Manara jerked her hand away with a gasp, her body on fire in ways she was unaware it could be before this moment. Fear and agony plunged through her soul and tears slicked her cheeks. She knew this feeling, and she knew her vision was real. The desperate desire curling within her drew her to this man in both body and soul, beyond her power to control. However, if her vision told her anything, it was desire was dangerous. Desire was not reason enough to cast aside her destiny or risk the wrath of Ishtar again, no matter how little she might look forward to her future duties. She was more than her animal passions. Her first training -- from the moment of her birth -- was duty to her people. She would not forget those lessons. She could not afford to repeat the mistakes of her ancestor.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, her fingers went unerringly to his skin, and her movement slowed to a dreamy, seductive pattern as the memory of her vision danced in her head. She knew how easily she could give in to him; seduce him in spite of her confession of innocence. She knew how it all worked, in theory if not practice, and her pulse accelerated at the realization of how little effort on her part would move them beyond this stalemate.
Unfortunately, she understood regrets more than anyone would ever know. Matthew would not understand why she could not give him just her body, or why she would not give him her heart or soul. She could not offer herself, knowing he would be unaware the lives doing so would destroy. It was the reason she was forbidden sexual contact, after all. The danger was not in sex, but in giving away her power and her soul in the process. This, she could not do, so she was restricted from contact with men.
Manara sighed to herself, and admitted the wisdom of aging and mistakes jaundiced. A younger Manara had not understood why she was kept hidden from men. All she saw was the sexual contact she was forbidden. She had no understanding of the complicated relationships such contact formed. Now, she knew the debts far too well. The visions of her ancestor, and the wrath she risked, the debts she could never repay, to know the love of a man strictly forbidden to her, were burned into Manara's mind. The pain of losing both a brother and a father figure were terrible enough. To place her soul in another's keeping...
Manara shuddered and moved to withdraw her touch, but a strong, warm hand closed over hers, stilling her. Startled, Manara jerked upright, a gasp escaped her as she looked down into dark eyes that brought back the sensations of her vision. The desire there nearly swept her away.
"Hey." His gravelly voice clouded with recent sleep, the intimacy of the moment shivered through her. She could come to count on this too much. She pulled away and watched his brow furrow as he raised himself onto his elbows. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"
"N-nothing," she managed in a shaky voice. "I am... merely curious about your scar. It is very unusual."
He reached for her hand, now clenched in her lap, and placed it back over the marred patch of skin. Her throat closed as her heart and lungs twisted. Her gaze jumped to his and she couldn't explain the emotion that choked her at the sad light in his eyes.
"It's okay. That's one of the less painful memories I carry. I got it trying to save people I loved."
She averted her gaze at the equally strong surge of love and bittersweet agony radiating from him. She could not bear this intimacy. It made her ache for something she could never have.
"I... I am sorry," she whispered, and was surprised to realize she really meant it. Whatever caused his sorrow helped to form the man who rushed into the desert, determined to chase his own death. She was very sorry for that.
Matt squeezed her hand lightly. "Don't be. They would never have asked for or wanted anyone's pity. They wouldn't have wanted anyone's grief."
Surprise pulled her gaze back to his face, and the misty pride in his eyes awed her. She did not know much about this man, but she knew his respect was difficult to earn. Whoever's rescue earned him Ishtar's mark must have been very special indeed. "Who were they?"
His gaze was unfocused and his response hoarse. "My parents."
Terrible pain clutched Manara's heart at this new common ground between them. Unbidden came flashes of memory -- a defiant flight from a temple in Syria, a remorseful return, and regrets. So many regrets. Ashes, blown by the desert winds, scattered in the desert sands. Silent tears traced her cheeks.
"How... How did they die?" Her query was a whisper as she fought the truth already in his eyes. Inwardly, her heart cried, Please do not let it be the same way!
Matt had to clear his throat twice before he could speak.
