The Hunt: Complete Edition

by Anne Marsh

  I know, too, bone deep, that she is no match for either Guardian or Ifrit and yet she’s throwing herself into the path of both in my temple. I don’t like the idea of her getting hurt. But that is wrong. I test the thought warily. If she breaks the rules of the temple, she won’t get any more than what she has coming to her. That shouldn’t bother me. But it does.

  I bite back the feral growl that threatens to erupt from my throat. I don’t want a mate. I shouldn’t care who has her. Or who hurts her.

  But I do, on a completely primal level. My little interloper smells like no female who has ever come from the Valley. She possesses an exotic, wild scent—and a purpose clearly at odds with that of the other, mate-hungry women around her. Discovering what that purpose is… intrigues me. Because I want her.

  “She’s no bride,” I say to Amun Ra. “She’s up to something.” I keep my gaze trained on the shadowy passageway where the female disappeared. For some reason, I swear I can still smell her scent.

  “Perhaps.” Amun Ra’s air of sensual insouciance falls away as he rises smoothly from the divan. “Quite probably. And that, Jafar, is why I summoned you here.”

  Summoned me and pulled me away from watching for signs of Ifrits. Fortunately for Amun Ra, I am very good at what I do. My werecat senses let me see in the dark depths of the temple. They make me strong. Fast. And a lethal welcoming committee of one for any Ifrit foolish enough to cross over from its realm to mine.

  So I swallow my displeasure at being called away from my post. Amun Ra will have had a good reason.

  “You follow her.” Amun Ra gestures after the fleeing female. “Track her. If any of my Guardians can find out what she’s up to without his cock doing his thinking for him, it will be you.”

  True enough. It is an accepted fact that I want no female. “The lower levels are unguarded,” I growl. I’m not leaving those tunnels unattended, not with the recent uptick in Ifrit activity. Those bastards will seize the opportunity to cross over if they know no Guardian waits for them.

  “For a short while only, Jafar.” Amun Ra examines me, although I have no idea what he sees. I don’t care, either. “One of the other Guardians can take your place for today. Once you’ve learned what she’s up to, report back to me. And then you can return to your post.”

  Handing off my responsibilities doesn’t sit well at all. “I’m the best.” I am.

  Amun Ra smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach his cold eyes. “Precisely. And I want my best following that female. She’s your priority now, not the Ifrits. Keep her from getting loose in my temple. Find out what she’s after. That’s what I want you to do.”

  That’s what he is ordering me to do. “You want me to babysit this female?”

  “Make sure she doesn’t get lost; that’s all I’m asking.” Amun Ra’s voice grows colder still. “Call it babysitting if you want, but you stick to her like a leech. I want to know where she goes, what she does.”

  “She’s that important.” I don’t protest again, but it burns me to know I’m going to have to follow this female around like a dog on a leash.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Find out for me.”

  I don’t run errands. I’m a Guardian, a warrior. I fight battles. I do not slink around the passageways like some spy. Amun Ra must sense my resentment, because he continues, “You do this because I’m telling you to. Because I say it’s important. You don’t call me on it. Understand?”

  I do. I don’t have to like it, but Amun Ra has given me his orders. Follow the female. Find out what she wants. So now I have just one question. “You want me to kill her?” Because I will if I have to.

  “No,” Amun Ra says thoughtfully. “Not yet. Maybe she’s not up to anything.”

  “And maybe she is.” Her scent still teases me. “You giving her the rope to hang herself?” I don’t wait for an answer though, already angling my larger frame into the passageway that swallowed up the female runner. The sooner I complete my task, the sooner I can return to the Doorways. The sooner I can go back to taking care of the business that really matters.

  “Why not? Discover what she wants here. Be careful, my brother,” the Amun Ra calls after me, knowing laughter coloring his voice. “That one will run, Jafar—and run hard.”

  Don’t I know it? Too bad the Cat in me is intrigued.

