by Anne Marsh
“We should rescue her.” My voice sounds hoarse and desperate, and I hate that I’m showing vulnerability. I don’t know the woman out there, I remind myself. Jumping into the middle of that scene is foolish. It is impossibly stupid. And the odds of my being able to change the outcome are, truthfully, very small indeed.
“He’ll woo her,” the dark voice behind me promises, and I fight the urge to turn around and scream at him that nothing can prepare a woman for seven feet of feline power being loosed on her body.
I’ve seen sex acts. Hell, I’ve had sex, albeit mostly of the unsatisfying variety. But I can’t even begin to imagine what will happen between the enormous shifter and the delicate woman he’s just claimed as his mate. Helplessly, I stare at the erotic tableau.
“He’ll be careful,” the dark voice promises. Is Jafar aroused? I feel for the seams of the door, wondering if the Cat outside will be too occupied to notice if I try to sneak away. Are two mates forbidden—or encouraged?
Outside, the Guardian backs the female against the wall, inserting his large body between her and the branching tunnel.
“He protects her,” Jafar whispers, as if I don’t have a ringside seat. “His body between hers and danger.” I, on the other hand, would argue that the only danger is from the Guardian himself. “No one gets to her when he is there.”
The Guardian in the corridor lifts his companion’s leg and places it around his waist. The woman’s eyes glitter with dark, dazed interest. She doesn’t mind, I realize. Not now. White silk falls back, exposing the smooth expanse of pale skin. With this newest discovery, the Guardian growls low in his throat, burying his face in handfuls of hair. His hand moves between their bodies, his fingers rubbing her sex through the raw silk of the robe. The pair’s breath comes in harsh gasps. When her head falls back against the wall, exposing the long pale column of her throat, the man groans. His dark eyes drop, fixing on the shadow where his fingers play.
Scooping his female up into his arms with a groan, he cradles her with curious possessiveness. Gold flashes in the glow of the flarestick.
The man in the tunnel holds a pair of small golden bells.
JAFAR
Regret is an unfamiliar emotion.
And yet—my companion fears the Cats and I am regretful. As a Guardian, I’ve had centuries to accustom myself to the wariness and fear that mortals inevitably feel in my company.
The stink of fear permeated the public reception halls this morning and I know my fellow Guardians will have carefully culled the truly fearful from the merely nervous. The women who are really frightened would have been discreetly herded toward a separate section of the temple to scramble about until miraculously “discovering” the passageway that leads to the surface and freedom. Each would be handsomely rewarded and leave thinking she has had a lucky escape from the harsh demands of the Cats.
Luck has nothing to do with it.
My Miu chose poorly when she challenged the Amun Ra. Instead of letting her leave with the other women who had no desire to become Guardian mates, he invited her to run deeper into the temple. Either a Guardian catches her and mates her, or she reveals her true motive for joining the Hunt.
Already she’s made it all too clear to me that her motive is theft, but what is she after? And who is this master she’s mentioned? The little femi has information I need.
And now I want her as well.
It is just sex, I tell myself, the usual eroticism of the Hunt and knowing that, if I want, I can chase this female and no one will stop me. She can’t stop me. Hell, I’d make sure she didn’t want to stop me. Hot fantasy blooms in my mind: my feet pounding in a silent rhythm against the floor, mimicking the earthy pulse of my cock until I swing my larger frame against hers. Pin her between my cock and the wall. All that sweet, creamy flesh mine to coax and touch.
If I want to.
Which I do.
Hell, has Amun Ra realized this is a possibility?
I wouldn’t put it past that bastard to have thrown the two of us together just to test my resolve. Giving in is not an option. Never mind that all I can think about is that luscious body of hers, and all the erotic possibilities of being alone in the dark with her. I am the one in control. Not her. Not Amun Ra.
Still, in the soft darkness of the room, I drink in the scent of feminine arousal that teases my senses, realizing with a jolt of unmistakably sensual satisfaction that my Miu is not only a thief—she is also a voyeur.
