by Nina Bruhns
The demigod tilted his head. “I was under the impression you didn’t approve of the unwilling sexual coercion of mortals. Obviously, I’ve been gravely misinformed.”
Rhys didn’t comment. Let the man believe what he would. Shahin frowned.
“She looked familiar,” Ray declared. “I am certain I’ve met your Miss Haliday before.”
“I doubt that,” Rhys refuted. “But her parents spent a lot of time in Egypt,” he conceded carefully. “Perhaps you met them before they died.”
The photo of Gillian’s mother sifted through his mind. The man sitting next to Isobelle Haliday in his own courtyard had been one of Haru-Re’s lieutenants, trying to win Rhys’s friendship in order to infiltrate Khepesh. Had Haru-Re been hovering about that night, as well? Unfortunately, Rhys couldn’t find and interrogate the lieutenant because when his deception was discovered the next day, Shahin had demonstrated his prowess at beheading a man with a single stroke of his scimitar. One of the surest ways to kill an immortal.
“Hmm.” Ray sipped his martini. “It’ll come to me.”
“I’m sure it will,” Rhys said, growing even more impatient. “Meanwhile, as you can see, I am otherwise occupied. So unless you have something pressing you wish to discuss…?”
To add bite to Rhys’s words, Shahin spread his feet wide, planted his fists on his hips and fingered the silver hilt of his wickedly curved sword. The crystal glasses in the drinks cabinet began to tremble, making an incongruously cheerful tinkling sound.
Ray chuckled. “Control your quaking, Sheikh Shahin. Your eagerness to spill divine blood is showing. Don’t you know the punishment for that in the afterlife?”
“There is a great difference between divine and immortal,” Shahin growled, the tinkling growing louder. “I’m sure I would be amply rewarded for your head.”
“Your black heart on the scales of Thot will be far heavier than my lowly head. I fear you will be the loser when the day of reckoning comes.”
“Come, you two, I am in no mood to talk theology,” Rhys interjected, attempting to move Haru-Re toward the front door. “I have a beautiful woman awaiting her mount in the stables. So if you’ve nothing more on your mind than to prove superior powers through irritation, I’ll cede the win.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Ray said, standing his ground like an immovable obelisk. “You’ll want to hear me out.”
Rhys shared a brief look with Shahin. The glasses quieted. “All right. We’re listening.”
“I’ve come with an offer,” Haru-Re said. “For Seth-Aziz.”
Shahin barely masked a snort. “What could you possibly have to offer our master?”
Rhys raised a hand to silence him. Shahin was a fierce, awesome warrior, the best in the land, but his temper was too short for his own good sometimes. “What are you offering?”
“A truce. For five hundred years.”
Shock stuttered through Rhys’s veins, only to falter and fade to distrust. “In exchange for what?” As if he didn’t know.
“The priestess Nephtys.”
Shahin straightened like a shot, reaching for his scimitar. A shock wave rent through the room. “Never!”
Rhys put a restraining hand on his friend’s shoulder, much like trying to restrain the wind. “Haru-Re, you must know Seth will never give you his sister.”
“Not exclusively. I propose we share her, and her powers. It’s hardly a secret I have no priestess left with the magic to grant immortality. I’m appealing to my rival’s honor. For my people’s sake. We need her help.”
“Why would we grant you the means to survive,” Shahin spat out, his voice gaining volume with each word, “when our sole purpose in life is to eradicate the infidel shemsu of Re-Horakhti from all Egypt?”
Haru-Re went rigid and fury swept over his features.
“Shahin!” Rhys snapped out a warning.
Too late. Bolts of brilliant light strobed from Haru-Re’s fingertips as they curled into fists. “I will not stand here and be insulted!”
“Perhaps you’d prefer to have your miserable existence ended instead.” Shahin whipped out his curved sword and leaped forward as the whole room began to shake around them.
