by Diana Ballew
Except the description matched the waiter and possibly the guy he’d caught sight of the other day outside the women's bathroom. He didn't want to alarm Vicki, so he kept his tone neutral as he asked, "Have you filed any police reports yet?"
"I've talked with them. The officer started a case file last week, and I'm in the process of getting a restraining order."
"Why didn't you file a police report before now?" He was curious why she hadn't.
Her shoulder moved in a shrug. "I honestly figured he'd give up. I never answered his calls, and I guess deep down inside I wanted to believe he'd forget about me and move on. Plus, the police on the phone said there wasn't much they could do since Derek hadn't approached or threatened me." She took a deep breath. "But since you've come into my life, I've realized how much time I've wasted over Derek. I wanted him out of my life and going to the police station was the first step. I refuse to let him affect me anymore, especially since I have you. You've shown me I can be the woman I want to be without fear."
Of all the things he'd expected to hear, this wasn't it. She was a woman of extraordinary courage. She'd walked out on her abuser, and now she trusted him. It humbled him. He lowered his lips and brushed a soft kiss against her mouth. Lifting his head, he gazed down at her. "When we get back to Seattle, we'll tackle Derek together. You don't have to face this alone."
She sagged against his. "Sounds nice." Then her stomach let out a growl.
They laughed, and the sound lifted the oppressive feeling in the room.
"I think someone is hungry," Joe teased.
"Yes. Food, please."
"Your wish is my command, my dearest love." The words didn't shock him. She was his love.
Vicki paused at the entrance to the banquet room later in the evening. Joe hadn't left her side all night, but she'd finally convinced him to give her a few minutes in the ladies’ room and promised she'd meet him at the bar. Tonight was their last night in New Orleans, and she was going to have a blast. Spying Joe paying for their drinks at the bar, she took a step toward him when a hand clamped down on her shoulder.
"Hello, Victoria."
Derek's cold voice raced down her spine with a chilling effect. Turning her head, her gaze collided with his lethal one.
Oh, shit. His face was tight, his brown hair mussed, and his eyes wild. Her heart leapt into her throat. She'd been so convinced Derek was playing her from a distance, she'd let her guard down. She backed away, clutching the air behind her, trying to find something to hold on to. "Derek." His name fell from her lips, weighted with dread. She struggled to remain composed without her body freezing in shock. All the while, his stone-cold eyes bored into hers. There was no escaping him. The door jamb bit into her palms.
He came closer. She could smell his breath. He'd been drinking. "You're coming with me,” he snarled. “I've had it with your shit." His grip on her shoulder tightened, becoming painful. She wanted to wrench herself free, but he dragged her from the doorway.
"Let me go." She tried to shrug away his hold, but it didn't work. Instead, she bent her knees, and his fingers slipped as she tried to duck aside. He snagged her around the waist. "Let me go!" She struggled with him as he pulled her back against his body.
"Don't make a scene, Victoria," Derek whispered, his breath hot and foul. "You better start acting like my wife." A hacking gurgle she could only interpret as laughter accompanied his words.
She tried to break free again, tears filling her eyes at the pain of her forearm twisting in his grasp. He managed to get her in front of him. His heavy breathing ruffled her hair as Derek frog-marched her down the hall and toward a door. Fear began to overwhelm her. Going limp in his arms, she forced him to drag her, and in the process she lost one of her shoes.
Joe glanced over at the door again, then back at his watch, then back at the door. Ten minutes had passed. Vicki wouldn't keep him waiting longer than necessary.
"Did you see that man and woman out in the hall?" said a girl to her friend as they sauntered up to the bar.
"Yeah,” said the friend, “he looked a bit dangerous."
Derek. Vicki.
"Call security!" Joe didn't wait for a response. He took off running. He heard Vicki's voice, saw her shoe on the floor and then a flash of brown down the hallway as a door closed ahead of him. Joe ran down the hall and burst through the door onto a loading dock to find Vicki struggling with Derek as he wrestled her toward the ramp to a car.