I am enough of a Cat to take advantage of that fact.
Deliberately, I press my body against hers, trapping her against the slim crack where the stone slab fails to close completely. My kind loves the dark, the almost tangible feeling of the lack of light as the still air caresses my body like a lover’s touch. Without sight, the other senses are magnified. I can feel the smooth glide of Miu’s silk robe against my own skin. Smell the faint, sweet scent of her skin and the warmer musk of her sex. She is still wet from our earlier embrace.
Graphic images flood my mind at the thought of her creaming sex. Yes, I want to chase her. Take her. Mate with her. I want to hunt her, mark her body as mine.
With a groan, I shove myself away from the delicious heat of her body. Outside, the Guardian disappears down a side tunnel, still carrying his new mate in his arms.
I look down at Miu. She has no idea how much trouble she’s in.
MIU
When the heavy male body pinning mine to the door abruptly lifts, I don’t know whether to be grateful—or disappointed. Liquid heat pools in my belly and lower, making me want to arch into his heavy touch like a cat in heat.
Primal.
Unfettered.
His next question cuts through the sensual haze fogging my mind. “Still not worried about the Guardians?”
“Should I be scared?” Rule number two: never admit your fear.
“Oh, I’d be worried,” he says in that slow, honey smooth drawl. “Did you take a long look at the male out there? Ever imagined a lover who could shift on you, so you don’t know if the beast pinning you to the wall is man or Cat?”
His eyes bore into mine. As if my answer matters to him—which has to be a trick of the light. He can’t possibly care whether or not I’d be willing to romp with a Guardian in bed—can he? Besides, I don’t have an answer for him.
So I counter his question with one of my own. “Have you seen them before?”
“Many times.”
My brows shoot up at his words before I can stop them. Is that possible? Has the man taken up residence in the catacombs?
We’re wasting time. I have a necklace to steal, a sister to ransom. “Get a move on,” I order. I need to locate the necklace well before sunrise; otherwise I’ll have to wait until darkness falls and the moons rise again to pick my way to the surface.
“Fine.” He smiles over his shoulder. A slow, sexy smile that promises nothing but trouble for me. “Tell me which way you want to go.”
JAFAR
My female smells of cream. A sweet, honey musk that lights up the damn tunnels like a mazhyk beacon, practically calling down the Guardians.
“Eyes on me, merck.” My female pauses in the doorway and then stalks toward me. Since I enjoy the very feminine curves heading my way, I even don’t protest when she digs into her pack for a sheet of papyrus that she spreads before me. “Here.” Her finger stabs downward on the map. “This is where we are. And here”—she drags her finger several inches down and to the right—“is where I need to be. The catacombs. So we go this way.” Her finger traces a tidy set of right angles over the surface of the parchment.
I silently grind my teeth.
This map of my temple is downright infuriating: now I have both a thief to deal with and a serious information leak to stem as well. Not to mention what is fast becoming an overwhelming sexual attraction to the same thief. My feline senses tell me she is just as attracted to me—and yet I will have to take her to Amun Ra later on, after she’s led me to whatever object
it is that she wants from my catacombs.
That’s my duty.
For the first time, I find myself disliking what I must do to protect the temple. Perhaps I can wait a little longer since I don’t know precisely what it is that she’s come for—I need that information, as well as the name of Miu’s boss. I can put off her punishment for now.
But how long can I delay?
I scrub an impatient hand over my bare face. I know my brother Guardians. They’ll have picked up the scent of my female and they’ll follow. Some because they have a feline curiosity only information can scratch. Others because she is a female—and it is the Hunt. There is nothing like the promise of hot sex and a new mate to motivate my pride brothers.
“No more hanky-panky.” She eyes me balefully, as delightfully pouty as a cat shut out of a room. “No touching. No kissing.”
“If you insist, my femi,” I say. “It’s entirely up to you.”
