Eternity

by Tmonique Stephens

  “Run, Stella!” He fired running back to the theater. She hadn’t listened. Instead of running away, she met him. He grabbed her hand and ran, but she couldn’t keep up and the thing behind them closed the distance.

  “Is it him, The Strangler?” She shouted breathless.

  They ran past The Preserve, rounded a column and then stopped. Shrouded in gloom, the outline of the pond appeared in front of the Belvedere Castle. He didn’t want her to see what chased them, but before he could stop her, she turned. Her scream pierced the night. Yards away, a bellow replied. He jerked her around and shoved. She stumbled and fell into the water.

  “Go!” This time, she didn’t fight. For a second, he watched her swim. Then turned in time for claws to dig into his side.

  Stella slipped, fell face first in the shallow water and choked on a foul mouthful. She lunged to her feet, brushed the wet hair out of her face and waded on. Water rose from her hips to her neck quickly and then leveled off as she approached a small dock jutting out of tall grass. Arms trembling, she hoisted herself up. A spike of pain spread from the healing wounds on her abdomen. Her arms almost caved, but at the last second, she flipped a leg over the edge of the dock and rolled onto her back. In the silent night, smacks and grunts echoed, water splashed. Something gave a roar no human could make.

  Roman.

  She had to get help. The dock led to the castle. Stella jogged up the stairs, clutching her side and cut through the fake façade to reach the 79 street transverse. Waving her arms, a car wheezed bye, then another one.

  Damn New Yorkers. Headlights split the darkness. She ran into the road.

  “Stop! Please, stop!”

  The car swerved, centimeters separated her and the bumper. It shimmied on the road, but straightened and kept on going. She had to escape the park. Call the cops. Save Roman. A scream lodged in her throat.

  Wounds aching, she ran hard. The exit of the park and the traffic on Central Park West came into view. There were people up ahead. She had to get there. People meant help. Her steps faltered and her shoulder slammed into a lamppost. She started to fall.

  An arm circled her waist and hauled her up. For a second, she tore at the limb until she glanced up. “Ro—”

  Blood. Nearly everywhere she looked. Tattered pieces of his shirt flapped in the breeze exposing deep gashes across his pecs and down his ribs. Behind him, a tree splintered and toppled onto the roadway. Roman took her hand and together they ran the last yards to the exit.

  They darted out of the park and onto the sidewalk, alongside the wall separating the park from the city. Still, she heard it, the beast, thing, whatever, over the wall, matching their pace.

  A hand tipped with razor sharp claws scraped along the top of the wall. A scaly arm, a snout unhinged and rows of teeth and protruding eyes that rotated freely.

  It. Saw. Her.

  Her brain lurched, stuck on the impossibility staring at her.

  Roman ran into the street. She heard the roar of the motorcycle before he snatched the man off the bike. Metal sparked against the asphalt as the bike spun out twenty yards away. “Run,” he ordered the man and flung him in the opposite direction. Roman righted the bike. The engine started on the first try.

  She’d never been on a motorcycle. The angry voice of its owner reached her. He hadn’t heeded the warning. The man had peeled off his helmet and threw it to the ground. His mouth moved, but his words were lost when a bellow came from the park. She hopped on the bike. Parts of Roman’s back lay open, oozing blood. He needed a hospital. He revved the engine and took off. She grabbed his waist and tried not to hurt him. His torn bloody shirt slapping her.

  A shriek reached her. Human and full of terror. Horrified at what they left behind and what they did to get away, she clutched tighter as they streaked uptown, away from danger. She prayed for the man they left behind.

  Go back! Her conscience warred. She closed her eyes and buried her face in a non-bloody patch of skin. Roman needed medical attention, but miles ticked by. They had to stop. God knows how he was still upright, his heart beating steadily beneath her palm. He had lost so much blood. Any moment he could slip into shock.

  They whizzed by a blue sign for a hospital.

  She tapped his side and shouted above the roar of the bike and the wind. “Stop.”

  He shook his head.

  She tapped him again. “Yes, you have to.”

