In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  The blonde woman's face and hands gleamed dark red under dim torches and candlelight chasing shadows through the dark basement. He froze, his heart pounding heavy in his throat as horror and fear filled his lungs. His attention darted from her to the dismembered animals scattered through the blood covering the floor and nausea overwhelmed him.

  His trembling knees gave out and he sank to the floor, doubled over and retched. The dizzying scent of fresh blood and vomit gagged him. Through the rush of blood in his ears, he heard a laugh that chilled him to the core.

  "Matthew, darling, come and kiss me hello," she sang out in a sweet, sinister voice. "Surely a big, strong boy like you isn't frightened by a little blood."

  The terrible memory clung to Matt even after he wrenched himself free with a shudder. His chest felt enclosed in lead as he drew deep breaths, his eyes closed against the sick twist in his stomach. He wasn't that scared kid anymore. That was the past, and it was where Rachel Murray belonged. His gaze snapped to the trigger for his memory and he told himself the situation couldn't possibly be the same. Whatever magic Manara worked on this girl, it couldn't possibly have any connection to Rachel's depravity, could it?

  Manara rose from the floor, wiping her hands on the edge of her skirt, and each movement looked driven by pure will. She glanced at him and the weariness shimmering in her dark eyes wrenched his heart. Whatever she did took something vital and precious out of her, and gave him the answer he needed. Manara only hurt herself. Which didn't make him feel any better. His protective instinct flared hot as he reached out to steady her when she wavered as if faint.

  "What's wrong?"

  Her tired smile yanked at his heart even before she shook her head. "I am just tired, Matthew. I will be fine in a moment."

  She took a breath, then a step to prove her point, and nearly collapsed. Only Matt's strong arms and quick reflexes kept her upright. Immediately, white-clad women surrounded them, all chattering in the same melodious language Manara and Shahdi spoke earlier. Manara brushed away their concerns gently but firmly, her expression unyielding. Her body heaved against his as she drew another deep breath before she stepped away from him. She swayed ominously, then settled into herself and smiled reassuringly. The women eyed her dubiously, but Matt noticed none of them seemed inclined to argue the point with her. Well, they might not, but he sure as hell would.

  "What happened?" He demanded as she turned to face him. He would accept nothing short of the truth, he decided with a scowl, even as he saw the denial forming in her eyes. "The truth, this time."

  Manara looked up into Matthew's scowling face and knew she could not evade him this time. This was the face of the Warrior-King and he would brook no untruths from her. Swallowing, she looked into the roiling depths of the mighty Tigris in his eyes, and knew she must either leap or flee. And if she fled? Manara sucked in a sharp breath as she remembered her moment of staggering weakness. If she fled him, she would face the demon that awaited her alone. With a drained sigh, she accepted her only course and leapt headlong into the tumult.

  "The child was dying."

  His eyes flashed with annoyance. "That much I know. What did you do?"

  She returned her attention to her peacefully sleeping patient as she fought for the calm to continue. Matthew would not understand if she told him. A darkness she could not penetrate colored his beliefs about the supernatural. She must tread carefully. She wished to help him understand that magic, like every coin, had two sides. One wrong word, however, could drive him away forever. Whatever she did, she could never tell him how she saved his life.

  "Shahdi has been treating the child with agrimony and bistort with no lasting result."

  His brow furrowed. "I thought bilharzia wasn't normally lethal."

  "You are correct." She worried over this case for a while. Kianga was one of the Arru Sehheru -- one of the cursed children the ishtaristu rescued from a deadly organization they encountered in Damascus. The Brotherhood of Spiders turned their demons loose on children like Kianga and she still could not figure out why. She could not tell Matthew this. Not yet. Perhaps never. "But that does not mean it cannot be lethal."

  His eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?"

  She swallowed hard. She couldn't tell him. He wasn't ready to accept it. Still, she had no choice, now that he demanded answers. She closed her eyes, and let the words out. "There was a demon in her body. For the herbs to cure her, I had to drive it away. That is what I did."

