Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1) Read online

  His eyes are as unique as those I’ve taken comfort from all these years, but they’re definitely not his. No, he’s dangerous. Everything about him says so.

  I try not to notice his high cheekbones, full lips, and the fact that his face holds a symmetry I can’t help but call beautiful along with his broad shoulders, lean, muscled legs, his narrow waist, and… other parts.

  He smirks as I continue taking him in.

  Focus, Pellucid, focus, I tell myself.

  He’s dangerous, and I need to concentrate on getting out of here in one piece while preserving my find.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  He pauses tapping his lip long enough to say, “I thought your demand was to know how I got here. Which is it?”

  “I want to know both… and more.”

  I squeeze the Maglite’s shaft tighter as he draws his arms behind his back. “Rather a bossy thing, aren’t you?”

  “I hardly consider learning your name and the… extraordinary… way in which you appeared bossy.”

  “If you say so.” He raises one eyebrow and rocks back on his heels.

  Silence reigns as his eyes scan the room, taking in the dust and debris dimly illuminated by the light coming in from the stairway. His gaze skims the ceiling, then the walls.

  He spots my scroll laid out on the floor and furrows his brow. A second later he looks me up and down, and his eyes stop at my hand, the one with the ring on it.

  I fidget as his staring at my hand continues for a full minute. Okay, this guy’s a bit off.

  “It was you?” he questions, then shakes his head.

  “What was me?”

  He frowns, still not replying before continuing to look about. At least he’s not studying my hand anymore. But I know the instant he spots the scrolls because his gaze freezes.

  Damn, so much for keeping my find a secret. I’d hoped the Maglite’s beam still trained on his chest would occlude them, but clearly not; the spray of light from my headlamp betrays me.

  “What was me?” I repeat, trying to distract him.

  He ignores me as his eyes trace the shelves up and down from one end to the other until he finally grunts.

  I furrow my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean? And ‘what was me’?”

  “Not what I’d hoped had called me.”

  “Called you? No one called you, certainly not me.”

  Arrogance fills his laugh. “Let me assure you that you called me.”

  I frown at that, and he takes advantage of my silence to stride forward, toward me.

  “Stop where you are.” I shine the beam in his eyes again, but it doesn’t stop his continued approach.

  Heart pounding, I scurry toward the doorway, readying to use the Maglite as a club if I have to. Little comfort, there’s also plenty of rocks to use if I need them. I just hope I’m fast enough.

  Please don’t attack me. Please don’t attack me.

  The comforting silver and gold eyes I always envision, bolt to the forefront of my mind, but confusion trounces, rather than calm.

  You’ve defended yourself lots of times growing up, I tell myself. You can do it again.

  But this guy’s different. He isn’t just some stupid, lumbering bully I can humiliate by tripping him, making him fall on his face for others to laugh at.

  I pull up short when he stops before the scroll I’ve deciphered, then squats, as I reach the doorway. I pant as I turn back toward him, knuckles white, as I grasp the flashlight.

  “It had to be this scroll you translated, of course it did. It couldn’t have been any other.” He scrubs a hand over his scruffy face. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  Is he speaking to the scroll? He’s still staring at it.

  What is his deal with staring?

  He reaches for the papyrus.

  “No, don’t touch it.” I raise a hand. I might be in dangerous straits, but I can’t bear to see him get his oils all over the priceless artifact. “Use my gloves.”

  Still squatting, elbows braced on his thighs, he looks up at me and one corner of his mouth rises in a crooked grin as I peel off my rubber gloves and toss them to him. They fall short, halfway between us.

  Of course they do. I exhale heavily.

  “Protocol?” He gives me a look that says he thinks I’m a cute little thing to insist, as he stands.

  I fume. Will men not take women in this field seriously?

  “You’ll destroy that scroll with your filthy paws.” I put bite in my reply.

  His brows rise. “No need to get nasty. I was merely confirming what I speculated.”