"They died in a car accident when I was a kid. I should have died too, except Mom threw me clear of the car just before it tumbled down the hillside. I must have rolled for quite a ways. I don't remember much except struggling to get the car door open, trying to get to Mom. Afterward, the doctors said they cut a chunk of rock from my shoulder and stitched me back up. All I remember is the fire and Mom screaming."
Manara froze, and terror washed through her at the memory of a prophetic dream. Fire. Screaming. One world dead, so another could be born.
"Inanna, no," she whispered beneath her breath in Sumerian as her eyes went to the scar on his shoulder, pleading with her Goddess to alter a past already done. She knew he performed an act of great courage and sacrifice to receive his mark. It was a brand of courage, a mark of Ishtar's esteem for his act of selfless love. He was an orphan, as well. It was a parallel she could not ignore, no matter how she wished.
They had something else in common, yet so far apart. They had both become orphans through the most destructive elemental force in the world. That much they shared. However, while he struggled against unforeseen catastrophe to rescue those he loved, she ran from her destiny and failed everyone she claimed to love in an act of selfish rebellion.
The burn of shame flooded her face. She held herself apart from him in the misguided assumption that her purity, her duty, made him unworthy. The truth was staggering. He was not the one who ran from change or duty. Matthew Raleigh was not the one unworthy of love.
Unable to face him in her shame, Manara leapt to her feet and fled the tent, oblivious to the freezing desert night and the sound of Matthew's worried voice calling her name. She deserved no comfort for her shameful acts; she was unworthy of comfort, honor or love. She was the worst kind of coward.
Matt propped himself on one elbow, his brow wrinkled in concern. He didn't know what to make of Manara's hurried exit or the panic on her face just before she fled. She confused him. She came across as fragile, uncertain and naïve to the ways of the world, but the strength in her eyes belied her fragility, and the world-weariness there wiped away all thought of naïveté. He was certain of one thing -- Manara had a core of steel. The real mystery lay in her far-too-frequent silences. Everything about her said she was running scared, but from what? She stood up to him with righteous pride and fury the other night. That wasn't the attitude of someone scared of discovery. Who was the real Manara, and how did he get through to her?
Matt fell back to the bed with an impatient sigh. He didn't ask for this and he sure as hell didn't want it. He hated mysteries. He lacked the patience necessary to solve them. He was a soldier, not an investigator -- a man of action, not a puzzle solver. Yet, Manara fascinated him in a way no human being ever had before. Ever since he first met her gaze across that dock, dreams that troubled him his whole life took an erotic turn. Matt wanted nothing more than time he didn't have to unravel a mystery he was deeply afraid to solve. First things first -- he had to figure out why she kept running from him.
*****
The darkness stirred with power. A howl of triumph boiled within his breast to know his Mistress had not abandoned him. She promised him souls to give him strength and return his power. As long as he gladly did her bidding, she would grant him dominion of all the world's nations. First, he must free himself from the prison the Musir's life power forged around him.
He licked his lips as he passed a hand through another of the labyrinth's walls, searchin
g. Somewhere, Sargon hid the Star Blade, and its power could restore Urasat to his full strength with the proper incantations. He hungered for that power, and the chance to walk the upper world again. He sensed the souls out there, the brewing hatred and fear, the evil on which he could glut himself and truly become the Conqueror of Nations once his right.
He howled with rage as his hand came away empty yet again. For millennia, he hunted the blade, in vain. These searches weakened him and the hum of power he couldn't follow fuelled his rage. He would have that blade, but for now, he must rest.
He had called Onuris' servants to him and he held one of his Mistress' ancient enemies in thrall. Once he brought them all to him, he would have his sacrifice, and he would finally be able to escape this prison. He would have his feast of death and misery, to slake his bottomless hunger. Until then, he would rest and survive on the fear and hate he could feel even from his prison beneath the sand.
Chapter Seven
Finally.
Black Widow yanked open the door of her hotel room but caught herself before demanding her prize. She couldn't appear too eager. She had to maintain the upper hand. With a calm, cool manner she had perfected over the years, she smiled at the handsome young man on the other side and gestured him inside. She'd been waiting for him, wondering if he'd figure out what the keys were for and double-cross her.
