by Anne Marsh
Three dark heads swiveled unerringly toward the escape shaft.
Turning, he faced the males. Since he’d run with them in Cat form and fought by their sides in man form, he knew them. He knew how they fought—and what they were likely to do. Sanur had drawn his blades already, but the other two hesitated, Hebon because he hadn’t decided if he wanted to strike a death blow, and Badru because, well, he’d never been completely normal. He watched, long after others had acted. Never mind that he usually came to the correct conclusion.
The Guardians would want to believe him. These were his brothers. Surely, he couldn’t be forced to choose between them and the female.
Could he?
“Who is she?” Sanur’s sympathetic face swam before him. “We can take her to the Amun Ra, Jafar. We can let him decide.” His brother left the rest of his sentence unspoken: We don’t have to kill her now. He was willing to bend the rules that much.
Hebon didn’t say anything, but his arms tensed. Jafar knew he was ready to pull the blades and, if he had to, he’d throw them at Jafar. Duty first. Everyone knew that Hebon never wavered. Ever. Once he’d committed himself to a course, he stayed it.
“Not a thief,” Jafar repeated through gritted teeth. He had no proof of that, even if he’d had his suspicions and even her own admissions to damn her. “Look around you,” he invited. His brothers scanned the shelves of the small alcove, thick with canopic jars and the small ceramic figurines that the Valley dwellers loved to bury alongside their dead. “She took nothing,” he continued. Hebon’s eyes narrowed.
“From here,” Hebon countered.
“From anywhere I’ve been with her. Those jars are worth a fortune. One jewel from them and she’d be a wealthy woman.” If she made it out of the Valley and if she could find a gem man foolish enough to take the stones off her hands.
“So she’s selective.” Hebon shrugged. “Or stupid. Someone set off a warding spell down below and you know as well as I do that it’s likely to be her. Who else is down here besides us?”
More creatures than he cared to consider, that was for certain. The Amun Ra needed to assess the security risks of their Hunts. Too many outsiders had used the Hunt to sneak into the temple this time. Tersely, Jafar sketched the list for his brothers. “Not the only one. You found the daemon”—crushed and therefore unlikely to be the thief below, but he had a point to make here—“and he was not alone. Who do you think caused that cave-in? Banshee,” he said grimly. “And she was traveling with a dark faerie as well.” He’d seen three intruders, but that didn’t mean more hadn’t been lurking unseen in the shadows. He hadn’t checked and now he cursed himself for his carelessness.
“Right.” Sanur backed toward the entrance. “We have a breach. Did they come from above—or below?”
Jafar considered what he’d seen. None of the intruders was dark enough—or powerful enough—to have come from the underground realms. “Above. Definitely above.”
“Any idea how they got in—or how they got this far?”
Jafar held up the square of papyrus he’d removed from Miu’s person. “Maps,” he said succinctly. “Someone is making maps.”
Sanur swore. “Are they crazy?”
Probably just shortsighted—and greedy. Still, it was a leak that needed to be plugged and he knew that if Sanur and Badru didn’t take care of it, Hebon would. The Cat’s face was sterner than he’d ever seen it.
The screeching got even louder.
Unable to wait any longer, he shifted, letting the change shimmer over him. In the beat of a heart, his cells reshaped with a wrenching pleasure pain. He reformed, having called the werespirit from its resting place in the hard stone statue of the Cat.
The need to hunt, to feed, to fuck, poured through him, drowning logic. His werespirit had a very simple code—and very lethal talents. It protected. It ran. It hunted. Usually, the partnership between Guardian and Cat was a smooth one, a matter of deliberately blending the edges between his soul and the werespirit until there was just the one entity pulsing through the male body. But now his werespirit wanted the female, despite the man’s reservations. The werespirit was ravenous with hunger for her. Had succumbed to the mating heat.
Before the other Guardians could move, he completed the shift, driving several hundred pounds of leonine force at the stone wall where his Miu had vanished. The stone cracked and gave, allowing him to batter his way through the narrow opening until he hovered on the brink of the chasm.
Off balance.
Rapidly, he shifted back, closing the opening behind him with a few well-placed boulders. Curses and the sounds of rock shifting followed him. The makeshift barrier wouldn’t hold his brothers for long.
Pulling his blades, he dove down the air shaft, letting his body plunge hundreds of yards, banging against the stone walls as he plummeted.
The warding screams grew louder as the stone flashed before him.
Now.
At the last moment, he dug into the soft stone with his blades. With a wrenching sensation, his arms were almost ripped from their sockets, his entire weight hanging from the blades. He’d fallen several yards below the opening to the burial chamber.
Someone—Hebon—bellowed angrily far above him. He’d deal with the pride later. Right now, he needed to collect his female.
He’d put his life on the line for her. Worse, he’d put his honor on the line.
And she was the thief.
Hand over hand, he began the upward climb.
