Every Last Kiss Page 22

  even a parking spot. It was barely even 11:00, so apparently the lunch rush started early in this place. I sighed and slipped in the door, taking my place in the long line.

  To kill the time, I eyed the variety of deli meats behind the glass counter. They were spread out in giant fan-like arrangements. I found my thoughts straying to the memory of Cleopatra’s elaborately loaded banquet tables. These cold cuts didn’t even begin to compare to the lavishness of her dinners.

  As my eyes glazed over with memories, a sensation that I would never be able to explain suddenly came over me and I instantly knew beyond any doubt that someone was watching me. I lifted my head and turned to find a long, lean stranger making his way across the room. His dark eyes were fixed upon me. The eyes from my dreams.

  Hasani’s eyes.

  My heart stopped and I gasped, looking again.

  Hasani stared back… his eyes a deep chocolate brown, so dark that they were almost black. It was no mistake. Familiarly jolted through my body and my heart leapt into my throat. Hasani!

  Ahmose had been right.

  I fought to keep breathing. It wasn’t that I had not believed him-- I just hadn’t expected to find Hasani so soon. I thought I would have to live a painful existence until I found him later in life… like when I was 30 or so. But he was here. Now.

  He was almost to me, his purposeful, loping stride the same as it used to be. There were differences, of course. He didn’t have the cut warrior’s body anymore- because there was no need for it. He wouldn’t need to fight for his life now in hand to hand combat. His legs were still long and graceful, his face still beautiful. It was a different face, but he still had the same strong jaw line and the same eyes. I smiled in relief, remembering how I had traced that very same jaw line with my fingers.

  As he approached, he had Have we met? written all over his face and my knees went weak. There was no way he could know me. That was just wishful thinking on my part. We would have to start all over again from scratch. But I found myself not caring. I was just so happy to see him. Beyond happy… ecstatic.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he approached flirtatiously, smiling a dazzlingly white smile. My breath caught in my throat. Same smile.

  “This is going to sound crazy and I promise you that I’m not, but have we met before?” His face was perplexed. “I feel like I would remember that, but I can’t shake the feeling that I know you.”

  He was dressed in khaki cargo shorts, a black tee and black flip-flops, an ensemble very different from the last time I saw him walking away from me in war regalia. But he was still beautiful. I noticed with relief that the same gentleness was still in his eyes.

  “I don’t think so,” I lied. “I’m pretty sure I would remember you.”

  “Hmm,” he smiled. “You must think I’m feeding you a line. You probably get that a lot.”

  I smiled back, so full of shock and happiness that I couldn’t think straight.

  “No, I don’t. Get that a lot, I mean.”

  I grinned again, amused at my nervousness. I knew him. Every single part of him was familiar to me. There was no need to be so nervous. Ahmose had said… souls stay the same. He was still the same Hasani, he just had a different face.

  I held out my hand.

  “I’m Macy Lockhart.”

  He took my hand and shook it.

  “I’m Gavin Chase.”

  Of course he was. Somehow that name fit him perfectly. He looked at me, his dark hair slanting across his forehead as his chocolate eyes twinkled.

  “This is going to sound like another line,” he said laughingly, “but your perfume smells amazing. It feels like I should know it, but I don’t.”

  With every word he spoke, he fascinated me even more. He remembered me… on a deep subconscious level. I found myself wondering if this was how it was in every life.

  Each time, we probably felt an unexplained familiarity, but we were never quite able to put our fingers on it. This time, though, I was in the loop. It was a nice feeling.

  “Thank you. Are you new here?” I asked curiously.

  “Is it that obvious?” He grinned a disarming smile and I sucked my breath in. “I just moved here from the east coast. I knew I would stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “No, you don’t,” I assured him. “I was just wondering because I haven’t seen you in this neighborhood before. What school will you be going to?”

  “San Marino. Where do you go?”

  I nodded happily. “San Marino.”

  He grinned in response, an ear to ear smile that lit his entire face, another trait of Hasani’s. I breathed deeply, trying not to hyperventilate and look crazy. I definitely didn’t want him to start screaming and run in the opposite direction. Right now, he strongly reminded me of the young guard who had picked me off the floor when Auletes had backhanded me across the room. Young, fresh-faced and sweet. Hasani.

  “This is going to sound crazy again,” he began, “and I know we just met, but would you like to get some lunch? My treat, of course. I don’t know anyone here.”

  He had no idea what crazy sounded like. Crazy was magic bloodstones, time travel and insane eunuchs. He sounded perfectly normal and shockingly beautiful.

