Her head thrashed back and forth causing the oxygen to slip from her nostrils. She panted, hard gasps that made her chest heave. With each breath, Roman’s heart sank. Once again he’d come so close only to watch her die.
A second nurse arrived with a needle and injected fluid into Stella’s IV. Within seconds, her struggles ended and she succumbed to the sedative.
The first nurse sent Roman an accusing glare. “What did you do to her?”
I loved her and cursed both of us to this fucking existence. The ever-present hole in his soul widened to a gaping maw. “Nothing. I told her she was safe. That I was here to protect her.” He gritted out the words.
She huffed, shook her head, and left.
Roman approached the bed and stopped. She may be unconscious, but she still trembled. Her fear was contagious, causing his limbs to tremble in synch with hers. He backed away and sat heavily in his chair at the opposite end of the room. A hole opened in his chest as the knowledge stabbed his heart.
Stella was afraid . . . of him.
Hours later, the hospital door swung open. Hand on the butt of his Heckler and Koch, the weapon cleared Roman’s holster by the time Hector stepped inside. His butler eyed the gun and then tossed the overnight bag to Roman.
Roman managed to holster his weapon a fraction of a second before the bag dropped into his lap. His deep grunt made one wrinkled corner of Hector’s mouth curl slightly. Roman’s brows arched to his hairline. “Thanks for the manual labor, I feel loved.” He shifted the bag to the floor.
Roman studied Hector’s expression as he met her for the first time. He waited for the skepticism, instead, awe crossed his butler’s face. His usual scowl transformed and he actually smiled. Together for forty years, Roman had never seen both sides of Hector’s lips raised simultaneously.
Hector’s head pivoted slowly and the salty strands danced in his once jet black hair. His gaze nailed Roman like a parent lecturing a child.
“So, this is Elyssian. She doesn’t resemble the girl in the portrait. Are you sure it’s her?” Expecting hard, coldness in his voice, Roman was grateful for the concern. Hector had more than a right to be skeptical.
“Yes.”
For a moment they were both silent.
“Which reincarnation is this?” Hector asked.
In two-thousand years? The number came instantly to mind. “Six.”
Hector shoved his hands into his pockets. “What are your plans?”
Roman heard the underlying question. What was he going to do about Bianca? “My plans are to give Stella the protection she needs . . . then leave her to live her life.”
Interminable silence strained between them. “In all our years together I’ve never questioned you about the woman, and you’ve never volunteered. Is this the worst one?”
Not even close. “No, this isn’t. In 1330 England, I rode into an abandoned village. The plague had thinned the population and sent the few survivors running. I smelled the dead bodies five miles away, but I had to stop, my supplies were low.” In a rush, buried memories flooded him, back to a time better left in the dusty corners of his mind.
“I found her burying her father alone. No older than twelve. I couldn’t imagine how she managed to drag his body out of their home and dig the grave by herself.”
“Child, give over the shovel an’ I will finish.” He leaned over the edge and held out his hand.
Ignoring him, she continued to rain dirt upon it herself. Grudgingly, he admired her strength. Off to the side was a shrouded body. He stripped off his sword and chain mail before jumping into the hole. Reaching over her, he snatched the shovel out of her hands.
“Enough. Leave be an’ sit, chil’.” His tone was harsh because he needed to reach her. He was here to help and she would accept it.
When he took the shovel, the child continued the motions of digging. It took a few seconds for her to stop and look down at her raw, bleeding hands. She gave a strangled gasp and spun, growling. Her eyes pierced him.
He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. She stalked him. In retreat, stumbling, he landed on his ass and couldn’t stop her when she jerked the shovel from him. If she raised it to strike, he wouldn’t have been able to shield himself, because she glowed. First, her eyes, then her entire body lit up like a hundred candles.
“Me Da wilt be buried by me an’ non else.” She staggered away and resumed digging.
In the small misshapen pit, Roman struggled to quiet his trembling limbs. “Elyssian.” He called out from his heart.