Fear rushed through Joe's bloodstream. Not fear for him, but for Vicki. Derek was dangerous, more than she thought. Vicki struggled with Derek, trying to get free. He only had seconds to come up with a plan to save the woman he loved.
Vicki took a deep breath, then raked her nails over the back of Derek's hand and stomped on his foot. She spun out of his hold, but wasn't fast enough to get any real space between them. His hand tangled in her hair.
"Bitch. You're going to pay." He raised his fist.
Vicki braced herself for the blow.
"Let her go. Now!" His order rang through the silence.
She gave a cry of relief. Joe's voice was like sweet music to her ears.
"Go away, this doesn't concern you." Derek's tone was dismissive.
Tears slid from the corners of her eyes when he pulled her back to him by her hair. Her gaze collided with Joe's. Her heart was beating double time.
"Here's the deal," Joe said, his tone menacing. But his arms were down and his hands loose at his side. "Let her go and I don't beat the shit out of you."
Vicki shivered. She'd never heard Joe's voice so cold. But sudden warmth filled her as well. He wouldn’t let Derek hurt her.
"You got an army with you?" Derek sneered, gesturing at the empty dock.
"Don't need one." Joe's strong voice kept her from falling completely apart. "You've got two seconds to let her go."
"Oh, like I'm scared. Isn't the new lover trying to play tough?"
"You don't want to find out how tough I am." Joe moved toward them.
Vicki squeezed her eyes shut against the pain radiating from her scalp when Derek tightened his hold. Then the pressure was gone, and a hand shoved her hard in the back and sent her flying. She opened her eyes to see Joe as he caught her, holding her against his body.
"Are you okay?" His gaze swept over her from head to toe.
"I'm better. You're here." She laid her icy palm on his forearm.
"So you like having a slut in your bed, do you?" Derek's voice dripped with derision. "Is he better than the last one? The one I scared away with a single phone call after he kissed you?"
Joe's muscles tensed. Beneath his hands, Vicki trembled.
"Let's get out of here," she said.
"Yeah, run away, little mouse. You're good at running, but you can't run forever. I'll find you, and then I'll settle the score. Boyfriend here can't protect you. I own you."
Derek was deranged, Joe realized. And it made him even more dangerous. He started to shift Vicki behind him when her spine stiffened.
"I'm not running, Derek." Her chin came up. Joe hadn't thought he could love her more than he already did, but he was wrong. She wasn't going to hide, not any more. "I tried it your way. It didn't work. The police are aware of you stalking me."
Derek laughed. "You've got nothing on me, little mouse."
"I have every letter, every message, every sick gift, and there's the box of black roses. I'm sure the police will find out who you bribed to deliver them and the note to me here at the hotel. Stalking is against the law, and so is assault. It's time for the law to be involved."
"You little bitch." Derek took a step forward, his fists clenched, rage blazing from his gaze.
Joe started to push Vicki behind him. "No, Joe." She placed a hand on his arm. Keeping one eye on Derek, he glanced down at her. "He's not worth it," she murmured, waving her arm and dismissing Derek as if he were a fly annoying her.
"No, he isn't." He ran a finger down her cool, pale cheek. Derek shifted. "But
you are." Pivoting, Joe threw his punch before Derek could react. His knuckles stung after they made contact with the man's jaw, and he grinned with satisfaction when Derek fell on his ass.
Hotel security arrived on the scene, then right behind them the police.
Ignoring Derek's accusations that he was hit without provocation, Joe slipped his arm around Vicki's waist and maneuvered them away from the crowd. A heavyset police officer glared at them. "We'll be right over there, Officer." Joe gestured with his chin toward the bench sitting against the wall.
"Thank you, sir. We'll need statements from you both."
It was more than two hours later before they made their way back to their hotel room.
Derek was in police custody with not only the letter and flowers, but statements from the hotel employees he'd impersonated in order to deliver them. Management had also made complaints to the police about Derek hanging around the hotel bothering guests. He was no longer an issue. Vicki sighed as relief filled her. Derek was gone for good.