***
The sword sliced through the neck bones of the dead woman, scattering vertebrae like pearls. No time for prayers or apologies—the alarm was no longer sounding, but Miu was sure it had done its job. Her fingers closed over the amulet, wrapping the silver in soft cloth and stowing it securely in her bag. She fingered the contents for the map. Damn and double-damn. No map after all. She’d left the map with the merck. Well, she thought prosaically, couldn’t be helped, could it? She was hardly going to go back up there and ask him for it. Besides, he was probably ready to throttle her by this point. She spared him half a thought—she didn’t want to know why the idea of him falling into the Guardians’ hands made her stomach sink like that—and then darted for door.
A rasping cough from opening to the airshaft stopped her.
“Going somewhere, femi?”
Perched on the edge of the air shaft, Jafar regarded her with glowing golden eyes.
Heqet’s shades, but the man had more lives than a cat.
She fought back the unexpected tide of relief.
“How did you get out?” Maybe reminding him that she’d left him behind had been a mistake. “I was coming back,” she improvised, hoping he didn’t possess anything remotely like a truth spell.
His eyes flickered over the desecrated coffin, the drunken treasure daemon, and the ivory confetti of the dead woman’s bones, then stopped on the bag at her waist, where she’d slipped the necklace she’d just pocketed.
“We need to have a little chat, love. Talk about this propensity you have for darting off in unexplained directions. I thought we were working together.”
“Hurt?” She could only hope.
“Confused,” he replied coldly. “Put off my stride. Not sure what my employer wants from me here. The idea was to keep you safe, see, and letting you run around and pocket other daemons’ treasures seems like a piss-poor way to go about it.”
“Go away,” she muttered. Could she make it to the door before he was on her? Her mapmaker had shown her the pattern of the floor tiles in front of the exit, had told her which ones she must avoid at all costs. She didn’t think the merck knew the secret to crossing the floor, but he might figure he could handle whatever the chamber threw at him. He was large enough that a few knives might not stop him. She forced the breath to leave her mouth evenly. Panicking wasn’t going to help here.
“Can’t do that, love,” he replied, jumping to the floor. Hands on hips, he strolled confidently over to the coffin a
nd examined the mess she’d made of the dead woman. “No respect for the dead? I’m fairly certain she didn’t look like that when you arrived.”
“Prove it.” He just shook his head, stirring his finger through the bones. “If that death spirit is still hanging around, she’ll have a bone to pick with you about this.”
He was probably right, but that was the least of her problems. She continued her slow, careful shuffle toward the main doorway.
“Stop,” he ordered.
Ooh, she hated orders. Always had.
Miu kept sliding carefully toward the door. Her eyes never moved from the god-awful pink squares.
“Not wise,” groaned the daemon, stirring slightly. His limbs flopped loosely as he held his head up, eyes glittering greedily.
Jafar fixed the daemon with a lethal stare. “Your job, daemon, is to guard treasure.”
“True enough,” the daemon admitted cheerfully.
His pupils dilated as he ground a pinch of the grass between his webbed fingers and snorted it rapidly up his nose. “Ahhh. Good stuff, that. Fresh.”
“He can be bribed,” Miu explained. Twelve tiles between her and the door. Would she remember the pattern correctly? If not, the mapmaker had told her, a hundred knives would mazhykally fly through the air, making short work of any would-be thief. Her foot hovered in midair between two tiles of a particularly garish pink hue and then came down firmly. She held her breath, but no knives flew through the air.
“Bribed,” the daemon chortled. “Bought. Had for a song. Although,” he frowned with all the inebriated seriousness of a drunk, “not a song. Don’t care much for music.”
Jafar had apparently given up on making sense of the daemon’s burbling. “You left me,” he accused.
Miu paused. Ten tiles left. So much for hoping he’d overlook the minor inconvenience of his incarceration.
“For your own good,” she said breezily. “Didn’t think you could fit through that little opening.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you get out?”
“Expecting me to be stuck a while longer, were you?”
She shrugged. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
“But I’m not supposed to be.”
“Going to hold it against me?” She leapt lightly across two more tiles.
“No more games,” he snapped, crossing the room with rapid, ground-eating strides.
Eyes widening, she frantically dropped her gaze to the tiles, but he didn’t make a single misstep. “In fact, game over. Check and”—his arm shot out and shackled her to him with snakelike rapidity— “mate. It was a mistake,” he growled, “to come to the temple with theft on your mind. The temple is too well guarded, my femi. Thieves are not tolerated. Put it back,” he snapped. “Whatever it is that you took, return it. Now.”
She stared at him incredulously. “Are you insane? After everything we’ve gone through, you want me to walk away empty-handed? No. I’ll say it again, in case you weren’t listening the first time. No. I’ve gotten what I came for and I’ll keep it.”
“It’s not worth it.”
“How do you know?” she snapped. “You’re just along for the ride. The bodyguard. Sorry if this is turning out to be more than you bargained for. Oh, I know.” She smacked a palm against her forehead. “Why don’t you go your way and I’ll go mine? Consider this ill-advised partnership dissolved. When whoever employed you asks the reasons why, I’ll be happy to provide him with a list.”
“Femi,” he began, but the soft whuff of feet alerted him before she recognized the new danger.
“He’s not one of yours, thief,” said Hebon, moving to block the exit. “He’s one of ours.”
***
Heart pounding, she scanned their faces. The dark marks of the Guardians were all too clear from where she stood. As was the violent aggression directed toward her.
