Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1)

by Tmonique Stephens

  “Traps?”

  “Pits, deadfalls, and snares. Come, I’ll show you.” Roman led her into the woods. Together, they counted the footsteps from the porch and through the trees to a small opening. Two pits about twenty feet apart were well covered and hidden from the casual eye. He pulled back the brush covering one. Carefully, she leaned in a bit. Roman grabbed her arm. Sharp spikes lined the bottom. He pointed out the trigger for the deadfall. “Don’t come out here without me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She nodded. “I won’t.” She wasn’t immortal. And her very mortal body wouldn’t survive the fall. But something was wrong. “Is this for Daniel or the beast?”

  “Both.”

  “H-how do y-y-you know they’ll come here?”

  “The beast has tasted my blood. And Daniel . . . I put nothing past him,” he said low, his jaw clenched, eyes flinty.

  As he led her back to the cabin, she was certain he left something out.

  They entered the house and Roman immediately veered toward the kitchen. “I’m starved.”

  “Hey! Shower first.” She ordered and pointed toward the bathroom.

  Roman cocked his head to the side and a quirky smirk replaced his scowl. “You sound like a harping wife.”

  Her hand dropped to her side. “N-n-no, I-I’m sorry. I-I-didn’t m-mean—”

  “I like it.”

  Too stunned to smile, she blinked. He walked away before she formed a reply.

  Her eyes betrayed her. No matter how much she ordered them not to absorb every nuance of Roman, they continued to willfully stray. Damp hair curled around his ears and dangled into his eyes. A two-day shadow covered his cheeks and jaw, like stubbly grass on a recently plowed field.

  Her fingers ached to thread his hair and pull him closer and her palms itched for the abrasive feel of his growing beard. Too busy devouring two porterhouse steaks, a heaping pile of potatoes, and corn, he didn’t see her longing. When he drained his beer, she got up and brought him another one. Raised eyebrows questioned her, she glanced away.

  “Thank you for dinner and the beer.”

  Cheeks hot, she started cleaning the kitchen and made room when he joined her. They worked well together. Within minutes, the kitchen was clean and orderly. Roman grabbed another beer and went onto the porch. She hesitated but gave in to the need to be near him. Leaning against a pole, he stared at the quarter moon hanging over the lake.

  “Do you come up here often?” She mapped his profile.

  “No . . . I need too, though. Solitude gives me clarity.”

  “So, you like being alone. I must have turned your safe, predictable life upside down.” Her voice broke with a shaky laugh. “Sorry for intruding. As soon as this is over, I’ll be out of your way.”

  The half-empty beer in his hand shattered. Before she could react, he picked up the large pieces, kicked the rest off the porch, and stalked back into the house.