  I smiled in a relief that I hadn’t even realized I felt. I had found Hasani. Or he had found me. Whatever…either way, I was staring into his face at this very second. His beautiful, darkly handsome face.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Someone needs to show you the best places to eat,” I grinned.

  “Not here?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “No, not here. Although it’s passable. My mother likes this place. Which reminds me- I need to take her a sandwich for lunch. But then I’m free.”

  “So am I,” he grinned cockily in an oh-so-Hasani way. “Free, I mean.”

  “Good to know.”

  I smiled back, unaffected by his swagger.

  It was all show, it always had been. Hasani was arrogant, cocky and had the heart of a warrior. But he was also kind and exquisitely gentle. He was a good soul, through and through.

  My soul had recognized his. We stood here like magnets, drawn to each other. Time, it seemed, was not our enemy after all. It was just air and space and hours. Anything worth having was able to withstand it.

  I smiled up at him as he held the door for me, still a perfect gentleman. My heart raced with anticipation. I found myself anxious to get to know him all over again, every single facet of this new person that Hasani had become. As I slipped past him, I caught a whiff of his masculine scent. Clean, tangy, outdoorsy. He smelled the same. Unbelievable.

  I couldn’t help myself. I stopped in my tracks right in the middle of the lunch rush and stared up into his dark eyes. This was Hasani. I had known him for so long, even if he didn’t realize it. He was mine.

  Reaching up on my tiptoes, I kissed him softly on the lips. His lips were just as soft as ever and he definitely didn’t pull away. I felt his hands lightly graze my back and I pulled back a few seconds later to find an expression of utter surprise on his face.

  “Wow. California girls are friendly. Um, did I mention that it is so nice to meet you?” His handsome face was a comical combination of shock and enjoyment.

  I nodded happily. “Yep. And it’s so nice to meet you, too.”

  Again.

  EPILOGUE

  The Palace of Queen Cleopatra VII

  Alexandria, Egypt

  August, 30 BC

  The priest seemed to float down the lushly adorned hallway, breezing past the Roman guards with ease. They had seen him many times before, consulting with Charmian before her untimely demise. It did not seem out of the ordinary now that he enter her abandoned bedchambers, so they offered no resistance.

  Closing the doors behind him, Ahmose stood silently for a moment, scanning the room around him. Still and quiet, the room possessed the eerie silence of someone departed. The scent of Charmian’s perfume remained in the air and he breathed it in deeply. He had b
een with her a long time, too long to even remember. He knew her.

  Kneeling in front of a deep chest at the foot of her bed, he rocked it backwards. The weight was difficult to move, so he braced his entire body against it. Supporting it with his shoulder, he slid one hand underneath. His gnarled fingers grazed against papyrus and he closed his hand around it, pulling it out into the light. Easing the silver chest back onto the floor, he perched himself on top of it.

  Her elegant script flowed on the page.

  There is a legend, whispered from generation to generation, of a bird with iridescent crimson feathers and brilliant azure eyes. It lives in a secret, far-away place and feeds only on air, never harming another living creature. Incredibly gentle, it is saddened by the despair of the human race and weeps tears of human torment.

  After a thousand years pass, it builds its own funeral pyre, lining it with cinnamon, myrrh and cassia. Climbing to a rest on the very top, it examines the world all throughout the night with the ability to see true good and evil. When the sun rises the next morning, with great sorrow for all that it sees, it sings a haunting song. As it sings, the heat of the sun ignites the expensive spices and the Phoenix dies in the flames.

  But the Phoenix is not remarkable for its feathers or flames. It is most revered for its ability to climb from its own funeral pyre, from the very ashes of its old charred body, as a brand new life ready to live again once more. Life after life, it goes through this cycle. It absorbs human sorrow, only to rise from death to do it all again. It never wearies, it never tires. It never questions its fate.

  Some say that the Phoenix is real, that it exists somewhere out there in the mountains of Arabia, elusive and mysterious. Others say that the Phoenix is only a wish made by desperate humans to believe in the continuance of life.

  But I know a secret.

  We are the Phoenix.

  Ahmose sighed as he stared at her words. She did this in every life. Dutiful to the very end, she carried out her duties to pristine perfection no matter how bereft she felt.

  But her soul was a dramatic one. And since she didn’t feel comfortable talking with him, she always released her sorrow onto paper, hiding it where she thought it wouldn’t be found for generations, until the paper it was written on had crumpled into nothing.

  But he knew they couldn’t take that chance. Instead of chastising her and reminding her once again of the need for secrecy, he simply searched her belongings after she died each time, always knowing exactly what he would find.

