In Her Name

by Esther Mitchell

  Her vision faded out as the anger of his touch catapulted her backward through time.

  His armor gleamed in the harsh sunlight as he strode purposefully toward the temple. She watched his approach warily, aware of the tension and rage that rolled from him in waves.

  She had seen him prepared for battle before, but never like this. Normally, when he came for his pre-battle blessing from his Divine Mother, he was confident and calm. His tension now told a story that tightened her chest with dread.

  "My lord." She flowed to her knees before him as he mounted the stairs of the ziggurat temple toward her.

  "The monster has returned." His words cracked out like thunder, she trembled at their implication.

  Ereshkigal loosed Her minions on Babylon in revenge against Her sister a decade ago. Sargon drove them back into the deep deserts once, but they both knew Urasat and his demonic host would return one day to do his Mistress' bidding. With a deep breath, she tasted the foul stench of the Underworld and the heat of death. Ereshkigal's servants were not far off.

  Only her quick reflexes prevented Manara from landing face-first in a fire as she stumbled forward, propelled by the force of Matthew's shove. She struggled up from her knees, bitter tears coursing her face. She hadn't expected this. She believed Matthew would be long gone, headed for the nearest coast and a ticket back to whatever life he left behind. A life she lacked the courage to ask about. She wanted to ask him why he stayed, why he was here in Iraq, but knew she couldn't. Something changed about Matthew Raleigh between when she left him in her tent a week ago and now. When she looked into his hard, cold eyes, she knew it. Gone was the gentle man whose fiery gaze turned her insides to liquid heat. He had gone somewhere deep inside -- into that dark, ugly and tormented place he spent those months of unconsciousness. Her heart sank as she looked up at him. Deep inside, her soul already knew what her mind was only just beginning to understand. She could not follow him into his darkness, or hope he could protect her against her destiny. She could only pray he would see the path back from his personal Underworld and take it.

  Her heart burned with pain as she tore her gaze away and belatedly noticed the other two mercenaries standing silently just outside the circle of light cast by the fire. Her gaze flew back to Matthew as he hunkered down beside her. Fear plunged through her and she shrank back, uncertain. He scowled and reached to grasp her face in his hand, his grip bruising and his eyes devoid of any compassion. Tears of pain and betrayal burned Manara's eyes, but she refused to let them show. She glared at him instead, and sealed her lips against the demanding scowl on his face. She was not about to give him what he wanted.

  That clearly annoyed him. His scowl darkened even further.

  "Now, we're going to play a little game, Miss Mukarramma." The deadly calm of his voice shivered through her, rousing the memory of her visions. This man was not to be trifled with and his tone made it clear who was in charge. "You're going to tell me everything I want to know, and you're going to tell the truth, or I'm going to take you apart a piece at a time. Starting with what you value most."

  The breath flew from her in a shocked, angry wave. Tears rose in her eyes as she realized exactly what he referred to. She had never, in all her life, imagined it would come to this.

  "Matthew, you cannot do this!" She pleaded, reaching up to grasp his wrist imploringly. Somehow she must make him see through the darkness threatening to destroy them both. "It is not in you--"

  "Don't tell me what I'm capable of!" His fingers bit into her face with enough strength spots danced before her eyes and Manara feared she might pass out. She had never been touched with such violence and it frightened her. "You don't even know me, lady. Ask the people of Deng-Fan what I can do. If you can talk to the dead, that is."

  Manara's pain migrated from physical to emotional as she stared into his eyes and straight to a soul more tortured and hardened against his humanity than any she ever encountered.

  "No..." The single syllable left her in a distressed whisper.

  "Yes. Now, why are you here?"

  "I...I told you," she sobbed as she tried to wrench free. Her gaze sought the other mercenaries, aware they were her front line in the battle with Matthew. Only they could save her. "I am going to reclaim my home."

  "Matt..." Talladay's quiet voice cautioned, even as fury engulfed the mercenary leader's face.

