Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Roman stood in the middle of the room watching the door close behind the detective. The lie he told weighed on him. Not because he was sorry, the lie had a finite time span. Detective Lever would be back. Stella thought he attacked her. When she wakes and speaks to the detective, that’s what she would tell her. He couldn’t let that happen.

  He went to her bed and unplugged the call button. Then he moved the chair to the foot of her bed. This time when she woke, they were going to have a talk, without the nurse rushing in and without sedatives clouding her mind. Stella was going to get a good look at him whether she liked it or not.

  The fog slowly lifted from Stella’s eyes. She groaned and placed a hand on her forehead. Someone must have filled her head with cement and towed it under water before placing it haphazardly back on her neck. It seemed a decade had passed between the time her lids opened and she shifted into a more comfortable position. Groggy, throat drier than three-day-old bread, she reached for the sweating water pitcher on her bedside table. Cautiously, she leaned forward and guided the container to her mouth. A slick slice of heaven, she drank until the dryness abated and her belly sloshed.

  She froze.

  He was here, sitting in a chair near the foot of her bed.

  The pitcher slipped. She caught the handle before the water drowned her. Heart beating a rapid dance, she searched the sheets to find the call button.

  So still.

  Is he asleep?

  It didn’t matter. He had to go.

  God in heaven let him stay asleep. He could wake when the police arrested him.

  Frantic, she riffled through the beddings.

  Did he move?

  She stopped searching and waited. The fear winding through her eased while her gaze roamed his smooth prominent forehead, bold black eyebrows, and high, sharp cheekbones balanced by a well-defined, squared chin. A long, slightly crooked nose perched above a mouth that could caress the perfect kiss from a woman.

  I’m thinking about kisses when he’s going to kill me. She gave herself a mental slap and examined the man again. Something was off. While his body might at first glance appear relaxed, his shoulders were too erect, his legs were braced an equal distance apart, and his chest—he wasn’t breathing.

  And the call button was gone.

  I’m going to die in this room.

  Fright sapped her energy and she flopped back onto the pillows.

  Fight, girl. You’ve been through too much to give up now. She turned her head a fraction and watched him. Still, he hadn’t moved, but she wasn’t fooled. A scream wouldn’t get far with her sore throat. He occupied the only chair. A night table, TV, and monitors encompassed the rest of the room’s items.

  Shit!

  There had to be something in the room she could use to defend herself.

  A phone lay on the rolling, over-the-bed cart. Unfortunately, three IV stands and a machine separated her from survival. She’d have to get out of bed to reach it. There was no way she had time to make a call or reach her door before he stopped her, but she could slam the phone against the side of his head. With any luck, she’d knock him unconscious and escape. She measured the distance to the door.

  Who was she kidding? She’d need God and all his angels to get out of this, maybe. Still, she shifted her body away from him and closer to the edge of the bed.

  Lord, if you’re listening ...

  Concentrating on her makeshift weapon, she scooted lower. Thankfully, someone had left the bedrails on the bottom of the bed down. She flipped the covers back and dragged her legs over the side. The cold floor sent needles of pain through her feet and up her calves. They trembled as she carefully stood and tried to force them to work. Instead of standing, she began to slide down. As the beige linoleum rushed to meet her, she swallowed a cry.

  Arms wrapped around her back and knees and scooped her up before she hit. Braced against the wide expanse of his chest, she felt a hard wall of muscles moving beneath his shirt. How could she defeat someone that picked her up with no effort at all? Too weak to put up a fight, throat too sore for a real scream, futility dragged at her until she slumped in her killer’s arms. If this was the end, she didn’t want to see it coming. She closed her eyes and went limp.

  Her eyes flew open when the cool sheets touched her back. He hovered. His big body so close. The subtle musk of his skin filled her nostrils and made her stomach flutter while he fluffed the pillow under her head, straightened her gown about her knees, checked her IV. Then he pulled the blankets over her legs. Finished, he backed away and his deep blue eyes met hers.