Once inside their room, Joe drew her into his arms and kissed her. Softly, gently, his lips caressed hers until he lifted his head and gazed down into her eyes. "I love you."
Vicki's heart stopped. He loved her? When did this happen?
"I know you're not ready for this," he continued. "But I'm not going to let another day go by without saying it. I love you and I want to marry you. I'll wait until you're ready, no matter when it is, but I wanted you to know."
She couldn't talk. Tears blocked her throat, and her arms tightened around his neck. "I … "
"Shhh." Joe pulled her against his chest as he ran his palms in circles over her back. "You don't have to say anything. After everything you've been through today, I couldn't keep it in any longer. I was so afraid for you."
Tilting her head, Vicki gazed up into his blue eyes and cleared her throat. "I love you, too."
Several seconds passed before the words sank in, then his eyes lit and he gave a yell before crushing her lips with his. "You know this means I'm never letting you go," he said when he broke the kiss.
"I wouldn't want it any other way. You belong to me, Joe Bradshaw." This was a different kind of possession, one of love, not control.
"I am your willing servant." He laughed as he lay her on the bed. "Tonight, my love, is all for you. Your wish is my command. Anything your heart desires, it can have."
She opened her arms to him and smiled. "All I want is you."
About the Author
Marie Tuhart lives in the Pacific Northwest and can’t remember a time when she didn’t have a book in her hands. When she isn’t reading or writing, Marie loves to spend time in bookstores and traveling. Marie’s muse is her toy poodle, Penny, who lets Marie know when she’s been working too long.
Find her online:
www.marietuhart.com
Warrior King
Jennifer Brassel
Dear Reader
In ancient Egypt it was believed that so long as a Pharaoh’s name was spoken, he would continue to live. This was the basis of the funerary cults. The fact that we still speak their names, even thousands of years later, attests to the truth of that belief.
I fell in love with Tuthmosis during my studies and in writing this story, I am doing my part in keeping his memory alive.
That said, Alia and Tuthmosis’s story is a fiction and should be taken as such. I have created or amalgamated some characters, events and titles in order to make the story less complicated than the archaeology suggests.
* * *
I hope you will fall in love with Tuthmosis, too.
Jen
For Tony, Lel and Nick
Part I
Chapter 1
Thebes
c. 1458 BCE
The acrid smell of cook fires wafted over the ragtag group of captives as they trudged the last few miles to the city. Alia shivered when she looked toward the forbidding gates of the great city of Thebes. All the stories she’d heard paled against the majesty of the brightly colored stone portal.
Those around her began muttering prayers of deliverance to their favored gods as the uncertainty of their fate loomed ever closer. Alia did not believe her captors would have wasted their time or food on marching them all to Thebes merely to kill them upon arrival. No. She, and those around her, were destined for servitude – of that she was certain.
As they drew nearer, some of her assuredness wavered. Crowds began to line the processional walk. Jeering crowds. And though she did not understand all of their talk, some words and gestures needed no translation.
“Whore! Whoreson! Children of Apophis!”
As captives, they were branded devil’s spawn, to be treated with utter disdain by all the citizens of Thebes.
The stench of sweat and dust and death again rushed to meet her as the level of fear rose. Panic swelled cold in her breast.
Rotting fruit began to fly at them. A little at first, but as they stumbled onward, apples and dates rained down in clumps. Though she tried to evade them, pieces slapped her bare skin like burning brands. Soft, hot pulp squelched between her blistered and bleeding toes, stinging like ants.
No! Alia wanted to fall to the ground and curl into a ball, but the tether dragged her onward. Her breath came in short gasps, and her heart thundered in her chest.
Angry curses grated upon her ears like the cries of wild dogs when they feasted upon carrion. She shuddered as the nearest man spat, barely missing her face. Loathing reached out from the crowd so palpably that she hunched lower in an attempt to become a smaller target.
Better if I’d perished on the battle plain.
But she had been born a princess, and no matter how much these heathen Egyptians hated her, she would maintain her dignity. Even unto death.
