by Anne Marsh
Pulled him away from watching for signs of Ifrits. Fortunately for Amun Ra, Jafar was very good at what he did. His werecat senses let him see in the dark depths of the temple. They made him strong. Fast. A lethal welcoming committee of one for any Ifrit foolish enough to cross over from their realm to his.
He swallowed his displeasure at being called away from his post. Amun Ra would have had a good reason.
“You follow her.” Amun Ra gestured 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 was an accepted fact. He didn’t want any female. “The lower levels are unguarded,” he growled. He wasn’t going to leave those tunnels unattended, not with the recent uptick in Ifrit activity. Those bastards would seize the opportunity to cross over if they knew no Guardian was waiting for them.
“For a short while only, Jafar.” The eyes of the Amun Ra examined his Guardian. “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 his responsibilities didn’t sit well at all. “I’m the best.” He was.
Amun Ra smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite 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 was ordering Jafar 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 was cold. “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.” He didn’t protest again, but it burned him to know he was going to have to follow this female around.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Find out for me.”
He didn’t run errands. He was a Guardian, a warrior. He fought battles. He did not slink around the passageways like some spy. Amun Ra must have sensed his resentment, because he continued, “You do this because I’m telling you to. Because I say it’s important. You don’t call me on it. Understand?”
Jafar did. He didn’t have to like it, but Amun Ra had given him his orders. Follow the female. Find out what she wanted. He only had one question. “You want me to kill her?” He would if he had to.
“No,” Amun Ra said thoughtfully. “Not yet. Maybe she’s not up to anything.”
“And maybe she is.” Her scent still teased Jafar. “You giving her the rope to hang herself?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead angling his larger frame into the passageway that had swallowed up the female runner. The sooner he completed his task, the sooner he could return to the Doorways. The sooner he could go back to taking care of the business that really mattered.
“Why not? Discover what she wants here. Be careful, my brother,” the Amun Ra called after him, knowing laughter coloring his voice. “That one will run, Jafar—and run hard.”
Didn’t he know it? Too bad the Cat in him was intrigued.
If she were up to no good, he would bring her down. If she were in the market for a mate, she would find one. That possibility still teased him. She was pretty, for a human, impossibly alive, with a warmth that made him want to wrap himself around her. Her long, chestnut-colored hair had spilled about her shoulders in deceptively soft curls and waves. Her face was heart shaped, the eyes demurely cast down so that the long lashes rested like the shadow of Thoth, the moon god, against her skin. She had looked sweet. Innocent. An unexpected smile creased his dark face. And she’d looked as if that pose of innocence were killing her.
Perhaps the little femi was looking for a mate. Perhaps she would be delightfully eager to be hunted.
Erotic images flooded his mind. He would enjoy the pleasures of mastering her. Already, his cock was thick and hard, demanding to be planted deep in her wet sex. It was just the summer heat, he told himself: the mindless mating frenzy that seized them all when the sun blazed relentlessly in the abovelands, beating down on their stony world, heating it—and their blood—until they found temporary release with their sex partners.
Unfortunately, there were few sex partners belowground. Only those women the abovelanders had cast out or had marked for punishment. Or had sent to the Guardians for their Hunts. The Guardians had no females of their own, no hope for release from the burning heat that built remorselessly in them unless they found mates.
And now—completely unexpectedly—here was a female who called to him. One intended for the Hunt. A feral possession welled up in him. His. His mate. She could be.
Dropped in his lap as if by the gods themselves.
It was impossible. He knew as well as the Amun Ra that there was no female in his future. Not given his past.
“Good hunting,” called one of the other warriors as he passed. They glided smoothly out of the shadows, as drawn by the female’s presence as he was. He must find her first.
Loosing his senses, he let himself shimmer from man form into the sleek, muscled body of his hunting Cat. He would follow her. See what she was really up to in the temple.
He didn’t have to make her his mate.
CHAPTER TWO
Miu set off down the tunnel. Lickety-split. This Amun Ra had apparently bought into her eligibility and was going to allow her to participate in their Hunt. She had the access she needed 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, she stopped and assessed her position. Would she be able to sense the necklace in the tomb far below her?
The item she’d been sent to steal was one ancient necklace of unknown mazhykal provenance and powers. Made of silver and set with at least one large moonstone. Last known owner: an alleged princess who had met an untimely end at the hands of the Guardians. Right here in this temple, where she’d been laid to a hasty rest. Since the princess had died wearing the necklace, presumably she’d been buried with it. All Miu had to do was find the casket, pop open the lid, slip off the necklace, and then make a fast run topside.
Mission accomplished.
