Stone of Ascension (3 page)

“And now we have to leave,” Stacy mumbled, the younger woman looking away in annoyance. “Your mother might have been the tribe whore, but at least she knew how to have fun.”

“
Stacy
,” Cara reprimanded. “That was uncalled for.”

Shame—unwanted, underserved—shivered through Amber. Refusing to show how much the words hurt, she lifted her chin. Her mother’s past was not hers.

“Then stay. I’m not making you leave,” she replied as calmly as possible.

“Kayla won’t allow it. The guys get to stay, but we have to go home,” Stacy said, tipping her head at their unofficial leader. Like her grandfather, Kayla’s quiet authority combined with her legacy granted respect that few within the tribe questioned.

“Here’s a taxi. Let’s go,” Kayla yelled back to them, checking her watch. “If we hurry, we can get our stuff and catch the last train home.”

Amber waited until the women moved forward before she sucked in a deep, shaky breath and followed them. The wind pounded her, a hard sideswipe that circled and pushed before it shoved her toward the open door of the taxi. Again, that eerie chill drifted over the back of her neck, and she tucked her arm tight against the lump in her coat.

Someone was there. Watching her. She knew this even though she couldn’t see them. Logic dictated that was impossible. That she shouldn’t know this. That is was a product of her wild imagination.

Every other instinct told her it was fact.

Did they want her? The box? Both?

Why?

Her breath hung in her chest until the doors slammed shut and the cab pulled away from the curb. She could handle the enemy next to her. The one she knew. The one she had long ago learned to battle.

It was the unknown malice that prowled the shadows and vibrated in the air that tightened her stomach in barely contained panic.

She needed to get home. Where she would be safe.

Where the box would be safe.

She didn’t question the odd thought. She just knew it to be true.

The Year of the Dragon was not a year for her to celebrate.

The yellow cab eased away from the curb, quickly lost in obscurity as it blended with the many taxis that filled the streets of Manhattan.

But he still knew exactly which car she was in.

Just like he always knew precisely where she stood within the crowd, no matter the size or location, at every rally he’d been forced to attend over the last three years.

For some unknown reason, he always knew where she was.

Even if he didn’t know
who
she was.

He could have found out. He had the connections and status to make it happen. But what was the point? He couldn’t approach her. Be a part of her life or bring her into his when nothing could come of it but pain. His. Hers. Both. Yet, he still looked for her. Sensed her before he even saw her. Was drawn to her in a way that held no logic. So he resisted. As he knew he must. Then why was he here in Chinatown?

The energy had pulled at him until he’d given in. Even though he didn’t trust it. Didn’t dare believe in the energy. Not anymore. Not since it had so brutally betrayed him long ago.

And then he’d known. Instantly.

It was the Year of the Dragon and she shouldn’t be here. Nowhere near such danger. Evil she couldn’t comprehend, but had unknowingly faced earlier.

His fists tightened into hard clamps of suppressed anger as he thought of how close she’d come to being harmed. Of the sinister look that had glinted in the enemy’s eyes before he’d dissipated out of the alley like a coward. The Shifter had run instead of facing him, an Energen who could fight on his level.

As rival factions of the Energy races, the two species had been mortal enemies since life began. Their battle established over the most devastating force on earth.

Energy.
 

Silent, invisible, intangible. Long before the humans even realized what it was, Energens and Shifters had fought for control of the energy. One to balance it, the other to own it.

But why the woman? What interest was she to the Shifter?

He closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the scent of cinnamon flood his mind. A memory of her, not the current surroundings. He vibrated with the energy, the rush of power and sensation that had ignited when she’d crashed into him as she fled the alley. Her touch, as brief as it was, had flashed like fire and ice in his system.

Was she part of a plan? An enticing lure meant to trap him? But by whom? And for what reason?

He felt the energy expand behind him, a brief ripple of warning that had him spinning around in defense. What he saw was not what he expected.

“No,” the man said. “I usually am not.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, ready for battle. Then he registered what the man had done, that he’d read his mind. His eyes narrowed, his distrust heightened. “You are an Ancient with the power of Spirit. Why are you here?”

The old Asian man tilted his head, sending the long, white ends of his mustache swaying. “To remind you, Damianos Aeros, disgraced heir to the House of Air, of the prophecies of old.”

“Prophecies mean nothing to me,” Damian bit out.

“But they should, when they are about you.”

“
Impossible
.”

The Ancient continued as if Damian hadn’t spoken. His calm demeanor and soft voice added power to the words he recited. “A thousand years of exile, a thousand years of rebirth. Taken down in shame to rise in glory. At his side a virgin bride, the hidden bird to bind his soul. To this end, the world will flow. Without the rise, the world will fall. One of light, one of dark. Two to wield all five. Circles will rise and must hold strong. Together the two will lead us all.”

Then he was gone.

Damian cursed, frustration forcing him to kick the metal trash can that stood beside him. The resounding clang echoed down the alley, but did nothing to settle the unrest that stirred within him.

Reaching deep, he buried the emotions, shook off the insidious desire that threatened to pull him under. A thousand years he’d been away. Pushed away from all that was his. Stripped of everything he’d known because of the energy. Because of the lies.

But still, he hungered to return to his world. His family. Despite how impossible that was. How futile his wishes were. Dreams that were nothing but empty longing that raked him in the darkest of nights.

No. His life was far from the Energen world. A life he’d built on his own knowledge and determination. One filled with success and respect, even if it was only from the humans.

