by Anne Marsh
“Heqet’s balls,” he growled. His blade materialized in his right hand, even as his left arm snaked through hers, pulling her back outside the temple.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jafar turned to his mate, his eyes glowing. “Why did you bring us here, of all places? You can’t set foot in the temple again. Not without Lierr. The Amun Ra sent us after him and we’re returning empty-handed.”
“I’m turning myself in,” she said.
“Excuse me?” Jafar’s eyes shot to hers. Fur rippled over his arm as he began to shift. “I must have misheard you. I thought you said you were turning yourself in.”
“I am.”
“Over my dead body,” Jafar growled.
Now that was precisely the problem. She didn’t want to see his dead body—and the Amun Ra had all but promised that Jafar would be destroyed for choosing to help her. Heqet knew, she wasn’t going to stand for Jafar being pulled to bits and sent back to that vortex.
If it took sacrificing herself to convince the Amun Ra that Jafar had not been derelict in his duty, she would do it. She’d tell the Guardians that she’d taken the necklace, that Jafar had only been protecting his mate.
The first Cat appeared in the entranceway. She’d known they’d be quick, had half wondered if they’d be watching for her. Easiest way in was through the front door, right? They knew how she thought. They were on to her.
Sanur was the first Guardian out of the entrance, his legs braced as he stood on the steep ramp that led up into the temple. Good. She remembered Sanur as the playful one, the one who would be most likely to show mercy.
“Make it quick,” she told him.
“Now you’re being noble?” Apparently, Jafar had figured it out. Then, turning to Sanur, he cursed. “Don’t touch her, you bastard.”
“I can kill her now,” Sanur said, “or I can drag her back to the Amun Ra. Those are the only two choices on the table.”
She twisted free of Jafar’s grasp.
“Miu.” Her name was a roar of agony. Don’t care for me, she chanted in her head. Let go. Just let go. Couldn’t he see that there was no other way out of their dilemma? No way were they both going free. So she’d chosen. And she’d chosen him. “You’re a fighter.” His eyes held hers. “You never give up. So why bring us here?”
“Because this is where we need to be,” she said sadly. “This is where we need you to be. And this is where the necklace needs to be.” She held the necklace out to him. “I got what I needed—you kept your end of the bargain and Lore is free.” And Miu had something else even more precious: the knowledge that she was loved, that someone cared about her. Not for what she could do for him, but because of who she was. She trusted her Cat.
“You were right—Amun Ra was right—when you warned that taking the necklace out of the temple was dangerous. Lierr can’t be allowed to get his hands on it. None of the Ifrits can.” She still couldn’t believe that Lierr was an Ifrit, that he’d masked what he truly was for so many years. “And the safest place for it is back inside your temple. With you watching over it. Just another piece of business, kitty.”
“You spit in the face of the authority figures.” His voice was an anguished whisper. “Why go willingly this time?”
Because she had to make things right. She had to take her lumps. Even if it killed her. She would be a real mate for once. She’d make sure he was safe. That he lived the kind of life he needed: watching over the Doorways and protecting their world. And if the Amun Ra was too pigheaded to see why he needed Jafar, she’d remind him.
“Quick,” Sanur promised, his arms closing around her. “I vow to Heqet I’ll make your death a quick one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Déjà vu. If Jafar couldn’t convince Amun Ra that his femi deserved life, his femi would die. And it was no damn consolation to him that her death would be quick.
That Heqet-cursed Ifrit princess had torn out his heart and trampled on it. Up until now, he’d been delighted that that organ had shown no signs of resuscitation. Lesson learned. Now, his chest ached for the woman currently residing in one of the small holding cells beneath the floor of the audience chamber. Somewhere, she was alone in the dark.
He had to convince the Amun Ra to let her live.
And if he couldn’t do that, he admitted silently to himself, then they would fight their way out of this mess together.
He’d never been one for words. The need to speak— and speak convincingly—had his stomach in knots. In the distance, he could hear the rough murmur of Cats’ voices, the faint, metallic music of shifting weaponry, and a feminine scream, abruptly cut off. He had to do this.
He was going to save her, he growled—and then he was going to kill her himself. How dare she take these sorts of chances with her life? Why had she been so foolish as to just give herself up to his fellow Guardians?
“Once a thief, always a thief, my brother.” The Amun Ra lounged carelessly on the divan, the room’s only piece of furniture. The massive divan had been covered with exotic pelts of long-dead mythical creatures.
Jafar began again.
“Not a thief. You know I was the one who took the necklace.”
The Amun Ra’s flat, silvery eyes met his. Deadly. Lethal. Jafar had never made the mistake of underestimating the male, as some of his fellow Guardians had. This being had called them out of the vortex where they had existed, had ruthlessly thrust them into the bodies of the dead and dying, to animate a warrior corps for his own use. You simply couldn’t be surprised by anything a male like that would do.