  "Yeah, man. She's not the enemy." Watkins edged a step closer, wariness in his eyes that relieved Manara. Matthew might be bent on destruction, but the other two would at least protect her.

  Matt glared at them, though his grip loosened.

  "Back off, both of you. You didn't see what I did back there." He turned his glare back on his victim. "Isn't that right, sweetheart? Nice to know how you get off. At least it explains why you're still a--"

  Matt never saw the slap coming. One moment, her hands were clasped imploringly around his wrist. The next, his face stung from the blow and he released her as he stumbled back in stunned disbelief. Manara was on her feet in a flash. Fury streamed from her like lava bursting from a volcano as she stood over him with her trembling fists clenched in pure rage.

  "I warned you before, Matthew Raleigh. Judge me only at your own peril. I am above your petty prejudices and jealousies." With that, she spun on her heel and started away. Matt flicked off the safety on his weapon again. The click froze her in place though she remained with her back to him, her posture stiff and regal.

  "I don't care what you think you are, sweetheart," Matt drawled in a quiet, dangerous voice. "There's one concept you better get used to damned fast -- I'm holding the gun and you, whoever you really are, are the prisoner."

  "One day, I am going to see to it that those words are crammed back down your arrogant throat," Manara returned regally, remaining absolutely still.

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Matt had the distinct impression she knew something he didn't. It was not a comforting notion.

  *****

  Manara lay, handcuffed, near the outside edge of the firelight and pretended to sleep, secretly watching the three mercenaries through lowered lashes. Matthew was grim-faced and avoided looking her way -- as if he dared not be caught observing her, even in sleep. Her heart cracked at his coldness, but she refused to acknowledge the empathy. Her face and arm ached, and she already resolved to hate him. She ached from the depths of her soul to know they would never solve this issue between them. Once trust was broken, mending it was never easy. However, nor could she deny Matthew was scared out of his wits and it was difficult for her to not want to heal him. Holding onto her hate was no easy task when faced with his painful denial.

  She turned her attention to the others before she could give in to her feelings. She spoke with Peter Talladay before and knew he was a vital part of Matthew's life. However, the third of the mercenaries, she knew little about beyond his name, and what she sensed when she rescued him. Now she studied him, her curiosity turning to concern.

  Trevor Watkins sat off by himself, his dark face obscured by the shadows where he retreated. No man was more of an island than that one, Manara decided sadly. Some great tragedy locked him away within his mind and refused to allow him to truly feel the world in which he lived. As she studied the dark man's strange, amber eyes, Manara shivered. Her chill had nothing to do with the cold desert air as a heart-rending wolf's cry lunged through her. It was the same at the canyon. That cry led her to Trevor and compelled her to save him even before she knew his name. Trevor Watkins bore the Mark of the Wolf and he was about to face his greatest trial -- of this much, Manara was certain. What she feared was what his trial might mean for the rest of the world.

  As for the Irishman she spoke with only once before, she was comfortably certain he would be her greatest ally. Peter Talladay was... Missing, Manara realized with a start, nearly sitting upright. Where did he go, and why did she not notice when he left?

  "Lookin' for me, lass?"

  She opened her eyes
completely and turned her head to find Peter crouched near her feet.

  "What is it you want of me?"

  He shook his head and offered her a disarming smile. "Just to talk. I'm havin' a problem buyin' this whole 'end justifies the means' attitude Matt's suddenly developed toward you. The man's besotted with you one moment and terrorizin' you the next. Why?"

  "Perhaps you could tell me," she whispered, pain clenching in her chest as her gaze dropped to her shackled wrists. "What is it you wish to talk about?"

  "Your beliefs."

  His simple statement brought her attention up in surprise. She struggled up to face him. "Why?"

  He sighed, shaking his head. "Matt has a blind spot about the supernatural. Perhaps, between the two of us, we can figure out why he's reactin' to you this way."