  Matt blinked at her, his expression telling her clearly he thought he misheard her. "Demon? What the hell are you talking about, Manara?"

  This was where any explanation she gave could doom her. Manara's heart pounded hard in her throat, and she struggled for an answer that would not turn this man into her enemy. "This region has many... ancient spirits. They... feed upon the weaknesses that all people possess. Most do little harm, but some are dangerous, even deadly. It is my task to drive these spirits from the injured and ill."

  He snorted and his gaze turned away from her. Manara's heart cracked at that motion. Her future was in jeopardy. His next words proved it. "That's just ridiculous superstition."

  She would have felt betrayed, except for the hint of wary fear in his expression. Whether he chose to admit it or not, Matthew Raleigh believed more than he claimed. There was still hope she could reach him before it was too late for them all.

  "Is it?" She drew herself up, prepared to be brutally honest with him. She had nothing more to lose, now. "That 'ridiculous superstition,' as you call it, was all that saved your life, Commander Raleigh."

  He froze, and she watched panic cross his hazel eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "When I found you, you were beneath a pile of canyon rock and sand that would have crushed the life from any other man. There was so much blood that I feared there was not a drop left in you. I dug you out of the rubble anyway, because the very thing you despise brought me to you."

  His eyes widened, and the panic there skyrocketed. "A demon?"

  "No." She smiled sadly. "The spirit world. I could have left you to the darkness prowling that canyon and you would have died a very terrible death, I guarantee you. There were maskim and ghùl on prowl there and you were easy prey."

  She could tell she had his attention by the stiffening of his shoulders even before he slowly turned back toward her. His eyes were shadowed with uncertain memory. "But I was alive, right?"

  Fear hit her. She couldn't tell him the truth. She wouldn't. "What do you mean?"

  "I had these really strange dreams -- at least I think they were dreams -- after things went dark."

  Manara closed her eyes and fought for even breaths. This was the moment she hoped to avoid. Now it finally arrived, and she couldn't halt the small spark of relief in her chest.

  "You were all but dead, Matthew. Had I waited even a moment longer, you would have been beyond even my skill to save."

  His face went ashen and for a frightening moment she thought he might faint. She even moved a step closer to him -- to act as support if he needed it -- without being obvious. However, he didn't need help. He didn't even waver. Instead, he went very still, his eyes turned dark and as unfathomable as the Underworld, his silent regard focused so tightly on her it burned through her.

  Time stretched like a taut cord between them and uneasiness settled heavily in Manara's stomach. She wished she could put an end to the silence, but she wasn't sure how. She wasn't sure how to judge his reaction.

  Then, in a voice so quiet it shot fear through every cell of her body he finally broke the silence. "You mean I was dead."

  She couldn't breathe. She knew the answer she had to give him; she couldn't lie to him about this. She was very much afraid she couldn't actually lie to him at all. It didn't even matter she would trade her soul to avoid the truth. Her answer emerged a breathless hiss.

  "Yes."

  Even expected, that simple truth appeared to startle him. As if he was sure she would lie to him.
Manara wasn't sure why the idea bothered her so much. She watched his throat move as if he didn't know what to say and the ashen look of a moment ago was back. She sighed, and tried to help him understand it on his own terms.

  "You said you are a doctor."

  Like fog lifting, the panic cleared from his face replaced by wariness that stabbed her with just how little he trusted her. "I never said I was a doctor. I'm a paramedic."

  She made an impatient sound. "You treat injured and ill people, yes?"

  He nodded; thank the Goddess. They wouldn't have to battle over titles.

  "So why is it impossible to believe I might be able to achieve the same?"

  His smile barely turned up the edges of his lips, but she could hear the apology in his voice. "There's a difference between treating someone and raising the dead, Manara."