Of course, if he did that, she'd have to kill him, which would be a shame since he made the perfect patsy for her plans. Yet here he was, which meant either he hadn't read those tablets close enough or he was a total idiot. It would be dangerous for her to assume the latter.
"You brought them?"
Ra'id al-Mawsil nodded curtly, his manner as stiff as ever. Sinister glee twisted in her, to know being around her so clearly frightened him. This was a perfect turn of events, because she needed him to be petrified. Only his fear would draw the demon to him and make it vulnerable to her command. Still, she had to be careful and play this just right. Regardless of his fear, Ra'id still had the power of a Goddess behind him, no matter how much he chose to ignore it.
"May I?" She held out her hand and smiled as he dropped the small burlap pouch into it, as if he thought she might bite. She resisted the urge to laugh. If only he knew what he surrendered so easily!
"Were they difficult to find?" Her sources said yes, and the Brotherhood of Spiders spent millennia hunting these.
"I have the resources." Ra'id shrugged and paced away, clearly not interested in her trophy. Black Widow laughed inwardly. The fool had no idea how priceless these keys were. He had no idea of the power they opened the path to.
She smiled as she emptied the contents of the burlap pouch into her hand, and four metal icons winked at her in the light. Copper, bronze, gold, and silver. These four keys opened the hiding places of four of the world's oldest and most powerful treasures. Legend said there was also an obsidian mirror, meant to locate the hidden Temple of the Stars once she possessed the fifth key, fabled to be flesh-and-blood. Once she found the mirror and key, she would have everything she needed to bring the five Powers together, and open the Portal.
She heard a snort of disbelief from her companion, and looked up into Ra'id's skeptical expression.
"I still do not understand why you would want those," he sneered. "Four metal trinkets are worth risking your life?"
She eyed him frostily. "Does it matter to you? Did you find what you wanted?"
Ra'id laughed. "Yes. The manuscripts of Ashurbanipal have revealed the entrance to the last of the heathen temples. Soon, everything will be cleansed of their vile touch."
Black Widow's lips curved in a cruel smile as she watched him leave. Deluded fool. Oh, Ra'id al-Mawsil would open the temple at Nineveh, but he would find himself a captive, not a conqueror. She needed something to distract the creature in the labyrinth, and Ra'id's little obsession would be just the thing. He'd get rid of his annoying little sister and free her path into the temple. Touching the keys reverently, the woman saw lifetimes of dreams coming true. Once the Brotherhood had all five artifacts, they would return Onuris to the world. Only one man could stop them. Black Widow smiled darkly. She'd just have to make certain Matthew Raleigh was disposed of quickly.
First, she had another pawn to set in motion.
At her bedside table, she picked up the bedside phone, cradling it in one hand as she moved back to the window. To get to the Portal of Kronos, she would need to build her own army of loyal servants. Onuris had the Brotherhood, but it failed. She would have to do better. Fortunately, she knew just where to start.
Lifting the phone's handset, she punched in a familiar number and waited as the other end of the line rang.
"Hello?"
"Gordon? It's Rachel."
There was a pause from the other end of the line, and she wondered for a moment if she'd lost the connection, before he released a long sigh. "An' here I thought you went and forgot about me, love."
Her lips quirked up in a smug grin. She had this one firmly in hand. Gordon McGuire was fool enough to love her, and twice the fool to believe she loved him back. She needed him to carry out her plans. Until she was done with him, she had to nurture his misconception.
Getting into character, she paced back across her hotel room again and stretched out across the bed seductively, the phone's handset tucked into the crook of her neck. She ran her tongue over her lips as she let her fingers skim across the bed sheet, and picked up the thin gold key, shaped like Ogham letters.
"I have a surprise for you, Gordon."
She heard his excited intake of breath. "Ah, love, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me. When will I have it?"
