Daughters of Eve Collection (Books 1, 2 & 3)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  Evelyn regarded him with deep interest in his feelings and thoughts. Drawing her knees up, she looped her arms around them, feet hooked on the edge of the chair.

  “How can you know that? I mean, if you've been alive since the beginning, haven't ever died, then how do you know such a thing?” He sounded bemused and doubtful.

  Evelyn thought it was the most endearing thing, the way his brow creased in consternation. She struggled to keep a grin off her lips.

  “This is only my first beginning here. My soul has been alive before earth. I can tell by intuition that I've had another life before this one. Probably on another planet.”

  Rhett scoffed. “Some of this is hard to digest, you know?”

  She laughed. “I know. But is it really? When you think about it? Because mankind has come a long way. We've traveled to the moon, sent satellites to distant planets, have television and cell phones and airplanes.”

  “So you think you've lived like...on Mars or something?” His brows skewed skeptically.

  “Broaden your state of thinking a little more. Do you really think Adam and Eve were the first humans, period? They were the first on earth. Souls that got another shot after successes and failures in other places. Aliens aren't really aliens, Rhett. They're other descendants of different Adam and Eves. It's like how people think we're all 'brothers and sisters'. Adam and Eve were the first, but not the only humans God made. It just never got written down or passed on.”

  “It obviously got passed on to someone,” he muttered with a pointed look right at her.

  She couldn't help but smile that time in the face of his natural skepticism. “Remember when I told you that we'd made a deal to go forth and do good in the world? Our willingness to apologize and offer to help earned us more knowledge than most. Minna, Alexandra, Galiana, Genevieve, Eurijah—many of us were given the chance to make it better.”

  “Did all of them know the same things you're telling me?” he asked. By then, he'd propped his hands on his hips while he paced.

  “Yes, they all know. Or knew.” Genevieve, Galiana and Eurijah were dead now. She refused to sink back into melancholy. Instead, she focused on Rhett.

  He grunted. “All right. Let's pretend I've been reincarnated. Does that mean maybe you're someone I've known before and am meeting up with again now?”

  “It's not impossible, that notion, but I'm pretty sure we've never met before this.”

  “...how can you know that?” He stopped pacing and leaned a shoulder, against the wall.

  His question, innocent enough she knew, made her a little uncomfortable. It meant she had to face things she'd had no time to face while they'd been on the run. Confronting the truth of it startled her.

  “Because I've never had a reaction to any man like I've had with you. There's just something different here. It's a new connection, not an old one.” Evelyn struggled to find the right words to explain in detail how it felt to be around him. There were no blips of deja vu, no echoes of familiarity. If they had crossed paths before now, she thought she would remember something, no matter how vague. She squirmed in her seat at the sharp way he regarded her.

  “You know, I never would have suspected you'd been alive for thousands of years when I first met you. Hell, even now it's hard to believe. You don't have that sense of...what is it I'm trying to say. World weary wisdom?” He strayed from topics of connections to something else.

  Evelyn rolled with it.

  “That's because we've had time to adjust as things changed. It wasn't like we were plucked up from Eden and plopped down into the fifties or the eighties or something. It's easy to have a young state of mind when you are young, no matter how long you've lived. At least it's been that way for me. I won't say that I've never had times when I've been jaded or tired or something like that. But I love life, I enjoy living. Looking forward to every day makes a difference.”

  “It must. I know people half my age who are as jaded as they come.”

  “I always thought eating from the Tree of Life probably helped, too. Not just because it gave us immortality, but because there are other properties in the fruit that spare us deep depression and all the things that aid in becoming generally tired with things. We don't get sick, don't get diseases. I rarely have a day when I don't feel energetic and great, like I can conquer the world. It has to change my outlook, make it easier to roll with the flow.” She didn't doubt or misunderstand Rhett's skepticism.

  “You're probably right.” Rhett paused and scratched at his whiskers again. “So if you do manage to get me into Eden, and I eat from the Tree of Life, I'll be the same?”

