Eternity (Descendants of Ra: Book 1) Read online

  Descendants of Ra series Book 1

  ETERNITY

  Tmonique Stephens

  DEDICATION

  For my daughter Cyré.

  You continue to be my inspiration

  and my reason for striving forward.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A heartfelt thank you to the ladies of

  Ancient City Romance Authors.

  Your friendship and support always brightens my day.

  Thank you to my band of merry critique partners,

  Kathy Bain, Karen Herbelin,

  and Nancy Corrigan.

  Your sharp eye for plotting and

  attention to details have saved my ass many times.

  To my best friends, Michelle De Leon and Diane Rora,

  thank you for your support in my darkest hours.

  To my drinking buddy, beta reader, and bestie,

  Charitee Gerow,

  what would I do without you?

  Don't answer that question!

  I couldn’t do what I do without all of you!

  Writing is a solitary endeavor,

  but it’s not a journey any author takes alone.

  COPYRIGHT & LICENSE NOTES

  Eternity

  © 2016 Tmonique Stephens

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is copyrighted and may not be

  sold or duplicated in any form without specific

  permission from the author.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Tmonique’s Books

  Descendants of Ra Series

  Prequel Entrapped (Winter 2018)

  Book 1, Eternity

  Book 2, Everlasting

  Book 3, Evermore

  Book 4, Encore

  Book 4.5, Forever

  The UnHallowed Series

  Only The Fallen

  Only One I Want

  Only You

  Only One I’ll Have

  Table Of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY- ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY- FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY- SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY- EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY- NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY- ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY- FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY- FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY- SIX

  EPILOGUE

  Descendants of Ra Book 2

  Everlasting

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  About The Author

  Tmonique Stephens

  CHAPTER ONE

  Stella ran. Lungs seizing. Pain racing up her side. She couldn’t stop. The heavy footsteps pounding behind her wouldn’t relent. Her tote banged against her hip, throwing her off pace, slowing her down. She tossed the bag away as lessons from her eighth-grade track coach roared in her ears.

  Pump your arms, lengthen your stride, move your butt, Walker!

  Back then, running was easy on a regulation track. There wasn’t a damn thing regulated about racing through lower Manhattan at two A.M. with a killer chasing you.

  She took the corner too fast and her shoulder clipped the corner of a building, sending her careening into a mailbox. The big blue box rang like a tin bell and didn’t budge, while she fell forward and kissed the pavement. Stella pushed herself to her knees. Her arm tingled from the double impact and went numb at her side. She cradled the injured limb, then braced her body against the box, and climbed to her feet.

  “Help,” wheezed from spasming lungs. The word died without an echo in an empty street.

  Harsh panting sounded over the heavy beat of her heart, like a spent beast tired from the chase, or was it her own breath rasping in her ears? She froze and peered into the night—and saw him.

  Big. Like a black hole, he sucked up the light around him. She stared, trying to see where he ended and the world began, and caught a vague outline. On the dark Manhattan Street, reality blurred, the world faded, leaving only him. A stalking nightmare, he turned the city into his hunting grounds.

  Stella refused to be his victim.

  The darkness came alive and lunged for her. She dodged left, across the street, agony stabbing her shoulder. She ignored the pain and streaked through the streets, praying lessons learned long ago would give her a few more seconds to make it to her small slice of New York.

  There!

  She spotted the glass door to her building and fished her keys out of her jeans. If she could get inside and close the door, she’d have a chance.

  A few more steps and she was at the door, sliding the key into the lock. He grabbed a handful of her clothing and hauled her backwards, then slammed her into the glass. Senses reeling, she dropped to her knees on the concrete sidewalk. Pain shot up her thighs and yanked the world back in focus.

  She glanced up. And up.

  Past the belt buckle and the black material stretched tight across his rippled abs and pecs. He grabbed her jacket and snatched her up. His muscular arms bunched tight, biceps mini mountains. Dangling, her fists pounded a body made from steel.

  “No—” His meaty, gloved hand clamped over her mouth, abruptly smothering her cry.

  Stella shook her head and clawed at his fingers for air. Lungs burning. Limbs flailing. She recalled the single self-defense class she took a year earlier at the Y and attempted to ram her knee between his legs.

  He twisted and his rock hard thigh blocked her.

  He missed the keys still clutched in her hand. She shoved the metal into him, digging deep into his elbow joint. He grunted and released her. Stella scrambled to the door, grabbed the knob to pull herself up, but her knees wouldn’t hold. She slipped and his fist grazed her head, bouncing her skull off the glass. She crumpled.

  He flipped her limp body over. Dazed, three of him wavered, merging and separating. He hauled her up by the neck. In her peripheral vision, the weak yellow streetlight glinted off something metallic. A blade came into focus. Stella grabbed his wrist. The metal pierced her flesh and slid into her abdomen.

