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

by Bourdon, Danielle

  “Get this plane off the ground,” Khyamaeus called up to Roman. He set down his bow and squeezed between Dracht and Dragar. With care, he cupped a large hand over the spurting bullet hole.

  Rhett clutched his brother's fingers, giving him something to hold. He remembered what the healing felt like, the burning tingle that spread out like lightning through every limb. Christian's grip tightened and his mouth parted over a startled inhale.

  He'd gone through this for other, more minor wounds inflicted at the castle. Rhett could only imagine what it must feel like now.

  “Tell...tell my son...” Christian spoke after swallowing, the rest of the words cut off by Dragar.

  “Nonsense. You'll tell him. Khyamaeus is fixing it.”

  The plane taxied to the end of the runway. Roman's voice came over the speakers. “Ready for take off.”

  Not able to move Christian, Rhett helped brace his brother. Dracht got him from the other side.

  The jet surged forward like a horse out of the starting gate, screaming down the runway. Rhett's heart raced, blood rushing through his ears.

  They were going to make it into the air before an attack.

  He glanced up to see Evelyn and Alex leaning over the seats to watch, hanging on with their hands.

  Not one of them was buckled in or seated correctly. Roman's take offs and landings were rarely rough; Rhett cast aside any worry to focus on his brother.

  “Is it working?” Dracht asked.

  “Yes. He's quieting. It will take him a day or two before he's feeling like himself, but he will not die,” Khyamaeus said.

  Reminded of their conversation, Rhett snapped a look up to see if the Fallen was lying. Khyamaeus made eye contact but his expression was too hard to read. The blood flow seemed to be lessening. When Khyamaeus took his hand away, the ugly hole had closed. A pucker of red remained.

  The jet lifted off, ascending at a steep angle.

  Rhett thrust a hand against a seat, holding onto Christian with the other.

  Up, up, up. The plane tilted, changing heading.

  Finally, Rhett dared to breathe a silent sigh of relief. Now all they had to concentrate on was getting back to Egypt and the Garden of Eden.

  Three loud explosions sent a concussive blast that rocked the jet. Roman corrected, a curse carrying through the passenger cabin.

  Evelyn and Alex let out startled noises when the plane dipped sharply, throwing them out of their seats. Masks fell out of overhead compartments, dangling and bobbing. Pillows flew, a glass broke, and the fuselage shuddered.

  Rhett clamped down on Christian, hooking a boot through a seat leg, trying to keep him from flying off the floor. The jet flipped onto its side, nose down instead of up.

  “Lost an engine!” Roman shouted. “Buckle up, buckle up, we're going down!”

  †

  Evelyn couldn't breathe.

  Pinned between the wall of the plane and Alexandra, who had fallen atop her, she spat her sister's hair out of her mouth and tried to push her off. The velocity of the free fall made it impossible to get any leverage. She could feel Alex trying to peel herself up, a desperate scrabble of legs and arms. When Alex's elbow jabbed down into her diaphragm, it stole what bit of breath she had left.

  Roman shouted over the intercom but Evelyn couldn't make out the words over the ear splitting whine filling the cabin.

  They were going down, that was all she needed to know. The jet rolled, throwing Alex off. Evelyn slammed against the bulkhead with a dizzying thud and a moment later, pitched her to the floor again. One of the shields smacked off her shoulder and cheek. A cry of pain turned into a whimper of fear.

  “Evelyn!”

  Rhett shouting her name drew her gaze to the end of the seats. He used them to pull himself around the floor in her direction. In his eyes, she read the same desperation flowing through her veins.

  She wasn't ready to die. Couldn't believe they'd come all this way only to go down in flames.

  “Rhett!” She reached for him with a hand.

  He grasped her arm and lurched beside her, wrapping her in his arms. Instead of reassuring her that Roman would fix it, that they were going to survive the landing, he put his mouth near her ear and whispered words that terrified her.

  “I love you. Don't ever forget it. Do you hear me?”

  “I love you, too. I love you, Rhett. I'm not ready to di--”

  “Shhhh. Don't think about it.” He squeezed her to him with one arm; with the other he braced against a seat to keep them from rolling when the jet tilted the opposite direction.