Well, hell, she thought, choking back the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up, that certainly explained his insistence that she return the necklace.
It was silly to feel hurt. Surely, she was used to betrayal by now and, if not, Jafar had just provided another valuable example. Of course, he wasn’t really on her side. It had been foolish to believe he was.
“One of yours,” she agreed.
In their male forms, the Guardians were beautiful. They had the same eerie sort of beauty that had attracted her to Jafar. Tall and muscular, they had the same golden skin and dark, flashing eyes. They were all hard planes and sculpted muscles, flowing with the same uncanny grace as if they glided across the stone floor rather than walking. The difference was in their eyes. Theirs were the eyes of predators. Cold, flat, assessing. These were not Jafar’s eyes.
They stared first at her and then at Jafar.
“Jafar, stop,” hissed the first. “This time, she truly has stolen from the temple.”
The necklace burned in her bag. What could she say?
Jafar’s hard gaze met those of his brothers, his body readying for battle.
“Turn her over for justice,” urged another. “We will see to her punishment if you cannot. Or, yes, we can take her to the Amun Ra. Let him decide what should be done.”
“The mating urge makes him weak,” said another. “He sees only the bells and where he could place them; he does not see his duty clearly.”
Was the possessive look on his face just lust? It didn’t matter, she decided. He was the enemy, one way or the other.
“I do see my duty,” Jafar said calmly. “Quite clearly.”
“Good,” said the first. “It has been years since we had so pretty a captive. I will enjoy punishing her.”
Jafar shook his head. “No, Hebon.”
“No?” The Guardian called Hebon advanced, flicking his blade lightly. “You have other plans for her?”
“We’ll take her to the Amun Ra,” Jafar said at last, eyeing that naked blade.
He turned to her. “Femi.” For a moment, it seemed as if he would say something else. Something meaningful. Of course, he didn’t. Instead, shooting her a swift glance from beneath those impossibly dark lashes of his, he ordered, “Come with me.” He reached out a hand to her.
Did he think she was simply going to give him her hand and let him pull her along, like a recalcitrant child, to the Amun Ra?
Apparently. He waggled his fingers impatiently. She tried to forget where those fingers had been. What they had stroked.
“No.”
He sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”
Hebon glared at her. “He guards the Doorways between Qaf and this realm, female. Who do you think slips through while you distract him?”
None of this made any sense. Furthermore, she didn’t care. This was about her—not some Qaf.
“You need to trust me, femi.”
She’d sooner trust an Ifrit. When she told him so, the males lounging by the door laughed. “Take her to see an Ifrit, mate.” The speaker smiled cruelly. “Maybe she’ll sing a different song then. Good-looking males,” he explained casually, “get lots of females following them. Problem is, they’re a wee bit too brutal in their takings. And their leavings”—he shrugged—“well, personally I’m convinced that there’s more than a bit of truth to the rumors about their cannibalism.”
Miu was about to say something else, but Jafar shot her a dark look.
“Now,” he said quietly, “would be a very good time to be silent. Shut up, love, and let me see what I can do here.”
“No.” He was a Cat. There was no way she could trust him, so she drew her blades.
“If you insist.” With a sigh, Jafar stepped forward.
“Draw,” she said, but he shook his head.
“Don’t need to.”
Carefully, she eyed his larger frame. He’d have a
longer, more powerful reach than she, so her strikes needed to count. His head and neck would be most vulnerable, so she’d aim high.
He shifted so fast, she didn’t even have time to scream. With a fierce r
oar, several hundred pounds of feline launched across the room at her, driving her to the floor. Hard. Black spots swam before her eyes as her head bounced against the tiles. The crushing weight on her ribs forced her down. Nothing broken, not yet, but she had to fight to drag a half breath into her burning lungs. Overwhelmed. Dwarfed. Familiar golden eyes glared down into hers. Then he shifted again, the fur receding and the teeth retracting. His hand jammed beneath her chin, pressing with deadly menace against her windpipe. Fingers found the nerve endings on the sides of her throat and pressed. Pain lashed through her, followed by a dull lassitude that froze her body. Dimly, she heard the soft chink of a blade falling onto the tiles.
Someone had dropped a weapon.
Was that her arm flopping like dying fish on the ground?
Closing her eyes, she let the darkness take her away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bleached bones of thieves’ skeletons lined the corridor to the chamber as a reminder. Show no mercy. Spare none. Some thieves had died quickly, their throats slashed so their blood pumped out onto the thirsty limestone floors. Others had died more slowly, displayed in locked cages to terrify their companions. Either way, their pale, fleshless remains made for a ghoulish display. Jafar didn’t need the reminder to know he was going to have just the one chance to make his case to the Amun Ra.
And even then, he wasn’t going to be making a case to the Amun Ra for mercy.
Miu might consider death a more palatable choice than what he’d offer. But he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.
He’d never wanted a mate. Didn’t want that responsibility.
And yet he didn’t want to see Miu die.
Maybe he shouldn’t have led such a monkish existence after Oni’s death, but, hell, he hadn’t thought he deserved any pleasure. Not when Hebon had been forced into a solitary existence.