  A sign for a truck weigh station appeared. Two miles later he slowed and turned into the closed station. Though dimly lit, he parked in the back. On rubbery legs, Stella eased off the bike.

  “We passed a hospital a few miles back—”

  “We’re not going to a hospital.”

  Wind whipped her hair around her face. Frustrated, she brushed the strands out of her way and thrust a finger into his face. “You’re hurt. We’re going to—to that hospital,” she stuttered. “Roman. You’re not dying on me!” The thought made her ill.

  “Look at me, Stella. Take a close look . . . At. me.” Arms outstretched, the tattered remains of his shirt flapped in the wind. In the dim light, healed skin flirted with her senses.

  “But—” She saw him. When he ran out of the trees and onto the asphalt road, the streetlights clearly showed his ragged chest. And blood. His blood soaked his shirt and pants, was still there on his clothing, dry and crusty. His back—she walked around him—the cuts so deep that tissue and muscles surged through the wounds.

  He ripped his destroyed shirt from his body. Though blood streaked, his skin was healed. Completely. Light-headed, she swayed. Roman caught her, but she pushed away and used the steady brick building for support.

  He reached for her again.

  “Don’t.” Her voice stopped him a few feet from her.

  “We don’t have time for this.” He scanned the area around them.

  “Make. Time.”

  “Oh, now you don’t trust me? Don’t you think it’s a little late?”

  “Better late—”

  “Are you sorry? Sorry that I saved your life, again. Sorry that I held you, kissed you, made you come?” He glowered and crowded her with his big body.

  The crack of her hand connecting with his cheek drowned out the sound of speeding cars. Roman didn’t budge, not one single muscle. She met the heat of his gaze with her own scorching glare. Toe-to-toe, she waged war with her terror at whatever was out there hunting them, fear of how he could possibly heal so quickly, and a lust so consuming her clothes were nothing more than a reminder that she should be naked and beneath him.

  Lightning exploded in her head. She was afraid, but not of him. Even faced with everything she knew and the enormity of what she didn’t know, she wasn’t afraid of Roman and she wanted him. More than anything in this world, she wanted Roman Nicolis.

  A police siren warbled in the distance.

  “Get on the damn bike.”

  His huge outline and part of his face was cast in the shadows, reminding her of The Strangler. She swallowed the lump in her dry throat. “You first.”

  His gaze never left hers while he stuffed the shirt in a saddlebag and settled on the bike. Four short steps brought her to his side. She swung her leg over and settled behind him. A perfectly healed bare back stared at her. Tempted her. Teased and confounded her logical higher reasoning.

  What the hell are you?

  He revved the engine, waiting for her to wrap her arms around his waist.

  Careful fingers touched his back. It wasn’t an optical illusion. She laid her cheek against his warm, healed skin. Her arms reached around and locked. He sighed before they tore off into the night.

  CHAPTER 14

  The bike roared to a stop in front of a mansion. A million times bigger than her tiny studio apartment, she may as well call it a castle. The main building had corner towers with turrets attached. Battlements circled the roof. Stone balconies bracketed French doors to bedrooms on the third floor. Arched windows lighted with chandeliers made the dark stone invisi
ble as the interior glowed.

  Roman hopped off the bike while she absorbed it all. The front door opened and E.J. exited. “New ride? Not your style though.” He surveyed the vehicle.

  “It’s a loaner. Get rid of it.” Roman retrieved his shirt from the saddlebag.

  “Gotcha.” E.J. wheeled the bike away.

  “Ready?”

  He waited for her, palm outstretched.

  “Lead the way.” Cold and impersonal, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  His hand dropped to his side. “Follow me,” he ordered flatly.

  Stella steeled her spine and trailed him.

  Three steps into the house, the opulence stopped her. Arched entrance, marble floors, Grecian tiled walls, an ornate crystal chandelier hung from a cathedral gold leaf ceiling, greeted her. Being a mercenary paid well.

  Out of nowhere, Hector appeared in a suit, tie and wingtips. His critical eyes assessed their condition before his features transformed into a greeting.

  “Miss Walker, a pleasure to meet you once more. Would you like to rest?”

