Lord of the Desert

by Nina Bruhns

  “Shh. Don’t think that way.” His mouth covered hers and his fingers bunched in her dress.

  She moaned as he kissed her slowly, thoroughly, the wet, languorous explorations of his tongue turning her brain to mush. She fell backward against the solid wall of nothingness that he’d conjured to block the portal, and it turned soft, like a body, enveloping her backside in a warm, living cushion.

  Desire spilled through her, filling her flesh with a dazzling need for him, lighting her skin with breathless sensitivity to his touch. He slowly caressed her, awakening every cell of her body. She felt herself spinning out of control. Wanting him. Needing this. She’d never felt this way before, so turned on and ready for a man, her blood heavy and her muscles leaden.

  “Are you bespelling me?” she groaned between kisses.

  “It is you who have bespelled me,” he returned, kissing her harder, more greedily. More urgently.

  She answered with a moan, fumbling with his clothes to find a way in. She wanted to touch his bare skin.

  But he found hers first. He slid the straps of her filmy gown off her shoulders, and it slithered down the length of her body to the floor, leaving her naked.

  He muttered a strangled oath, and swept her up into his arms. “I must have you. Now.”

  “What if they find out?” she asked, terrified of the answer.

  “I don’t care. You belong to me. Nothing can change that.”

  She clung to him as he turned, hesitated, then strode into the hidden inner sanctum, the holy of holies where the seven altars stood laden with Khepesh’s gifts to the god.

  He swept aside the offerings from the center altar, the lid of Seth’s large obsidian sarcophagus, and laid her upon it. She sucked in a breath, looking downward askance. “He’s not sleeping in it now, is he?”

  “Christ, no. That only happens once a month during the full moon,” he assured her.

  Two torches still burned in the sanctuary, and she could see his face in the flickering firelight. His cheek muscles were drawn, his black mustache a slash of determination above the tight line of his lips, his amber eyes half-lidded and darkened to the color of fine whiskey. He was wearing a finely woven tunic tucked into black Bedouin pants, and looked so sinfully sexy she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked shakily, not sure if she’d let him stop even if he wanted to.

  He drew off his tunic and boots and threw them aside. “If your body is to be a gift to Set-Sutekh,” he said with a low growl, “it is I who will bestow it. And if our love is to be sacrificed, what better place to offer it up than here?”

  “But Rhys—”

  He climbed up on the altar and positioned his body over hers. “Do you want me? Do you want me above all else, no matter what may come of it?”

  Gillian swallowed, torn as never before. She might be new to this place, but even she knew that by doing this they could well be putting their lives at risk. Seth didn’t seem the forgiving type.

  But she wanted Rhys. Oh, how she wanted him! She wanted to lie under him, joined as one, and be swallowed up by the strength and power that rolled off him like liquid waves of sand and filled her with raw desire. She wanted him to touch her, and know her, and shower her with forbidden pleasures. She wanted to come apart in his arms, and drown in the feeling of belonging that she had experienced only with him.

  “Yes,” she said. “I want you, Rhys. No matter what.”

  His mouth came down on hers and his chest scraped over her breasts, sending shards of need spiraling through her nipples. She gasped, opening to his ravenous kiss.

  In the courtyard he’d been languid, gentle; now he was forceful and demanding. His hands and lips traveled her body, raising moans and cries of pleasure from her aching throat.

  She surrendered to it. To him.

  What would be, would be. This was right. She knew it in her heart.

  He moved down and took her breasts in his mouth, suckling and giving them small bites, driving her mad for want of him. He put his knee between her legs and spread them, cupping her mound, sliding his fingers through the slick folds and finding the center of her need.

  He touched her there.

  It was like an atom bomb of pleasure went off in her body. She cried out and bowed up, her orgasm coming fast and hard.

  He growled and touched her again, and another shock of pleasure shook her to the core. She was panting, her pulse racing, her flesh saturated with a thousand intense feelings and sensations all at once.