  She followed, but he wouldn’t look at her while he checked the windows and locked the door. When he walked up the stairs to the bedroom and that bed, he didn’t look back.

  ~~~~~~

  Coffee. The smell peeled her eyes open. Stella stumbled to the kitchen, poured a shot, and drank it black. After a sleepless night on a hard, unforgiving sofa, a shot of caffeinated adrenalin helped.

  However, the coffee maker wasn’t one of those automated ones. An old-fashioned percolator, the coffee didn’t magically make itself. Roman was up and around somewhere.

  Quick fingers combed through her hair and pulled at her pajamas, which did nothing to relieve the wrinkles or her bad case of bed head. She needn’t have worried about her appearance. He was gone.

  By noon, she paced the house and the porch. Worry ate at her nerves.

  He could be dead. “Yeah, okay, whatever.” she scolded herself. He’s supposed to be guarding her. Where was he?

  Irritated, she picked the smallest sword hanging on the wall and walked outside. After struggling for an hour, she finally had one of Roman’s wooden combatants ready to defend itself.

  The first swipe felt silly and awkward, but by the twentieth, she’d raised a sweat. She had no idea what she was doing, but hitting something, pretending to kill something, gave her a rush. Is this how he felt when he fought? Exhilarated, blood surged through her arteries and pounded through her veins. Her nipples tightened and desire coiled low in her groin. She was alive and ready to slay anything that dared to stand in her way.

  Then she remembered that two men were dead by her hands. Horrified, she threw her sword down and plopped onto the porch. She wouldn’t go there, couldn’t. Comparing how vital Roman made her feel and this was wrong. Her stomach rolled because, of course, her mind had already made the comparison. Stella groaned and buried her face in her hands. A few weeks ago, she was a pacifist. Now, she had a sword in her hand, hacking at a pretend man wishing he were real.

  “Want to try again?” Roman crouched in front of her. Filthy, sweaty, bare-chested and irresistibly handsome, handle first, he extended her blade and waited for her answer.

  “How long were you watching me?”

  “Long enough to see your potential.”

  Wow. She had potential as a killer. Her life kept diverting in unexpected directions. She flicked some dirt from his shoulders. “Still digging?”

  He nodded. “We need an advantage.” Steely determination glinted in his blue eyes.

  An advantage she could help with by not being a liability. Fear melted away, replaced by an iron core seated deep within her that she never realized was there . . . until now. “Yes.” She nodded. “I do want to try again.” She took her weapon from him.

  “Good.” He stood and held out his hand. “It not as hard as you think.” Roman pulled her to her feet and guided her to a clearing. A branch became his weapon of choice.

  He taught her how to stand, “Feet apart, weight balanced equally.” Then gave her free rein to strike. Tepid first strokes evolved into forceful blows that Roman blocked and deflected with ease. Then, as she was about to give up, he tossed his branch aside and crooked a finger at her.

  “Come.”

  Mouth dry, she obeyed and stopped inches away. Hands on her shoulder, he turned her around and molded her back to his front. Then took her hand and guided her and the sword. The heat of him scorched her back, made her think the impossible was maybe possible. More than possible as their bodies moved together. Back pressed close to his chest and abs, bottom tucked against his groin, his free hand splayed across her stomach, guiding her through the steps. Together, they danced.

  A war raged within her.

  He lied.

  By omission.

  It’s still a lie.

  For a good reason.

  He had a fiancée.

  Had, past tense.

  His brother’s a killer . . . and so is he.

  And EJ, Thane, Quin, possibly Hector—no, not Hector—they were all killers.

  And so are you.

  And they were protecting her, not because they had to, because they wanted to. Roman didn’t have to protect her. The hardness against her bottom kept stroking as they moved suggested interest. Maybe he even loved her?

  “You’re distracted.” He took the sword from her. His eyes smoldered and the heat radiating from his body wasn’t from exertion.

  “Roman I—”

  “That’s enough for today. Go shower, I’ll sharpen this for you.” He stomped away. A fine sheen of sweat clung to the tight sculpted muscles on his back and his tense shoulders. This isn’t how she wanted things between them.

  Stella ran into the house. She ignored the little voice inside her head still questioning her. For the first time, in a long time, she knew what she wanted and knew what she was going to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  How had things gone so far off track? Thane wondered sitting in Roman’s chair in the downtown office. As Roman often did, Thane stared at the traffic snaking below and the river meandering al
ong. Behind him, EJ, Avery, and Quin waited.

  Gracie’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Brayden is on line two.”

  Thane pressed the button. “Hello.”

  “What the fuck is going on there?” Brayden’s voice echoed in the room.

  “Exactly what Quin put in the email is exactly what’s going on,” Thane answered.

  On the other side of the Atlantic, something shattered.

  “We need you home.” Thane waited for Brayden’s reply.

  “Has anyone heard from Tyrone?” Brayden asked with a calmer note in his voice.

  Thane shot Quin a glance. He shook his head no.

  “As of a week ago, no.”

  “I’m going to Egypt.” There was a pause as Brayden waited for Thane to contradict him. “All of you have each other. Tyrone’s out there alone.” Brayden continued.

  Tyrone wasn’t family. Not a drop of his blood linked him to Roman, but he was still a brother. Brayden’s best friend since middle school, Tyrone was closer to Brayden than anyone in the house. If anyone could find Tyrone, Brayden would.

  “Understood. Make sure you stay in touch. We don’t want to lose you too.”

  “Tell Roman—”

  “You’re on a mission. He’ll understand.” Thane interjected. “No need to get sloppy.”

  The levity was lost on Brayden. “Thanks.” The line went dead.

  Thane sized up the three men lounging in the office. Thirty-six hours ago, Roman walked out of RockGate without a word to anyone. The message was clear. He didn’t trust them. Twenty hours ago, Stella Walker disappeared from Detective Lever’s home minutes before the detective’s home was nearly demolished.

  ‘Huge wild animal’. The Detective’s exact words. No good deed goes unpunished. Lever was now on suspension from the police department.

  In charge by default, the men all met Thane’s eyes waiting for instruction. This was his moment to lead and all he wanted was to ask Roman what he should do. When you step into a man’s shoes, you’d better be able to fill them.

  “What’s next?” Perched on the arm of the silk brocade sofa, Avery’s hard voice snapped him back to the present.

  What would Roman do? “We find Roman.”

  “What about Daniel?” Avery demanded. His anger barely leashed.

  Thane paused, uncertain of the next move. “We find Roman, we’ll find Daniel.”

  “But no one knows where Roman is,” EJ said.

  Quin stood. “I do. I know exactly where Roman is.”