“What’s up to me?” She bends down and scoops up her battered leather holdall, dropping the strap over her head. The worn leather settles between her breasts like a lover’s hand, separating the two mounds.
Great. Now I am jealous of a bag.
“Whether or not I touch you. I know you want me to. I can smell your desire,” I say, deliberately ignoring her furious blush. “Sweet. Smoky.”
“Too much information, merck,” she mutters. She scrubs at her cheeks, leaving a streak of dust behind. “I don’t stink.”
But she does smell sweetly of her arousal, an unmistakable feminine perfume that makes my cock throb and issue demands.
“Think unsexy thoughts,” I suggest cheerfully. “The Cats—they can smell feminine arousal from hundreds of yards away. All that delicate musk—I don’t think you bothered with undergarments today, my femi.” From the angry blush that crawls up her cheeks, I’m right.
She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at me.
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me a bunch of tomb guards are going to be able to smell—” she hesitates, clearly unwilling to supply the word, so I supply it for her.
“You.”
“I don’t think so,” she grinds out. “I had my bath today, merck. No worries on that score.”
“Got excellent noses,” I say cheerfully. And then, “Let’s get going.” I start off down the passage she’d indicated.
“No.” She pushes past me in the passageway. “I lead.”
Far above us, levels above us, I sense the stirring of the Guardians. The woman in my arms is in deep, deep shit. The only question now is: do I keep her? Or punish her?
Part Two
PURSUIT
MIU
Growly, surly, stubborn bastard. He certainly isn’t the Master’s usual type. Has Lierr really sent him to protect me? The more I think about it, the less likely it seems. I need—I shove past the snarly male and stride down the corridor—a test.
Some way to figure out just whose side he is really on.
His insistence that I need protection is both frustrating and endearing. I can take care of myself—have in fact been doing so for years—but the temple is a dangerous place and I’m not stupid. Having a warrior like Jafar on my side can only help. The problem is, I just haven’t figured out what it’s really going to cost me. Other than my peace of mind. Because when he’s around, my nerve endings sizzle and he makes me think about hot, hot sex. Neither of which will rescue my sister. He also clearly isn’t telling me the whole truth—if he’s even bothered to tell me part of it.
With a growl, he catches up to me, his hand cupping my elbow possessively.
Possession. Now there’s a litmus test I could apply. If he belongs to Lierr as I suspect, he should bear a mark somewhere. All I have to do is find it—or not find it. Then I’ll know for sure.
If he isn’t a fellow thief, I’ll lose him down below.
Getting naked, that’s the key to sorting out my mysterious companion. After all, how hard can it be to undress him? He’s practically there already. I eye his body, considering plans of attack. He stalks along beside me arrogantly, his eyes quartering the passageway as he searches the shadowed doorways for threats.
Get him naked.
Naked is good.
I’m still happily contemplating naked possibilities long minutes later when Jafar stops.
“No way.” I shake my head at the tunnel Jafar has indicated should be our turning point. “There are spiders in there.”
Jafar is clearly a madman.
I should have guessed there would be a catch when he claimed to know a shortcut to the catacombs. If I hadn’t been so desperate to get this job done, I would have heard other, more primal instincts shrieking their warning at me. Warning: dangerous madman.
“Hell. No.” I back away from the tunnel. “Find another route.”
The square, dark mouth stares back at me, a malevolent opening leading down to roomfuls of rotting, dead bodies. Lovely.
He shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “This one’s quickest.”
“I. Don’t. Care.”
“You will.” He turns dark, unrelenting eyes on me.
How unfair is it that a merck has been given eyes like that? I shake myself. Focus. Business.
“I will? Why?”
“Because we have company coming,” he says grimly. “No, you don’t want to know,” he adds when I instinctively glance over my shoulder.
Probably not. I’ve been checking the tunnel compulsively for the last twenty minutes; it’s good to know my internal radar still functions on some level because it seems to be broken where the merck is concerned—he looks better and better with each step I take.