  “It won't reverse your emotions or your beliefs that you've developed already. But say you have cancer? It will heal it. You won't get colds after you consume the fruit, or get the flu or anything like that. At the most, you might have an 'off' feeling day. Sleep an extra few hours. That's about it. I'm conjecturing again here. We won't know for sure until we get you in there and you eat it.” Evelyn didn't want to think about the conversation she was going to have with the Guardian at the East Gate when they arrived. Ashrael was not going to be happy to see them.

  “Could there be a danger in my partaking?” he asked with a frown.

  The thought hadn't dawned on her that there could be any danger, other than facing Ashrael's wrath, in Rhett consuming the fruit. She was forced to consider it now, however.

  “I really can't say for sure. Nothing happened to the rest of us, but then we had permission.” She sat straighter in the chair, giving the idea more serious consideration. Evelyn wouldn't be able to live with herself if something happened to Rhett when she was only trying to extend his life.

  “Either way,” he replied after a moment. “I'm willing to take the risk. If the Guardian won't let me in, can't you just go in, grab a piece of fruit, and bring it back out?”

  “The Garden of Eden isn't a grocery store--”

  He barked an unexpected laugh, interrupting her. She continued, a grin in her eyes.

  “--and even if I could theoretically carry it out, Ashrael wouldn't let me. He's the Guardian for a reason, and for more than just keeping people out of Eden. I'm not positive the fruit wouldn't shrivel up or something.”

  “So they're stingy, is what you're really saying.”

  Evelyn dissolved into laughter. Rhett had a way of bringing a deep, serious subject back onto lighter footing with a quip or two. “Protective, is the word I'd chose instead.”

  Rhett sank down onto the corner of one of the beds, knees apart, boots on the floor. He made a loose clasp of his fingers and rested them casually between his legs.

  Evelyn glanced at the denim stretched taut across his muscular thighs and diverted her attention when a flush of heat uncurled in her stomach.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he asked in a quiet voice, like he'd caught her looking.

  Damn him. Sometimes she forgot Rhett saw much more than she gave him credit for. She attempted nonchalance.

  “You've got me thinking about consequences.” It was mostly the truth.

  “Of?”

  “You eating the fruit.”

  Rhett's expression said clearly that it wasn't the answer he'd either wanted or expected.

  Then he said, as nonchalant as she'd been, “There's only one way to find out.”

  Chapter Three

  Roman stopped at the tall, wrought iron gate blocking the driveway to the Templar Stronghold. He hadn't been back to Athens in three years and by the looks of it, nothing had changed. The guard recognized him and let him in with no trouble.

  Putting the new Mustang in gear, he cruised toward the structure that stood like a sentinel against a dark sky. Pale columns decorated the front, the facade carved with depictions of war scenes. Not all of the strongholds were so archaic and memorable as this one. Roman, whose ancestors had stayed here and trained within its walls, felt a connection to this particular holding.

  It didn't matter that what brought him here was
interrogation and torture.

  Parking in front of the sweeping stairs, he cut the engine. Reaching over into the passenger seat he grabbed the black duffel bag and exited the car. The double front doors were exactly as they were the last time he'd seen them, the engravings the same as the facade overhead.

  Opening the door, he let himself inside.

  The vast space didn't echo with one sound, not one voice. Not even the clang of swords from the training pit further back.

  Closing the door behind him, he strode inside, looking for signs of life. With his free hand, he gave the waistband of his black jeans a short tug. Paired with black tee shirt and a belt, his attire was reminiscent of traveling comfort rather than business meeting.

  “Roman. Good to have you here.” Dragar came from the direction of the office, suited up in black sans the jacket. Hair tied back into a tail, silver at his temples, the head of the Order didn't look like he'd aged a day since Roman saw him last.

  He cut to the left and met Dragar halfway, hand extended to shake. “Dragar. Glad to be back. I hear you have need of my services.”

