Lord of the Desert--a full-length contemporary paranormal romance

by Nina Bruhns

  To his surprise, her eyes became misty. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Do you have any idea how incredible this is?”

  “A bit.”

  Moved by her sincere reaction, he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her forehead, acknowledge her wonderstruck awe at the discovery of such historical bounty. But the eyes of everyone in the room had lifted and were on them. He crossed his arms. “One can lose oneself for decades and not even scratch the surface. Believe me, I’ve done it.”

  She dabbed the corner of her eye with an embarrassed laugh. “Well, at least I’ll never be bored living here.”

  “That,” he said, “is a certainty.” He paused. “But today, I thought we’d take a look at one particular book.”

  She gave him a curious look as he led her deep into the stacks to a section that dealt with everything known about Petru, the palace of Haru-Re. He pulled out a thick, heavy, parchment book and laid it on a nearby table.

  “What is this?” she asked as he carefully opened it, revealing handwritten pages containing lists of names and dates.

  He found the last entry and started to leaf back from there. “It is a register of Petru’s initiates—the ones we know of—and the approximate dates they were admitted to the per netjer of Re-Horakhti.” He looked gravely at her. “When did you say your mother disappeared?”

  She stared at him, a terrible understanding slowly twisting her face. “You think she was taken captive by Haru-Re?”

  “I don’t know,” Rhys answered truthfully. “Ray hasn’t usually taken captives, either, unless desperate. It’s too risky. But in that photo you found, the man with your mother was one of his most trusted lieutenants. Why would she be with him if she hadn’t joined the per netjer?”

  Gillian’s troubled gaze went to the book. “Nineteen-ninety,” she told him. “But if she went to Petru, it was not willingly. She would never have left our family.”

  “Let’s see if she’s even listed.” He ran his finger down the handful of entries for the correct year. “Our information is not always complete.”

  But Gillian was way ahead of him. She let out a soft cry and put a shaking finger on the page. “Oh, my God! Her name is here!” She looked up at him in dismay. “Oh, Rhys, my mother is being held by that madman!”

  Chapter 25

  Gillian could barely breathe. Her heart literally felt stabbed. “I must go to her!”

  She leaped up, intending to run.

  Rhys’s strong grip on her arm held her in place, an immovable restraint. “Not an option.”

  She struggled against his control. “But they’re keeping her against her will! We have to rescue her.”

  “Darling, stop.” He glanced around. They were attracting even more attention now. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she insisted as he tugged her through the library and out into the grand hallway. But they still weren’t alone. “My mother needs me.”

  He kept walking, and turned down an unfamiliar but deserted corridor. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Of course I am. What are you suggesting?”

  They’d entered what seemed to be a quiet residential wing. He remained silent until after they’d arrived at a patterned silver door, he’d opened it, and hustled her inside.

  “Gillian, what if she chose to join the per netjer of Re-Horakhti?”

  “I’ve told you before. She wouldn’t have.”

  “All right, fine. Say that’s true, and, for argument’s sake, let’s also say by some miracle you are able to escape Khepesh without bringing down the wrath of the high priest upon yourself. So, you show up at the doorstep of Petru and”—he put his palm to his forehead— “except, oh, wait, you have no idea where it is.”

  Hurt brushed along the fringes of her heart. “But you do. You could tell me. You could show me.”

  His lips thinned. “Do you have any idea what Haru-Re would do to you?”

  Nothing pleasant, she knew, because he’d intimated as much yesterday when they’d met at Rhys’s house. “Not if you’re with me,” she reasoned.

  His gaze was even. “Now you want me to betray Seth?”

  “You already have,” she reminded him.

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Yes, and he’s been my best friend for a hundred twenty-five years. What makes you think your mother any less perfidious than I?”

  “I just know it,” she said unhappily, and turned away to escape his angry regard. She suddenly noticed they were standing in the drawing room of a private residence. It was furnished much like the one in Rhys’s house aboveground. “Are these your apartments?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Is this wise? Should we even be here?” she asked.