  He grasped her hands and pulled them above her head, lacing his fingers with hers, pinning her to the cool, smooth obsidian surface. He levered his body over hers and she realized he was now as naked as she.

  And then he was inside her.

  Thick and long and burning hot, his cock thrust in deep, deep, deep. He withdrew and thrust again, and again, and again. She wanted to scream in pleasure but couldn’t find her voice. She shook and shuddered as his awesome power showered over her like an endless, thundering electrical storm, seemingly forever, until at last he gave one final forceful thrust and with a roar he came apart in her arms.

  They lay there, bodies one and hearts galloping, for a long while, regaining their breath, recovering their limbs, coming slowly back to consciousness of the world around them.

  All was quiet and calm.

  All except inside Gillian’s mind. There reigned nothing but chaos.

  Not just because what they’d done would surely get them into massive trouble—if not worse—but because of the overwhelming feelings she was starting to have for Rhys.

  How could she be so much in love with a man she’d just met? He claimed he hadn’t used magic on her, but how else could she explain such an instant bond? Love at first sight? She could just imagine what Josslyn would have to say about that. Oy.

  Gemma, though. Gemma would probably just smile, give her a hug and tell her to elope with the man.

  “You okay?” Rhys asked softly, giving her a tender kiss, bringing her back to the moment.

  “More than okay,” she murmured, brushing aside wistful thoughts of missing her sisters. She returned his kiss, stretching her pleasantly aching muscles. “You are amazing.”

  “And you are inspiring.” He kissed her back.

  She smiled, but it soon faltered and she closed her eyes, unable to banish her worry completely. “Oh, Rhys, what happens now? There’s no way I can go through with that ceremony. And as for being his consort—never in a million years.”

  With a sigh, he lifted off her and helped her sit up. “For now, we go on as though nothing has changed. We still have a few days. Let me work on Seth. He’s firm but not unreasonable. Maybe I can find a substitute.” He winked. “Another blonde, so he doesn’t miss you.”

  She looked at him aghast. “Rhys, no! You can’t kidnap another innocent woman!”

  He held up a hand. “Rarely do we resort to kidnapping, Gillian. Only when we are somehow threatened. Most of the shemsu come to us by choice.” He reached out and scraped a lock of hair from her cheek. “What about your sisters? One of them is a blonde, as I recall. Would she not like to live forever? Or we could just borrow her for the night. She would remember nothing….”

  Gillian felt her eyes widen. “Don’t you dare!”

  “Very well. I just thought you might miss them.”

  “I do.” She put her hand over his. “More than you know. But I couldn’t ask this of either one of them. It wouldn’t be fair to trade my unhappiness for theirs.”

  He gathered her in his arms, rested his chin on her hair. “Are you so unhappy here, then?”

  She burrowed deeper into his embrace. “Not while I’m with you, Rhys. But I’m terrified of what will happen if Seth-Aziz doesn’t change his mind about me.”

  “Leave it to me, my love. For now you must return to your rooms before you are missed. I’ll come fetch you in the morning for your palace tour as planned. We’ll talk more then.”

&
nbsp; But when he moved to go, she held him tight. Apparently, he didn’t want to leave any more than she did, because he leaned down and kissed her with a fervor that was almost frightening. Her response was just as desperate.

  They made love again, with an intensity that drove the danger from their minds for a few more precious minutes, until they were both drained of strength and breath…and caution.

  Which was why, when they finally parted at the haram door, neither of them saw the hidden figure hovering in the darkest corner of the courtyard. Observing their lingering kiss goodbye.

  Chapter 13

  But if someone would say, “There’s a lady here, waiting,”

  Hear that, and you’d see me take heart in a hurry!

  —Papyrus Chester Beatty I

  Nephtys stood in the shadows and watched the lovers kiss and reluctantly go their separate ways.