  Manara's heart sped up as she read the truth in Talladay's gray eyes. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know much more about Matthew's past than she did. Yes, he would be her ally. Maybe she could convince him to help them all.

  "The only way you can help any of us now, Mr. Talladay," she said quietly, "is to let me escape. I must complete my mission."

  His eyes dropped contritely. "I'm sorry, lass, but I can't be doin' that."

  She nodded. Even though she hoped he would help her, she knew what his answer would be. Peter Talladay was the soul of loyalty. He would rather die than betray a friend. Still, Manara could not remain. She would bide her time a while, and slip away the moment Matthew's guard was lowered. She could not chance remaining where Matthew's prejudices might destroy her only chance of fulfilling her destiny.

  *****

  Ishtar's Temple -- Outside Mosul, Iraq

  He remained trapped here too long. He howled in rage and pain as he forced his hand through another wall, only to come away empty. Again. Each search left him weaker. He needed to feed. He needed a sacrifice. The souls his minion's actions provided lessened by the day, and he was restless to claim his own.

  He remembered how it was in his glory age. The night was his realm and he preyed on travelers along the road to Babylon, until Sargon pushed him and his minions into the desert. So began the battle that gave him strength, until one woman's innocence and love imprisoned him here. He would have his vengeance!

  She could not escape him as long as darkness surrounded her. Throughout all her incarnations, he made certain her task to forever destroy him and fulfill the prophesy ended in disaster. Each time he received a burst of energy and strength that sustained him long enough to acquire another minion to provide him with souls.

  He growled, hating his captivity. He needed to hunt, to feed on human souls and gather strength.

  Through the darkness of nightmares, he could reach Ishtar's servant, fill her head with visions of her future in his hands and show her the end of Sargon's vessel. He imagined how it would be once his minion arrived to free him. He would glut himself on the souls he could feel walking on the Earth above -- starting with Mukarramma.

  He could taste her fear and it gave him strength. Her pain and confusion heightened his energy. That energy allowed him to reach for his minion, once more.

  Son of woman born.

  This prodigal child of Ishtar aided him well and would set him free. He grew impatient for that day, and for the taste of human suffering. First he must have his vengeance.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She was gone. Even before he came fully awake, Matt knew Manara had slipped away. Scowling as his head cleared of lethargy, he knew how she got away, and he didn't like it. If she knocked him out with a weapon, or held him at gun-point to escape, he wouldn't be so upset. But she didn't do either of those things. No. Instead, she used the one thing he couldn't forgive. She snuck up on him, laid her cuffed hands on his face, and told him to go to sleep. Just like that. He was powerless to fight the suggestion, though he tried.

  Rage darkened Matt's eyes. Manara could try all of her evil little magic tricks on him -- Rachel had -- but she wouldn't get to him again. She'd fail, just like Rachel had. He wanted answers, and he would have them, whether she wanted to give them or not. He no longer cared what it took. Grabbing up his M-16, Matt followed the wind-shifted prints of Manara's boots out into the desert.

  When he caught that no-good little minx...

  Matt froze in his tracks as a scream fit to raise the dead ripped through the clear desert air. His heart lurched at that sound and he began to run, aware of nothing except that Manara was in danger. No matter what he thought of her, he couldn't allow her to fall into al-Mawsil's hands. He already knew what that sick bastard did to women.

  Matt came upon the scene and quickly dropped behind cover to scope the situation. And, just as quickly, admiration swept away his anger and distrust of Manara.

  Even handcuffed, she fought like a hellcat. There were three hulking brutes with knives and guns down there, and yet they were unable to subdue one woman. Matt watched in fascination as, with a dancer's grace, Manara spun free of one man's grasp and brought her clasped hands into swift, sharp contact with the second's throat. The man doubled over on the spot, gagging -- Matt marked him down for the count. Within moments, the man sprawled on the ground, unconscious and heading toward suffocation. Matt's gaze flew back to the other two as he heard Manara cry out and his heart stilled for one awful moment.