  No, almost popped out of her mouth. She didn’t want to be separated from Roman. Thane entered from the left, his gaze darted between them. “What happened?”

  “Later,” Roman replied.

  From the right, another man strolled in dressed in charcoal slacks and a crisp white, open collar shirt. A few inches shorter than Roman with a slimmer build, his straight black hair brushed off his wide shoulders.

  Roman tossed his ruined shirt to him. “Full analysis.”

  He caught it with one hand. “Understood.”

  “That’s Joaquin.” Roman pointed to the man.

  “But I answer to Quin. Greetings.”

  Quin’s smooth voice made her think of a dark room, a satin covered bed, wine, rose petals, and a million softly flickering candles. His lips split into a wicked smile and he stroked his goatee as if he knew where her mind drifted.

  Roman’s chest stepped into her line of sight. Anger pulsed from him in hot waves and his eyes seemed too darken into bottomless wells. “Come with me.”

  He turned and led the way up the grand staircase to the third floor. Decorated in soft greens with creamy white crown molding and a tray ceiling, the bedroom he showed her was the prettiest room she’d ever seen.

  “Bathroom.” He pointed to a door. “You’ll find towels inside. Check the drawers and armoire for clean clothing.”

  As if she would. “I am not wearing someone’s clothes.”

  “Do you think I would give you another person’s clothing?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but strode away, slamming the door closed behind him.

  She opened the first dresser drawer she came to. Dainty lingerie filled it. The next drawer held bras, the next, panties, all with the tags still attached. Another held soft cotton shirts and lounging sweats. She walked over the armoire. Jeans and a few beautiful dresses all in her size, hung neatly. Were they bought for her or someone else?

  A wave of panic washed over her. What the hell am I doing here?

  Wide-eyed, her gaze darted about the bedroom. Bigger than her apartment, all it needed was a refrigerator and she would never leave, but she didn’t belong here. Not in the room, not in the mansion and definitely not with a man who became more mysterious with each passing minute.

  Before she knew it, her hand clasped the doorknob and twisted. The bedroom door opened without a creak. One more step and she would be in the hallway, on her way to freedom. Seconds seemed to stretch into days while she battled her fears. She had run from so many things in her life. At some point, the feet got tired. She stepped back and closed the door.

  In the bathroom, she stripped and stepped into a glass-enclosed shower, oscillating jets of water massaged her body from shoulder to calves, while the night replayed in her mind. Reality is a brutal playmate, but she wasn’t one for fantasies. No matter how much she mumbled into the water pouring over her that the night didn’t happen, couldn’t have happened—wild animals roaming New York and miraculous healings—just didn’t occur.

  Clean, she stepped into the new panties, encased her breasts inside the softest lace bra she’d ever felt and wondered if he actually walked into some boutique and purchased the intimate items. A pair of Lucky jeans and a cotton tee completed her transformation. Her hair, she glanced in the mirror at the damp curly mess and shrugged. On cue, her stomach rumbled. She should go and search for food, but instead she sat in front of the cold fireplace. Eyes heavy, she closed them—for just a second—to rest.

  Something touched her, caressed her cheek, a warm calloused palm. She opened her eyes and Roman hovered. Raw sexual heat blazed from his gaze. She sat up and he sucked in a breath.

  “Damn, you’re beautiful.”

  Warmth suffused her. Cheeks burning, she dropped her chin to her chest. Three words, that’s all it took to make her want to forget the world, her worries and throw herself into his arms.

  Through the curtain of her hair, she watched as his finger hooked under her chin and lifted until their gazes met. “I love your hair like this, damp and tempting.” He touched her waves, but didn’t brush her bangs behind her ear.

  He cleaned up nicely. In a dark warm-up and a gray tee, his cologne wafted and filled her body with the heady scent of him. Unruly hair and a five o’clock shadow, her mouth dried and her limbs began an annoying tremble. Caught in the spell he created by just being near, a wild fluttering started in her stomach. His thumb brushed her lips and god she wanted him, but . . . he shouldn’t be here. By all the rules of nature, he should be in a hospital or dead. Instead, he was alive and enticing her.