  She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Just because I choose to heal with herbs and magic does not mean I am ignorant of modern medicine, Commander Raleigh."

  Wariness stole back over his expression. "What do you mean, magic?"

  This, she saw coming. His aversion to the supernatural was evident. She sighed. "Call it prayer. And I am not the only one who can raise the dead, Matthew."

  His brow furrowed. "Manara..."

  "I assume you have used a...what is the word you use? A defibrillator?"

  He nodded again. "Yeah, that's what they're called. And yes, I've used them."

  Triumph bubbled up in Manara. She could make her point, now. "And the people you use this on still have a normal pulse?"

  She already knew the answer and swallowed back her smile at his horrified expression. "I wouldn't use it if they did."

  "Then, they were dead."

  That stopped him cold. He blinked, surprised. "That's a little simplistic, Manara."

  "Why? When your heart stops, you can be considered dead. So, by using science and medicine, you revive the dead."

  His eyes narrowed and she sensed his reluctance to agree with her assessment. "So, you're saying you have a defibrillator stashed around here, somewhere?"

  She should have known he'd search out a logical explanation for what she did -- anything so he didn't have to face the truth. Anything to avoid admitting there were agencies beyond the grasp of mortal man and she had implored one of these for his life. She could only wonder what event gave him this overwhelming fear.

  "No." She shot his assumption down as gently as she could. "I used ancient medicines and magic such as I used with Kianga to bring you away from that terrible darkness."

  A visible shudder lunged through him and she ached to take away his fear. The mere existence of the supernatural terrified him. How would he ever face the demon beneath the ruins of Nineveh if he could not even stand to hear of using magic to heal?

  His gaze traveled around the hospice. "You have a lot of people here. Sick people."

  "Yes." What was he trying to say?

  His dark gaze settled on her and the troubled light in his eyes yanked at her heart. He looked baffled. "So, why waste your time on me? I saw what helping that girl did to you. Why did you waste your energy on me if I was already dead?"

  Manara's eyes closed. This, she couldn't answer. She couldn't tell him about the demon. He was not ready for the full truth. He barely accepted magic existed, and even then, he seemed convinced no good could come of it. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully and settled on a half-truth she hoped would placate him.

  "I do not choose who I am to save. It is my duty to save whatever lives cross my path. You were dead, but still in danger in that canyon, and your soul had not yet left your body. I could not leave you without aid."

  Nor could she tell him about the others she found there. One secret, she must take with her to her grave. She could not tell him of the men far less injured than him whom she had no choice but to leave behind. She did what she could for them and contacted relief camps in the drive out in hopes one of her contacts could aid those men. It was a secret she promised herself never to reveal. If Matthew learned she had forsaken others for him, he would never forgive her.

  She watched him nod slowly, absorbing her explanation, but knew he still didn't understand it. Not yet.

  "So you brought me to..."

  His question surprised her. She hadn't expected him to change subjects so abruptly, or to have any interest in their actual position. At least, thank Ishtar, this was a question she could answer without fabrication or omission.

  "Come," she said quietly, looking into his eyes. "It is best if I show you."

  Manara moved slowly through the camp, forcing her leaden feet to continue through sheer force of will. Weariness ate at her, but she knew this trip was a vital first step toward building trust between her and Matthew. For her people's sake, and her own, she would have that trust. Up until the moment he looked down at her with his tumultuous gaze, she harbored secret doubts this overly disciplined American would prove any more willing or able to face his destiny than any of those who came before him over the centuries. She knew the stories by heart of the vessels of Sargon and how each had come to disastrous ends, betrayed by their own natures. Matthew's self-control was worrisome because he could so easily deny his destiny at the last moment and ruin them all. Even his kisses and caresses spoke of controlled emotion, which did not bode well if the prophesies were truly about to come to pass.

