by Anne Marsh
I only hope Miu’s capture isn’t the cause of their celebration. I try again. “She’s valuable.”
“Really?” The Amun Ra looks down at razor tipped nails. “Convince me of that.”
“She opened a Doorway between our realm and that of Qaf. I was able to travel through it.” I lean casually against the wall, ignoring the dust coating the gold bands around my upper arms. The Amun Ra isn’t much for housekeeping. None of us are.
“She closed her Doorway, I trust?”
“She did.” What would happen if she didn’t? Is that where the first Doorways came from—abandoned portals that a lazy or unwary traveler left open? “We were trying to use the necklace to bring Lierr back to the temple,” I continue doggedly. “But the bastard knew all about the moonstone. He had his own way of directing it, so the Doorway opened in Qaf instead, and Miu was forced to go with him.”
“She did all this using my necklace.”
“Not yours.” Not to put too fine a point on it, but the necklace belongs to the temple. Doesn’t it? “It came from Qaf originally.”
“My temple.” Amun Ra shrugs in a lazy ripple of power. “My necklace. But,” he concedes, “valuable information.”
“Did you know she could do this, make the necklace work as it was intended?”
“Perhaps,” my leader admits, shrugging his powerful shoulders. The silver cape slips from his shoulders as he rolls them. “Damned slippery,” he says, eyeing it. “But it comes with the office.”
I go on the offensive. “So, if you knew what the necklace could do—what Miu could do—why kill her? Why not simply keep her here with us? Why should I turn her over to you now, for your cockeyed idea of justice?”
“She has got to you, hasn’t she? Isn’t there justice in punishing a thief?”
“You let me take the necklace and escape with her.” I am suddenly sure of this. The whole thing is an elaborate trap. Sparks of mazhyk glint in the air around the Amun Ra as he pushes away from the divan in a smooth, serpentine glide. The Guardians may be raw power confined in powerful, male bodies, but the Amun Ra is something else altogether.
Something alien.
“Leaving the necklace untested—leaving it where it could fall into the hands of Qaf and be pressed back into its original service—no, I don’t think that would have been terribly clever of me,” Amun Ra scoffs. He hasn’t drawn his blades yet. Perhaps there is still hope?
“Qaf had to be—has to be—stopped.” I’ve never disagreed with this sentiment. I’ve seen firsthand the danger of the Doorways and Qaf’s ability to open them. My Miu, however, isn’t a threat to anything other than my own peace of mind.
And my heart.
Somehow, though, I don’t think the Amun Ra is interested in that particular organ. Not unless it sprouts swords and a wicked aim. So what does the male want? Why has he stayed his judgment thus far?
“Take her from me and you’ll have to send me back.” I mean it, too. If the Amun Ra intends to kill Miu, he’ll have to pay a steep price: the loss of one of his Guardians. I am willing to be returned to the void.
As long as Miu walks free.
Amun Ra stares at me, not blinking.
“But you don’t want to kill her,” I say slowly. “Not really. You wanted her to come back here. Why?”
Amun Ra says nothing, just steeples his fingers and waits, the asshole. “Because you wanted to see what she would do. What she could do.” It begins to make sense now. “She’s a moon daemon and she can work the necklace, open the Doorways. You’re not planning to wait for the Ifrits to come through. This way, you can take the battle to them.”
Slow, methodical clapping comes from the divan. “Precisely. Of course, since your mate’s not a full-blooded daemon, there was a question of her strength. It seems”—Amun Ra examines the razor-tipped edges of his nails, a small smile playing over the corners of his mouth—“that the weakness was nothing a little sex and blood couldn’t take care of. That you could take care of. If you’re willing to cooperate, you could spare me the need to retrieve another spirit from that vortex of yours.”
“Deal.” I stride toward the door. The sex I can certainly take care of.
And I plan to enjoy every minute of it.
MIU
Violence has a smell.
All my high-minded idealistic thoughts of taking my lumps and accepting the consequences of my actions vanish in a heartbeat. Pausing on the threshold of the temple’s main chamber, I draw the stale, silent air deep inside my lungs. Hot and dry, the air carries a smoky promise of too many powerful males caged in a small space. Waiting for me.