  “Hell, no. But I couldn’t have you talking treason out in the open hallways. Remember what I said happened to the last person who defected to the enemy?”

  A twist of fear wound through her. “What am I supposed to do then? What if they’ve turned my mother into a zombie because she wouldn’t join willingly? Do I just—”

  “Shabti,” he interrupted, his mouth turned down in distaste.

  “What?”

  “We call them shabtis, human servants, not zombies. That implies death, and they are very much alive.”

  “In body, anyway. You saw her face in the photo, Rhys. Did she look like a normal, happy woman to you?”

  He pushed out a breath. “It was a split second in time, Gillian. Maybe her shoes were pinching her.”

  Gillian scowled. “You don’t really believe that.”

  “Even if I don’t, there’s nothing we can do to help her. Not from here. Not right now.” He sighed. “Perhaps in time we can arrange a trade.”

  “In time?”

  “Darling, remember your own current position here at Khepesh is tenuous at best. Until things are...decided, you shouldn’t rock the boat with talk of haring off to Petru.” His tone carried more than a shade of rebuke.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot sting of tears behind the lids. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  With a curse, he opened his arms. “By the stars. Come here.”

  She went into them gratefully, needing the comfort of his nearness. He lowered his lips to hers, and she met them, shuddering out a sigh of need, holding him close.

  Her body recognized him immediately as her lover, the man who’d spent hours last night worshipping her with untold pleasures. She wanted that feeling back again. The emotional closeness. The incredible sense of belonging. She opened to him, inviting him in. Their mouths melded in a drowning kiss.

  Swearing an oath, a few seconds later Rhys tore his lips from hers and stepped back. “No, my love. We mustn’t do this. Not until I’ve spoken with Seth.”

  “And that, my friend,” came a rough and angry male voice from behind her, “is the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you utter.”

  Chapter 26

  Let not my heart be fashioned anew

  according to all the evil things said against me.

  —The Book of the Dead

  Sheikh Shahin Aswadi stood in the wide passage to Rhys’s kitchen, brandishing his scimitar.

  Gillian spun around and let out a cry of fear as Rhys froze in shock. He reached out and tucked her protectively behind his back.

  “What are you doing here?” Rhys asked his friend—hell, he hoped Shahin was still his friend after what the man had just witnessed.

  “Trying to save your pathetic hide,” Shahin responded with a look of fury and disgust. “When Nephtys told me what you were up to with this woman, I didn’t want to believe her. I had to see for myself that you are a traitor.”

  “I am no traitor,” Rhys growled resolutely. He planted his fists on his hips. “Yesterday at my house you saw how things were between us. You made no such accusations then.”

  “Becau
se it wasn’t the first time you’d used sex to entice a female to become Seth’s sacrifice,” Shahin reminded him pointedly. He ignored Gillian’s scandalized gasp and said with narrowed eyes, “How was I to know this one would ensnare your wits as well as your cock?”

  “She has not,” Rhys snapped. “I simply wish her for myself. I deserve my choice of bedmate after playing pied piper to our master for over a century.”

  This time Gillian’s gasp was of outrage. She jerked away from his protective shield. “Excuse me?”

  Shahin’s gaze strayed to her. “It seems the lady has a different perception of your relationship.”

  Rhys resisted the urge to throw a spell of oblivion over her to prevent her hearing the argument. Shahin would just reverse it. “There’s nothing wrong with her perception. But I know where my duty lies. I’ve made her no promises I cannot keep.”

  She made a distressed sound, but he didn’t dare turn. Shahin would not hesitate to strike.

  “She spoke of seeking Petru,” Shahin said, holding his weapon steady, his expression still hard with suspicion. “Why?”

  “Her mother was taken by Haru-Re,” Rhys said evenly. “She wants to rescue her.”