  “What’s that?”

  His silver and gold eyes roam up and down me, again, but this time he’s taking in every part of my bedraggled hair, dirty pants and coat, and soaking boots, just as I did to him. I want to fidget under his scrutiny, but I force myself to stand still in the doorway.

  It’s not cunning or hunger I see in his eyes, but curiosity, and worry that he’ll attack me ebbs; all the same, I know he’s dangerous—I suspect he’s a bit of a rogue when he wants to be, guys like him always are. The thought makes me smile.

  What’s a guy like him doing in a place like this?

  “You’re an archeologist,” he says, relaxing his posture as he crosses his arms, then draws his pointer finger back to his lips and resumes tapping.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Then you would understand how important it is that these scrolls are protected and preserved,” he says.

  “I would, which is why I don’t want you handling them. They need to be in the best condition possible, for the world to experience this amazing slice of history.”

  He shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand. These scrolls can never see the light of day.”

  I laugh. “You’re funny. This is the biggest find in decades, and I plan to take credit for it.”

  We lock gazes. Determination shines in his eyes. “No,” he says. “You won’t. And I’ll be the one to stop you.”

  Chapter Five

  I scoff. “You? Stop me?” I set my jaw. “Like hell.”

  His expression turns fierce and he thrusts up a hand, silently telling me to stop. “You don’t realize what you’ve done. In speaking the words of that riddle, you brought to life the being whose secret that is.”

  I bring fists to my hips and my voice rises. “What are you talking about?”

  His leather duster shifts as he drops his arms and very slowly, as if questioning a small child, says in that silky baritone voice of his, “You know how to read hieroglyphs, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I throw my shoulders back, proud of my accomplishment.

  “You read that riddle aloud, didn’t you?”

  How does he know that? I shift, biting my lip. “Maybe.”

  He gives me a long look. “Answer Lady Sphinx. Often talked of, never seen, ever coming, never been.”—my mouth drops open—“Daily looked for, never here, still approaching, coming near. Thousands for my visit wait, but alas, for their fate, though they expect me to appear, they will never find me here. What am I? Tomorrow.”

  “How do you know that?” My jaw drops.

  “Doesn’t matter. You read the scroll aloud, didn’t you?” His look turns piercing, and I swallow hard.

  “So what if I did?”

  “In so doing, you breathed life into the words when you spoke them.”

  I furrow my brow. “Uh. Okay.”

  He shakes his head. I’m clearly as thickheaded as he thinks. “Breathing life into words brings back into existence the being whose words they were.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He runs a hand through his onyx hair. “These scrolls are special. They contain secrets from millennia past. If the secret is ever spoken, the being, whose it is, returns to life in the present to defend the secret that’s exposed.”

  How in the world does he know what’s recorded on that scroll? But more, he’s spinning quite a story, reanimat
ing “beings.” Yeah, right. I barely stifle a laugh.

  I tilt my head. “You believe speaking these ‘secrets’ returns beings back to life today, why exactly?”

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “Because it’s true.”

  “You’ve seen it happen? Dead people coming back to life?”

  “Not just people, all manner of creatures.”

  Right. Sure. He’s talking necromancy. While a fun topic for my favorite fantasy reads, it doesn’t happen in real life. The guy’s a loon.

  What to do, what to do.

  Dropping my hands, I ask, “Supposing you’re right, what would be the problem with that?”

  He snorts. “Many of these creatures are not, shall we say, safe.” His gaze returns to the scroll, and he starts tapping his lips with his finger again, as if contemplating his next move.

  Dangerous, reanimated, talking creatures. I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. It’s crazy. He’s crazy, and he’s making me crazy.

  Calm down, Pell.

  I take a long breath and let it out slowly.

  The guy’s a bit “off,” but he seems earnest. I just need to get both of us out of here before a colleague comes looking for me, because I’ve been gone so long, and discovers my find.