I’m such a lucky girl.
The long gallery of stone cats flank me on either side; the only visible signs of life besides my companion is the less-than-straight path my bare feet mark in the inches-thick dust of the gallery floor. Just like walking on a thick, spongy carpet, I think, somewhat hysterically. Now I can feel the violent force stirring in them. Lust and heat. Curiosity and anger. Don’t think about that. Instead, I focus on the doorway ahead of us. Why did I get the harebrained idea that doing the right thing is the right thing to do?
“Mental,” I grumble. Sanur’s hand reaches out and clamps onto my waist.
“Keep walking,” he orders.
“Don’t trust me?” Because I wouldn’t either, and that’s the sad truth.
He shakes his head slightly. “No farther than I can throw you.”
“That’s the thanks I get for doing the right thing?” The path of the righteous is definitely unpleasant.
“Too little, too late,” he rumbles in his deep bass.
I’m insane to even think of doing this. I’m just not cut out to be a martyr. But for Jafar, I tell myself, I can do anything. So he can stay here with all these Cats, where he belongs. Sucks that I’m not going to receive accolades for this particular sacrifice, but there you have it. Probably builds my character, makes me stronger—right up until the point where it kills me.
Lifting my chin—there’s no point in appearing cowed—I step forward, my bare feet slapping against the cool granite slabs of the floor. How in the hell the temple’s original builders finessed the immense stones into place is a mystery; the vast cold weight stretches away below me into the shadowy depths of the temple. Thick swirls of dust cling to my feet, painting my toes a less-than-attractive shade of grimy gray. Really, if I make it out of here, I need to point out the availability of cleaning services to these guys. A sneeze tickles my nose and I fight back the urge.
“Faster,” Sanur growls. He draws his blade in a sharp hiss of steel. Lovely, and here I am with my hands tied. Literally.
Don’t screw this up. Simple, right? Give myself up, let the Amun Ra take his revenge—try to take his revenge, I think grimly—and then Jafar’s obligations are met. Of course—I eye the massive bronzed door in front of us—getting out of the Amun Ra’s private chamber will probably make climbing that escape shaft look like a visit to the petting zoo.
Yeah, death looks more certain by the minute.
The chamber we enter contains the same half naked female lounging on a divan. Doesn’t that sort of splay-legged posture get old? It seems cramp inducing, but Sanur tenses behind me, so he apparently appreciates the eyeful he just received.
I run my eyes around the room: it’s crowded with Guardians. Good sign or bad sign?
Jafar stands on the far side of the room, his face impassive. When Sanur brings me closer, however, a shadow flickers across his face. Regret? Concern?
Apparently, Sanur is running behind schedule, because we’ve entered in midsentence. Amun Ra is already in full swing, pontificating with lazy ease about the hideous, death-deserving crime I committed—as if no one has ever stolen something from the temple before. “And I thought he’d cut me some slack for returning voluntarily,” I whisper to my companion.
Sanur doesn’t bother to reply.
Across the room, Jafar tosses his blade up and down, his eyes never moving
from the Amun Ra’s. I have to give him credit: he hasn’t tossed so much as a wayward look at the other female. Which is good. I’m turning over a new leaf here. Ripping his head off is not going to demonstrate what a good mate I could be.
Jafar swiftly crosses the room to stand by my side. Even better. A man with a mission—and I’m it. Maybe.
His hands close on my shoulders and he swings me about to face the room.
“What do you have to say for yourself, thief?” the Amun Ra demands. “You have stolen from the temple. Is there any reason we should not put you to death for it?”
I splutter, but words won’t get me out of this mess. Not this time.
“Shut up,” Jafar whispers tenderly into my ear. For good measure, he licks the delicate shell, his tongue tracing the curve with wicked intent. I squirm. “Just let me handle this.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, but turns to the assembled Guardians.
Cats press in around us. “Thief,” the Guardian nearest us declares, his blade leaving its scabbard. Much to my surprise, Jafar places his body between the male and me.