"Within the week. As soon as I'm sure they're the real deal, I'll have one of my boys transport it directly to you in Belfast."
Her smile widened as she listened to Gordon's thanks. He had no idea he played directly into her plans. These keys were her path to immortality. Together with the four sacred artifacts, they opened the legendary Temple of the Stars and accessed the Portal of Kronos, fabled to have the power to create gods. She was hungry for godhood, but even hungrier to release the Portal's only prisoner. Onuris.
Black Widow's lips curved upward in greedy anticipation as she rose from the bed and moved to the room's small table. Her hand skimmed each of the keys as she savored the future she was about to unleash.
"What do you expect me to do with this key, once I've got it, love?" McGuire's question yanked her attention back from lustful dreams of godhood. Before she could obtain that, she needed complete control of the Brotherhood. Starting with this man.
"I expect you to claim what's rightfully yours," she purred into the phone. "The resting place of the spear is somewhere on O'Bannon land."
"Red Widow's not goin' to like this, love. She's always laid claim to that piece o' land, herself."
She snorted in disdain. Europe's Widow was of little consequence to her. The rivalry between the Brotherhood's regional leaders, known as Widows, went much deeper than anyone else in the Brotherhood knew. As for Red Widow...the self-absorbed bitch who ran Europe's Brotherhood had no vision. She couldn't see that the power of Aermórnosa belonged to the most worthy of the Widows. Her, the Black Widow. There was only room for one at the top, and once she had the power of the monster at Nineveh under her command, no one would doubt her worthiness. Onuris remained trapped on the other side of the Portal. She would free him and take her rightful place by his side, as a Goddess
"Joy is only an O'Bannon through adoption, Gordon. You are the blood heir. It's your birthright."
"And Talladay?"
That was the one kink in her plan. Sinead Talladay's prodigal son. Fortunately, she knew exactly how to take care of that problem. A dark grin tugged at her ruby-tinted lips. "I'll take care of him. You just find that cairn."
"I will." As McGuire signed off, his tone hesitant, she knew she still had work to do. For all his hatred for the family that abandoned him, Gordon McGuire still harbored guilt for t
he murder of the woman who gave birth to him. Damned those Catholic sentiments; they were harder to get rid of than she anticipated.
Black Widow sighed and reached for a pen and paper as well as two envelopes out of her briefcase. This called for direct intervention. Her ties to the Irish Republican Army would assure Gordon came around to her point of view. She dropped the key into one envelope and sealed it. That would be hand-delivered to Gordon.
A quick letter to Connor Flannery would assure all ran according to her plans in Ireland. She addressed and sealed the letter, then crossed the room and opened the door, looking at one of the men who flanked it.
"Cameron, be a dear and deliver these personally. The first is to Gordon McGuire. The other is to Connor Flannery, at Flannery's Meats, in Dublin."
As the brawny, golden-haired man took the envelopes, she turned her smile on the other guard. She needed to harvest energy for what lay ahead. She needed a willing sacrifice.
"Fayd, please, come inside." She struck a provocative pose as Cameron sauntered off. Her smile was full of promise as she let one bare thigh slip through her robe. Fayd's eyes glazed over with lust as he focused on her body. She poured out the sensual energy she used to keep her minions in thrall. This was far too easy, even at her age. Age would become irrelevant, once she got to the Portal.
With a wicked grin, she eased back into the room and beckoned with one cherry-red tipped digit. Fayd's lust would raise her power level, and his blood would sustain her youthful appearance a short while longer. She licked her lips in anticipation. With what she gained here, she would be step closer to a power more vital than any of these.
*****
She stood before him, her nearly naked body gleaming beneath the torchlight and her tight-tipped breasts heaving with the effort of drawing deep breaths. Her dance had been powerful, but not nearly as powerful as her effect on him. Her eyes were like storm clouds after a sweeping rain, and lightning arced between them as he rose from his bed of cushions. She backed away a step, her eyes widening with fear. "I should go."
In Her Name Page 6