“’Tis not I who shall die but you!” Ray returned. He raised his hands and let loose a blinding barrage of light spears at Shahin just as the floor buckled under his feet, fouling his aim. Shahin’s Bedouin robes swallowed him in a swirling tornado of black, and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. A black hawk swooped out of nowhere and with a bloodcurdling cry circled Haru-Re, who lifted his hands and—
Behind them a woman screamed.
Chapter 8
I am he who cometh forth as one who breaketh through the door;
and everlasting is the Nighttime which his will hath created.
—The Papyrus of Ani
Gillian could not believe the things her mind was telling her she’d just witnessed.
A man—Rhys’s friend—had turned into a hawk! Right here, before her very eyes. His human body had simply vanished, the hawk emerging from the place where he had been an instant before. Like something out of one of Gemma’s fantastic legends…
Impossible!
And that other man, the sinister-looking Harold Ray, the light that surrounded him was blinding. And he was shooting fire from his fingers.
None of this was possible!
Ray whipped around and spotted her. Instantly, the fire disappeared. But his face— She’d never seen anyone so angry. He looked like he wanted to kill her. The hawk swooped in a tight circle around the room with an otherworldly cry, then arrowed out through the open courtyard doors, momentarily distracting him.
She pressed her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming again.
She must be going crazy. Or had hit her head on the stone floor of the tomb when she’d fainted. Or gotten sunstroke, as Rhys suggested. She’d been acting so strange all afternoon, so unlike herself…. And now this…utter insanity! It must be magic tricks. Illusions, that was all.
She didn’t know what was happening here, but one thing she did know.
She had to get out of this place.
She turned to flee, heading for the front door.
“Gillian!” In less than a split second Rhys was in front of her. He caught her in his strong grip.
She fought him. “Let me go!” She kicked and clawed at her captor. “Let me go!”
“Give her to me,” Harold Ray ordered, between teeth that seemed to be growing long and sharp. He reached for her. “I’ll take care of the little spy.”
“No!” she squeaked, fighting harder.
Rhys swept her away from the other man’s grasp. “Leave her! And leave my house!”
“But she has seen—”
“I’ll deal with it,” Rhys snapped.
Gillian continued to struggle, but it was no use. Her captor had preternatural strength. She swallowed an hysterical sob. God help her.
Ray visibly calmed, settling his body as a bird might do after ruffling his feathers. “And my proposal?”
“I will convey it,” Rhys said, still holding on to her mercilessly.
“See that you do,” the other man said. “And remind your master that to use the priestess against my people will take time. Time he doesn’t have. Right now my forces are vastly superior to his. If Seth-Aziz turns me down, I will have no option but to use them. Soon.”
Gillian shook uncontrollably. Master? Seth-Aziz? What the hell were they talking about? The cult of Set-Sutekh again? Or some kind of terrorism?
“One week, Englishman. I’ll return for my answer in seven days,” Ray said, his gaze gliding menacingly toward her. She cowered behind Rhys’s back, reluctantly accepting his offered protection. “And to give you a little extra incentive to plead my case, if you don’t bring me the answer I want, I’ll make sure your pretty little plaything is my first hostage.”
Gillian gasped at his cruel laugh.
He strode for
the door. “Her life is in your hands, Kilpatrick. Don’t disappoint me.” He turned with a parting sneer over his shoulder. “Or her.”
Gillian prayed she wouldn’t faint again. It was actually the first time today she really felt like fainting. The other times, the light-headedness had come over her out of the clear blue. But this…
“You’d better sit down,” Rhys broke through her paralysis, and she realized Harold Ray had gone, along with the mysterious black hawk. The room was quiet as a tomb.
Oh, God. Bad choice of words.
Why, oh, why had she ventured into that stupid tomb in the first place? Next time she would definitely listen to Mehmet. If she got a next time…
Rhys led her to a silk-covered divan, pushing aside a pile of tapestry cushions, and pulled her to sit down next to him.
She tried to scramble away, to the other end of the settee, but he held on. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. He won’t be back,” Rhys said, but she was hardly reassured by the somber look on his face.