“It is true: my mate came to the temple to steal,” he begins. “Yes, she took the moonstone necklace, but she has brought it back.” He swings my body in front of his, so that everyone can see the silver necklace about my throat. “She has sworn to turn over a new leaf. The moonstone necklace is her last theft, the hundredth stolen artifact she needed to free her from the thief master.”
“All well and good,” the Amun Ra drawls. “If what you say is true.” His cool eyes examine me. “I do not wish to see Jafar lose another female. He needs a loyal mate to settle him down. Since Pho’s betrayal he has been a bit too bloody vicious for my liking. He doesn’t leave much of the Ifrits he captures,” Amun Ra adds, when I look confused. “No one to ask questions of. And,” he adds meaningfully, “it’s the questions that tell me so much.”
I have to say the right thing. And I have to say it now.
“I’m done stealing. And I have other skills,” I point out. Jafar’s hands tighten on my shoulders.
“Think, femi, before you speak.” As if a little well-considered forethought can change my path.
“Already thought,” I whisper back. And I have, too. I want this man—and I’m beginning to suspect that he really, truly wants me back.
“Skills such as picking pockets?” the Amun Ra asks slyly.
Behind me, Jafar stiffens. “You picked someone’s pocket, femi?”
I remember the dead Ifrit, the items I lifted from his pockets. How does the Amun Ra know about that? This male’s power constantly surprise me.
“Granted,” the Amun Ra muses, “he was a dead man. I suppose that might be a mitigating circumstance. Couldn’t use what he had in his pockets.”
I wisely keep my mouth shut.
“But still, you took something that didn’t belong to you.” The Amun Ra approaches, puts his hand into my pocket. Metal clinks and behind me, Jafar groans. The flat metal disk I took appears in the Amun Ra’s hand.
“Recovery,” I say boldly, and Amun Ra looks at me, leveling the dark power of that gaze on me. “Mazhykal artifact that seemed better off in your hands than in some dead Ifrit’s.”
“You were bringing me the artifact.”
Keep the act together. Make it seem like I don’t care if seven feet of mazhykal aggression is toying with me, probably right before he kills me.
Jafar pokes me in the ribs and mutters, “Answer.”
“You want the Qaf dwellers to have it?”
“Right.” He lifts my chin and regards me, all smooth, towering male. Maybe challenging him was hasty. “Not particularly, no.”
“I concede that you could be useful to me. Your ability to use the necklace to open Doorways might be very helpful. And I have no wish to send Jafar back to the vortex.” He meets the Guardian’s hard gaze. “If I were to kill you, I believe I would have no choice but to do that.”
Jafar merely growls in response.
“So it is settled.” He smiles darkly. “By my reckoning, you’re a female in our temple and the summer moon is rising over the Valley even as we speak. Surely, my little daemon halfling, you know this.” It’s true. I can feel the silvery plucking of the moon deep inside me. “So,” he growls, “you will run again, and your mate will hunt you. These are my orders, and for once… You. Are. Damned. Well. Going. To. Follow. Them. I can’t have a Guardian,” he adds, when I look surprised, “who doesn’t know how to take orders when the time is right.”
“A Guardian?” I repeat, as Jafar’s hands close on my shoulders. “You want me to be a Guardian.”
Amun Ra nods.
“Why, A.R.,” I say, and someone groans audibly at my shortening of his name, “I didn’t think you cared.” I’ve never considered gainful employment before. It could be an interesting change.
“I can recognize talent when I see it.”
Right. “And I thought you only created Guardians from that creepy vortex of yours. Yet here you are. Offering me a deal. A job,” I add with some surprise. “Do I get a paycheck?”
He ignores my last question. “Well?” he demands of Jafar. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“Enough talk,” Jafar says sternly. “Get going, my Miu. I figure you’ve got a whole lot of running to do.”
I know a threat when I hear one.
And a promise.
Blowing him a kiss, I turn and run.