“My map says we take this tunnel.” I point to a nice, tall corridor that slopes downward on our right. A reasonably wide, at-least-we-can-both-stand-upright-in-it tunnel.
His option is distinctly less appealing.
Shaking his head, he indicates the low entrance again. “Your way takes too long.”
Right. “What could be that bad?” I examine the tunnel again, but the spider webs still form a lacy drape over the entrance. No way can I go in there.
“We’ve got quite a crowd after us. A dark faerie and a daemon. Also a banshee. Way back but gaining fast, and at least one Cat.” He seems unconcerned, but his body tenses. He really, really wants me to get into the tunnel.
Time to use logic. “What stops them from following us in here?”
“The others”—he shrugs— “shouldn’t be tracking us with their noses. They won’t expect us to go this way.”
Which begs the question of how they are tracking us to begin with. If they are tracking us. Perhaps they, too, paid a visit to the map man. Or perhaps my merck has reasons of his own for wanting to get me into a dark, narrow death trap. Starting with my map. And ending with my treasure.
He swears under his breath. “Look, there’s no time for this.” His dark shadow detaches itself from the wall and glides toward me. Moving with predator-like grace, he herds me toward his chosen tunnel. Before I can protest, he bends down and scoops me up.
“Front or back?” he asks pleasantly. “Give me your word you’ll follow and I’ll let you choose.”
“Put me down.” I wriggle determinedly, loosing a long string of very creative curses that I learned in the city markets.
He shakes me gently. “Listen.”
Taking a deep breath, I do as he orders. Sure enough, I can make out a faint scuffling sound. The thinnest whisper of a sound. Is that a cloak dragging on the ground—or a blade being drawn?
“Back,” I spit.
“I have your word you’ll follow me to the end of the tunnel?”
“Yes.” Reluctantly, cursing, and ready to kick his ass, but yes.
He crouches and moves into the tunnel. “Some time this century?”
The tunnel is narrower, hotter, and…webbier than I’d thought it would be. At least Jafar’s large frame runs interference between me and the spiders when I duck into the ope
ning behind him. His broad shoulders brush the walls as he maneuvers the flarestick before us. Each time the light moves, scurrying sounds whisper around us as the local residents angrily abandon their webs, retreating to safer cracks or into the darkness.
Worse than the spiders, however, is the smothering weight of the darkness that the narrow pool of light cannot quite dispel. I fight a feeling of panic as the stone weight of the ceiling presses down on me. I must make a sound. Jafar pauses—and I run straight into him. Every single hard, hot inch of him. Jafar’s eyes are amused when he swings his head around—to check on me?
“All right?” His voice is a reassuring rumble. I’m not alone. I’ll get through this.
And then I’ll kick his ass because I’m nominally the boss of him.
“Yeah, peachy.” My sarcasm seems to roll off him. Apparently, crawling across a thick carpet of dust is just fine with him. The choking cloud of particles stirred by our movements doesn’t bother him. That, or he just excels at being stoic.
“Wait,” I order. He may be fine with the dust storm enveloping us, but one good cough will betray our position. While he pauses, clearly impatient to forge ahead, I tear strips of cloth from my once-white robe. Already, thick black bands of dirt mar the formerly pristine silk.
I tie the impromptu mask around my nose and mouth and then hold out the second strip to him. “Here.”
When he doesn’t take the material, I nudge him firmly in his ribs. Embarrassingly, my fingers leave a dark streak on his smooth skin. So much for personal hygiene.
“Do it for me,” he demands in a low rumble.
“What? No hands of your own?” I grumble. There are definite limits to the personal services I’m willing to provide.
“Just do it. I can drop all these cobwebs if you prefer.” He gestures with his shoulders and I watch, fascinated, as the muscles of his back work. Right. Yeah. His hands are full of sticky, gossamer strands. Some of the finer threads break off and cling. And is that a skittering sound I hear? Looking up makes it all too clear that the ceiling is alive with insects.