by Anne Marsh
“What do we do now?” she asks, cutting into my thoughts. “I’ve got no guards, no horses, and just days to get the necklace back to Lierr.”
“We stick to our original plan. You’ve still got me.”
Swinging her up into my arms, I carry her toward the darkest side of the clearing.
“Why, Jafar,” she says, in a tone I can’t quite interpret, “Don’t tell me you’re a closet romantic?”
Just because I can—just because I clearly shouldn’t, since there are things going on here that we need to figure out—I want to kiss her. What could be more romantic than a full moon and a darkened clearing? Hell, I can even hear the faint, melodic sounds of water. Undoubtedly, in daylight, the water will turn out to be a brackish, muddy trickle issuing from some equally grubby rocks where a merchant caravan stops to water the camels, but at night the same miserly trickle of water is a mazhykal thing. And I know enough to keep our boots out of the dung patties the clearing’s previous occupants have left behind.
There is a second, smaller clearing tucked away on the other side of a stand of trees. My femi pauses, a tense, prickly little armful, but the stiff line of her spine relaxes ever so slightly when I put her down in the open, moon-bathed space. She turns her face up so she is washed in the clear, cool light.
Moonlight.
“You’re a moon daemon,” I say out loud.
MIU
“Half daemon,” I correct. “On my father’s side.”
“The moon calls to you, draws you.”
The silver necklace glows in the light of the moon as I nod. “It always has.”
“I wonder if that was why Lierr sent you? What did Lierr tell you about the moonstone necklace?” he asks. “Why do you think he’s so fired up about getting his hands on it?”
Touching the heavy piece of jewelry around my neck, I trace the silver in my hands. Even after almost dying for this hunk of metal and stone, I still can’t figure out what the attraction is. “He didn’t share his reasons, just the consequences if I failed to bring it back.” I hold the piece up to the moonlight, where it seems to take on an unearthly glow. “He’s targeted particular pieces before, but he’s always been willing to pull back if it looked like we weren’t going to be able to acquire them.”
“And he’s not the only one after the necklace,” Jafar adds. “There has been a dramatic increase in intruders to the temple lately.”
“And all of them were human thieves?”
“No,” he replies thoughtfully. “Not all of them were thieves. Some were Ifrits.”
“I thought you had Ifrits crossing over all the time.”
“But not all in one section of the temple.”
“Which section is that?” I have a sinking sensation that I already know. Jafar isn’t just making conversation. He’s making a point.
“The points closest to Pho’s coffin. The princess you exhumed.” He drags a hand through his hair.
“You’re on a first-name basis with the dead?”
“This one, yeah. I killed her.”
He cuts me off before I can ask questions. “She had the necklace on at the time.” He reaches out to finger the glowing moonstone. Regret is visible on his face.
“What’s your interest in all this?” I demand. “Talk to me.”
“I made a mistake, a mistake I can’t fix. Doesn’t matter that I want to, that if I could go back and do it all over again, I’d do what I was supposed to do, no matter what.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Down there in the catacombs, standing watch on the Doorways, it was all just routine to a young Cat. I was bored, Miu. I didn’t find it particularly exciting to stand guard where I’d been told to stand guard, and I thought I knew better than older, wiser members of my pride. Why couldn’t they see that nothing was going to happen where I was assigned? That’s what I told myself and I was convinced I was right. When the first Ifrit came charging through the narrow crack, I was elated, femi. I thought I was finally going to see a battle worthy of the name. Of my name. I cut the Ifrit down and never stopped to ask myself why he went down so easily.”
“He didn’t put up a fight?”
“He did. Enough to lull my initial suspicions, enough so that I felt strong. Powerful. Lethal. When the female followed, the first death had dulled my killing edge just that little, necessary bit. I didn’t swing automatically when she slipped through the Doorway. I stopped. I took a good look.” His gorgeous golden eyes turn dull and flat, tracking the memories only he can see.
I want to strangle the woman who did this to him—and that confuses me. Heqet’s balls. I’m starting to think of him as mine. I actually want to keep him.
