Stone of Ascension (8 page)

She stiffened, retreating a step as he approached. “What are you doing?” Her hand went protectively over the stone.

He extended the ring again. “I believe this will snap in place around the stone and contain the energy. I don’t want the stone. But others will. We need to stop the energy broadcast that the stone is emanating, and the circle should do that.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she understood one important fact—he didn’t want the stone
.

Again, relief swamped her. Did she trust him? Did she have a choice?

Her hand shook as she stretched it out to snatch the offered ring. What did he mean by ”contain the energy”? She fumbled with the chain, lifting it from her chest to eye the stone. The chain was attached to a corner of the stone by a small loop so it hung suspended in the diamond shape.

She lifted her gaze, unclear on what he wanted her to do. Damian reached out, extracted the ring from her grip, and then carefully set the circle around the stone where it rested in her palm.

Within seconds, the sensations died—the heightened awareness, the insistent vibration that rubbed imperceptibly over the hairs on her skin, the weighted denseness in the air that surrounded them were all gone.

Amazing.

“You felt that?” Damian held her gaze. “That was the energy. Now, pinch the ring into the small clasps on the corners of the stone to hold it in place.” A spark of stinging flames shot up her arm at the simple brush of his fingers over her palm. She flinched at the strange sensation and the quick withdrawal of his hand indicated he’d felt it too. Was that the energy? The odd feeling ignited a longing within her that was unfounded and unfamiliar.

She snapped the ring into place and let the stone fall back to her chest. It looked stunning, the violet diamond mounted within the simple gold ring resting against the navy cotton of her shirt.

“Now, your name.”

“Why?” She buttoned the coat then crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“So I can stop thinking of you as the lost beauty.”

His admission stunned her. She took a step back. Her instant denial was no doubt a result of the last time someone had called her beautiful. Nate. And look where trusting had gotten her then.

She cautiously assessed him. Like always, his clothing was impeccable and cut to accentuate his strength. The crisp white shirt under his dark suit appeared even whiter beside the golden tones of his skin, and the royal violet tie was knotted to perfection. Everything about him spoke of power. Despite all that had happened, he still drew her in, pulled at her until she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be protected by him. To be held and cherished by a man so totally in control.

“Amber.” The small concession was given as a challenge. She lifted her chin and waited.

He gave a slight nod in acceptance. “Amber. How appropriate.”

“Why?”

“Your name is very powerful,” he answered. “Amber—the blood of trees. It is formed from nature to shield and protect against infection, to give a tree a chance to heal as it restores itself from the inside out. It is the color of liquid sunshine, yellow for the midday sun and orange for the fiery sunset. It is alive, still and active. It is the balance that harmonizes yin and yang, as well as the past, present and future. It has the power to change negative energy into positive energy. But most importantly, it provides protection. Something you are now in need of.”

Her lips thinned. “I don’t need protection.”

“Oh, you need more protection than you can imagine.”

Her panic flared, but she tried to control it. It was a pointless endeavor, but she would contain it—there was no way she would let him see it. This was all too extreme and beyond real. Every fiber of her body rejected the crushing feeling of being trapped and forced into something she wanted no part of.

A chill that had nothing to do with the weather snaked over her. She exhaled, trying to maintain her calm and gather her wits. There had to be some logic in this. But there had been no logic to any of the things that had happened to her since New York City. Why should this be any different?

“How did we get here? No, wait.” She held up her hand to stop his answer. “I don’t want to know. Just take me home. I don’t care where we are or how we got here. Just take me home.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Obviously you can since you brought us here. What you’re saying is you won’t.”

She turned away and paced to the end of the narrow front porch. Her boots thumped against the worn planks of wood. The barren landscape that greeted her off the back and side of the house offered no escape and did nothing to ease her tension. She turned back to him.

“If there’s some big enclave here, where are you hiding it?”

“The energy field that circles our lands presents the illusion of what you would expect to see. The energy repels normal humans from investigating further and also prohibits anyone from entering who doesn’t have permission.”

She swallowed. Energy fields? “All right. I know who you are, but maybe I should ask
what
you are.”

Sighing, he extracted his hand from a pocket and rubbed it over the back of his neck. The first sign of frustration she’d seen from him. He returned his hand to his pocket and met her eyes.

“I’m an Energen. We are an evolved branch of homo sapiens and have been here since life began.”

He looked completely serious, but Amber was having a very hard time keeping a straight face. “Okay, I’ll play—evolved how?”

“By evolved, I mean we have the ability to control the energy and elements of the earth.”

This time, she did laugh. She scuffed her foot over the wisps of snow that had collected on the porch. “Really? You expect me to believe that?”

Her laughter did not spread to him. He continued to look at her with a straight face. “Can you find another explanation for how we arrived here?”

Her laughter died. Damn. “How’d you do that?” Guess it was time to tackle that question.

Now he smiled. “Energy. Simply put, I broke down the energy within us and then used the energy around us to move us here.”

Big damn. As advanced as humans might be, she’d not heard of any human traveling through the air via molecular disintegration as of yet.

“So, what—you’re an alien?” Seemed like the next logical thing to assume. As if aliens were logical.

“No.” He shook his head patiently. “I’m just as human as you are.”

He certainly looked human. But still, it was a little too extreme to easily process. Even with her exposure to the tribe shaman and his seemingly mystical abilities, jumping into the realm of foreign species with unnatural powers was an entirely different thing.