  And jerked out.

  She gasped. Bright bursts of pain stole her breath and siphoned the rest of her strength. Darkness crept to the edges of her vision. Her eyelids lifting and falling like lead lined shades. Jumbled parts of the Lord’s Prayer circled her brain.

  Stella turned her head a fraction and searched for someone to save her. In the deserted streets, no savior appeared.

  It’s not my time.

  She stared into the glowing blue eyes of her killer. Their eerie depths mesmerized and beckoned her to a watery grave.

  His grating chuckle scraped across her senses. The corners of his eyes crinkled and the ski mask around his mouth stretched across his face. His chest moved with laughter.

  Her death approached. He laughed at her. As if she was nothing but a trophy to mount on
a wall. A burst of adrenalin surged through her weakening body.

  “Don’t laugh at me!” Stella slapped at him. Her fingers caught the edge of the mask and dragged downward.

  He pulled his head away and threw her into the door. The glass exploded and she skidded into the vestibule of her building, ending her journey midway into the lobby.

  Stella blinked, everything wavered, a shifting dizzying carnival ride. Glass crunched, the vibrating thud of his feet on the tiled floor reverberated through her. Then his weight landed on her chest. Her ribs cracked and snapped like dry twigs echoing in a forest. Air wheezed out of her mouth, leaving lungs quivering. She didn’t want to see what came next, but her eyes refused to shut, gradually losing focus.

  “In the name of Anubis, I claim your soul.” Rough, his abrasive voice reminded her of gravel dragged across asphalt. He pierced her skin and ran the razor-sharp tip down the side of her face.

  Pinned, her muscles slowly relaxed, and every pain faded. Tears squeezed out of her eyes for the things she would never have; the gentle caress of a loving hand, a kiss from someone who loved her and wouldn’t leave. Children. But no one would miss her. Alone for more years than she could remember, this was how she would end.

  The elevator dinged.

  A woman screamed.

  Stella’s eyes locked with her killer before oblivion won.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Roman paused at the door to his office suite. Nervous energy supercharged his senses. His hand clenched the handle, ready for a fight, needing to hit something, someone. This is why he should have stayed at the cabin. With his control slipping, only solitude would help him keep his sanity. For too long he’d put off the inevitable. Always placing the needs of others ahead of his desires, which hadn’t changed in two thousand years and he was no closer to achieving them. He pulled at the silk tie and shifted uncomfortably in the Armani suit he hated. His worn Levis and Timberlands were back at the cabin, along with his freedom and part of his sanity. The briefcase in his hand contained a few sheets of notarized paper. Two signatures and the company would leave his hands. The time for new leadership had come. He pushed the door open and assumed the mantle of CEO—for the last time.

  “Hey, Gracie.” He greeted his personal secretary seated outside his office.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Nicolis.” Gracie greeted him with a hug. “How was your vacation?”

  He couldn’t tell his elderly secretary, he’d spent months in the woods with a sword in his clenched fist, reclaiming a skill acquired centuries ago, and trying to justify his existence.

  “Fine.” He tugged at his tie again, loosening the noose.

  “Stop fidgeting.” She crooked a finger and motioned him to her.

  More parent than employee, he suffered Gracie’s attention as she fixed his tie. Roman enjoyed her motherly fussing. He would miss her, but at least he wouldn’t have to watch another person he cared about die a slow wasting death. Did that make him a coward? Yes, he could admit that.

  “Tell me again why I can’t wear jeans at work?” He complained, returning to their ongoing five-year argument.

  “Because you have to set a good example for the men.”

  Roman winced and his lips tightened. Since his fall from grace, he did that. He had to. Centuries ago, his reckless, impulsive nature had cost him everything, leaving him without family or friends, cursed for eternity. Gracie didn’t need to know his sorted history. Enough people already shared that burdensome knowledge. She knew him as the thirty-something eccentric billionaire who griped to her. In these last days as her boss, he wouldn’t change that. He drew his eyebrows together, imitating a scowl.

  “Yes, you, good example.” She chuckled. With trembling hands, she brushed imaginary lint from his shoulders. “You were greatly missed.”

  “By whom?” With the exception of four, all his men were deployed on various assignments.

  “The boys. Bianca’s also been by three times anxious for your arrival.” Gracie’s lips pursed, trying to suppress a smile.

  His grimace was no longer pretend. His fiancée needed to know the wedding was off. “Maybe I should marry you.” He offered with a wink.

  She burst out laughing. “Not on your life!” Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “First, I don’t want Dragon Lady poisoning my coffee. And second, you couldn’t handle me.” At sixty, her eyes twinkled with delightful intention as she patted his forearm.