  Shahin’s face barely registered a reaction. But Rhys saw it, swift and violent, chase through his eyes.

  Shahin’s own family—his parents and sister—had been captured nearly three hundred years ago. And Haru-Re did not have the scruples of Seth-Aziz. Shahin’s young, innocent sister had become Haru-Re’s more-than-blood sacrifice, then had taken her own life rather than face the shame of her ordeal. His father had died trying to avenge her honor. His mother was still living as a shabti in Petru. They were the reason Shahin had joined forces with Seth-Aziz and risen to the post of commander of all the guards of Khepesh.

  For revenge.

  There was no fiercer warrior in all of Egypt than Sheikh Shahin, the legendary Black Hawk. But he never, ever spoke of his mother.

  Abruptly, Shahin lowered his weapon and sheathed it. He stalked over to where Gillian stood and bent over her, nose to nose. “Forget your mother,” he growled. “She is as good as dead to the world.”

  “Shahin!” Rhys admonished sharply.

  But it was too late. Gillian slapped her hands over her mouth and burst into tears.

  He pushed Shahin aside and reached out to comfort her, but she shrank away.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried, and ran for the door.

  He went to give chase, but Shahin stepped in front of him. “Let her go. She won’t get far.”

  “That was cruel. And unnecessary.” Rhys slashed his fingers through his hair. “And now she doesn’t trust me.”

  “As well she shouldn’t. Your promises are like dust in the wind, my friend. You forget to whom she belongs.”

  “Her heart belongs to me. And I aim to keep the rest of her, as well.”

  Shahin paced away from him. “Don’t be a fool! You’ve heard the vision of her future Nephtys has received. This woman is not for you!” Shahin looked like he wanted to say more, but just shook his head. “Forget her, Rhys. She’ll bring you only pain and dishonor, but Seth needs her.”

  His gut wrenched. Jealousy surged through his body, crushing his heart in a vise. “Nephtys is wrong! Gillian loves me. She’ll never accept Seth as her true lover.”

  “Never is a long time, my friend.”

  Christ. He thought of eternity stretched out endlessly before him, without Gillian at his side, forced to see her living with Seth, kissing him, making love to him.

  “No!” he gritted out. “No. Seth is my friend. He’ll understand my feelings for her.”

  “Will he?” Shahin retorted. “How many lovers and consorts has he gone through under your stewardship? And when they passed, how many did he mourn for more than a few months? Do you really think he’ll credit you with any deeper sentiment?”

  “Then he’ll surely honor Gillian’s.”

  Shahin laughed. “Seth-Aziz is a demigod, an immortal vampire who rules his kingdom with an iron hand. Do not deceive yourself that he cares a whit for the feelings of a girl.”

  “You make him sound heartless.”

  “No. Just prudent when it comes to useless emotions. And you, Rhys, have been an unflagging moral compass against unwilling victims for these past hundred years. But you were always careful to stay aloof, even from your most eager of charges. Frankly, I’m surprised you’ve let yourself fall under the spell of any woman.”

  Rhys clamped his jaw. “This is no spell, my friend. Gillian is different.”

  “How so? Does she not have satin skin and tempting, soft curves like all the others?” he asked contemptuously. “And does she not have the capacity for disruption and betrayal so prevalent among her sex?”

  Rhys did not need to ask how Shahin had ended up so cynical. It had been his sister’s friend, Shahin’s own lover, who had betrayed his family to Haru-Re for a fat purse of gold coins. The fact that Shahin himself had escaped, and that the lover had not lived past their next meeting, had not assuaged Shahin’s craving for revenge. The whole fair sex had suffered his mistrust as a consequence.

  “There will be no betrayal. You may trust my word on that,” Rhys said, feeling a brief sting of guilt at his half lie. “Now, why have you really come to see me?”

  The sheikh studied him for a long moment, then apparently decided to accept his sincerity. “Nephtys sent me,” he said, “to fetch Miss Haliday for the welcome feast in her honor in the grand hall. I understand Seth plans to announce his intention to take her as consort.”