  ~~~~~~

  Tonight, she served roasted chicken, canned peas, and Zatarain’s yellow rice. While everything cooked, she grabbed her duffel and headed for a shower. After digging through all the clothes, she found the single piece of lingerie she owned at the bottom of her bag. She no longer wondered why she packed the lacy black confection with matching gossamer thong.

  Cathy dared her to buy the scanty item in the hopes that one day . . . maybe. Now that day was here and . . . she chickened out. After her shower, she shoved it back into her bag and dragged on a pair of sweats. By the time she entered the living room, the table was set, and dinner was served.

  “You were in the shower so I took a dip in the lake. I didn’t want my stench to offend you.” Damp hair curled close to his skull, a clean tee clung to wet patches on his pecs and abs. Jeans covered his lower half.

  “You didn’t have to.” Yet, she was grateful he had.

  “I still need a shower, but am I clean enough to eat?” He posed, hands on his hips, for her approval.

  Her mouth watered. The rest of her flushed hot and ready for him. He was more than clean enough to eat. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

  “Yeah, you’re good.” She sat before he had a chance to hold her chair. From the corner of her eye, she peeked at him, burned for him. Twice, she nearly spilled her drink and dropped her fork on the floor.

  “Is something wrong?” he finally asked after an awkward silence.

  Yes. “No.” She shook her head. “Why?”

  “You seem distant.” Concern edged his deep voice.

  Not distant, desperate to find a way to tell him what was in her heart. “I was thinking about . . . your family. Your brother and parents.”

  He sat back heavily in his chair.

  “I’m sorry.” She rushed and touched his forearm. “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I wanted to know more about you.”

  His rough palm covered her hand. “It’s okay. I haven’t thought of them in a while. What do you want to know?”

  “Whatever you want to share?” She hoped he would share everything.

  His face took on a faraway expression. “My father was a great man, not wealthy, but great. He was the best warrior our village ever birthed until an arrow shattered his knee. He returned home a cripple. The village shunned him until he started training the boys in combat and warfare. Soon, kings knew our name.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I don’t remember her. She left when we were young. I have no memories of her, but father had a mural on a wall in the gathering room. That’s how I still see her. A beautiful woman trapped on stone.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “He called her Goddess, and loved her until the day he died.”

  The sadness in his voice made her ache. She reached out to touch him, but he stood and collected the dishes. He was out the kitchen and up the stairs before she joined him.

  “Roman.”

  He paused halfway up but didn’t turn.