Or the lengths to which he would go.
“Maybe so, my Cat.” The Amun Ra’s voice was as cold and flawless as the rest of him. “But she’s a thief at heart. We both know the truth of the matter. I was willing to overlook it earlier. I wanted the master thief. As you yourself pointed out, there was no point in taking out the little guy when I could have the head of the operation. Now you tell me this Lierr is gone back to Qaf. Dead?” His voice was a delicate question.
Jafar bit back a growl. “Incapacitated,” he rejoined. “Trapped. Imprisoned. And”—a hard grimace stretched his lips—“punished.”
“Punished is good.” Something savage lit the male’s eyes. “You are quite sure of this?”
Interesting that the Amun Ra could put the Guardians’ spirits into human flesh but not see for himself the truth of Jafar’s words. Not all-powerful, despite the Guardians’ perceptions to the contrary. Jafar filed that fact away for future examination and chose his next words carefully.
“Saw to it myself. Left him broken. Buried.”
“Deep beneath the surface of Qaf.” The Amun Ra’s words were not a question, but a pleased recollection. Twice already Jafar had been through the history of what had happened on Qaf. He jerked his head in agreement. Lierr’s injuries were no longer a concern. The heavy air inside the chamber stirred.
The female on the divan stretched sinuously, rubbing her pale flesh against the Amun Ra’s arm. The male seemed not to notice.
“Broken rules, my brother,” he said, not taking his eyes off Jafar. He was watching for something. But what? Jafar searched his mind for anything—anything—he could use as leverage to save his femi.
Amun Ra’s long fingers stroked down the female’s flank, dismissing the Guardian standing before him.
Jafar gritted his teeth. He was not going to fail. Not this time. He itched to loose his Cat, to lose himself in physical battle, even though he knew there was no winning against a creature such as the Amun Ra. The male was a bottomless lake of mazhyk and Jafar had seen what was left of the Guardians who thought to challenge Amun Ra for leadership rights. The Ifrits had left more of Ebo than the Amun Ra had of the males who had challenged him.
“Bent, not broken,” he said desperately. Amun Ra’s flat silver gaze swiveled back to pin him. Save her, he thought desperately. “Bent,” he repeated carefully. “She’s brought back the necklace.”
“You leave me
little choice,” Amun Ra pointed out, almost gently, which terrified Jafar more than being on the pointed end of the male’s blades. “Why do you defend her so doggedly? If it is a simple matter of wishing for companionship, other arrangements can be made.” The female stretched out on the couch, drawing her white hands up her bared thighs. Reaching down, Amun Ra stroked the golden bells that disappeared inside the woman’s vulva. The sound of soft wetness growing juicier filled the hushed room. “I could give you this one,” he suggested.
That one was not his femi.
Jafar shook his head. “Not interchangeable.”
“Right.” The male made a shooing motion with his
hand, and the female, shooting him a disgruntled look, sauntered off into the shadows. Toward the growing sounds of his fellow Guardians in the outer chambers. Hell, he hoped his femi was locked up far away from that lot. Lusty and uninhibited, they were.
He frowned. He only hoped Miu’s capture wasn’t the cause of their celebration. He tried again. “Valuable, she is.”
“Really?” The Amun Ra looked 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.” He leaned casually against the wall, ignoring the dust that coated the gold bands around his upper arms. The Amun Ra wasn’t much for housekeeping. None of them were.
“She closed her Doorway, I trust?”
“She did.” What would have happened if she had not? Was that where the first Doorways had come from—abandoned portals that a lazy or unwary traveler had left open? “We were trying to use the necklace to bring Lierr back to the temple,” he continued 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 belonged to the temple. Didn’t it? “It came from Qaf originally.”
“My temple.” Amun Ra shrugged in a lazy ripple of power. “My necklace. But,” he conceded, “valuable information.”
“Did you know she could do this, make the necklace work as it was intended?”
“Perhaps,” his leader admitted, shrugging his powerful shoulders. The silver cape slipped from his shoulders as he rolled them. “Damned slippery,” he said, eyeing it. “But it comes with the office.”
Jafar went 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.” He was suddenly sure of this. The whole thing had been an elaborate trap. Sparks of mazhyk glinted in the air around the Amun Ra as he pushed away from the divan in a smooth, serpentine glide. The Guardians might be raw power confined in powerful, male bodies, but the Amun Ra was 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 scoffed. He hadn’t drawn his blades yet. Perhaps there was still hope?
“Qaf had to be—has to be—stopped.” Jafar had never disagreed with that sentiment. He’d seen firsthand the danger of the Doorways and Qaf’s ability to open them. His Miu, however, wasn’t a threat to anything other than his own peace of mind.