  Dragar, upon closer inspection, had deeper lines at the edges of his eyes and a hollow look about his cheeks. Like he'd neglected eating and sleeping recently. Roman knew better than to think it diminished Dragar in any way. The man had always been solid as a rock.

  “Actually, I do. Come in and let me get you up to speed.” After the shake, Dragar motioned toward his office and led the way there.

  With the sound of their boots ringing off the floor, Roman followed him in and took a chair opposite a simple but heavy looking desk. Spartan, clean, with thick furniture, Dragar's office had a no nonsense air about it. Like the man himself.

  Roman dropped the bag onto the floor near his feet and laced his fingers comfortably over the buckle of his belt. Dragar took the seat behind the desk and met his gaze directly.

  “What I'm about to tell you is as top secret as it gets around here. Tell no one. Not your wife, not your brothers.”

  Roman, surprised at the request, nodded. “My word none of this will pass to another.”

  “A couple weeks ago, Christian and Rhett came upon a kidnapping in the parking lot of a popular club here in Athens. What we didn't know at the time, was that Christian led Rhett there, knowing an attempt would be made.” Dragar paused to let it sink in.

  For the first time, Roman realized this case was closer to the Templars than usual. More personal. He'd known Dragar, Dracht, Rhett and Christian his whole life. Would have given his life to protect any one of them. He nodded for Dragar to continue.

  “Rhett managed to get the license plate off the van and caught up with it a couple days later, parked at a church. When he investigated, he discovered a select group of Templars, acting on their own merit, had captured a girl and were torturing her in the basement. You see, back at the club, another woman had been murdered by the same sect.”

  Roman sat forward, frowning. “Wait, what? Templars, murdering and torturing women?”

  “Yes. They did not have the permission of the Church. In fact, we later found out that Father Valanzano had no knowledge of their actions whatsoever and did not condone it.”

  “I guess not,” Roman said, immediately disgusted. He might be an expert in torture and interrogation, but he didn't use the tactics on innocent victims. “What the hell were they doing?”

  “This will be difficult at first to believe,” Dragar said, and it sounded like a warning.

  Roman shifted in the seat, both curious and a little wary. This was not the way these meetings usually went. “I've seen some pretty unbelievable things in my time.”

  “This...sect...of Templars, came into some information passed down through the generations. They believed that several of the original daughters of Eve--”

  “Wait, you mean Eve as in Adam and Eve?”

  “Yes. That they were still alive, roaming the earth, passing a plague of evil after being bitten by the serpent in the Garden.” Dragar paused again.

  Roman couldn't stop the snort. “Seriously. That's the biggest bunch of bull--”

  “We discovered that they do exist and a handful are—were—still alive.” Dragar laid out the truth of it in a careful, neutral tone.

  Roman was so shocked that he said nothing at all. Daughters of Eve? Real women born at the beginning of time? His mind rejected the idea out of hand. Impossible. Unbelievable. His silence gave Dragar the opportunity to continue.

  “Rhett extracted the woman in the basement, Evelyn is her name, and they went on the run. They were attacked several times, forcing them to cross the Mediterranean to Egypt. Rhett believed that the Templars had put a tracer on her. And they did. What none of us knew, was that Evelyn and her surviving three sisters had been hunted by this sect of Knights for centuries. Evelyn happened to catch a glimpse of Rhett's tattoo in Port Said and fled. When he caught up to her in the markets, she shot him.”

  Roman shoved up out of the chair, incredulous. Rhett was like a brother to him. In more than just the Templar name. “Rhett's dead?”

  Dragar held up a hand even before he made it all the way to his feet. “No, it was just a graze thankfully. What we also didn't know, was that Christian had been a part of the attacks, leading an entirely different group after them.”

  Roman wasn't sure which thing was more disturbing; Rhett being shot by a supposed immortal, or Christian turning on his brothers. There had to be something more to it all.

  “Go on,” he encouraged Dragar, sure the man was about to exonerate his son from any wrong doing.