  Holding the fragile paper in his palm, Ahmose uttered a few low words and the paper burst into flame. Dropping it to the stone floor, he watched it until it had turned completely to ashes, turning a spot on the floor black. The Roman guards could think what they may. It was no longer of concern to him.

  For now, he was content to allow her this one breach, this one slip of decorum. In every life, she earned it. Standing to his full height, the ancient Aegis disappeared, leaving only the scent of incense behind.

  The End

  To learn more about Gavin and Macy, please read Fated

  Book Two of the Bloodstone Saga

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  Cleopatra has been the subject of speculation for over two thousand years. Her character, her loves, her personality, her appearance… we don’t really know a lot about her. It is true, that after her death, Gaius Julius Caesar (Octavian) ordered all likenesses of her destroyed. So, we don’t know what she truly looked like, although all indications point toward the probability that she was actually Greek and not Egyptian. Her intelligence speaks for itself. She was able to rule Egypt alone and command Egyptian military fleets. It is also written that she spoke anywhere from 6 to 9 languages. That is a clear indication that she was educated and intelligent.

  Her charm is also legendary. So I choose to believe that she was beautiful and that is the lens that I wrote her in. To me, beauty just seems to go hand-in-hand with enchanting charm. Some have speculated that her affection for Marc Antony has been overstated over the years, that their relationship was merely one of political ambition. I don’t want to believe that, so I choose not to. I choose to believe that Cleopatra and Marc Antony’s relationship was a love story of epic magnitude, tragic and beautiful.

  Pothinus was a real person. He was the regent for Cleopatra’s younger brother, Ptolemy VIII, and was in fact, a eunuch. He was decapitated at Julius Caesar’s orders in approximately 47 or 48 BC. It has been noted that he was quite power hungry so I took literary license and made him a villain in my story. His servant, Tehran, is entirely fictional.

  Not much is known about Charmian, except for the fact that both she and Iras were trusted confidantes who killed themselves with Cleopatra. Charmian was adjusting Cleopatra’s diadem when Roman soldiers broke into the mausoleum and she died at their feet. Obviously, with so few facts to rely on, I have taken a great deal of literary license with her character. Historical records have indicated that Charmian was fairly spunky, so that is how I imagine that she was , which is how I wrote her.

  Marc Antony was jovial and handsome. It has been noted that he very much loved the attention of females and merry-making of almost every type. By all indications, he was an honorable man who was well-liked by almost all that knew him.

  After Antony’s death, Octavian had Antony’s son by Fulvia, Marcus Antonius Antyllus, killed. His other children survived. Through his daughters by Octavia, Marc Antony would become the ancestor to the Roman Emperors Caligula, Claudius and Nero.

  And Octavian, the man of many names. Gaius Julius Caesar was in reality, not a villain. He was simply a very ambitious man with large shoes to fill. After his adopted father, Julius Caesar, made him his heir, Octavian wanted power. And he worked very hard to methodically attain that power.

  I wrote this book from the perspective of someone close to Cleopatra, so of course, it is written from the viewpoint that Octavian was a villain. But everything is a matter of perspective. By all reports, Octavian was a cold-blooded and matter-of-fact person. But he also eventually restored peace to Rome. After the deaths of Cleopatra and Antony, Rome entered a period of peace called the Pax Romana, which lasted for over two centuries.

  Despite his rumored cold-blooded nature, Octavian allowed his sister (and Marc Antony’s ex-wife) Octavia to raise Cleopatra and Antony’s twins, Selene and Ptolemy. He also allowed Cleopatra and Antony to be entombed together. Their tomb has never been found.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Courtney Cole is a YA novelist who loves Lake Michigan but is terrified of buoys and sea gulls. That makes for some interesting days at the beach. She was born and raised in Kansas where it is too hot in the summer to do anything but read. So growing up, she read stacks and stacks of books. She learned from an early age that if she didn’t like an ending, she could just write her own. And that’s how she discovered that she was a writer.

  She migrated from Kansas to northern Indiana, just a stone’s throw from Chicago and Lake Michigan. She lives in the suburbs with her real life Prince Charming, her ornery kids (there is a small chance that they get their orneriness from their mother) and small domestic zoo.

  To learn more about Courtney and her books, visit her website at:

  www.courtneycolewrites.com

  Other books by Courtney Cole:

  Fated (Book Two of the Bloodstone Saga)

  Princess

  Guardian

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I want to thank my family and friends who regularly ask about my writing--- how it is going, what my characters are up to, etc. You’re my sounding boards and my cheerleaders. You help make my writing life real- and I love you for it.