The Lost Garden (The Lost Garden Trilogy Book 1) by K.T. Tomb

some damage to him from that position, but she chose not to and allowed herself to experience the new sensation.
    He didn’t have to drop her like a sack of potatoes. She might have to get him back for that. The moment she thought this, a secret pleasure surged through her. She was always game for a little innocent revenge. Life got boring after a few centuries, holed up in a forgotten mountain.
    Jess also realized that she would not have given herself up to just anybody. The male was, after all, the Chosen One, no matter how much it displeased her. He had proven himself in battle, although his moment of weakness was unforgivable. He had no reason to kill her and he chose not to, even when she had faltered at the sight of the Garden painting. He was clearly strong, slinging her six-foot, four-inch frame over his shoulder like it was nothing and she respected that as well.
    She trusted the man. His motivations were simple. He wanted answers and appeared to be looking for nothing else. At least, for now. Jessima was well aware of the nature of man. She had disposed of many who had come on to her during the course of her world travels for information and knowledge.
    The male clearly had strong emotional reactions, and her heart, which was buried deep beneath her warrior exterior, went out to him, but she wouldn’t show him that.
    When he was done with his speech, he stood over her, arms folded, waiting for answers. The only problem was that she wasn’t ready to give them yet.
    “I’m hungry, mortal. What do you have here to eat?”
    “Eat? I have nothing here to eat.”
    She tapped her fingers on the wooden arm of his couch. Her nails were short and hard.
    He crossed his arms over his chest and rubbed his shoulders. “Fine. I should call the cops and have you arrested for breaking and entering, but instead, I’ll order you a pizza.”
    Her stomach grumbled at the thought. She had long ago fallen in love with the Italian pizza pie. She had not had the American version since her last visit, forty years earlier. She smiled. “I love pizza.”
    “I’m sure you do.” He walked over to his kitchen and removed a wall-mounted phone. He then proceeded to dial a number from a magnet attached to his refrigerator. He squinted as he leaned in close to see the number. He didn’t bother turning on the kitchen light. He seemed to prefer darkness. She, too, preferred darkness, having spent eons within the tunnel network of the mountain she called home. Although the tunnels were now lighted with sophisticated track lighting, some of the lesser used-offshoots were still lit by wall-mounted torches.
    He stepped into the living room with his hand over the phone’s speaker. “What do you want on it?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What toppings do you want on your pizza?”
    “Everything, mortal. Everything they have and tell them to hurry. I am impatient for the pizza pie.”
    He shook his head and stepped back into the kitchen. “Put everything on it, mort—” He caught himself and Jessima stifled a laugh. “Just give us the supreme, okay?”
    He finished the order and stepped back into the living room. “They will rush it, your highness, in approximately forty minutes.”
    “That is hardly rushing.”
    It was his turn to smile. “Sorry, sister, but that’s the best they can do.”
    He pulled up the coffee table until it was directly in front of her. He sat down just feet from her. “Now, Jessima IL Eve, will you please tell me what the hell is going on around here?”
    Despite the hunger that raged through her, which was a side effect of the oil, she understood his need for answers. He sat before her, hands together, dark eyes lost in the muted half-light of the room. She could detect a faint wet gleam and she knew that he was desperate.
    “First,” she said, “I am known as Jess to those who know me. You now qualify as one of the few who know of me.”
    “Lucky me,” he said.
    She ignored the sarcasm. “Second, we