He took a quick look around then dissipated out of the alley, heading for home.

This was not his battle. Not anymore.

Chapter Three

The sun was breaking over the horizon as Amber turned the key and dragged her bag into the antique shop in Newport, Rhode Island. Her shoulders sagged with relief the instant the lock clicked into place.

The train ride home had been long and strained. The rest of the women had all dozed off either to avoid talking to her or to simply catch some sleep. In truth, she had been thankful that they’d slept since she couldn’t. Her mind had been too wired, replaying the events of the night.

Absently she rubbed her tender neck. The mental image of Nate’s hand circling it flashed hard and fast in her mind. She winced and swallowed the bile that burned the back of her throat. Nate had tried to rape her. Had hurt her and threatened her life. Hate, pure and rancid, boiled in her. He’d made her feel so helpless. She was ashamed and disgusted but at whom? Herself or him?

God, she should have listened to her aunt. She should have stayed in Newport and never gone to New York. The wild ramblings of her Aunt Bev crept into her thoughts. The constant lectures about how Amber was special. About how she must stay pure and that destiny had a plan for her. And what was that? For her to live a solitary existence caring for her aging aunt and a second-rate antique shop?

The daring trip to the city had been just that. Daring. A walk on the wild side. And look where it had gotten her. She felt the tears rising and blinked them back.

It was too much to process right then. If she let the emotions out, they’d take her down and she couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. She had to keep moving.

Catching a quick look at the clock, Amber left her bag by the door and moved into the shop. Her aunt would be awake soon, and there would be hell to pay for her little adventure to the city.

With shaking hands, she removed the wooden box from her pocket and set it on the cluttered counter at the back of the shop. She stared at it with a mixture of hatred and longing. The box was relatively small, about the size of a deck of cards, but in the shape of a diamond and around two inches deep. The exterior wood was intricately carved in curling designs and curious shapes. The workmanship was exquisite and had the antique dealer in her awed and impressed by the technique, style and simple uniqueness.

The woman in her saw nothing but an ugly reminder of last night’s events.

The clashing feelings of desire and revulsion knotted the muscles in her gut. It was only a box, she reminded herself. But her skin crawled with the falseness of her conviction.

The pull to open the box was startling. It smoothed over her in a wave of longing. Her fingers flexed in nervous anticipation. But what was it? What if it was something bad?

Still, after all that had happened, she had to know.

There was a tiny gold twist-lock on one side that was daring her to turn it. Open the box and look inside. See the gift. It was hers.

In a flash, Amber snapped her hand out to twist the lock and flip open the lid. The air sparked with electricity, and the dank surroundings of the shop suddenly vibrated with expectation.

Nestled within the box among the folds of royal purple velvet was the most beautiful stone Amber had ever seen. Diamond in shape, it was a strange mixture of white, violet and gold that shimmered and glowed like it was lit from within. The colors moved, blending to varying shades before her eyes.

And it called to her.

Her fingers tingled and her mind fuzzed.

She had to touch it. Take it and claim it as her own. Something so beautiful couldn’t be evil. Numbly, she reached out to reverently caress the smooth surface of the stone.

Pain. Fierce, searing, blinding tore up her hand, burning a path of scorching agony.

Gasping, Amber jerked her fingers away, but the pain continued. She snapped the lid closed. What the hell was that? She stared at her palm, but saw no damage, not even a burn mark. Was this the punishment she got for going against her aunt’s wishes? For wanting something more in her life?

Tears stung her eyes as she sniffed back her frustration. She needed to get rid of the box. Put the whole stupid night behind her. But her heart clenched and balked at the thought.

She couldn’t get rid of it.

The slight creak of the floorboards overhead spurred Amber into motion. Her aunt was awake.

Shaking her hand in an attempt to relieve the odd soreness that remained, she looked around for a place to hide the box. The urgency to stash it away increased with each squeak and groan on the stairs as her aunt descended to the shop.

Spotting an old sewing trunk in the corner, Amber rushed to stow the box inside. She didn’t question her actions or why she had to hide the stone. She just did.

Throwing some old blankets over the box, she closed the trunk then pushed it back behind a tall china cabinet, stacking random objects and trinkets on top of it.

“Amber, is that you?” Her aunt’s firm, flat voice drifted through the shop. Crap.

“Yes, Aunt Bev. It’s me.”

Silently, she moved back to the counter, stiffening her back for the confrontation to come. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, took a deep breath and froze.

On the back of her hand along with the lingering sting of pain was an elegantly sketched tattoo of a white bird rising in flight.

No way
.

Hastily she rubbed at the image, frantic to remove it. It stayed. How?

No way. No, no, no.
No
.

She scratched at the etching, prepared to gouge the image off her skin. Anything to get it off. Anything to make it go away. To make it
all
go away.

Her skin turned red with welts that marred the thin flesh on the back of her hand. But the bird stayed unscathed.

It was beautiful in its simplicity. Haunting with its stark color. And taunting her mercilessly with its refusal to disappear.

Aunt Bev stepped into the room. A deep frown creased her forehead and matched the curve of her thin lips. Amber shoved her shaking hands into her coat pockets and tried to still her quaking nerves.

The old, pink bathrobe was cinched around her aunt’s plump girth like a protective shield. The slightly bed-messed silver hair did not deter from the overall aura of superiority that always emanated from her aunt. Technically, she was Amber’s great aunt, but since Aunt Bev was Amber’s only living relative, the distinction never mattered.