  Her heart banged around her rib cage. She panted and sweat ran into her eyes making him blur. With the back of her hand, she wiped her face and then jumped when a wet washcloth swept gently along her forehead. His kindness confused her. Her attacker had no compassion.

  “I know you think I’m the man who hurt you. I’m not. I was upstate at my cabin. My name is Roman Nicolis. Your friend, Dr. Orley, hired my firm to protect you.”

  “Police—” Her voice cracked. “Where are they?”

  “Too short-staffed to offer continuous protection. They have every man available on the streets, trying to solve the case. They had an officer here the first week. Then only at night. Now, Nicolis Security protects you.”

  She eyed him warily. “You sound like a locksmith.”

  One corner of his lips curled and her heart flopped over. She glanced at the closed door.

  “Is it just . . . you . . . watching, ahhh, protecting me?”

  “No.” He moved to the foot of the bed. “My men—brother’s—and I are guarding you.”

  “How many?” Her voice gave out.

  “Seven of us.”

  “Small company?” she whispered.

  “We’re large enough.”

  Silence settled around them.

  “How long was I out?”

  “A few hours.”

  Hours or weeks, parts of her life were gone.

  She absorbed the information, but realized nothing had changed. She did not know this man, but remembered him . . . somehow. Everything about him reminded her of her attacker, didn’t it? Her head throbbed. Every word out of his mouth was probably a lie.

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  He reached into his pocket.

  She drew in a sharp breath and prepared herself.

  Roman produced his cell, dialed, and put the phone on speaker. Three rings and a voice she hadn’t heard in months filled the air.

  “Hello?” Jovial with the gruff rasp of age, his voice always made her warm and happy.

  “Dr. Orley, it’s Roman Nicolis. Your friend, my client, is awake and she needs some reassurances from someone she trusts. Can you come to the hospital?”

  “Yes. Yes. Certainly, I’ll be there shortly.”

  He returned his phone to his pocket. “While we wait for your friend to arrive, I’ll get the nurse. Now that you’re awake, I’m sure she will want to check on you. I’ll wait in the hallway so you can question her.” He left the room, and within seconds, a nurse arrived.

  She peppered the nurse with questions while her vitals were checked.

  Yes, this was day twenty-three of her recovery.

  Yes, Mr. Nicolis was with the company hired to protect her.

  Yes, he sat alone with her for hours. In fact, he was really the only one protecting her. The others did also, though only a few hours per day. Mr. Nicolis took most of his meals here. Did business here, slept here. Every woman in the ICU had the hots for him.

  “Someone said he’s the CEO of the company, but I don’t believe it. What executive of a company would sleep in a chair like a lackey?” Her nurse gossiped.

  No CEO she could think of. “Where’s my purse, my phone, and clothes?”

  “Your purse is in this bottom drawer.” She pointed to the night table. “But your clothing didn’t survive the emergency room.” The nurse retrieved her purse.

  Stella riffled through
the miscellaneous crap and found her cell phone, wallet, and keys. At least she didn’t have to replace those.

  “What am I gonna do about clothing? I can’t go home naked in a hospital gown.”

  “You’re going to be here for a few more days, Miss Walker. Maybe Mr. Nicolis can get your clothing from your apartment?”

  Stella shook her head. The last thing she wanted was a man roaming around her home.

  Roman returned with a magazine rolled in his hand. He resumed his seat and then flipped through the pages until settling on one.

  She didn’t buy his calm, uninterested routine. Restlessly, she shifted in the bed. He didn’t look her way. Bitterness twisted her lips. Angry with herself for the pang of loneliness that came from nowhere, she mumbled a curse, loud enough for him to hear. His attention didn’t waver from the magazine in his hand.

  He could be innocent.

  Innocent. She nearly snorted. An innocent man? Not possible. Whether directly or by association, they were all guilty of something. Guilty of lies, deception, treachery, betrayal, abuse.

  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He flipped the page and continued reading.