Fortunately, one of her ancestors had been a randy moon daemon who’d hooked up with a human great-grandmother. Though Miu’s mixed blood put her way down on the bottom of the daemon pantheon and she generally didn’t have enough mazhyk in her to boil water or cook an egg, she did have an affinity for the moon.
And all things moon-related.
That meant she had two things going for her on this mission. First of all, two of Egip’s three moons had just entered their full phase. Even inside the temple and moving rapidly underground as she jogged along the downward slope of the passageway, she could feel the warmth of the moonlight tugging at her. She’d be able to find her way back to the surface—and the moonlight. It was a nice little insurance policy against being immured alive in the catacombs.
Secondly, the damned necklace just happened to be sporting a particularly large moonstone in the center. If she centered herself, she should hear the stone’s call.
She had one other advantage: a map. She had no idea how the thief master had procured it, but she would gladly use it. She mentally followed its shadowy curves out of the temple, fixing the twists and turns in her memory. That was her escape route.
But instead of the maze of passages she should be focusing on, the starkly sensual scene she had just witnessed replayed itself again and again in her mind. The Amun Ra’s stroking had been intensely sensual. Even though the last thing she needed right now was a possessive alpha male, she couldn’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 her that way?
Focus on the map. She wasn’t here for sex.
A soft, unfamiliar sound came from behind her and the hair rose on the bac
k of her neck. She might be a minor daemon—and only a half daemon at that—but she could still recognize mazhyk forces when they were unleashed. Somebody much stronger than she had entered the passageway behind her. She didn’t need special senses to know that boded ill for her.
For a brief moment, she considered abandoning the necklace. The Master could find himself another treasure for her to purloin; her moon daemon senses were tugging her violently to the left, where a small, narrow passageway crept almost vertically upward. Take that passage and she’d find herself on the surface within minutes. Without the necklace and still in hock to the Master for one final theft. But she’d be alive. Whatever was hunting her—and somehow she was certain that she was being hunted—would have to settle for going to bed hungry.
The thief’s mark burning on her forearm jerked her out of her fantasies. The Master was growing impatient. He’d sent her to steal the necklace. And he’d made it very, very clear what price he would extract for failure. She blinked away the unwelcome image of Lore’s sugar-sweet face and the betrayed look in her sister’s eyes when Lierr—the Master, she reminded herself deliberately—had taken her away. If she made this last theft, Lierr could never again hold Lore’s safety over her head.
She could not screw this up.
So she quickened her pace, stretching her senses. Ahead, she sensed a vast cavern. If her map was correct, there would be a large room up ahead. Undoubtedly, it would be filled with Guardians or their servants. The faintest clink of metal weaponry reached her. Not the way she wanted to go.
Spying a small, narrow opening almost overhead, she hoisted herself up and peered inside. The tunnel plunged steeply downward to her right.
Good.
She needed to go down. The catacombs would be below these main floors.
Far, far below.
***
Jafar moved swiftly through the temple passageways in his Cat form, padding down the ever-darkening corridors without hesitation as he picked out a path that would put him on a directly intersecting course with the running female.
Her scent called to him, but there was some other attraction as well. Although there was no denying that the woman was pretty, he had seen human women possessing greater beauty. He had never, however, seen one who seemed more alive. She vibrated with a delicious energy. Beneath the concealing folds of the silk cowl, thick curls tumbled down her bare back. Her skin was 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, Jafar would have offered far more for this woman.
It seemed unlikely, however, that she would welcome his advances. Despite her obvious curiosity at the Amun Ra’s display, her expression had been reserved.
Hostile even.
If she had come here to participate in the mating Hunt—and he doubted it with every fiber of his being— she had not wanted to do so. No, his senses screamed that she was here for some far more nefarious purpose. What did she really want inside his temple? He’d find out—and then he’d stop her. His Cat came to a sudden halt, raising a velvety muzzle from the stone floor of the passageway.
The trail ended.
Abruptly.
His quarry had skipped the obvious side passages
along the route, and he’d been convinced she was headed for the Guardians’ chamber just up ahead. Most females ended up there, saving a great deal of work for everyone.
He sniffed again. Her scent was still strong, so she had been here. The question was: where had she gone?
His pupils widened to accommodate the lack of light in the tunnel. Golden eyes shone, flicking over the empty passageway.
There.
The narrow tunnel overhead was almost invisible, the opening half tucked behind a stone beam.
Now that was interesting. His little femi had chosen a most unlikely direction. Straight down into the catacombs where the Valley’s dead were buried and where the Doorways lay. When he’d received the summons from the Amun Ra, he’d been following the almost invisible trail of an Ifrit recently escaped from Qaf, the daemonic lower realms that lay on the other side of those Doorways.
Although almost none of the mortals could see them, the Ifrits were well over seven feet tall, massively built and strong, with powerful wings. Worse, they were brutal, indulging in a casual violence that had decimated the local population before the Valley’s inhabitants had made their deal with the Guardians: virgins in exchange for protection.