The child shook her head. “Mary. Tis Mary me name.”
He climbed out of the hole and watched her struggle until he thought to find more shovels to help. Quietly, he dug around her until the pit was large enough to bury her father. He lifted the corpse, and with her help, lowered the body into the earth. After she tossed the first shovel of dirt on the body, Roman filled the grave and waited as she mumbled a prayer. Never did he see a tear or hear a sob as she worked to bury her father.
Together, they returned to her cottage to find her mother glassy-eyed and cold. Mary fainted.
He thought he’d buried that memory one hundred feet deep. Now he wished he’d dug deeper and entombed it in a cement coffin.
“Within hours Mary was feverish. By morning, the first blotches appeared on her neck and arms. Two days passed and more appeared on her abdomen. I knew battle medicine, how to stitch a cut and amputate a limb. I didn’t know how to fight a Plague that killed a father and a mother, leaving a child to bury them.” Bitterness burned the back of his throat and stung his eyes.
“I held her hand, listened to air rattle in her chest. Then she opened her eyes.” In Mary’s gaze, he saw recognition, and love. Elyssian stared back at him until her final breath took her from him once more.
“But you know this story, so why did you make me remember?” Anger laced his voice as he leveled his gaze on Hector.
“Because you needed to remember how much worse everything could be. You have an opportunity here—”
“For what?” he hissed. “For her to die again?”
“She’s not dead, Roman.” Hector swept a hand in her direction. “She lies there comatose, but she’ll wake and you’ll have—”
“An opportunity to lose her again. Go home, Hector. You’re needed there.”
Hector stiffened. His butler hated being dismissed, but took the order gracefully, and exited without further comment.
Opportunity. The word banged against the inside of his skull, crowding out all other thoughts, giving him false hope. Opportunity for pain is all he ever had while waiting for her to live again and give meaning to his cursed existence.
I should leave.
The thought pressed against him, urging him to retreat and call another brother to protect her, but that didn’t stop his fingers from touching the blanket over her feet. Then her hand and her bare shoulder where the gown parted slightly, her skin as smooth as marble, yet warm to his touch. Energy crackled between them, thickening his blood, weakening his resolve.
He traced her sculpted eyebrows that he knew framed storm cloud eyes. Had she ever seen the sun? He smoothed a lock of her black hair behind her ear and ran his finger down the soft slope of her cheek to her perfect lips. Mary’s face flashed into his mind. Those last moments before she left this earth ripped him in half. Though the plague claimed her life, he blamed himself and the curse he set in motion centuries earlier. His hand shook. Tension strung his body tight. Stella couldn’t share the same fate as Mary and the others. She’d already suffered so much in her life.
In the night table, he found a basin and filled the bowl with warm, soapy water. With infinite devotion, he bathed Stella’s face and neck. Then he opened her gown to wash her shoulders and much of her chest. His heart raced at each square of skin he exposed, but he would go no further. He couldn’t violate her trust.
Roman switched to her arms, caressing each elbow, forearm, wrist, knuckle, thumb, forefinger, index, ring
finger, and pinkie wishing he could wash all of her. Callused hands, proof of a life spent in manual labor. He turned his palm up and placed her small hand in his. His rough hand matched hers. She worked hard to feed and educate herself. A young girl alone in the world, his chest tightened when he thought of everything that could’ve happened to her. He could’ve lost her before he found her. No more, he would take care of all her needs.
But he wouldn’t allow himself to love her. He couldn’t put himself through the agony of loving her, only to lose her again.
With a fresh basin of water, he moved to Stella’s legs. He rolled the sheet up to her mid thighs and stopped.
The sheet pooled in her lap. He carefully raised her leg. Weightless in his hand, he ran the wet cloth up her leg then trailed his hand down.
“Damn.” He braced his body against the surge of lust. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. It would always be about Stella. His wants, needs, and desires were of no consequence because destiny danced to her tune. He threw the washcloth down and strode away, only to return to her bedside once more.