  OK. Maybe he’s not my attacker.

  Somehow, accepting that settled her. Her chest unfurled and her limbs relaxed. She stretched and shifted to a more comfortable position.

  Must be a riveting article. Playboy?

  The man-made attractive seem ugly. Broad shoulders, thick neck, the muscles of his arms bulged. The perfect fit of his shirt showed the ripples of his abdomen. Trim waist and muscular thighs strained beneath his pants. He definitely seemed like a bodyguard.

  She needed a distraction from the man crowding her room. The remote control lay out of reach on the rolling cart. She cleared her throat and looked expectantly at him. He ignored her and flipped another page.

  She cursed silently. “Excuse me,” she said as loud as her sore throat allowed.

  His gaze rose and met hers. Warm blue eyes sunk into her. Her attacker’s eyes were an arctic—Jack Frost—blue. Weren’t they? He lifted an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

  “Can you please pass me the remote?” She pointed to the device on the table.

  He reached for the controller. Muscle and sinew flexed and shifted, bunched and relaxed under his shirt. She stretched her hand, but he placed it on the bed within her reach. Not glancing her way, he sat back in the chair and resumed reading.

  He didn’t want to touch her. She swallowed the insult and picked up the controller.

  On CNN, The Village Strangler and Stella Walker led the news. They had her school ID picture and what facts they gathered about her detailed below the picture, while the newscaster droned about The Lone Survivor.

  Roman walked up to the flat screen and hit the power button.

  “You’re not going to demand I turn it back on?” He faced her.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m living proof of what was done to me. I don’t need a recap.”

  Doc Orley entered. “You’re awake and looking wonderful!” His cane didn’t slow his rush to her side. Roman dragged the only chair close to her bed so Doc could sit beside her. Then he retreated to the foot of the bed.

  “I’ve already spoken to your nurse so I know how well you’re doing. You’re healing at an astounding rate. Good genetics or miracle? I’d say it’s a lot of both.” He chuckled and patted her hand. “Right on track to a full recovery. How is this young man treating you?” He pointed to Roman.

  The warmth she showered on Doc chilled when her gaze met Roman’s. Eyebrow raised, he too waited for her answer.

  “You hired him to protect me?” A question instead of a statement, she noticed Roman stiffen.

  “Yes.” Doc’s head swiveled between the two of them.

  “I’m still living, so he must be treating me well.”

  Doc laughed and patted her hand again. “I’m going to track down your doctors and get some more information. I’ll be right back.”

  Roman moved closer to her bed after the door closed behind Doc.

  “So, you finally believe I didn’t attack you?” Before she answered, the door opened again and a woman entered.

  “You’re awake.” She smiled at Stella.

  Dressed in the ugliest brown suit she had ever laid her eyes on, the dirt colored jacket, collarless and lapel-less, and ended at her thighs. Shapeless and drab, the garment completely hid the woman’s figure.

  Not a fashionista herself, Stella felt slightly guilty for the unkind thoughts. The woman’s frizzy, reddish gold hair was corralled into a severe bun which did nothing to soften her strong jaw and freckled face. However, there was something about the woman that made you stop and take a note of her. Maybe her nearly six-foot height or her coppery eyes, Stella couldn’t put her finger on it.

  “I’m Detective Lever.”

  A smiling detective? “Hello.”

  “Are you up for some questions?” Like a bobblehead, the detective nodded, answering her own question.

  “Yes,” Stella murmured and glanced at Roman.

  “What do you remember about the night of the attack, Miss Walker?” Lever withdrew a notepad and micro recorder from a hidden pocket. She placed the recorder on the rolling, over-the-bed table.

  Roman moved closer to her. Stella swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew they both were armed, but if she were a betting woman she’d put her considerably small paycheck on Roman. He could kill them both before she had a chance to scream, or the detective freed her gun.