She let out a strangled laugh, wrapping her free arm around her middle. “Who…what are you people?”
“We’ll get to that.” He exhaled a long breath. “But you must understand, I can’t let you go now.”
“What?” Her heart quailed, her pulse speeding out of control. They were terrorists! Or some kind of dangerous cult of magicians. She shook her head desperately. “I won’t tell anyone about your tricks. I swear I won’t. Not a soul. Who’d believe me, anyway?”
He regarded her, almost sadly. “I can’t take that chance. For your own safety, as much as mine.”
“You can’t keep me here!” Frightened tears pressed at her eyes. “My sisters will—”
“Won’t come for you. You phoned them earlier to say you are staying with me.”
She suddenly remembered doing that. Though heaven knew why. She’d never had any intention of— “My God, you drugged me. Or hypnotized me!” That would explain the fainting, the wanton behavior and the weird hallucinations.
He took her trembling hands. “Not hypnosis. I bespelled you. And your sisters. Which is why they’ll never come looking for you. Ever.”
Her tears threatened to spill over. Tears of confusion.
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Bespelled? Are you kidding? They will come for me!” she insisted. Nothing on earth would stop them from searching for her. Just as nothing had stopped the three of them from searching for their vanished parents.
“Then your sisters will be captured, as well,” he returned.
Captured? Despair swept through her. She was right! “No!”
He smiled gently. “It’s not such a terrible fate. In fact, I’d hoped…darling, I’d truly hoped you’d come willingly with me.”
“Willingly?” She stared at him incredulously, the errant thought careening through her mind that just an hour ago she might actually have considered— “To be a terrorist? Or a kidnapper, or…” Or worse.
His mouth parted, his expression puzzled, then it cleared. “Ah. So that is what you think. No, Gillian. I assure you, I’m not a criminal or a terrorist. I detest violence. I much prefer…a friendlier persuasion.”
He gazed at her with those thick-lashed bedroom eyes and she nearly forgot why she was so upset. She did forget when he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. It was like his touch robbed her of every self-protective instinct she had. All she felt was want. She closed her eyes and a million erotic sensations pulsed through her body, urging her to open to him, to surrender to him, to—
“No!” She jumped up from the divan, surprising the hell out of them both. “I’ll not be bespelled, as you call it, by your kisses. Not again!”
He leaned back on the sofa and a grin spread over his far too handsome face. “Is that how you think I ensnared your will? With my kiss?”
Heat crept through her. Embarrassment, mixed with a hot lick of intense arousal. And a sizzle of apprehension. “Wasn’t it?”
“No. But it’s nice to know you are so susceptible to my charms.” He patted the cushion next to him, beckoning with those wicked eyes, and despite everything, she had to fight the overwhelming desire to go to him. To let him win all over again.
Jesus. Maybe the man did have powers. Or was really good at hypnosis.
She took a cleansing breath. “I will not be your sex toy, Rhys. And there are laws against kidnapping, even in Egypt. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
The grin vanished and a muscle ticked below his eye. “Nor would I want that. When I take a woman to my bed it’s because she wants me as much as I want her.”
“So, earlier, you didn’t…influence me in any way?”
He hesitated for the briefest second. “I may have enhanced your pleasure. But not your desire. That was all yours.”
Not exactly news.
He rose in a lithe movement. “You may not believe this, but I was trying desperately not to touch you.”
She gazed uncertainly at the tall, powerful man who stood before her. And suddenly realized she had no memory of anything after experiencing that amazing climax he’d given her. That’s when she’d fainted. Again. Had he not completed the act?
“Why not?” she asked, and for some reason was afraid of the answer.
He gazed down at her for a moment, then turned abruptly and paced away. “Because first you must know the truth about me. About…everything.”
The way he said it, solemnly, almost grimly, made her pulse take off at a run. She had a horrible feeling that she did not want to know the truth about him. Or anything. That what he was about to say would alter her life forever, would change her completely, irrevocably, in some unimagined way.