  If she is up to no good, I’ll bring her down. If she’s in the market for a mate, she’ll find one. That possibility still teases me. She is pretty, for a human, impossibly alive, with a warmth that make me want to wrap myself around her. Her long, chestnut-colored hair spills about her shoulders in deceptively soft curls and waves. Her face is heart-shaped, the eyes demurely cast down so that the long lashes rest like the shadow of Thoth, the moon god, against her skin. She looks sweet. Innocent. The smile I feel creasing my face in unexpected. Because she also looked as if that pose of innocence killed her.

  Perhaps the little femi is looking for a mate. Perhaps she will be delightfully eager to be hunted.

  Erotic images flood my mind. I would enjoy the pleasures of mastering her. My cock thickens, hardening insistently and demanding to be planted deep in her wet sex. It could be just the summer heat and the mindless mating frenzy that seizes all of the Guardians when the sun blazes relentlessly in the abovelands, beating down on our stony world, heating it—and our blood—until we find temporary release with our sex partners.

  Unfortunately, there are few sex partners belowground, mostly women cast out by the abovelanders or otherwise marked by them for punishment. Otherwise, the only available women are those sent to us for our Hunts once a year. We Guardians have no females of our own, no hope for release from the burning heat that builds remorselessly in us until we find mates.

  And now—completely unexpectedly—here is a female who calls to me. One intended for the Hunt. A feral possession wells up in me. Mine. My mate. She could be.

  Dropped in my lap as if by the gods themselves.

  It is impossible. I know as well as the Amun Ra that there is no female in my future. Not given my past.

  “Good hunting,” calls one of the other warriors as I pass. My brothers glide smoothly out of the shadows, as drawn by the female’s presence as I am. So, in the end, the answer is simple. I must find her first.

  Loosing my senses, I let myself shimmer from man form into the sleek, muscled body of my hunting Cat. I will follow her. See what she is really up to in the temple.

  I don’t have to make her my mate.

  MIU

  I set off down the tunnel. Lickety-split. This Amun Ra has apparently bought into my eligibility and my participation in their Hunt is a go. I have the access I need to the catacombs beneath the temple, and only a complete fool would wait around for him to change his mind.

  Once around the bend and out of sight, I stop and assess my position. Will I be able to sense the necklace in the tomb far below me?

  The item I’ve been sent to steal is an ancient necklace of unknown mazhykal provenance and powers. It’s made of silver and set with at least one large moonstone. Last known owner: an alleged princess who met an untimely end at the hands of the Guardians here in this temple, where she’d been laid to a hasty rest. Since the princess died wearing the necklace, presumably she was buried with it. Which means all I have to do is find the casket, pop open the lid, slip off the necklace, and then make a fast run topside.

  Mission accomplished.

  Fortunately, one of my ancestors was a randy moon daemon who hooked up with a human great-grandmother. Though my mixed blood puts me near the bottom of the daemon pantheon and I generally don’t have enough mazhyk in me to boil water or cook an egg, I did inherit an affinity for the moon.

  And all things moon-related.

  That means I have two things going for me on this mission. First of all, two of Egip’s three moons have just entered their full phase. Even inside the temple and moving rapidly underground as I jogged along the downward slope of the passageway, I could feel the warmth of the m
oonlight tugging at me. This means I’ll be able to find my way back to the surface—and the moonlight. It’s a nice little insurance policy against being immured alive in the catacombs and I’ll take it.

  Secondly, the damned necklace just happens to be sporting a particularly large moonstone in the center. If I center myself, I should hear the stone’s call.

  I also have one other advantage: a map. I have no idea how the thief master procured it, but I’ll gladly use it. Mentally, I follow its shadowy curves out of the temple, fixing the twists and turns of my escape route in my memory.

  But instead of the maze of passages I should be focusing on, the starkly sensual scene I just witnessed replays itself again and again in my mind. The Amun Ra’s stroking was intensely erotic. Even though the last thing I need right now is a possessive alpha male, I can’t forget the look of pleasure on his face as he touched his partner. What would it be like to have a male look at me that way?

  Focus on the map. I’m not here for sex.