“She was a female. She was young. I dismissed her as absolutely no threat at all and let her come through.”
Threading my hand through his tawny mane, I rub gently at his scalp. Keeping him is impossible. I’m a thief. He’s a Guardian. Right?
“But she wasn’t harmless.” It has to be said and I have to keep him talking.
“No,” he agrees heavily, pressing a kiss against my exploring palm. “Pho did a world of damage. I brought her up to the surface. Let her run free for a bit, thinking to gain her trust. She had spun me a tale of being abducted by the Ifrits, forced to serve them in Qaf. It wasn’t unheard of.” He lifts a shoulder. “It had happened. Sure, we’d never got one of those females back alive, but sometimes the Qaf dwellers would push the brutalized bodies back through the Doorways. A sort of taunt that they’d won that particular battle. I figured she’d been lucky enough to tag along behind a warrior headed for the Doorways. She had the bruises—the scars—to back up her story. Whenever one of us got too close, she’d tremble like a leaf.”
Once again, I fight an urge to rip the long dead woman to shreds.
“Of course, I was just about as wrong as they come. She wasn’t harmless and she wasn’t scared. Just clever enough to play on our delight in having rescued a female from the hands of the Ifrits. We let her wander around the temple and congratulated ourselves every time she looked a little less frightened.”
“So you were nice to her. She took advantage.” There has to be more to the story than a male feeling foolish over a female.
He presses a hard kiss against my throat.
Just for once, I want to be wrong. This isn’t going to be a happy story.
“You could say that. She slipped into a guard room and slit the throats of a half dozen Cats before I caught her. And Hebon’s mate Oni was there, one of the first victims of Pho’s bloodlust. Maybe if she hadn’t been there, the Guardians would have reacted faster, but Pho’s turning on us was unbelievable. Straight out of a nightmare. Just standing there, laughing, blood dripping from her blade. She just stood there and waited for me to see what she had done, and then she used the blasted necklace to open up a Doorway between the temple and Qaf.”
I stare. Definitely not a happy ending. “She didn’t get away?”
“No,” he says grimly. “She overlooked the possibility of my becoming sufficiently angry to forget the gentlemanly traits that had protected her so far. I stuck a blade in her as she stood there, laughing, with one foot in each realm. Portal closed and I’m pleased to say that only her foot made it back to Qaf. The rest of her we threw into the first empty chamber we could find.”
I remember the dead skeleton from whom I plucked the necklace. Were all the bones there?
“I won’t make that mistake again. Haven’t made it. Whatever comes through the Doorways, I kill.”
It’s a miracle then that I’m still alive. And no wonder Jafar is so determined to learn why Lierr is after the necklace. His story explains so much.
“I have a pretty strong feeling that moonstone around your neck opens Doorways. What I need to know now,” he continues, “is why Lierr sent you for the necklace.”
“Because I’m his best?” I try using my usual sarcasm.
“How much do you want to bet that it takes a
being with some pretty powerful moon mazhyk to make the damn thing work?”
Automatically, I shove at his hand and he lets me go. I don’t go far, stepping away from him to look up into the darkening night sky. The first silver points of starlight prick the blackness around the rising moon.
“You’re saying Lierr wanted me to go after the necklace because he needed a moon daemon to make the stone do whatever it does.”
“That’s what I think.” He reaches out and puts his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Unless he’s got a mage or someone equally powerful in his keeping, you’re Lierr’s best hope of making that necklace work. I don’t know why your thief master wants this particular ability, but the man can’t possibly have a good reason.”
“There’s only one hole in that theory,” I reply, scuffing my foot on the ground. “Lierr may know that I’m a moon daemon, but he also knows I’m not a very good one.” I pull my shoulders back and look up to face him. “He knows I’m a weak, weak halfling. If I had any real power, don’t you think I would have used it by now to get my sister away from him?”
“How do you know you have no power?” he asks intently.
I stare at him impatiently. “I think I’d know if I had any awesome moon daemon mazhyk, don’t you? In the last two decades, I can assure you I’ve done squat as far as moon mazhyk is concerned.”