  He captured her knobby fingers with a hand that had seen many more decades than hers, and brought them to his lips. A rosy blush bloomed on her aged cheeks. Looking at her, all flustered and aglow, time peeled away and he could envision the girl she was forty years ago.

  “Now, don’t you tempt me. I’m a happily married woman.” She fussed with her messy salt and pepper bun.

  He laughed, but before he could respond, Bianca rounded the corner. She stopped short. Her eyes swept over him, narrowed as if assessing a possession, then with fake surprise, widened.

  “Sweetheart.”

  Her voice washed over him, soft and alluring, yet moved nothing inside him. Pulled into her arms, Roman swore under his breath. A little more time before seeing her again would’ve been nice. He avoided her kiss and steered her to her office.

  “I missed you so much. You should’ve stopped by my office when you arrived.” The warmth of her smile didn’t thaw her icy eyes.

  “I just arrived, Bianca.” He tried to control the ire in his voice. Tall and leggy, icy blond all over, with the palest hazel eyes and lipstick red lips, she was a beauty any man would want. His brother’s told him he was a fool and like a fool, he didn’t listen. He should’ve, especially about this. How could he have thought a marriage of convenience would quench the yawning hole in his soul?

  “How was your vacation?” Smiling, she leaned into him for a kiss.

  “Relaxing.” He moved away.

  “Still not going to tell me where you were?” She hedged with a slight whine.

  He shared the cabin with no one. His silence answered for him.

  “It seems like forever since we’ve been together,” she said. “It has been forever. Two months of loneliness.”

  Two months, try two thousand years.

  “We need to talk, Bianca.”

  “Yes, we do,” she said a bit too brightly. “But, I should get going. I’m already late for a meeting.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed some folders off the desk. “There are things we need to go over for the ceremony. I know you don’t want to be bothered, but it’s your wedding too and I need your help with a few decisions.” She tried to kiss him again.

  He tilted his head and her lips landed on his cheek. When she pulled away, he produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the lipstick from his cheek. Her lips flattened into a thin line.

  Guilt clenched his gut. “We’ll talk tonight. Thane’s waiting.”

  He left her and walked the length of the reception area to his private office gritting his teeth at the unease stirring his gut. The situation with Bianca wasn’t the sum of his discomfort but added to it. Anxiety ate at the center of calm that balanced his impulsive nature.

  He placed his briefcase and mail on the desk, then turned toward the window with the view of the murky East River. A garbage barge blasted its horn as a group of rower’s glided past. In the distance, the Williamsburg Bridge hid under scaffolding. Forty floors below, the FDR snaked. Rush hour in Manhattan didn’t end. A twenty-four hour running of the bulls, endure the ordeal or take the subway. Just as the quiet solitude of nature soothed him, so did the honking and the drone of tires on blacktop. The river and traffic flowed like blood through his veins. Usually, the grit of New York was enough. Now, a violent storm churned his insides. He closed his eyes and remembered his last day at the cabin.

  The first rays of the sun cut through the swirling mist, peeking between the oak trees and reflecting off his great sword. The heavy weight in his palm called to the two thousand-
year-old mercenary the twenty-first century could never erase. His arms to the sky, he paid homage to the rising sun before throwing his head back and roaring. He charged into the woods.

  On an obstacle course he designed himself; he attacked with his sword, taking chunks out of fabricated wooden men. A mercenary on the battlefield once more, he wielded his weapon in an arc and went through the Dance of Death he learned at his father’s knee. He moved with a warrior’s grace amidst the trees, disappearing into the mist, then reappearing yards away. Slashing and then fading away again. Sweat ran freely as the sun burned off the early morning fog and the July heat returned. Clear-headed and free of torment, pine-scented air filled his lungs and the quiet calmed his soul, returning him to a time when he was but a man, mortal and frail.

  His second in command, Thane, entered his office and summed up the state of the business. Roman spared him his left brain, listening to where all the men were, while his right brain remained in the woods.

  “Roman.” Thane held a file out to him. “There is one more issue. Dr. Jacob Orley contacted the company. He wants to hire us to protect a friend.”

  He took the file from Thane and studied his apprentice. Almost his height with sandy sun-bleached blond hair and green eyes, he belonged on a beach instead of a boardroom. “You know we don’t protect individuals.”

  “I know you’ve been out of the loop and cut off from the world, but over the last few months nine bodies were found in Manhattan. There’s a file on your desk detailing each murder. This girl would have been number ten. She’s in a coma at St. Vincent’s and she may be able to identify her attacker. She needs our help.”

  Thane rushed through his speech, surprising Roman, but it changed nothing. He handed the file back to Thane. “There are other companies better suited for this. We don’t have the staff for personal protection.”