Licking her cracked lips, she ignored the wave of agony that seared them, stiffening her back as she limped under the shadow of the great portal. With the cessation of the sunlight came a moment of utter cold that speared straight to her heart.
None of the stories had prepared her for the size of the city she entered. It rose out of the desert like some giant monster that would devour everything in its path. From miles away she had seen it, and now, as she passed inside its yawning mouth, foreboding clutched at her insides and twisted until she feared she’d vomit what little she had eaten at the rise of the sun.
She groaned, swallowing down another empty heave.
As the cacophony of abuse continued, she began to pray along with her countrymen. Until now she’d been spared the rapes and beatings some of her fellow captives had endured. But when she looked into the angry faces of the rabid mob, icy fingers of fear gripped her vitals, and she realized that the line of soldiers flanking them were their only protection from the jostling crowd.
A horn sounded above the noise, and suddenly the multitude fell silent. The soldiers halted. Their faces lifted in the direction of a gateway ahead, and as she followed their gazes she saw a leonine man, bathed in gold, standing atop a chariot shining so brightly, it dazzled her.
Pharaoh.
The sound of the breeze as it whistled faintly through the narrow alleyways became an eerie herald. After a long moment Pharaoh gestured to the man beside him, and into the silence the lead soldier called an order. The procession lurched forward once again.
A sharp shove came from behind, and when she took a faltering step her blistered foot screamed in agony. Choking back a sob, she concentrated on the body in front of her, matching his pace with sheer effort of will, even as she felt the blood trickling over her toes.
As the procession neared the gilded chariot, Alia stole a fleeting glance upward at the famed god who was Pharaoh. For a split second her eyes connected with those of the great lion, and in that instant she knew what was meant by the word power. Her father had thought he commanded it, but he’d been mistaken. This Pharaoh embodied it. It spread outward from him in waves, and she quickly looked away. An overwhelming sense of awe ripped the air fr
om her lungs.
* * *
Pharaoh’s House, Thebes
A season later…
The warm water lapped gently at Alia’s tired limbs. Herb-scented steam wafted about her, lulling her into closing her eyes. Oh, how she relished this indulgence.
“What are you doing in the baths, slave?”
Alia opened her eyes and groaned beneath her breath as the chief concubine’s hard face glared at her with disdain. The horrid woman had hated Alia from the moment she had entered Pharaoh’s household, and Alia was at a loss to comprehend why. Some said Sitiah had been Pharaoh’s favorite and had commanded much power until around the time Alia arrived in Thebes — even more than Pharaoh’s great wife, though Alia doubted the stories were true. Still, the chief concubine had lost status in recent times and seemed to want to blame Alia for it. Alia didn’t understand the connection — she had barely glimpsed Pharaoh, much less done anything that could place Sitiah in disfavor.
“I have permission, exalted Lady,” Alia said in her meekest voice. “Vizier Rekhmire instructed the steward that I must be scented and clean to serve at Pharaoh’s table this moonrise. Pharaoh dines with ambassadors from my country and commands that I listen and interpret their words.”
So please go away and leave me alone!
Sitiah harrumphed loudly. “Well, daughter of infidels, just be sure you do not foul our waters with your heathen body fluids, otherwise you will receive the beating all your race deserves.”
Alia didn’t reply, although it struck her as odd that the chief concubine would call her heathen when she herself hailed from the land of the Canaanites.
Once Sitiah left the bathing chamber, Alia again allowed her lids to close, and she breathed deeply of the perfumed steam. Had Pharaoh not defeated her father’s army, Alia would now be a queen among her people. But Pharaoh showed no mercy in his greatness as warrior, and her father, indeed probably all her male relatives, long since lay as headless carrion on the plains near Megiddo. Alia herself had been taken as a slave — part of the spoils of war. Luck had been with her, though; instead of being leashed and beaten or raped as most slaves were, she’d been separated with the few others of noble blood to become servants to the royal household. As a political prisoner — a hostage, she could be manipulated for Pharaoh’s domination of his growing empire. Loosely tethered and well-guarded, she was left to her own devices.