  A small part of her felt sorry for them. She, of all people, knew so well that one did not choose with whom one fell in love. It just happened. And usually at the most heartbreakingly inappropriate of times, with the least suitable person possible.

  But mostly she felt anger and outrage. On behalf of her brother, who had been cuckolded right under his nose. And on behalf of Khepesh, which would no doubt suffer unforeseen consequences because of this betrayal. Gillian was to have been a wise and well-loved consort. Rhys was a valued member of the council as well as an insightful adviser to Seth-Aziz. He would be sorely missed when he was banished for his disloyalty.

  Troubled, Nephtys stepped out from the shadows and made her way back to her suite in the haram. There was no option. She must report this treachery to her brother.

  But first she should seek her own counsel. The Eye of Horus. Perhaps another vision would guide her in how best to handle this situation.

  She made haste to the prayer room, where she kept the scrying bowl in its place of honor on a golden pedestal. Silver was the color of the moon, and therefore the sacred metal of Khepesh, palace of the Guardian of the Night; but the amber bowl was hewn for and named after the god of their enemy, Re-Horakhti, Lord of the Sun, and therefore would be offended by a resting place of anything but the finest yellow gold.

  She lifted the bowl and brought it to her favorite spot for meditation, amidst a scatter of soft cushions surrounded by a hundred ever-burning, delicately fragrant candles. She gingerly lifted a two-thousand-year-old Roman glass pitcher that had been filled with water smuggled to her by a spy she maintained in the temple of her own betrayer and Seth’s immortal nemesis, Haru-Re.

  “Bring me a vision of wisdom, oh, Eye of Horus,” she prayed as she poured the sacred water into its depths. “So I may best know what to do.”

  But when the vision came, sudden and vivid like a dust storm surging to life in the desert, her hand convulsed around the fragile glass pitcher and it shattered in a million pieces. Blood dripped from a dozen cuts on her fingers, turning the whirling waters scarlet. But she barely noticed.

  She gasped in dismay at what she saw.

  Haru-Re was standing in his palace audience chamber, lifting his arms in welcome to a new immortal follower of Re-Horakhti.

  It was Rhys Kilpatrick.

  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

  At Gillian’s hushed but urgently spoken words, Rhys glanced around to make sure they were alone. As promised, he’d picked her up in the temple right after the morning meal, ostensibly to show her the rest of the palace, introduce her to her new way of life and outline the duties expected of her. He’d spent the hours before breakfast locked in the council chambers together with Seth and the others, planning strategies to deal with the ultimatum Haru-Re had laid down yesterday when he’d appeared at Rhys’s house—either hand over Nephtys or go to war. There had been no opportunity to talk to Seth about any other issue.

  “Nephtys knows,” Gillian said now as they strolled through the palace pretending to look at the magnificent sights it offered. “I know she does.”

  “Darling, what makes you say that?” he asked.

  She frowned worriedly. “She wouldn’t look at me the whole time we ate, and she barely spoke to me all morning. Plotting my sacrifice, no doubt. Except in this ceremony I don’t survive to become consort.”

  He winced. She had no idea how right on the mark she could be if their guilty secret were revealed. Which was why the two of them must not make love again. Not until Seth had given his blessing. “I’m sure Nephtys is just worried about Haru-Re’s threat,” he said. “I understand there’s some history there. I’ve heard her say she’d rather give up eternal life altogether than go back to serve him.”

  Gillian blinked. “You can do that? Give up immortality?”

  “Well, quasi-immortality. Don’t forget, we can be killed if certain methods are employed.” A thought uppermost in his mind that morning. Seth was not a violent man by nature, but even he had his limits. “Otherwise immortality is all a matter of maintenance.” He didn’t like thinking about the tenuousness of their state of being, either. Too many things could go awry—as evidenced by the fact that Khepesh and Petru were the last two remaining of the thousands of ancient per netjer that had once flourished in Egypt. “If the ceremonies are not performed and the correct incantations not recited in a timely fashion, the magic simply fades away. Eventually you become mortal again, and pick up where you left off. More or less.”