  How much farther until they made impact? It felt like forever that they'd already been falling.

  Debris flew through the cabin; shields, magazines, glasses, pillows. Somewhere, she could hear masculine voices shouting but couldn't make out the words. A higher pitched whine filled the cabin and Evelyn clung to Rhett, mews of terror escaping her lips.

  Any second now.

  She could feel it coming. Closer, closer.

  A shriek of metal preceded a flip, and suddenly she flew out of Rhett's arms, tumbling like a rag doll in a dryer. She smelled smoke, saw flames. Rhett's face flashed before her eyes when he rolled over the seats into another aisle. It happened faster than she could process.

  One moment she saw glimpses of the inside of the jet, the next she saw a snatch of iron clouds. Machine-gun like pops vied with a roar, a hiss, screams of shrapnel. The noise was so loud, so intense, that it filled her world, even beyond the pain and the disorientation.

  Christian flew by her, blue eyes glazed and wide, one arm flinging around like it was attached by strings.

  Then, blackout.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On her third try, Evelyn opened her eyes. The usual gloom greeted her. It made awakening anticlimactic. She couldn't remember at first why she was so disappointed not to see a bright yellow sun and hear birds chirping happily in the trees.

  Slowly, she became aware of her body.

  Something hard poked into the back of her shoulder and one leg had a hard, heavy weight resting across it. Strange. She realized between one thought and the next that she couldn't hear.

  Not just birds, but anything.

  Frowning, she lifted a hand to her forehead—and missed. It sank into her hair and flopped back to the ground as if her muscles were melting rubber, too weak to support movement.

  The strong scent of fuel and smoke hit her senses at the same time she got her hearing back; shouting, the lick of flames, cracks and sizzles were all present. She couldn't tell who was shouting, or where they were.

  In periphery, she saw the jet. A jagged tear split it in half. From her prone position, she could only see the nose wreckage. She had no idea where the tail section was.

  They'd crashed. Memories flooded in. Gasping, she tried to sit up.

  Rhett. Where was Rhett?

  Feeling drunk or drugged, she wobbled upright. A piece of the plane lay across her leg from the thigh down.

  “Rhett?” What was supposed to be a shout squeaked out instead. From this new vantage, she spied the tail end some distance down from the fuselage. Parts of it were burning. One of the plush seats hung out halfway to the ground at an odd angle. Wires, tubes and other electrical bits draped from a jagged bit of metal that looked like sharp teeth.

  She became aware that the plane had landed atop a steep, craggy foothill. Scars in the earth proved they'd flipped and slid, coming close to going over the edge. Less than twenty feet from her hip was a drop off of interminable distance.

  “Dracht! Dad!”

  The shouts hit her ears again. She tried to push the heavy piece of metal off her leg, ignoring the stabbing pain at her back. Glancing around, she saw a ragged twist of iron that she'd fallen on. At least it hadn't embedded into her skin. The armored shirt undoubtedly helped with that.

  “Hello?” she called. With clumsy shoves, she freed her leg. At the joint, where the armor didn't cover, there was a tear in the materia
l of her pants. Blood soaked through. It wasn't a deep wound, though she couldn't tell about the one on her head.

  She started to roll to her feet.

  The world spun and for a moment, she thought she might throw up. She only made it to an awkward crouch, no further.

  “Evelyn! Over here!” It was Christian.

  “Where?”

  “The cliff. Follow my voice.”

  Too afraid she would lose her balance and fall over if she stood up, Evelyn crawled on her hands and knees toward the edge. The basin below she judged to be about a hundred feet straight down.

  No Christian. A bout of vertigo struck and she froze.

  “Evelyn!” Christian's voice took on a note of urgency.

  Sliding forward a few inches, she peered along the edge to the right.

  Nothing.

  To the left.

  Christian hung from a seat belt strap that had hooked around a jutting piece of rock. One arm dangled uselessly at his side. Blood dripped from a hidden wound on his head onto the armor on his shoulders.

  “Christian! Hold on.” Evelyn didn't know how he hadn't fallen yet. Crawling over, she pried at the belt, thinking to pull him up. She couldn't separate the belt from the rock where it lay tight from Christian's weight.