When Bianca strolled in, Stella’s cool hand lay clasped in his. She paused, taking in the scene. Her sharp gaze scanned Stella, and then him.
A willowy five-five, with chiseled features; Bianca was an Amazon in a power suit and his favorite pair of Jimmy Choos, the pair he loved to screw her in. He pushed that thought away. He released Stella’s hand and faced to his fiancée.
“What are you doing here?”
“I come bearing gifts.” She waved the bag in front of him. The aroma of food filtered through his nose and into his rumbling stomach.
“I brought your favorites,” she sing-songed, smiling. “Spaghetti alla Carbonara, Spezzatino di Vitello, pomodoro insalata, and Tiramisu.”
He had to give her credit. She knew what his stomach craved.
“I even threw in a slice of pizza.”
Her cringe made him smile.
“Thank you.” He took the bag from her hands. “One of the men could’ve done this.”
“True, but I haven’t seen you in days. I’ve missed you.” She leaned into him again. “Can’t you get someone else to protect her?”
He suppressed the urge to push her away. “No. It’s getting late. You should head home.”
“I’m leaving for LA in the morning and I want to spend tonight with you.” Her hand stroked his abs and started a trek down to his crotch.
He stilled her questing fingers. “No.”
“Why?” She didn’t whine, but the word was still plaintive. “You’re the CEO of the company and you’re working the night shift. Tell me what’s wrong with this picture? And I can’t remember the last time you were inside me. Come with me to LA. We’ll start at JFK and won’t stop until LAX.” Her finger traced lazy circles around his nipple through his shirt.
“Now’s not the time, Bianca.”
She searched his face. “You’re beginning to worry me. What’s wrong, Roman?”
He gritted his teeth. The somber notes in her voice were a deceptive tool she used to get her way. How cruel would it be to tell her it was over between them, only inches away from Stella? Too cruel. She didn’t deserve that. “You have an early flight and a long day in LA tomorrow.”
She pouted prettily. “You’re right, but still. . . .” Her hand began its quest again.
Her touch felt wrong.
He swallowed the angry words burning their way up his throat. He couldn’t lash out at her, not when her observations were correct. It wasn’t her fault he’d changed his mind about their relationship. He created this disaster. Instead of following his heart, loneliness led him into this situation, a situation which would cause him to hurt the daughter of his best friend.
He wouldn’t end their relationship at the hospital. It wouldn’t be fair to her.
He removed Bianca’s hand from his body and clasped it between his. “I can’t. I’m needed here and everyone else is on assignments.” She wouldn’t question that statement. While most of their company’s activities were public and legitimate, some were not. As his PR advisor, sometimes the less she knew, the better.
Her lips compressed into a thin line of displeasure. “You said we needed to talk.”
“And we will.” But not here and not now.
She shot Stella a quick glance, then brought her gaze back to him. “When I get back then?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
Bianca’s lips parted and he waited for the argument to continue. Instead, a tight, practiced somewhat seductive smile lit her face. Once more, she glanced at the bed.
“All right.” She adjusted the strap of her purse. “Can you walk me out?”
“Of course.” The gazes of the ICU staff followed them, changing the walk from the room to the elevator into a death march. And it was, the death of this current life, and relationship.
The elevator took too long, but not a single muscle betrayed his agitation while he stood next to her. When it dinged and slid open, she didn’t enter, but stared straight ahead as if contemplating her future. The door started to close. His arm shot out, blocking the door from closing.
“Tell my father I said . . . goodbye,” Bianca murmured.
His jaw tensed and he swallowed the sharp reply sitting on his tongue. Her father and her had never been close and rarely spoke, yet now she needed to remind him of her lineage. It was a wasted effort.
“You should tell him yourself. Hector would love to hear from you.”
“I’m sure he would.” Her smile wasn’t seductive any longer, or even warm. It was disciplined. He imagined she had practiced that look many times, until it fooled the unsuspecting. He once admired her cool composure. It reminded him of Reign.