That, and his heart.
Somehow, though, he didn’t think the Amun Ra was interested in that particular organ. Not unless it sprouted swords and a wicked aim. So what did the male want? Why had he stayed his judgment thus far?
“Take her from me and you’ll have to send me back.” He meant it, too. If the Amun Ra were going to kill Miu, he’d have to pay a steep price: the loss of one of his Guardians. Jafar was willing to be returned to the void.
As long as Miu walked free.
Amun Ra stared at him, not blinking.
“But you don’t want to kill her,” Jafar said slowly. “Not really. You wanted her to come back here. Why?”
Amun Ra said nothing, just steepled his fingers and waited, the asshole. “Because you wanted to see what she would do. What she could do.” It was all beginning 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 came 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 examined 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.” Jafar strode toward the door. The sex he could certainly take care of.
And he would enjoy every minute of it.
***
Who knew violence had a smell?
All Miu’s high-minded idealistic thoughts of taking
her lumps and accepting the consequences of her actions vanished in a heartbeat. Pausing on the threshold of the temple’s main chamber, she drew the stale, silent air deep inside her. Hot and dry, the air carried a smoky promise of too many powerful males caged in a small space. Waiting for her.
Wasn’t she a lucky girl?
The long gallery of stone cats flanked them on either side; the only visible signs of life besides her companion was the less-than-straight path her bare feet had marked in the inches-thick dust of the gallery floor. Just like walking on a thick, spongy carpet, she thought, somewhat hysterically. Now she could feel the violent force stirring in them. Lust and heat. Curiosity and anger. Don’t think about that. Instead, she focused on the doorway ahead of them. Why had she had the harebrained idea that doing the right thing was the right thing to do?
“Mental,” she grumbled. Sanur’s hand reached out and clamped onto her waist.
“Keep walking,” he said.
“Don’t trust me?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly. “No farther than I can throw you.”
“That’s the thanks I get for doing the right thing?” She frowned.
“Too little, too late,” he rumbled in his deep bass.
She had to be insane to even think of doing this. She just wasn’t cut out to be a martyr. But for Jafar, she could do anything. So he could stay here with all these Cats, where he belonged. Sucked that she wasn’t going to be receiving accolades for this particular sacrifice, but there you had it. Probably build her character, make her stronger—right up until the point where it killed her.
Lifting her chin—really, there was no point in appearing cowed—she stepped forward, her bare feet slapping against the cool granite slabs of the floor. How in the hell the temple’s original builders had managed to finesse the immense stones into place was a mystery; she could feel the vast cold weight stretching away below her into the shadowy depths of the temple. Thick swirls of dust clung to her feet, painting her toes a less-than-attractive shade of grimy gray. Really, if she made it out of here, she needed to point out the availability of cleaning services to these guys. A sneeze tickled her nose and she fought back the urge.
“Faster,” Sanur growled. He drew his blade in a sharp hiss of steel. Lovely, and here she was with her hands tied. Literally.
Don’t screw this up. Simple, right? Give herself up, let the Amun Ra take his revenge—try to take his revenge, she thought grimly—and then Jafar’s obligations were met. Of course—she eyed the massive bronzed door in front of them—getting out of the Amun Ra’s private chamber would
probably make climbing that escape shaft look like a visit to the petting zoo.
Yeah, death was looking more certain by the minute.
***
The chamber they entered contained the same half naked female lounging on a divan. Didn’t that sort of splay-legged posture get old? Miu eyed her. Seemed cramp inducing, but Sanur was stiffening up behind her, so she figured he’d appreciated the eyeful he’d just received.
She let her eyes run around the room: it was crowded with Guardians. Good sign or bad sign?
Jafar stood on the far side of the room, his face impassive. When Sanur brought her in, however, a shadow flickered across his face. Regret? Concern?
Apparently, Sanur was running behind schedule. They entered in midsentence. Amun Ra was already in full swing, pontificating with lazy ease about the hideous, death-deserving crime she’d committed—really, you’d think no one had ever stolen something from the temple before. “And I thought he’d cut me some slack for returning voluntarily,” she whispered to her companion.
Sanur didn’t bother to reply.
Across the room, Jafar was tossing his blade up and down, his eyes not moving from the Amun Ra’s. She had to give him credit: he hadn’t tossed so much as a wayward look at the other female. Which was good. She was turning over a new leaf here. Ripping his head off was not going to demonstrate what a good mate she could be.
Jafar swiftly crossed the room to stand by her side. A man with a mission—and she was it.
His hands closed on her shoulders and he swung her about to face the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“What do you have to say for yourself, thief?” the Amun Ra demanded. “You have stolen from the temple. Is there any reason we should not put you to death for it?”