  Okay, fine, I can play his little game. I make my voice sweet. “So, what ‘creature’ do you believe I brought back to life?”

  He looks over at me as he starts pacing. “A sphinx.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “A sphinx?” I’ve no idea how to even begin to respond to this. He believes they actually exist?

  “Yes.” He halts but doesn’t drop his gaze.

  I’ve never done improv, but it seems now is as good a time as any to start. “I see. Any sphinx in particular?”

  He massages his temples as if I’m giving him a headache. “The sphinx that lived in Room One of the Department of Egyptian Antiquities at the Louvre in Paris. Beautiful creature, but deadly. She’s one of the largest sphinxes outside of Egypt and bears the inscriptions of pharaohs Ammenemes II, Merneptah, and Shoshenq I dating back to 2600 BC.”

  I resist rolling my eyes, only barely, and rub my chin as if seriously contemplating his words. There’s only one sphinx there.

  “I’ve visited the Louvre. If I’m thinking of the same sphinx you’re talking about…”—wait for it, wait for it—“it’s a statue.”

  I’ve spent time in the Louvre’s Egyptian collection. It’s one of the very few trips I’ve ever been able to afford. He’s referring to a giant pink granite statue with the head of a pharaoh and the body of a lion with its right paw partly missing.

  I remember staring at it for a very long time during my visit, imagining it jumping on me and clawing into my flesh like the one in Thebes did, according to myth. Even now it sends a shiver down my spine.

  He turns to pinching the bridge of his nose. “Most recently she was, yes.”

  I barely stifle a laugh. “So, you expect me to believe I brought not just a sphinx, but a sphinx statue to life by reading what is supposedly her secret.” I draw out the words.

  Mythical beings becoming real, then turning into granite statues, then reanimating, this guy is a piece of work, sexy, but definitely a piece of work. I hardly dare ask, but I can’t help myself. “How would you even know that scroll has her secret on it? And, for that matter, why do you keep referring to the sphinx as a she?”

  He clenches his scruffy jaw. “It’s clear you don’t believe me”—I raise an eyebrow, surprise, surprise—“but whether you do or not, there are more secrets scribed on these scrolls, and it will be irresponsible of me to allow you to bring any more people or creatures back to the present, so let’s put this scroll back where you found it and pretend you never saw any of this.”

  I snort. “Uh, no. That’s not going to happen.”

  He lets out a long breath as he takes a step toward me. I’m clearly frustrating him, but no way am I giving up my find.

  I brace, then grip the Maglite tightly, readying to whack him if he gets too close. “Stop right there.”

  He doesn’t stop. “Please, put the scroll back where it was.” His voice is firm.

  “Why don’t you?” I bobble on some of the loose, fallen rock as I back up, then step through the fallen doorway and envision the stairs around the corner. Ninety-nine of them.

  “I can’t put that scroll back because in a case like this, the one who released the secret by reading the scroll has to be the one to close it.” Even in the dim light, I can see that his neck and shoulders are stiff with tension.

  He’s crazy, but intense, very, very intense, and I’ve no idea what might happen if I don’t relent, at least temporarily. I can return tomorrow after telling Jude and see what other treasures these scrolls hold.

  He’s almost at the doorway, within eight feet of me when I hold up a hand. “All right, all right. I’ll put the scroll back.”

  He stops and exhales sharply, then tilts his head back. “She’s no idea what she’s done, and obstinate, too,” he mutters to himself, talking to the ceiling.

  “I heard that.”

  He doesn’t reply, just pivots, taking a step back, and extends an open hand. All those rings click against each other as he directs me back toward the open scroll.

  The stairs beckon me—they’re so close.

  Run, Pell, run.

  I hesitate, considering.

  Despite his clear frustration with me, it doesn’t seem like he plans to hurt me, so I summon my courage and step back into the room.

  Pell, no! My inner voice screams.

  When I reach to within three feet of him, he furrows his brow and starts sniffing the air.