  Then, in the hospice, his fury in the face of her denials of weakness shone a ray of hope into her soul. That rage was free, violent and focused directly at the wall of lies she built between them, and she knew he was the one. Unlike those her ancestors struggled to guide, this man would not deny his destiny for long. She wondered who trained him so well for this destiny, yet failed to prepare him for the realm of gods, demons and magic. Now she was sure he was the one, she must clear away the rubble and begin to build a bridge of truth. She only prayed he would trust her when the time came.

  "Where are we going?" Matt's sudden query broke the silence hanging between them.

  "You wished to know where we are."

  He shot her a surprised look. "Why explain it now? You've been denying me that, among other things, for nearly two weeks now."

  The sharp hurt in his tone stopped her, and she turned to face him. How had she missed the pain beneath his confusion? His wariness made his hesitance over the supernatural more understandable. Matthew Raleigh had been hurt in ways even Ishtar, bless Her name, might be unable to heal. Still, Manara was compelled to try.

  "I know I have not answered all of your questions, but I am trying. What else have you asked of me that I have not provided?"

  In an instant, the pain evaporated, replaced by languid heat as intense as his fury of moments ago.

  "You," he responded quietly, one hand reaching to trace the line of her face. The touch of his callused fingers drove a spike of desire straight through her heart, and burning pressure built behind her eyes. Frustration twisted deep, knowing she could not give in to him. She could not help her foolish heart, which rebelled at the command to move away. She could only control it. With a decisive jerk of her head, she fled his touch. "I have told you--"

  "I know what you said, I heard it quite well. I want to know why. I want to know when."

  "This is not a game, Commander Raleigh, and I am not a prize to be won," she rasped, holding onto her resolve with trembling tenacity. She was weak and needy after her struggle with Kianga's demon, and it was only a low-level minion. The thought of facing what awaited her in the desert tomb of Nineveh terrified her and made the strength and quiet confidence Matthew exuded a terrible temptation to battle.

  "It's not a game for me either, sweetheart." His murmured endearment slid through her like fine wine, warming her from the inside and spreading heat in its wake. The power of his narrow-eyed gaze as he reached to finger a silky strand of her hair tested her resolve severely. Had she not witnessed what she did in the hospice -- in both fury and fear -- she would be unable to resist him. "If it was a game, wha
t you told me would have long since ended it. But I can't end it, Manara. I can't stop wanting you."

  Her breath clogged in her throat as she fought to keep herself from drowning in his eyes. It wasn't fair they were denied the one thing no one else ever was. However, she must remain strong.

  "You promised..." She pleaded in a hoarse whisper as he stepped closer.

  "I promised you'd be safe with me," he returned in that same sensual murmur as he drew her against himself. "And you are. Perfectly."

  Only safe wasn't how she felt, Manara acknowledged as Matthew's lips settled over hers in a kiss that defied sanity. She felt more alive, dizzy and needy than she ever had in her life, but never less certain of her safety.

  His lips moved softly over hers, yet she could taste the barely-restrained hunger in his kiss. Her soul thrilled to the danger and a gasp of intertwined pleasure and pain tore from her. She longed to explore this new sensual realm with the hunger of one denied forbidden fruit. She was not permitted to make love. Not yet, and certainly not with Matthew Raleigh.

  Gently, she placed a hand on his chest and eased herself away from him.

  "Matthew," her whisper was equal parts censure and apology as she moved a few steps away in hope of clearing her head. "We cannot do this. I cannot do this. Not yet."

  He shoved one hand through his thick, dark hair. Surprise jolted her when, rather than the anger she expected, she saw open concern in his eyes.

  "You're playing with fire, Manara." His eyes closed, and she watched his expression flex in his attempt to contain fear. When his eyes opened, the worry there nearly overwhelmed her. "You and your little camp are an open target for terrorists and I promise you, no terrorist is going to stop long enough to even listen to your protests. I hope you realize what could happen..."

  She regarded him gravely, certain of one thing. "Not to me."