But then, she apparently had a tattoo permanently etched onto her hand because she’d touched a stone.

“Why am I here? What do you want with me?” Edging down her panic, she tried to focus on the facts. Stepping over to a window, she peered inside, but could see nothing through the white-backed curtain that blocked the view. She gave up and looked back to Damian.

His night-sky eyes stared into hers, making her feel exposed and emotionally vulnerable. “I told you. You are the Marked One.” He tilted his head, indicating her hand, which was hidden under the length of his coat sleeve. “There are prophecies going back thousands of years predicting your appearance. Telling of how you will have the power to influence the fate of the world. How you and you alone can turn the tide between good and evil. You, Amber, are now the most important person in my world. In the world of my people. It is my duty to bring you in.”

What?
“Oh, no, no, no. That
cannot
be true. I am
not
that girl,” Amber denied as she edged toward the stairs. “Believe me. I’m not the adventure girl who’s going to change the world. Attending protest rallies is about as daring as I get. So you can take me home, and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

The stoic look on his face told her Damian wasn’t buying it. She wet her lips, then darted down the short flight of steps and sprinted through the narrow path into the snow. She had no idea where she was going, but getting away was imperative. The need to escape pressed on her, propelling her legs until she dropped with a jolt, sunk thigh deep into a snowdrift.

“There’s nowhere to run.”

His cool voice chiseled at her nerves. Releasing a frustrated sigh, she leaned back and yanked on her leg until it emerged from the depths of the snow. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to stand here and wait for you to drag me off to my death.” She straightened and turned back to the house only to find him standing directly in front of her. Damn, he was quiet.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Amusement flickered over his face as he watched her shake and stomp the snow off her leg. “Or, as you say, drag you to your death. But I do need to turn you in.”

She froze. “What do you mean, turn me in?” What in the hell was he talking about? Panic edged back in to take an icy hold on her remaining calm.

He looked away to stare across the frozen field. The wind gusted up, pummeling them both as they stood open and exposed to the elements.

“It’s for your own protection.”

The way he refused to look at her had Amber doubting the truth of his last statement. She grabbed at her hair, the wind forcing it to dance and fly in wild streams around her head and over her face. Silently cursing, she tried to rein in the strands. This was one of those days where she wished she had the courage to just cut it all off.

She jumped when his hands brushed against her head to control the wild mass of flying hair. A spark that she now associated with pure energy raced along her scalp and down her back, warming her entire body. It edged back the panic and shot spears of longing straight to her core. How did he do that?

“There,” he said once she had the mass clamped tightly in her hands. He stood so close she had to tilt her head back to look at him. His hands still rested on her head, entwined within her hair. He looked down at her with an intensity that had her blood suddenly boiling. This man, this stranger, affected her in a way that he shouldn’t. In a way that should have her running away scared instead of slowing leaning forward, pulled in by his touch and the unchecked desire that was evident in his eyes.

Abruptly, he pulled away. “Come back to the porch. At least it offers some break from the wind.” He turned and walked toward the house without waiting to see if she followed. His assumption of her obedience irritated her, but there was nowhere to run. There were no tracks in the snow or even a plowed driveway to indicate that anyone had been at the farmhouse since the snow began last fall.

The house itself was well kept, with pale yellow paint, white trim and the broad white porch that stretched across the front of the two-story structure. Curtains hung closed over every window, and empty clay flower pots were tucked into the corners of the porch, waiting for spring to arrive. There was no hint of neglect, but it felt absolutely deserted.

Once again, logic won out over stubbornness. It was stupid, and cold, to stand out in the wind. And she wasn’t really scared of him. By him. Maybe it was because she’d watched him for so long that it felt like she knew him. Despite the oddity of what was happening and the exceedingly strange and unbelievable events that had been thrust upon her, the man himself did not inspire fear.

Now the events themselves, those were another thing.

She discounted the strange feelings left by his touch and followed him up the steps, lifting the hem of his coat to keep from tripping. She looked around and waited for him to say something.

He didn’t.

“So why do you think I’m this so-called Marked One?” she finally put out there as she took the time to roll up the sleeves of his coat. Questions were way preferred to the uncomfortable silence that threatened to pull away the false calm she presented.

“Because you are. The mark on the back of your hand—the white bird rising—is a rare and unique symbol that will only appear on the one who has the strength to control its power.”

Reflex had her tucking her exposed hands into the deep pockets of his coat.

“You’re wrong,” she bluffed. “I picked out the design and had the tattoo put on at a tattoo parlor. I’m not this Marked One.” Amber willed back the blush that would give her away.

“No. I’m not wrong.” His gaze held hers. “You are the Marked One. The energy tells me so. It screams of power, of vitality, of ancient ways that will be called to use with your arrival.”

So much for lying. Amber struggled for another answer. “Then there must be a mistake. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong girl. That kind of thing happens all the time.”

He shook his head, denying her doubt. “We have waited thousands of years for your appearance. There is no mistake. No accident. No wrong girl. You, Amber, you
are
the one.”

Before she could fire off another denial, the door to the house swung open, eerily silent. Absent was the squeaky hinges or click of the door latch that usually accompanied the action.

Damian stepped between her and the man who had appeared in the doorway. Damian’s entire body became a mass of tightly held muscle. His hands were out of his pockets and clenched at his sides. He pulled his shoulders back, straightening his spine until every last inch of his imposing height was displayed.