside Roman’s head.
Yes, Roman said and kept studying the crowd. What is it?
Their power levels. These young fools are all minor gods, fourth, fifth, sixth generations. Reign still hadn’t moved.
Interesting. Roman scrutinized the company they were currently keeping while wondering how he and Reign had this knowledge.
“Who are you two Wonder Twins?” the leader asked.
“Castoffs from the Goddess of Taking a Shit,” a voice came from the crowd.
Roman stiffened at the insult. Reign pivoted. He zeroed in on the one who’d spoken and closed the distance between them. The foolish man stood his ground. A blast of energy shot from Reign’s outstretched hand and slammed the man twenty feet across the room into the wall. Three more rushed him. The first one, Reign ducked low, slammed his shoulder into the guy’s abdomen and flipped him over his shoulder. Roman brought a knee up into the man’s oncoming chin, ending his downward trajectory and putting him out of commission.
Roman blocked two punches to his head from two different opponents. A right uppercut dropped one, and he blocked a roundhouse, sending the other man spinning into the surging crowd. He spotted Reign with delight on his usually stoic face as his fist jackhammered an opponent’s nose while another hung from his neck in a futile attempt to choke him. His brother enjoyed the action. And so did Roman.
A searing pain exploded in his shoulder and jerked his body around. The silver hilt of his blade dropped from his holster beneath his coat, into his palm, and flared to life. A back pressed against his, and Roman didn’t need to turn to confirm the identity. Back to back, the brothers fell into the millennia old rhythm, familiar as his breath. This was how they fought and won every battle they’d faced.
Moving fast, Roman deflected the blast of energy from the demi-god facing him. The power glanced off his blade, into the crowd, dropping many.
“Everyone stand down. They are mine,” the leader shouted. He still stood on the raised platform. Roman glanced over his shoulder. Reign had decimated those who faced him. Many were laid flat, steam wafting from their bodies.
“What did you do to them?” Roman studied the humming black sword clutched in his brother’s hand.
“Vengeance hungered. So he fed.” Reign raised his glowing sword and flicked away the blood staining the edge. “Though not as much as he would have liked. They all still live.”
White suit leaped off the platform and stormed toward them. “I’m Frederick Tanis. This club is my domain. No one comes in here and fucks with my people. That job is exclusively mine.”
Roman and Reign stood shoulder-to-shoulder as a grayish light bled from Frederick’s eyes. A strange feeling crept over Roman; a growing weight compressed his brain, dulled his resolve, and started shifting his internal needle from red to green. Beside him, Reign shook his head hard and blinked several times. Next, his blade vanished. Whatever was happening, it affected both of them. While they battled the strange affliction, the remaining horde closed in.
Power coiled in Roman’s core and strummed through his nerve endings. He welcomed the change, let it sweep through him and mold him into what he was meant to be.
Instinct guided him to step in front of Reign, to protect his twin. The door to his vis’Ra, the power lying dormant within his soul, opened, releasing the gift their mother, the Goddess Nu, Matriarch of the Egypti
an pantheon, bestowed. His muscles clamped onto his skeleton, holding on for the ride of their life.
The grayish light from Frederick’s eyes intensified. Pain spiked inside Roman’s skull, nearly driving him to his knees, willing him to submit. Beside him, Reign wobbled and grunted, “Do it now.”
Roman dug deep into his soul. He would not retreat from this battle within himself or from the one a few feet away. The power was his, and he would wield it without reservation. The lights in the building exploded and rained on the screaming crowd. Emergency lights kicked on, washing the interior in weak red lighting. He gave himself over to the energy. A single pulse of his vis’Ra blasted from him, rocked him. He would’ve toppled if not for Reign braced against his back.
“Control it. We are here to question. Not to kill,” Reign whispered. “We must find answers and we can’t do that if you slaughter everyone here.”
With great effort, Roman dialed the energy back from ten to four. The strain of the reduction had him slumped against Reign until his muscles stopped quivering and he was able to stand.
Reign thumped him on the back. “Addictive, is it not?”
Hell. Yeah. If he knew he had this power dwelling within, he would’ve tapped into it long ago.
A whimper diverted his attention. Frederick lay huddled on the floor. Charred bits of his clothing clung in patches to his burned torso. Some of the crowd fled. Winter air streamed through the open emergency exit in the rear of the club. The rest of Frederick’s people appeared slack-jawed stunned.
“What do you want?” Blood trickled from the corner of Frederick’s lips.
“Tenderizing always works,” Reign sneered.
Roman crouched beside Frederick’s crumpled body. “Ridley Cross. Where can we find her?”
“A phone number…is all I have.”
“Ever meet her anywhere else?”
“Dinner once. Prelude to getting in her pants. D-didn’t w-work,” Frederick stuttered.
Encore (Descendants of Ra: Book 4) Page 10