  She blinked again. “Wow. Seriously?”

  “That’s why banishment from Khepesh is… undesirable.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  “Of course, being drained completely of one’s blood by an angry vampire is probably a worse fate,” he muttered.

  Her jaw dropped in horror. “What?”

  Oops. Had he said that aloud?

  She covered her eyes with unsteady fingers. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  He forced a smile and tapped the end of her nose. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t done that in nearly a millennium. And he did it only to someone who’d deserted to the enemy camp, a traitor to the god. Seth had no choice but to avenge the insult.”

  She dropped her fingers. “What about an insult to him personally? Oh, Rhys, we are so screwed.”

  “Have a little faith,” he told her. “This thing with Haru-Re may provide the means to distract him.”

  “Dear God, I hope so.”

  They’d arrived in a huge, three-story room canted by galleries and filled floor-to-ceiling with rows and rows of bookshelves. Some contained books, some files of papers, some ancient papyrus rolls. Several wooden tables were scattered throughout the room and galleries, with a handful of people reading or studying at them.

  Gillian looked at it all in astonishment. “Is this what I think it is?” she asked.

  “Five thousand years worth of historical documentation,” he affirmed, recalling that she was a student of history. “The most complete library of its kind in existence. Other than the one maintained by Haru-Re at Petru.”

  To his surprise, her eyes became misty. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Do you have any idea how incredible this is?”

  “A bit.”

  Moved by her sincere reaction, he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her forehead, acknowledge her wonderstruck awe at the discovery of such historical bounty. But the eyes of everyone in the room had lifted and were on them. He crossed his arms. “One can lose oneself for decades and not even scratch the surface. Believe me, I’ve done it.”

  She dabbed the corner of her eye with an embarrassed laugh. “Well, at least I’ll never be bored living here.”

  “That,” he said, “is a certainty.” He paused. “But today I thought we’d take a look at one particular book.”

  She gave him a curious look as he led her deep into the stacks to a section that dealt with everything known about Petru, the palace of Haru-Re. He pulled out a thick, heavy, parchment book and laid it on a nearby table.

  “What is this?” she asked as he carefully opened it, revealing
handwritten pages containing lists of names and dates.

  He found the last entry and started to leaf back from there. “It is a register of Petru’s initiates—the ones we know of—and the approximate dates they were admitted to the per netjer of Re-Horakhti.” He looked gravely at her. “When did you say your mother disappeared?”

  She stared at him, the terrible understanding slowly twisting her face. “You think she was taken captive by Haru-Re?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Ray hasn’t usually taken captives, either, unless desperate. It’s too risky. But in that photo you found, the man with your mother was one of his most trusted lieutenants. Why would she be with him if she hadn’t joined the per netjer?”

  Gillian’s troubled gaze went to the book. “Nineteen ninety,” she told him. “But if she went to Petru, it was not willingly. She would never have left our family.”

  “Let’s see if she’s even listed.” He ran his finger down the handful of entries for the correct year. “Our information is not always complete.”

  But Gillian was way ahead of him. She let out a soft cry and put a shaking finger on the page. “Oh, my God! Her name is here!” She looked up at him in dismay. “Oh, Rhys, my mother is being held by that madman!”

  Gillian could barely breathe. “I must go to her!” She leaped up, intending to run.

  Rhys’s strong grip on her arm held her in place, an immovable restraint. “Not an option.”

  She struggled against his control. “But they’re keeping her against her will! We have to rescue her!”

  “Darling, stop.” He glanced around. They were attracting even more attention now. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she insisted as he tugged her through the library and out into the grand hallway. But they still weren’t alone. “My mother needs me.”

  He kept walking, and turned down an unfamiliar but deserted corridor. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course I am. What are you suggesting?”