  “I-we—”

  “Not now.” Tight and controlled, his tone allowed no argument. He continued on his way. A moment later, the bathroom door slammed and the shower came on.

  “Not now.” She repeated. But if not now, then when? Stella paced knowing what she had to do, yet what did she know about seduction? Nothing! That’s what. Minutes ticked by and the shower continued. For how long, she could only guess. If she was going to do this, it had to be now.

  Stella unzipped the duffel and sitting on top lay the lingerie, waiting for her. Clothing stripped, she shimmied into the gossamer panties and web-like nightie that barely covered her butt.

  She tried to position herself on the bed, draping her body along the carnal headboard. When that didn’t feel right, she slid to the edge of the bed, and tried again. Finally, she leaned against the footboard. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and nearly cried at her desperate appearance. This had to be the stupidest idea she ever had. She had to get out of here before he caught her.

  One hand on the banister. One foot on the top stairs.

  The bathroom door opened. A rush of steam fogged the doorway. Then Roman appeared. Beads of water dangling at the tips of his hair dripped onto his face, shoulders, and chest, and did a slow stroll down his sculpted body. Around his waist, a towel hung low.

  He stopped short. His gaze swept from the crown of her head to her toes. Then shot back up to meet her eyes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He thundered.

  An apology hovered behind her lips, but she wasn’t sorry. “I realize how ridiculous I must look in this.” She waved a hand over herself.

  “You don’t look ridiculous.” Husky and thick, his voice bolstered her confidence.

  Feeling a bit braver, she moved closer to him. “I have something to say.” His body clenched as if bracing for a blow and Stella swore she could see his mental barriers lock into place.

  “Say it.” He ordered.

  “I remember, Roman.”

  He blinked and his eyes slowly widened.

  “Since our night together in the mansion, I remember it all.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She heard the hope in his voice. “Bianca, then Daniel and everything else got in the way.”

  His head dipped, hiding much of his face.

  “They don’t matter. We do.” She spoke, but he faced the window.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I’m tired of being near yo
u, but so far away from what I want.” She took another step toward him. “I want the us that you’ve waited for, fought for.”

  Roman spun around. “What did you say?”

  A brilliant smile spread across her face. She crossed the room and embraced him. He bowed to accommodate her kisses trailing up his neck, across his jaw to his lips.

  “I said I love you, Roman Nicolis.”

  He pulled her close and fitted her against him. “Say it again.” He pleaded.

  Stella shook her head. “No, let me show you.” With a slight tug, she exposed all she wanted and stepped back to savor him. Her gaze roamed over every angle and plane of his body, enjoying the expanse of his chest, his brick wall abs, and the tanned skin covering all.

  His thick erection demanded her attention. Stella took his hand and guided him to the bed. She climbed in and beckoned him to join her. When he did, she pressed him onto his back and threw a leg over his. Pale and smooth, her daintier limb stroked his muscular thigh. His hand closed over her knee and teased her thigh and the curvature of her ass. She eased on top of him. The lace of her nightie caused a delightful friction between them as she leaned in to taunt his lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “I’ve dreamed of this moment for so long,” he groaned deeply and moved her hair behind her ear.

  Instead of hiding, she basked in the attention he paid to her brow, the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck and collarbone. “This isn’t in a dream.” She guided his hand to her breast. “I’m real. I’m here. With you forever.”

  Ever so slightly, his hand trembled. Desire pulsed in his eyes and in the throbbing organ pressed against her wet, yet still covered core. Urgently, her lips latched onto his and she devoured him. Tongue delving deep, mimicking the actions of her hips, torturing his mouth as she twisted his hair around her fingers and angled his head where she wanted him to go.

  He rubbed the globes of her rear. The calloused pads of his hands created havoc with her senses. Then he hooked a finger around the strip of lace separating the two halves.

  Trailing down to her molten core, he moved the thong to the side and teased the wispy moist hairs. “Marry me.” The words rushed from him and continued in a litany.