“There’s one sure way to test my theory.” He smiles slightly. “If you’re not afraid?”
“Be my guest.” I gesture with my hand. “If you want to stand out here, testing ridiculous theories, while we wait for the Ifrits to track us down, you go right ahead. I’ll even give you five minutes of my time,” I add graciously.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You need to bleed.”
I just knew that satisfying the tall, arrogant, hulking male looming over me would take more than parading around in the moonlight like a fool. In the past, I’ve honestly tried to get in touch with my daemon mazhyk, but no luck. Daddy dearest didn’t leave me an instruction manual. Earlier tonight, when Jafar hadn’t been looking, I’d even wrapped both hands around the stone and flapped it in the pool of silvery light. Nothing. I’m not surprised. No spooky mazhyk in me.
“I’m no expert on how the Ifrits travel between realms, but I know there was plenty of blood around when Pho opened that Doorway.” He curses and takes a step closer to me. Right. As if I’m letting him anywhere near me after that statement. Instead, I settle for glaring at him.
Smart male. He stops walking, but his fingers clearly itch to draw a blade. I keep one eye on them and heft the necklace again. “See? No moon mazhyk. Nada. Nothing. Got any more ideas, or can we get on with returning to Shympolsk sometime before Lierr decides to make shish kebab out of my sister?”
“Got to activate it.” He frowns and I suddenly find myself staring at the endearing little crinkle of skin between his eyebrows. Snap out of it, girl, I remind myself. The man wants to stick you like a pig and you’re admiring his facial features? I have it bad.
Behind us, the moon inches higher. In minutes, the silver circle will be directly above us. With the moonstone around my neck, I can feel the hot prickle of the light crawling over my skin. Awakening me. I have to fight to remain still, heat unfurling low in my belly.
What would sex with a Guardian be like on this evening?
He smiles grimly and I realize that that is precisely what he intends to discover.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “No way. I’m not helping you out here.”
“It’s for a good cause, femi,” he says in that low, chocolate voice that I’m coming to dread. It makes me do things no self-respecting female would ever dream of doing.
“You can feel it.” Jafar’s head dips toward mine. When I bare my teeth at him, he smiles, low and dark. “Heat. Mazhyk.”
“No.” I deny it.
“You’re. Not. In. Control. Here.” His words are a dark promise, full of liquid heat. His eyes watch me.
“I am,” I challenge him. I can’t afford to lose this battle. My sister is at stake. There’s no time for sex.
“The moon, Miu,” he coaxes. “Look at the moon. Feel all that power? Imagine how it would feel running through that necklace of yours.” My hands seek and find the heavy weight of the necklace clasped around my neck. I should take it off. Should throw it away.
He pulls me roughly against his body. Pressed against the hard, hot, masculine heat of his thighs, I can feel the leashed power.
“One finger,” he promises darkly, his eyes never leaving mine. His body demands, pushing against mine. “I’ll put one finger into your pussy. No more. Imagine that, femi. I can feel how wet you are. How long would it take for you to come?”
Not long.
He pushes me up against a tree in a smooth rush of muscled strength, lifting my thighs around his waist. My breath catches at the feeling of being dominated, pinned open. He holds me there, pressed against the smooth bark by his lower body. One hand slaps the trunk beside my head, creating a hot cage of male sinew and skin. Heqet, that skin. I want to taste it with my tongue until he hollers.
“Yes,” he coaxes. “One finger? All you have to do is ask.”
Right. I’ll never beg. Instead, I turn my head away, neither refusing nor permitting the caress.
His eyes gleam darkly. One thick finger traces a wet path from the top of my pussy to the greedy opening below that flutters in wicked anticipation. His finger finds the front of my trousers and opens it, plunging boldly through the soft slit.
Pleasure howls in my veins. “Wicked,” I accuse, but I wrap my arms around his neck. “Naughty kitty shouldn’t do that.”
Of course he shouldn’t, but he does.
“No polite request? I’m disappointed, femi.” He pierces me with his finger, boldly pushing through my cream-slicked lips and deep inside. The hot flesh gives readily, my imagination fired by his bold words.