  “Rhett managed to find Evelyn after she went on the run from him, and we rounded up the other sisters, who had been taken by the rogue sect of Templars. We held the men, gained confessions, and after we thought it was all taken care of, Christian intercedes and attempts to take Evelyn right out of the stronghold here. Needless to say, Rhett was having none of that. So to round the story down, we've got two government agents in custody here, along with Christian, and I suspect there's more to the story than the agents aren't saying. We need you to extract whatever you can.”

  “What about Christian?” Roman asked. He couldn't torture someone he'd considered a brother all his life.

  “Try the agents first. We can't locate any information on them at all. Their prints come up with nothing in the system.” Dragar stood up as well. “You have access to all the resources you need. Valanzano has given the order that the women are under our protection.”

  “So it's been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt their story is real?” Roman still had a hard time believing it.

  “Absolutely. I'll tell you about the box and the names later on,” Dragar promised.

  “Which government do these agents work for, and have they compromised the information to anyone else?” Roman asked.

  “That's what we need you to find out. The agents say they discovered knowledge by accident, going through top secret files looking for something else. They swear this is contained to themselves and Christian, but we need to be sure.”

  “You have my word, Dragar, that I will get to the bottom of it.” Roman knew many of the small details had been left out, but he had more than enough to get started. He left the room, bag in hand, determined to find some answers.

  ***

  Twenty-four hours later, Roman stood in front of the viewing window that looked into the cell containing one of the agents. The man, Drew Cornell, had finally been identified after Roman called in a favor to a friend in the CIA. Facial recognition, fingerprints—everything else had failed.

  But he'd gotten the answers he sought by pulling a few strings, and now he stood here with a black bag in his hand, ready to do business. Inside was information he needed along with traditional tools of the trade. Roman hoped he wouldn't have to resort to violence if only because he wanted an expedient track to the truth. Interrogation by torture could sometimes take days. He was going to lean on Drew's emotional psyche, use things that were more pr
ecious, perhaps, than fingers and toes.

  Drew Cornell sat in a metal chair, hands bound in his lap, one knee bouncing restlessly. He resembled a desperate man with shifty eyes, wrinkled suit, and skewed hair. Three days in the hole had started to wear on the agent's nerves.

  Dressed in black, Roman had styled his hair back, shaved his jaw clean, and shed his shoulder holster before coming down. He wanted Drew to fixate on the bag and what it might contain.

  Grasping the doorknob, Roman swept inside and closed the door behind him. His boots made dull thuds on the cement floor when he walked over to stand six feet or so in front of the chair. When he dropped the bag, it landed with a heavy clank of steel.

  Drew darted a wary look at the duffel bag.

  That was exactly the way Roman wanted him. Wary.

  “Drew, I'm Roman,” he said straightaway. Drew, thinking himself clever no doubt by not giving over his name, knowing he couldn't be easily traced by fingerprints and facial recognition, looked startled. He said nothing, but he'd already given himself away.

  “It's my understanding that we need to discuss this situation with you, your co-worker, and Christian.”

  “There's nothing more to discuss. I've already told the others that it was just the three of us and no one else was involved,” Drew said. He glanced at the bag again, a quick jerk of his eyes.

  Roman allowed a full minute of silence stretch between them. The cell was cool to the point of being cold, the stone walls dank, dark. For someone like Drew, trained in these situations, the depressing subterranean room wouldn't have the same psychological effect as it might on someone not used to it. That didn't mean Roman couldn't use the isolated cell to his advantage. The bag, which Drew kept looking at, added another threat layer atop the fact that he didn't know Roman at all. Or what Roman was capable of.

  He let all these variables sink in for sixty seconds. Drew grew more shifty in the seat. Subtle, little telling ticks of his eyes, his fingers, his feet.

  Roman noticed it all. Instead of going at Drew like a bull with a red flag waved in front of it, he remained patient. Using the toe of his boot, he scooted the bag closer. It hissed along the concrete floor, luring Drew's gaze right to it. Roman crouched down when he was just out of arms reach of the chair and unzipped the bag. The noise seemed ominous and louder than it should have.