  A soft, unfamiliar sound comes from behind me and I feel the hair rise on the back of my neck. I may be a minor daemon—and only a half daemon at that—but I can still recognize mazhyk forces when they are unleashed. Somebody much stronger than me has entered the passageway behind me. I don’t even need my special senses to know that bodes ill for me.

  For a brief moment, I consider abandoning the necklace. The Master can find himself another treasure for me to purloin; my moon daemon senses tug me violently to the left, where a small, narrow passageway creeps almost vertically upward. Take that passage and I’ll be on the surface within minutes. Without the necklace, of course, and still in hock to the Master for one final theft, but I’ll be alive. Whatever is hunting me—and somehow I’m certain I am being hunted—would have to settle for going to bed hungry.

  The thief’s mark burning on my forearm jerks me out of my fantasies. The Master is growing impatient. He’s sent me to steal the necklace. And he’s also made it very, very clear what price he will extract for failure. I blink away the unwelcome image of Lore’s sugar-sweet face and the betrayed look in my sister’s eyes when Lierr—the Master, I remind myself deliberately—took her away. If I complete this last theft, Lierr can never again hold Lore’s safety over my head.

  Which means I cannot screw this up.

  So I quicken my pace, stretching my senses. Ahead, I sense a vast cavern. If my map is correct, a large room lies in front of me. Undoubtedly, it will be filled with Guardians or their servants. The faintest clink of metal weaponry reaches me. Not the way I want to go.

  Spying a small, narrow opening almost overhead, I hoist myself up and peer inside. The tunnel plunges steeply downward to my right.

  Good.

  I need to go down. The catacombs lie below these main floors.

  Far, far below.

  JAFAR

  I move swiftly through the temple passageways in my Cat form, padding down the ever-darkening corridors without hesitation as I follow the path that puts me on a directly intersecting course with the running female.

  Her scent calls to me still, but there is some other attraction at work as well. Although there is no denying the woman is pretty, I have seen human women possessing greater beauty. I have never, however, seen one who seems more alive. Perhaps that is the crucial difference. She vibrates with a delicious energy. Beneath the concealing folds of the silk cowl, thick curls tumbled down her bare back. Her skin is a creamy gold, the color of the exquisitely expensive honey pots that the southern traders brought through the well-guarded passes and down into the Valley below. However dear those sweet, viscous strands of liquid gold, I would offer far more for this woman.

  It seems unlikely, however, that she will welcome my advances. Despite her obvious curiosity at the Amun Ra’s display, her expression was reserved.

  Hostile.

  If she came here to participate in the mating Hunt—and I doubt it with every fiber of my being—she does not want to do so. No, my senses scream she is here for some far more nefarious purpose. What does she really want inside my temple? I’ll find out—and then I’ll stop her. My Cat comes to a sudden halt, raising its velvety muzzle from the stone floor of the passageway.

  The trail ends.

  Abruptly.

  I sniff again. Her scent remains strong, so she has been here. The question is: where has she gone?

  My pupils widen to accommodate the lack of light in the tunnel, flicking over the empty passageway.

  There.

  The narrow tunnel overhead is almost invisible, the opening half tucked behind a stone beam.

  My little femi has chosen a most unlikely direction. Straight down into the catacombs where the Valley’s dead are buried and where the Doorways lie. When I received the summons from the Amun Ra, I’d been following the almost invisible trail of an Ifrit recently escaped from Qaf, the daemonic lower realms that lie on the other side of those Doorways.

  Although almost none of the mortals can see them, the Ifrits are well over seven feet tall, massively built and strong, with powerful wings. Worse, they are brutal, indulging in a casual violence that decimated the local population before the Valley’s inhabitants made their deal with the Guardians: virgins in exchange for protection.

  Leaping lightly from the ground up to the round opening, I crouch inside the lip of the passageway. Empty. So far, she is fulfilling my expectation that she would be quite different from the usual run of females. She’s disappeared down the passageway as if she knows where she is headed. As if she has a particular destination in mind.

  But not escape. If my femi wanted simply to evade the Guardians and claim the dowry-prize for herself, she would have chosen either of the two passageways on the left that lead up to the surface. She would have recognized the scent of fresh air for what it is.