He whispers rough compliments against my neck, his heated breath raising its own army of goose bumps on the curve of my throat. His dark form dominates my smaller, paler body.
I wiggle experimentally, sinking further onto his finger until my hard bud slides teasingly along that spearing digit.
“Let me fuck you, Miu,” he demands in a quiet, fierce voice.
He does something with his finger and his thumb, a rubbing motion that makes me mewl into his mouth. With each new stab of pleasure, I gasp.
His kiss is the kiss of a desperate man. No finesse and all hot, wet caress. His tongue strokes along the seam of my mouth, demanding entry, so I open and he sweeps inside, conquering. Warning signals flash in the distant part of my brain that is still functioning. The rest of me, though, drinks in the lush taste of the male who holds me, just as my body drinks in the moonlight.
“Feel it, too,” he groans, lifting his mouth from mine. Pressing that wicked mouth against the curve of my jaw and lapping at the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “You feel the moon?”
My entire body trembles, awakening as if the biggest orgasm of my life is about to crash over me. He shakes his head, his mouth taking mine again. He pulls my body against his, arching into my flesh like the feline he is.
“Mazhyk,” he growls.
“Yes,” I breathe. He is mazhyk, his touch setting fire to my blood.
“Sex mazhyk.” Is that regret I hear in his voice? My eyes fly open.
“Sex mazhyk and blood,” he repeats. “Always worked for the Ifrits.”
With a quick movement, he slashes his blade down the inside of my arm, reaching for the moonstone.
JAFAR
“You bastard!” Miu’s hands lock around the necklace, pulling at the silver links.
Burying my face against her neck, I mutter words of apology in the old language of the Guardians, the tongue we’d used before we mastered human speech and language. Dasht menya paz. Forgive me, lover. I had to do it. There is no other choice.
I hadn’t been sure, however, I would be able t
o do it. Stab another lover. Of course, I’ve only pinked Miu’s arm. I haven’t jammed the blade deep into her devious little heart as I did with my Ifrit. Did the Amun Ra know that I mourned my Ifrit, even if she had betrayed me, maddened me and stripped me of my honor? I thought I loved her.
Perhaps I had—but it is nothing compared to what I feel now for the female in my arms.
Raising my hand, I smear the sticky crimson liquid over the glowing surface of the moonstone. Blood drips along my arm as her fingers twine around mine, whether to stop me or aid me, I cannot tell. My Cat stirs and I force the shift down. Not now.
Instead, I take a deliberate step forward, out from under the tree, into the silvered patch of moonlight. As she tightens her legs around my waist, I wait for the mazhyk to begin. Nothing happens. Moon rays trace dark shadows over our enmeshed bodies. In the half twilight where the moonlight penetrates the nighttime darkness, the necklace glows faintly, as if it pulls the moonbeams through the pale, surf blue stone set in the dead center of the silver circlet.
“It glows,” she says. “And burns.” The circlet brands her skin. A soft pink flush radiates out beneath the heating metal. I swallow back bile. It isn’t hurting her. She will be fine. She has to be.
And yet no portal opens. I fight to remember what I know of portals. Have there been other keys between the realms? I’ve heard of a few, but have never seen one.
“It’s not working,” I growl, without taking my eyes from the slow trickle of blood. Something is not right.
Above us, the moon sails majestically across the sky. A peaceful, calm look spreads across Miu’s face. The look of a woman who has been well satisfied in bed.
“Ummm,” she breathes, raising her arms.
Moments ago, she writhed on my finger, looking to me to bring her satisfaction. I will be the only one to make her face assume that blissed-out expression. Not some damn moon goddess. I wrap my hand around her wrist, bringing her back to the present.
“What’s that for?” She glares at me. Deciding silence is definitely the better part of valor this go-round, I settle for a grunt. Heqet, am I jealous of a goddess?
Moonlight suddenly jerks downward. Soft, swimming bands of light violently reroute, pulled down and through the necklace’s stone, impaling her. Miu shrieks with pain, clawing at the band.