Pho’s tomb seems like the right place to confront my Cat, so I wait there for him, swinging my feet. Being naked as a jaybird might get my point across more clearly, but that seems too blunt. Just in case I misunderstood that raspy declaration of love while I was stuck in the lava tube.
“You said this was your last job,” he says carefully, as he comes through the door. His eyes scan the chamber, but it’s safe. No treasure daemons or death spirits. No traps. Not now. “The hundredth theft. End of the contract. I don’t know if I can stand to have you facing danger again. And the Amun Ra will put you in danger. You do realize you’re trading one impossible master for another?”
I meet his eyes. “Yeah. But I’ll be facing danger with you. We’ll be together.” I slide off the coffin with a squeak as he stalks toward me.
“There is that.” Reaching out a hand, he slides the tunic from my shoulder. The ball of his thumb strokes feather-soft over my skin, skimming the sweat-slicked hollow.
“It’s actually kind of a turn-on to be in the middle of the action,” I admit in a rush.
Jafar’s eyes snap up. His hand falls from my shoulder, grasping me by the elbow.
“Say that again?” he asks, in a deceptively quiet voice.
“I’m not the stay-at-home, mind-the-fire kind of a female. I enjoy danger, a challenge,” I admit.
“But now you’ve got a partner. Someone to watch your back.” He says it cautiously, as if he’s not completely sure I’ll accept his role in my new life.
“Yeah.” I smile. “You.”
“You’re really going to be my mate this time?”
I look deep into his eyes. “I trust you, Jafar. You’re the first.”
“Say it,” he insists.
“I love you,” I admit, still a little hesitant to speak the words out loud.
“And I love you, my femi,” he growls. “Never doubt it.”
He prowls toward me as if to remind me of the sensual bond between us, of his unique ability to satisfy my secret needs and desires. I love his body, large and aggressive and—mine. “We have unfinished business, you and I.”
“We do?” I stare at him, confused.
He sits on the edge of the coffin and pulls me down onto his lap. “Spread your legs,” he says darkly. “You’ve had this coming to you for days now.”
“For what?”
His large hand is already shaping my ass, finding the slit in my leather pants. The titillation of his teasing touch makes me cream. Oh gods, he knows what I want. What I need. One large hand bluntly traces the s
eam of my ass and slips inside my wet slit.
“Yes,” he demands. “You need this. Mate.” His finger gently strokes the opening, testing my slick readiness.
“Yes,” I pant. I do. And he needs to give it to me.
His other hand descends, delivering a sharp crack to the leather that fades into a stingingly erotic burn. Each sharp smack drives me farther onto his impaling finger, making me ride him deeper, stronger.
“For thieving,” he says gently, paddling me harder. Orgasm coils inside me, building. “I would not want you to forget. And,” he adds, his voice a low, dark whisper promising unspeakable pleasures, “because your ass is mine and I would not want you to forget that, either.”
“Is this what mates do?” I gasp. Gods, I can’t hold back the pleasure. It ripples through me in long, hot waves.
“Yes.” He presses the leather against my ass. “They do this, and whatever else they can think of. I love you, my Miu.”
“And I love you. Look, I can say it without sounding surprised. I’m thinking of it as an adventure.” I roll over and pull his head down to mine. “You’re part merck, after all, Jafar.”
He tests the word. “Merck. Thief.” The words no longer seem so alien.
“Yes. Stealing females, breaking hearts.” I stare up at him hopefully.
“Plundering and pillaging,” he offers. I raise one leg to his shoulder and let my legs fall apart. He groans, unable to bite back the sound. Gods above, he wants me.
“Yes,” I agree, “starting with the mate you’ve carried off from beneath the master’s nose. What penalty do you think such a theft might merit?”
“If she loves me?”
“Conveniently, I happen to love you.”
“A very stiff one indeed,” he agrees solemnly, and then proceeds to show me that he’s more than able to pay the price.
Note from the Author
THE HUNT started life as a thirty-page novella. Even better, it was a sexy space opera with playful BDSM elements. As I wrote the story, however, I kept hearing a little voice in my head (always dangerous) going This should be longer…