  “Are you ready for dinner?” He pointed to the cart laden with covered trays. The succulent aroma’s assailed her.

  “Yes.” But she really wanted a drink. She spotted a bottle of chilled red wine and snagged it when he wheeled the cart onto the balcony.

  “Hector wanted to make sure you had something you like so he sent a little bit of everything.”

  “A burger would’ve been fine,” she said after draining her glass and refilling it.

  He held out her chair. In the flickering candle light, he could be anyone. Not the man she wanted him to be—or worse—in her own desperate need, created. While fleeing for their lives, she’d tossed her chips in with him. Now safe, she wondered about her judgment. God, she needed a moment to just think.

  She gulped the wine and lifted the bottle for more, but it slipped and would’ve shattered if not for Roman’s quick reflexes.

  “Are you tired?” He returned the bottle to the table.

  She nodded. “Yes, but . . .”

  “What’s wrong?” He leaned closer to her.

  She couldn’t think. The past few hours crashed into her, twisting her thoughts until they jumbled in her head, but one prevailed. What was he?

  She glanced up. He stood over her, a looming figure. A killer.

  Roman waited. Her changing emotion danced across her lovely face: a spark of hope, a flutter of panic, and finally a mask of horror settled on her feature.

  She lurched to her feet and wobbled. He took her arm to steady her, but she snatched it away and stormed into the bedroom.

  He didn’t chase her. He leaned against the doorway and watched her pace. Like a newly caged animal, she stalked the same path in front of the bed.

  “Did you think I wasn’t going to ask?”

  “I’d hoped you’d rest tonight and we’d talk tomorrow.”

  “You can’t trap me here and expect me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “You’re not trapped.”

  “Then I can leave?” She threw a skeptical glanced at him and rolled her eyes.

  “I’ll show you to the exit.” He almost laughed at her startled expression. She hadn’t expected that reply, but he sobered quickly. “Ask me what you need to, Stella.”

  Her lips parted slowly. Then snapped closed. She moved farther away as if the distance gave her a buffer, a head start if she needed to bol
t. “. . . Are you a vampire?”

  “What?” He barked. “This isn’t Twilight, Stella, and I’m not vampire.”

  “Well, what are you then?”

  Good question. “I’m . . . complicated.”

  “Oh, you’re way more than that! Bloody one moment and healed the next.” Stella stared at him, her face switching from fascination to fear. Hand outstretched, she crossed the room, approaching as if he were a beast about to attack. She glared at him. It hurt to see the pain in her eyes, but it couldn’t be helped. This is what he is, a cursed immortal. Destined to roam the earth searching—for her.

  But if he could keep her alive . . . maybe . . . there’s a way they could be together. She slipped her hand under his shirt. Her fingers brushed the remaining demarcations of his recent scars. He sucked in a shallow breath and quelled the urge to snatch her to him while suffering her tender ministrations.

  “Tell me h-h-how, what you are.” Her voice and body trembled. She moved closer, her warm hand pressed flat over his heart. Her up-turned face pleaded for the truth.

  If only he could spare her. “I’m cursed . . . and I’m immortal.” She snatched her hand away. The skin she touched ached from the loss. He pressed a panel on the wall, revealing a bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, cranked the cap off and gulped. The fiery liquid hit the back of his throat and smoked a trail to his gut.

  “Which came first?”

  His lips twisted in a tired smile. “I was a warrior for hire. My brother, Reign and I were known worldwide. Well, what was thought of as the world back then, at least. I was cursed because I failed to keep a vow.”

  “Are you, alive?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a weak smile. “If you can call this living. My heart beats, Stella, and warm blood runs through my veins.”

  “Your curse was to be immortal?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Why were you cursed? What did you do?”

  He tilted the bottle again before he answered. “My curse was to search for the one woman I could love completely, forever.” Roman sighed and looked up at her from the swiftly emptying bottle. “You are the reincarnation of my lover, Elyssian. She died 1,974 years ago. That makes me roughly two-thousand years old.”