But the empty void between her legs still throbbed from his touch, still ached for him to fill it, and her, with everything her life and her heart were missing. How could she want a man who was bad? She couldn’t. Could she?
She had to know.
“Who are you?” she tremulously asked. “And why have you kidnapped me?”
He turned to face her. Captured her eyes with his. A strange, powerful energy pulsed through the air, raising the hairs on her arms, electrifying her body with apprehension.
“I am a follower of Set-Sutekh,” he said, his deep voice echoing through the room, “I am master steward to Seth-Aziz, high priest to the god. And you, Gillian Haliday, have been chosen to become our next initiate.”
“Me?” Terror sizzled over her skin like goose bumps. Ohgod-ohgod-ohgod. The cult, this per netjer he talked about, did still exist. And she was about to disappear forever. “Why me?”
He leveled his gaze upon her. “Because, my darling, as I said, you know too much. You found the secret way into the tomb. You witnessed Shahin shift. And you’ve attracted the attention of our enemy, putting yourself in mortal danger.” His voice went deeper still. “But most of all, because we need you. For our most sacred ceremony.”
“What ceremony?” she asked, shaking uncontrollably at the otherworldly glitter reflected in his eyes.
“Our god Set-Sutekh requires an annual sacrifice. This year, your body shall provide that sacrifice.”
“My body?” she squeaked. Sweet mercy. He was deadly serious.
“More specifically, your blood.”
A noise of pure horror escaped her. This was going too far. “You can’t kill me!” she cried, springing to her feet. Time to go. Away from him. From this complete insanity. But there was no getting past him. He was immovable. Like the pyramids.
“Kill you?” he said calmly, grasping her hands. “No, Gillian. In fact, we plan to do quite the opposite.”
She could barely form the words for dread. “What do you mean?”
“When you give yourself over to the god,” he said softly, “the sacrifice you make is not your life. It is your death.”
She stared at him, shaking, uncomprehending. “I don’t understand.”
He slid his hands gently up to her shoulders. Gazed deep into her eyes.
“Join us willingly, Gillian. Offer your service to the god and become like me,” he urged.
“Like you how?” she asked. “What in God’s name are you, Rhys?”
He leaned in, put his lips to her ear, and whispered, “I am immortal.”
Chapter 9
I let you hear my voice cry out
for my myrrh-anointed beauty,
and you were with me there
when I prepared my trap.
—The Song of the Harper
Gillian’s body shuddered, then she stood absolutely, utterly still for a long, long time.
Rhys probably shouldn’t have been surprised that when she finally moved, it was to close her eyes, take a deep, trembling breath, and say, “So not funny, Rhys. But I have to admit, you really had me going there.” Her eyes opened with a scowl. “Immortal? Jesus, give me a freaking break. You are one sick puppy, and I am leaving now,” she said evenly. “Do. Not. Try to stop me.”
Osiris preserve him.
“It’s true, Gillian. All of it. And there’s more.”
She marched toward the door, waving a hand over her shoulder. “Seriously? I don’t want to hear it.”
He folded his own hands behind his back to keep from grabbing her. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten what you just saw happen here in this very room. Haru-Re shooting spears of light? How about when Shahin transformed himself into a hawk? Just how would you explain all of that?”
“Obviously some kind of trickery. Illusions and stories designed to persuade impressionable young women into your bed and your cult. You just chose the wrong victim.”
Talk about denial. “You are not a victim, Gillian. And I didn’t need any trickery to persuade you into my bed,” he reminded her. “You came all on your own.”
She blushed. “A mistake which won’t be repeated.”
“Very well. But what about the photo of your mother? Would you so readily give up a chance to find out what happened to her? Join us, and Nephtys will help you. I give you my word.”
She kept walking. “I’m just not that gullible, Rhys. There are no such things as immortals, shape-shifters or fortune-tellers. You’re welcome to enjoy your bizarre little cult, but I want no part of it.”