  I narrow my eyes. Is he scenting me? This dude is just too weird. Eau de drowned rat, it’s what I feel like in my wet coat and boots. It’d be a winning Gloria Vanderbilt fragrance.

  His eyes go wide, his head jerks back, and he takes a hasty step back, gaze glued with mine as I come even with him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He doesn’t answer. He looks like a frozen statue, wide eyes still fixed on me.

  “Hel-low.” I wave a hand in front of his face, but he’s still frozen. This guy is too weird. Sexy, but definitely weird.

  It’s a full minute, but he finally regains movement and his eyes go wider still; then he starts shaking his head, over and over.

  I roll my eyes. A wee bit of the Fruit Loops with this one.

  I walk past him, snatching up the gloves as I head toward the open scroll.

  Several minutes later the papyrus is safely back in its original place and the tension has eased from his shoulders.

  I pull the gloves off and shove them back in my cargo-pants pocket. He’s recovered from whatever strange fit afflicted him and watches my every move, which kind of creeps me out, but he doesn’t approach. He’s anxious to get me out of here though, immediately extending an open hand and directing me toward the doorway.

  Whatever. I fumble in my coat pocket for my Kleenex and blow my nose. I’ll go when I damn well chose to.

  He runs his hands through his hair again, his vest hitching up, as I take my time refolding the plastic and stowing it in my coat, then grab the flashlight.

  I stumble and peddle my arms as I navigate the uneven pile of rocks like a remedial billy goat. It doesn’t help that he follows so closely. Twice, he reaches out to steady me, but I correct my balance before he can help.

  We emerge back into the stairway landing, then teeter over more rubble until the stairs are in sight. “If I did happen to release a sphinx, what are you going to do about it?”

  His eyes brighten. “Are you willing to come with me and recapture it?”

  “No. I’m just asking.”

  “Then I’ll be waiting for you to come to your senses.”

  “What?” I hold up a hand. “You haven’t even told me your name. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  He grabs the back of his neck but remains silent.


  I gaze up the stairs. The light is fading with the foul weather. Someone’s surely coming. “Well, shall we?” I ask, inviting him to lead.

  “You go ahead, I travel differently.” He looks back at the opening.

  “Right. Yes, you do. Very well.” I don’t trust him. It’d be just my luck to have him abscond with my find. I shuffle my feet on the uneven debris.

  A grin mounts his beautiful face as I linger. “Seems neither of us trusts the other.”

  I snicker. Nothing like being honest about it.

  Without another word, the scattered stones nearest the opening start to move, rising and reassembling themselves back into the wall.

  I yip and scramble clear as the debris I was standing on is quickly added, stirring up the dust again. I sneeze as every last piece of limestone finds its place.

  “Can’t have anyone finding these. Call me when you change your mind.”

  I roll my eyes, like that’s going to happen. He hasn’t given me his number, and I’m not about to ask for it.

  A mist of shadows begins coalescing around the tails of his duster. It grows thicker and thicker as it moves up his body, wrapping him in a dark swirl, and then he’s gone.

  My mouth falls open. Who is this guy?

  But I gasp the next second because I just now realize he’s resealed the room and I’m not getting access to those scrolls anytime soon.

  Oh, I’ll call him all right.

  “Bastard!”

  Chapter Six

  My exclamation echoes against the hard limestone walls, then dies, replaced by the distant sounds of wind howling and rain pelting as I stand here, mind racing.

  What just happened?

  I’m completely and utterly alone in this stairwell. Not another human being, much less insect, is here with me. Certainly no dark and sexy stranger.

  I stare at the wall that I could have sworn had fallen down.

  “Am I going crazy? Do crazy people know they’re crazy? Would I know? I feel crazy right now, not stabby crazy, so maybe I’m fine? But still…” I bite my lip.

  Okay, back the train up, Pell, I tell myself. You took pictures.