  She took time to unravel her thoughts and recall the details of the night that altered her life. “I remember being attacked.” She met their gazes as they waited for her to continue. “He was big. Well over six feet.” Her gaze shifted to Roman. “Close to his height. And very muscular.” She remembered his enormous chest and thick arms. Maybe it was just her mind, but Roman seemed bigger than her attacker.

  “Wiry muscular or Mr. Universe muscular?” Lever asked.

  “Like a wrestler, one of those WWE guys.”

  “Anything more specific? Did you see his face? A scar? A tattoo? Birthmark?” Lever pressed.

  “He had a mask on. I only saw his eyes. They were blue.”

  The detective walked up to Roman, her scrutiny intense. “Were his eyes the same blue as Mr. Nicolis?”

  “. . . Umm, yes.”

  Detective Lever’s pen scratched across her pad. Roman didn’t move. His gaze steady on the officer.

  “Did you see his hair color?”

  “No. The mask.”

  Detective Lever walked back to Stella’s bedside. “Tell me what you were doing before you saw him or did he sneak up on you?”

  Stella shrugged. Who could think that far back?

  The detective continued, “I need to recap your evening. Before he attacked you, where were you and what were you doing?”

  Words came slowly as that night unfolded in her mind. “My shift at Joe's was nothing special.”

  “Anyone stand out?” Lever prodded.

  “No, the diner was practically empty because of the killings. Only two tables. Cathy, my relief was late.”

  “Was that unusual?”

  “Not for Cathy. She’s never on time.” She inhaled sharply. “I left work directly afterward. I was careful. I kept to well-lit streets and moved quickly.” Breathless, the words fell from her mouth in a rush.

  “You don’t have to convince us, Stella,” Roman said.

  Tears welled in her eyes and threatened to fall.

  “I should have taken a cab, but . . . money was tight and—” Roman stretched his hand out to her and she didn’t hesitate to take it. Strength seeped up her arm, spreading calmness and warmth. She could survive the memories. As they came, she milked his hand for more strength.

  “Then there was the garage . . . and the body.” She inhaled slowly. “I remember screaming and running. I made it to my door and . . . and . . .” The words stuck in her throat. “Detective, w
hat happened to that woman?”

  Detective Lever paused, pen poised over her notepad. “She is the ninth victim. You would’ve been his tenth.”

  Once again, death had come and I escaped. The next time—she refused to finish the thought.

  “Five minutes, that’s all it takes to walk home from my job. What were the chances The Strangler would find me out of seven million people living in New York?” she asked not expecting an answer. “I should’ve played the Lotto,” she grumbled.

  “Do you need a break?” Roman stroked the back of her hand.

  Grateful, she nodded. “Yeah, I’m tired.”

  “Okay.” Lever closed her notepad. “I’ll come back later after you’ve rested.”

  “You’ll come back tomorrow,” Roman ordered in a tone that demanded compliance.

  The detective picked up the micro-recorder. They both disappeared into her suit pocket again. She checked her watch. “It’s still early, only five. You take a nap and I’ll be back just like I said.” Though spoken in the most pleasant tone, there was steel behind her words and ice in the glare she leveled on Roman. That one said: Tread lightly, I’m the one with the badge.

  “Would you like me to leave so you can get some rest?” Roman asked as the door closed behind Lever.

  She removed her hand from his and forced herself to ignore the pang of loss. She wanted him to leave, to go, and never come back, but then she would be alone.

  Being alone frightened her more than the man standing at the end of her bed. From attacker to protector in less than eight hours, her life amazed her. The last ten years had been hellish. The past three weeks had been hell. Her hand strayed to her face and the scar. Self-consciously, she pulled her hair forward.

  If she could just go back, back to her life, her job at Joe’s, her school, her studio apartment, turn the clock back and reclaim it all before she’d met The Strangler and the stranger standing in front of her. No matter how freaking hot and impossible sexy, Roman Nicolis was an unknown and dangerous. Two things she didn’t need in her life.

  “You can leave. I’ll be fine,” she said.

  Two strides and he was at the door, hand on the knob.