Every Last Kiss, Final Copy, June 30, 2011 (29 page)

      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 been 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. 

To my mom:  Thank you for being concerned enough about my soul to request that I clarify that I don’t personally believe in reincarnation or foreign/ancient gods.  I don’t.  But I do find ancient myths and cultures fascinating and I have the utmost respect for the religions and beliefs of others. 

Lastly, I would like to thank the wonderful and amazing Christel Michiels for creating such beautiful cover art.  You are brilliant and talented and very, very patient.

If you enjoyed “EVERY LAST KISS”, you might also enjoy “I WISH” by debut author Wren Emerson

Coming in May 2011 from Lakehouse Press

EXCERPT from Chapter One of I WISH

When a two hundred and fifty pound man takes a swing at your face, the last thing you want is to be blind. But that's exactly the predicament I found myself in while fighting Shep Claphan one September afternoon. I could hear voices murmuring around us, but I couldn't hear him. I knew less about Shep's past than I did about my own, but I always imagined him as a soldier or a stunt man or a martial arts expert. And he was attempting to kick my ass. Not exactly a challenge when you consider that I was 5'7" to his 6'4" and weighed half as much.

I didn't hear his foot lash out until it caught me in the stomach. It stung, but it was obvious since I was still standing that he pulled most of the power of that kick. What I did hear was the gasps of the people that surrounding us. I swung in the direction the kick had come from, but I didn't hit anything.

Chuckles from the peanut gallery.

He kicked the back of my leg, forcing me to take a knee.

Behind me.

I swept my leg along the ground, hoping to knock his feet out from under him, but he was too fast. I followed the movement into a standing position and punched in short efficient jabs. I was gratified to feel one land somewhere soft. It wasn't a solid connection and judging by the way it slid off his body, it was most likely his shoulder. At least now I had an idea of what his position was. I swung at him again, but missed by a mile, judging from the reactions of the people watching.

"I can see you. I can dodge you if I can see it coming. You can't see me so you don't have that advantage. You need to use whatever other information you can gather. Listen for my breathing. Hear the leaves and sticks being crushed under my feet. Smell me sweating if you have to. When I move in close your body knows it, it feels my heat and the air I disturb around you. Listen to what your body is telling you."

Shep's voice was normally a sound I enjoyed, the deep bass mellow and soothing and a perfect match to his barrel chested body, but right then I just wanted to slap him. He wouldn't end practice until I managed at least a couple of good hits, but my past experiences with this had been less than impressive. I didn't expect much more from this one.

I tried to push back my irritation. His advice was sound even if the last thing I wanted to do right now was admit he was right. I took a deep breath and tried to narrow my focus. Shut out the whispers and giggles from the people around us. Shut out the aches from my muscles and the deep throbbing of forming bruises.
Ignore it, it doesn't help me.

I didn't hear him move so much as I felt the way his shifting body crossed the sunlight on my face. When he swung at my face I was ready. I knew the direction he was coming from and I grabbed his arm and used it for balance as I kicked him twice in his ribs under the arm I held immobilized. Hearing his breath exhale with a sharp woofing sound was gratifying, but I didn't pause to celebrate the minor victory. I dropped his arm and danced backwards out of reach before he could grab me. I've been flipped by Shep before and it ranks high up on my list of things I'd rather avoid.