Leaping lightly from the ground up to the round opening, Jafar crouched inside the lip of the passageway. Empty. So far, she was fulfilling his expectation that she would be quite different from the usual run of females. She’d disappeared down the passageway as if she knew where she was headed. As if she had a particular destination in mind.
But not escape. If his femi had wanted simply to evade the Guardians and claim the dowry for herself, she would have chosen either of the two passageways on the left that led up to the surface. He was suddenly sure of that. She would have recognized the scent of fresh air for what it was.
What did she want then, if she did not want her freedom and she did not want a mate? Padding forward on silent feet, he ran swiftly after her.
***
Miu ran lightly down the passageway for about a quarter mile before she paused. With sure hands, she untied the satchel of supplies that she’d fastened around her waist beneath the silk tunic. Reason number two for not wanting to submit to a virginity test at the hands of his arrogant highness, Amun Ra. He’d have questioned the presence of several shortknives, a flarestick, and a small scrying bowl lodged between her thighs. Not your typical wedding fare.
In fact, it kind of highlighted her lack of sincerity in the offering-herself-up-for-marriage department.
Striking the flarestick against the wall, she waited for her eyes to adjust. The light flared to orange life, the glow shocking in the Stygian darkness of the passageway. Fortunately, her moon daemon genes meant outstanding eyesight even in the absence of light, but her other senses were not as well honed. She didn’t want any sand snakes or—Heqet forbid—a tomb spider dropping unseen out of the darkness. The sand snakes were particularly vicious, burrowing into any warm, wet spots they could find. She shuddered.
All she could see was two walls. A ceiling. A floor. Darkness surrounded her, broken only by a perfect pool of light from the flarestick. Beyond the reach of her arm, the corridor dissolved into inky blackness. It couldn’t have been any darker if she’d been shut into her own tomb. If she weren’t careful, this would become her tomb.
With her daemon eyesight, she could see farther into the darkness than most. The shapes of individual limestone blocks, capstones, and lintel markings loomed out of the darkness as she slipped past the darker rectangles of branching passageways.
Even without consulting her memories—or the map tucked into her bag—Miu knew she was going in the right direction. When she stopped to focus, opening her senses to the still, hot air around her, she could feel the call of the moonstone. It sang to her. Teased her. Waited for her. She’d thought the temple was dead. It housed dead people, after all. Dead people and the Guardians who guarded its treasure. But instead, the very structure seemed to seethe with quiet life.
She could hear the soft slither of snakes moving within their burrows in the porous limestone, while the hot breath of unfamiliar breezes trickled through the still corridors from unseen air shafts cut deep into the core of the temple by its builders. Scorpions and spiders moved in a clicking scuttle, sure-footed and graceful as they climbed over the smooth walls. And, of course, there were other, more supernatural inhabitants of the temple.
The temple had stood for more than a thousand years, she’d been told. During those years, it had seen its share of deaths—accidental, gruesome, and otherwise—and sometimes spirits had lingered, taking up residence as and where they pleased. In these subterrane
an stretches, there might be death spirits; farther down still, there would be ghouls and ghosts. Rumor had it that there were Ifrits loose in the catacombs; she could only hope those rumors were untrue. Not even she had a chance against an Ifrit.
Listening for pursuit, she heard nothing. She hoped her little volte-face had thrown off her pursuer. She didn’t think she had been hearing things; you didn’t survive as a thief without learning to trust your instincts. Although she had a couple of portable spells in her bag, she preferred to save those for later. Once the spells were gone, the spells were gone. And you don’t know what sort of creatures you’re going to find down here, she told herself. Sand snakes could end up being the least of her worries.
Just ahead, she spotted a hole in the floor of the passage. Could it be a shortcut to the level below? There was only one way to find out.
Impatiently tying back her hair, she fashioned a smooth tail from the bushy mass of curls. She no longer needed the charming maidenly appearance she’d been affecting in the temple overhead.
Shoving the remaining items back into her bag, she slung the satchel over her shoulder. With the flarestick clenched in one hand, she checked the shadows below her one last time for lurking tomb spiders and prepared to lower herself through the hole in the floor to the next level of the catacombs.
“Sometimes,” she muttered, “you just have to jump.” If she didn’t jump down, she couldn’t find the necklace. If she didn’t find the necklace, it didn’t matter what else found her. See? There really was no other option.
Sitting on the edge of the hole, she swung her legs into the black pool of darkness, raising the flarestick over her head. A large dark shadow lunged out of the darkness. Behind her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Without turning, she lobbed the flarestick over her head—there was the satisfying smell of singed fur—and slid into the open hole.
***