  “Evelyn, hurry. Find rope or another belt that I can put around my chest. Get Dracht or Rhett or my Dad. Khyamaeus.” His face was pale and shadows painted dark circles under his eyes.

  Scooting back from the edge, she lurched to her feet. “Rhett! Khyamaeus!”

  “Grab another belt!” Christian shouted.

  She turned back to the fuselage. The world spun, threatening to go black at the edges of her vision. She fought against it, staggering over burning, shredded debris to search among the wreckage for something, anything, to help Christian. Panic over the others made it hard to concentrate.

  “Rhett! Alexandra!” She shouted for them while she yanked on a piece of tubing. It came apart in her hands. Throwing it down, she got her fingers around another length of belt. No matter how many times she tugged, it would not come free from the seat.

  Distantly, she heard shouts from someone else. It wasn't Christian, he was behind her. Unable to place the voices, she turned back to the edge where Christian hung from.

  “I'm going to grab your wrist, Christian, and pull you up. I can do it.” He was nearly twice her weight with the armor on. Determined, she got down on her belly and reached for his wrist.

  She noticed his knuckles were white and that his grip had slipped further toward the buckle at the end.

  “Evelyn, I'm too heavy. You can't pull me up without something to anchor you.” His eyes met hers.

  In them, she thought she read resignation.

  “Christian! I can pull you up. I won't let you go. Grab my hand!” She curled her fingers around his wrist, fighting off another dizzy spell from hanging over the cliff. Shadows darkened her vision again—please don't let them be the shadows of death—before fading.

  “I'll pull you over with me. Go find Rhett,” he said. His fingers slipped.

  “Christian! No, no.”

  He held her eyes. “I'm sorry about the stronghold. I wouldn't have let them hurt you. I just wanted my son. I thought I could save everyone.”

  “Don't. Don't you dare say your goodbyes.” She choked on the words, angry that he wouldn't take her hands.

  “Tell them I love them for me,” he rasped.

  “No! You'll tell them.” Evelyn turned her head and screamed for the Fallen. “Khyamaeus!”

  She wrapped her hands around Christan's wrist and forearm and tried to hook her foot behind the rock for support. He dangled so far down that she couldn't get a decent hold.

  “Evelyn.”

  She snapped a look at his eyes. There was apology, affection, understanding and compassion in his.

  Then he let go.

  †

  “One, two, three—push!” Alex strained against a broken section of wing. Dracht stood beside her, grunting with the effort he put behind trying to shift the piece off Dragar.

  The eldest Templar lay pinned on the ground, unconscious.

  “It won't move,” Alex said, teeth clenched. She bent down to check Dragar's pulse again. Weak, but present.

  “Is he alive?” Dracht asked, shoving again, and again, at the debris.

  “Yes. Barely. Where is Khyamaeus? Do you hear someone screaming?” Alex stood up and looked around. There was so much wreckage and smoke and noise from a grinding engine that she couldn't make out who was where, or if the scream was a figment of her imagination.

  She'd had her bell rung when the plane went down, just like the rest of them.

  “Let's get this off him and we'll look for the others. If we don't, he might die,” Dracht said, redoubling his efforts.

  Alex cupped her hands on the wing and pushed.

  She'd come to half on and half off a seat that had been ejected from the plane on impact. Her injuries were startlingly minor, considering. A few cuts, bruises and bumps. Combined with the recent near-drowning and the odd effects it still had, she was thankful it wasn't worse. Dracht had come staggering out of inside the fuselage, armor protecting a lot of his body, his wounds no worse than her own.

  They'd found Dragar unconscious and trapped and were still unable to free him. Alex hadn't seen anyone else so far. Her worry over her sister was paramount. Once they freed Dragar, she meant to start searching.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rhett sit up from the midst of a bush. He looked dazed.

  “It's Rhett. Rhett!” Alex called his name, hoping it would help jerk him into a better state of awareness.

  Meanwhile she applied more strength and weight to the section of wing laying on Dragar.

  “Rhett!” Dracht shouted.

  Alex felt the piece start to give. “Keep pushin', it's comin'.”

  The blood rushed to her head from the tension and pressure.