  What does she want then, if she wants neither freedom nor mate? Padding forward on silent feet, I run swiftly after her.

  MIU

  I run lightly down the passageway for about a quarter mile before pausing. With sure hands, I untie the satchel of supplies I’d fastened around my waist beneath the silk tunic. These comprise reason number two for not wanting to submit to a virginity test at the hands of his arrogant highness, Amun Ra. Understandably, he’d have questioned the presence of several shortknives, a flarestick, and a small scrying bowl lodged between my thighs. Not your typical wedding fare.

  In fact, it kind of highlights my lack of sincerity in the offering-myself-up-for-marriage department.

  Striking the flarestick against the wall, I wait for my eyes to adjust. The light glows to orange life, the brightness shocking in the Stygian darkness of the passageway. Fortunately, my moon daemon genes also mean outstanding eyesight even in the absence of light, but my other senses are not as well honed. I don’t want any sand snakes or—Heqet forbid—a tomb spider dropping unseen out of the darkness. The sand snakes are particularly vicious, burrowing into any warm, wet spots they can find. I shudder, but that’s okay. There’s no one here to witness my moment of weakness.

  All I can see are two walls. A ceiling. A floor. Darkness surrounds me, broken only by a perfect pool of light from the flarestick. Beyond the reach of my arm, the corridor dissolves into inky blackness. It can’t be any darker if I’d been shut into my own tomb. And, if I’m not careful, this will become my tomb.

  With my daemon eyesight, I can see farther into the darkness than most. The shapes of individual limestone blocks, capstones, and lintel markings loom out of the darkness as I slip past the darker rectangles of branching passageways.

  Even without consulting my memories—or the map tucked into my bag—I know I’m going in the right direction. When I stop briefly to focus, opening my senses to the still, hot air around me, I can feel the call of the moonstone. It sings to me. Teases me. Waits for me. I’d thought the temple was dead. It houses dead people, after all. Dead people and the Guardians who guard its treasure. But instead, the very structure seethes with quiet life.


  I can hear the soft slither of snakes moving within their burrows in the porous limestone, while the hot breath of unfamiliar breezes trickle through the still corridors from unseen air shafts cut deep into the core of the temple by its builders. Scorpions and spiders move in a clicking scuttle, sure-footed and graceful as they climb over the smooth walls. And, of course, there are other, more supernatural inhabitants of the temple.

  The temple has stood for more than a thousand years, or so I’ve been told. During those years, it has seen its share of deaths—accidental, gruesome, and otherwise—and sometimes spirits linger, taking up residence as and where they please. In these subterranean stretches, I may encounter death spirits; farther down still, there are ghouls and ghosts. Rumor has it there are Ifrits loose in the catacombs; I can only hope those particular rumors are untrue. Not even I stand a chance against an Ifrit.

  Listening for pursuit, I hear nothing. I hope my little volte-face has thrown off my earlier pursuer. I don’t think I had been hearing things; you don’t survive as a thief without learning to trust your instincts. Although I have a couple of portable spells in my bag, I prefer to save those for later. Once the spells are gone, the spells are gone. And I don’t know what sort of creatures I’m going to find down here, I tell myself. Sand snakes could end up being the least of my worries.

  Just ahead, I spot a hole in the floor of the passage. Could it be a shortcut to the level below? There is only one way to find out.

  Impatiently tying back my hair, I fashion a smooth tail from the bushy mass of curls. I no longer need the charming maidenly appearance I’d affected in the temple overhead, so the innocent, cherubic curls can go.

  Shoving the remaining items back into my bag, I sling the satchel over my shoulder. With the flarestick clenched in one hand, I check the shadows below me one last time for lurking tomb spiders and prepare to lower myself through the hole in the floor to the next level of the catacombs.

  “Sometimes,” I mutter because now is definitely a moment for inspirational speech or just plain reassurance, “you just have to jump.” If I don’t jump down, I can’t find the necklace. If I don’t find the necklace, it doesn’t matter what else finds me. See? I have no other options.