  Dismay buzzed through Rhys at the news. Apparently, Seth had discarded his advice to take it slow with Gillian. “Indeed. That was quickly decided.”

  “After Nephtys’s vision, no decision was required. Merely acceptance of what is written.”

  Rhys clamped his jaw. “You’re saying my losing her is God’s will?”

  Shahin shrugged. “God, gods. Fate. The universe. Call it what you like, Englishman. Our paths are decided long before we are born.”

  “So you say.” It was a discussion they’d had many times before, and never come to agreement on. “I believe we humans have more self-determination than that,” Rhys stated.

  “A dangerous notion, my friend,” Shahin countered.

  “Not if one’s life is to have any meaning.”

  Shahin’s face relaxed, not quite in a smile, but almost. “Life’s meaning lies in following one’s path with honor.”

  Well. That all depended on what one saw as one’s path, didn’t it? “No matter the obstacles?” Rhys asked tightly as they left his rooms and headed toward the grand hall.

  “And to the bitter end,” Shahin confirmed, grasping his shoulder and giving it a brotherly squeeze.

  “Well,” Rhys allowed, “on that, at least, we can agree.”

  As far as Rhys was concerned, his path led straight to Gillian. And one way or another, he planned to follow that path, regardless of the dangers. Provided he lived long enough.

  They rounded a corner and he spotted her being escorted by Nephtys’s two shemats back to the temple to be prepared for the feast. He took a stride toward them, but felt Shahin’s hand on his shoulder again, this time heavier.

  “Take care, my friend,” Shahin warned. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  Rhys ground his teeth and forced himself to halt. “What, specifically, did Nephtys say about Gillian and me? To make you think I’m a traitor?” he asked. Shahin was silent for a heartbeat too long, and Rhys uttered a curse. “Another of her damned prophecies?”

  “Yes,” Shahin said. “As well as a vision of the more...earthly variety.”

  Rhys darted him a stunned look. “What?”

  “She saw the two of you.”

  “Where? In the temple?”

  Shahin’s eyebrows shot up. “You took a lover in the temple?” He barked out a laugh. “You are not shy about your heresy, Lord Kilpatrick.”

  “Seth isn’t the only o
ne who can honor the god with his sacrifice,” Rhys muttered defensively.

  His friend shook his head with a pitying grin. “Ah, Rhys. I shall miss you greatly when you’ve been drained of your lifeblood.”

  “Thanks,” Rhys said drily. “But I’m not dead yet. Did she tell Seth about us?”

  “I know not.”

  “In that case, come. Let us find our lord and master. It is time to put this matter to rest, once and for all.”

  Chapter 27

  Rhys ducked back into his suite and quickly changed into his formal robes, spun of the finest midnight-blue silk, shot through with silver threads. He might as well look his best when he presented his case to the high priest.

  He and Shahin cut splendid figures as they strode to the Festival Hall, he in his blue and Shahin in robes of blood red, drawing the eye of every female they passed. It suddenly occurred to Rhys to wonder why neither of them had chosen women to settle down with before now. Shahin was easily explained—he did not trust women further than the bedroom. Preferably hers.

  But what of Rhys, himself?

  He had never wanted for female companionship. But none of the women he’d known over the years had captured his interest or imagination the way Gillian did. He wasn’t sure why, either. She was beautiful but not overly so, intelligent but no genius, capable and brave but not above fear of the unknown.

  Perhaps what spoke to him was her loyalty to her family. Or the look of adoration in her eyes when their gazes met. Or the way she held him tight when they embraced.

  They’d never spoken the words, but... She loved him. And he loved her.

  Maybe it was just that simple.

  Except it wasn’t simple. Because right now she belonged to another. Someone Rhys owed his loyalty to, and must choose before her, if it came down to one or the other.

  A choice that would kill him, either way.