  One of the men managed to capture Manara, bending her shackled arms back over her head and kicking her knees out so she fell. The other remaining brute freed his knife, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. Matt's breath stopped in his throat as fear for Manara's life slashed through him. Gripping the M-16, he rose up from hiding and aimed for the man holding Manara. His focus closed on the man, his finger tightened on the trigger and he loosed several shots. The man stiffened as the first shot went wide of the mark, striking his shoulder. However, before he could recover from the shock, the next ripped through his throat. He released Manara, grabbed for his throat, stumbled backward and fell, red bubbles frothing from his mouth as he drowned in his own blood. Manara, freed, dove for the feet of the man with the knife, her weight bowling him over and sending the knife flying. In a flash, Manara had it, and was kneeling with the blade pressed against her attacker's throat.

  "Where is Ra'id?" Matt heard her mutter in Arabic as he hurried toward her.

  The man looked up at Manara with frightened eyes. "I do not know who you speak of."

  "Where is he?" Manara pressed in a hiss, applying pressure to the knife. "Why did my brother send you to kill me?"

  Matt stopped dead, staring at the back of Manara's head. Brother? Ra'id al-Mawsil was Manara's brother? The dread and mistrust returned with a vengeance. Just who was this woman?

  The man on the ground shook fearfully before Manara's rage. "It was not a man who sent me, I swear! It was the Black Widow."

  Fury leached into Manara's face at those words, she rose imperiously over her captive, the knife's point aimed directly between his eyes as, in a flat voice, she rasped, "Go back to the Black Widow and tell her I will be watching her."

  The man nodded, and took the avenue of flight she offered before she had time to change her mind. In a scrambling flash, he was gone, headed back out over the dunes.

  Manara turned then, and saw Matt. A gasp of fear left her and she hurriedly stumbled backwards, trying to get away from him. Matt's insides clenched at the wary hate filling her eyes. He would never be able to convince her to return of her own accord, but there were questions he needed answered. So, even as a part of him resisted the action, Matt leveled his weapon at her.

  "Let's go."

  As she sullenly followed his command, Matt admitted to himself he made a terrible mistake. He killed the one thing that could help him find his target -- he destroyed Manara's trust.

  *****

  The next day

  She wasn't talking to him. Matt frowned as he watched Manara massage her bruised wrists, where the cuffs were until this morning. Last night, he realized how dangerous having a woman like Mana
ra handcuffed in the desert really was. After they returned to the makeshift camp, he questioned her repeatedly about her connection to al-Mawsil, but she just glared at him. His gut churned at the memory and he swallowed against bile as he tried again.

  "It would be better if you just tell me, you know."

  She shot a glare over her shoulder at him. "I do not have anything to say to you."

  He cocked a brow at her. Those were the first words she uttered since yesterday. He wasn't sure he could call it progress, though. "Your expression says otherwise."

  "You are a monster."

  Those words hit him like a mortar round to the chest, even deserved. She was right. He became something terrible in his anger. His apology stuck in his throat. After what he saw, and what she did to him, he couldn't apologize to her.

  "Matt, we've got company." Peter Talladay's tense alert dragged his attention away from Manara. Immediately, he saw the reason for Pete's tension. A camp loomed ahead of them, a cluster of Bedouin-style tents. Matt cast a surprised glance at Manara. Had she used some kind of black magic to bring them straight back to where they started? There couldn't be many camps like hers out here.

  However, Manara's expression was far from relieved. Instead, she looked even more apprehensive than he felt. His gut churned again and the skin on the back of his neck crawled.

  "Close ranks," he ordered his men tersely. "Let's see who they are and what they want."

  This, because there were already two young men, draped in bandoliers and carrying rifles, headed toward them. The mercenaries quickly closed formation around Manara in what Matt had no doubt the other men would see as protective. He wasn't so sure it wasn't the truth himself -- at least, not on his part.