  Rhett shook off the stupor and got to his feet. “Where's Evelyn? Is he all right?”

  “He's breathin' but unconscious. Are you okay? Haven't seen Ev anywhere yet,” Alex said, glancing over. They almost had the wing off Dragar enough to pull him free.

  “Yeah.” Rhett sounded fuzzy and off center. He put his weight into pushing the wing with them. The addition scooted the debris a foot to the left.

  “Get him out, Alex,” Dracht said.

  She let go of the wing and grabbed Dragar under the shoulders. The armor made it awkward. He was tall and muscular and heavy, but she pulled and dug her feet in and moved him enough to relieve the pressure.

  Rhett knelt on one side, Dracht on the other.

  “Dad, you all right?” Dracht asked.

  Alexandra felt for a pulse again, kneeling up near his head. She felt it under her fingertips, the same weak but steady blip. “He's still got a pulse. I don't see any huge wounds.”

  “The armor spared him,” Rhett said, running his fingers along several deep gashes in the fortified leather. He glanced up, then staggered to his feet. “Evelyn!”

  Alexandra wanted to know where her sister was, too. The screaming she thought she heard must have been the awkward pitch of the engine, because she didn't hear the noise any longer. It was disorienting and difficult to tell one thing from another.

  “I'm going to go look for them. Has anyone seen Khyamaeus--” Rhett's question was interrupted by the Fallen.

  “I'm right here. Roman didn't make it.” He jumped down from a hole in the plane near the cockpit. The Fallen looked like he hadn't sustained any damage at all.

  Alexandra wasn't surprised. “Where's Ev and Christian?”

  “I haven't seen them.” Khyamaeus scanned the top of the rise along with Rhett.

  “Well you guys go look while we try and revive Dragar,” Alex said.

  Dracht spat a curse hearing about Roman. “Dad, can you hear me?”

  Dragar started to stir. Clumsy, not awake motions of his head and hands.


  Rhett stalked off toward the wreckage, Khyamaeus in tow.

  †

  Rhett saw the world through a scope. He felt tunnel visioned, fuzzy headed. Like he wasn't in total control of his body. There was an urgent sense to account for everyone though, and while he mourned Roman's passing, worried over his father, he needed to set his eyes on Evelyn.

  He didn't want to find her in pieces among the remains of the plane. What a morbid thought. Dismissing it, reaching deep for the optimism he usually had in spades, he stumbled over a piece of the plane.

  “Evelyn! Khyamaeus, do you know where they are?” he asked.

  “I'm looking.” Khyamaeus' voice strained across the answer.

  The memory of their conversation flickered through Rhett's mind and he glanced aside. Khyamaeus met his eyes. It was the second or third time they'd done this. Rhett wanted to ask if Roman's death was the death Khyamaeus had forewarned him about, but he couldn't make himself do it.

  Alex, Dracht and his father were accounted for. He knew Dragar would pull through. That left Evelyn and Christian out here somewhere.

  Rhett didn't know if he was relieved or dismayed when Khyamaeus didn't offer the answer to his unasked question. A sick, gnawing sensation gripped his stomach while he staggered through the fuselage, brushing aside dangling pieces and shredded innards. Leather, wood, plastic, padding from the seats.

  “Evelyn!” He couldn't shout louder than the whine of the spinning engine.

  “I'm going to search the tail section,” Khyamaeus said. He split off the other direction.

  Rhett paused to get his bearings. Through the veil and wisps of smoke, he saw movement. On the opposite side of the broken plane. Staggering through the ruin, he stumbled out where the hilltop cut away with a sharp edge and an expansive, panoramic view.

  Evelyn knelt there a few feet from the drop off, hands cupped against her thighs, shoulders shaking, a look of sheer torment on her face. Rhett knew without her saying a word that Christian was gone. That she'd endured some personal horror in his brother's last minutes that would stay with her the rest of her life.

  She looked so lost, so small, so vulnerable. Forlorn, bleak. Hair tumbling everywhere, armored shirt askew, chin trembling. His heart went out to her. For what she'd suffered, for the loss of his brother. For all the deaths, the struggles, the fierce fight they'd waged and for how far they'd come. To all they'd sacrificed.