“Safe trip,” he said.
“‘Til I’m back in your arms, Sweetheart.” Her eyes filled with longing. Her lips parted, inviting a kiss. He brushed his cheek against her and squeezed her shoulder before stepping away.
When she finally stepped into the elevator, Roman didn’t wait. He dropped his arm and walked away before the door had closed.
Bianca exited the elevator one floor below. The stairs were easy to find at the end of the corridor. She pushed the spring handle and entered the concrete stairwell. She hurried up the stairs and the clickety-clack of her stilettos ricochet like an AK47 in the small space. This was one time she wished she wore quiet, sensible shoes. The door opened into the corner of the ICU five rooms down from number twelve, the room where Stella Walker resided. Tiptoeing would have been too obvious, but she made her way as silently as possible to the window.
A part in the vertical blinds allowed her to watch her fiancé at the girl’s bedside. He adjusted the sheets and gently hugged her to him as he fluffed her pillow. Finished, he kissed her forehead and pressed his cheek to hers, lingering.
“What the Fuck!” Bianca’s body clenched like a fist. “This is not happening.”
CHAPTER FIVE
At six in the morning, Thane gathered a stack of files off his desk and headed for Roman’s office. His boss had been MIA the past few days, and though running the company was Thane’s ultimate goal, some decisions only Roman could make. Like the ones concerning Daniel, Brayden, and Tyrone. The last two were somewhere in Egypt, and Daniel, they’d given him enough chances to get his shit together. He pushed open the door to Roman’s corner office taking three steps inside, and then stopped short. Roman sat behind his desk.
“What are you doing here?” Thane continued to the desk.
Roman’s attention didn’t waver from the files in front of him. “I’m checking up on a few things.” He rifled through each folder, flinging some to the ground.
“What are you searching for?” Didn’t take a psychic to determine Roman’s mood. He approached and halted short of the desk.
“Following up on our list of open cases before returning to the hospital.”
Thane wanted to ask why, but instead asked, “Didn’t EJ relieve you?”
&nbs
p; “Yes, but I’m going back.”
“You’ve been there for days—”
“And I’ll be there again today.” Roman glared at him.
Thane slapped the files down that he’d carried into the room. “For a man who wanted nothing to do with personal protection, why are you so interested in protecting this woman?”
“It’s her.” Roman said without hesitation. “Elyssian, she’s Stella.”
Stunned, Thane’s mouth fell open. “Are you sure?”
Roman nodded. “Yeah,” he said dryly.
“Did you just realize?”
He shook his head. “I knew the moment I saw her.”
“And you’re telling me now, three days later?” Thane’s voice rose.
Roman stood. Fists braced on the desk, he leaned forward. “I needed time to think, dammit.”
Thane’s eyebrows dropped and his eyes narrowed. This should be joyous, a reason to break out a bottle of Macallan. Instead, Roman was pissed. “Umm. . . . You’re not happy?” He cocked his head and shrugged.
“No.” Roman scowled. “I’ve had enough of living my very long, cursed life, waiting for her reincarnation, only to end up alone.”
Thane almost looked away from the raw pain etching Roman’s features. He’d never heard him talk of Elyssian like this, with bitterness. Then he recalled the story about her last reincarnation in the 60’s and the painful end. At least they got Avery and E.J—her grandsons—out of it.
“Why now? Isn’t it too soon?” Her reincarnations were usually more than three hundred years apart.
“My fate is not to know why. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I have been at her disposal. Ever her true servant, for two thousand years.” Roman mocked.
“Bianca.” Thane spit her name out like a curse.
A scowl tightened Roman’s features. “Can you tell her for me?”
Thane thought of her reaction and grinned. “It would be a pleasure.”
“No, you’d enjoy it too much.” Roman snorted and chuckled.
With good reason, Thane wanted to say, but glued his yap together.
Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1) Page 3
