by Jill Myles
Zane laughed at the expression on my face. “I can’t imagine why. The tomb of the most ancient and evil of all vampires? Not nearly as scary as Remy at a shoe sale.”
I gave him a wry smile and held the torch up to get a better look around. The walls were smooth, the room narrow enough to be well-lit by my torch but long enough that the far end lurked in shadows. The ceiling was low, with lotus columns between the carved-out floor and the ton of rock above our heads.
The tomb was empty save for some rat droppings in the corner and a few heaps of scattered, rotted fabric. Like every other Old Kingdom tomb, it had been ransacked millennia ago.
“It’s odd,” I said, stepping forward and staring around me. “Most funerary dwellings in the Old Kingdom were either pyramids or mastabas. Your queen doesn’t seem like the type to want to be hidden away in the middle of nowhere in a cliff-face tomb.” I shot him a questioning look.
Ever easygoing, Zane shrugged carelessly, his arms crossed in a stance of boredom. “Nitocris decided to end her mortal reign with a bit of a bang. Killing all of your closest advisors and then destroying your mortal form doesn’t exactly earn you legions of followers. She had a few priests who were devoted enough to entomb her here.”
I continued my hesitant exploration of the room. A large blocky shape—a sarcophagus, I assumed—dominated the shadowy far end, and I decided to leave exploring that for later, concentrating on the wall paintings instead. “They must have liked her a lot if they came to decorate the place ahead of time.”
“They didn’t. Most of the tomb paintings were done after Nitocris was entombed and had risen again.”
The hairs on my neck prickled. Spooky. I stared at the large figure painted on the column in front of me. It was your typical Egyptian tomb mural, a woman in a sideways pose, her hands upraised. Closer inspection revealed a black cloak flowing down the woman’s back. Her upraised hands were covered in red, which I assumed was blood. “That’s odd.” I pointed at the woman’s cloak. “I’ve never seen that in all the archaeology texts I’ve studied.”
“There’s a lot down here you won’t see in books, Princess. Now finish your exploring so we can leave already.” His tone was curt.
I turned in surprise and looked at him. “Don’t tell me this place gives you the willies, too?” It made me feel a bit better to know I wasn’t the only one freaked out.
“Not exactly,” he said dryly. “More along the line of bad memories.”
“Do I want to ask?”
“Probably not.” He leaned against one of the beautifully painted pillars and gave me a lazy look. “So find what you need and let’s leave.”
I gave him a one-finger salute and moved to the next series of pictures. More Egyptian scenes of the Afterlife, sprinkled with some rather disturbing elements. I turned away from a depiction of Nitocris holding aloft the severed head of an enemy and looked back at Zane. “I’m not going to find anything here, am I?”
“Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks for the cryptic answer. You know exactly what I’m looking for: clues to where this damn halo might be.”
He shrugged his shoulders and lit up a cigarette. “Don’t ask me. I’m just here to enjoy the scenery and to make sure that you pass our lovely prize over to the queen.” His eyes rested on my breasts, outlined by the sweaty black T-shirt that clung to me. “Nice scenery, by the way.”
“Fuck off. When I’m interested, you’ll know.” I turned away from him so he couldn’t see the hardening of my nipples. Oh God, was I interested. One more of those sexy, full-lipped smiles, and I’d be lost. Be strong, I reminded myself. Be strong for Noah.
If I didn’t have sex for another day, would I spontaneously combust? It was starting to feel that way; I was way overdue.
My torch sputtered and flickered, reminding me that I didn’t have time to study the paintings at my leisure. I fumbled for the disposable camera hidden in my pocket, clicking the flash on and holding it up to the walls.
Snap.
A bright flare of light illuminated the tomb, momentarily blinding me. Spots swimming in front of my eyes, I moved to the next section of wall and took another picture.
Zane hissed in distress. “Woman, are you trying to blind me?”
He was shielding his eyes with the thick sleeve of his jacket, a scowl on his pale face. Perversely, I moved to the other side of the tomb, taking several photos without really paying attention to what I was capturing. “Quit being such a baby, vampire. As much as I love to spend time in your company, I’m taking pictures so we can get out of here quickly.”
Snap, snap, snap. I flitted around the tomb, taking photos with haste. Just when I was reaching the end of the film, I heard a moaning gurgle from behind me. Irritated that Zane was trying to make me feel guilty, I shoved the camera back in my pocket. “Would you cut it out? That’s really getting on my nerves.”
Zane grabbed me by the arm, causing me to drop my torch, and began dragging me away from the mural I had just taken a picture of. “That wasn’t me,” he murmured in my ear. “And we need to leave. Now.”
A chill shivered down my spine and I froze up. “If that wasn’t you—”
The moan sounded again, filling the tomb. “What is that?” I whispered, clutching Zane’s upper arm. My other hand fumbled for one of the guns, then paused. Which one should I use? The wrong one would be useless and might get us killed—or worse.
A shuffling noise came from the far end of the tomb. Red eyes blinked into the darkness, then focused on me.
Zane cursed, and he tensed under my hand. “I should have guessed.”
“Guessed what?” I slid behind him, peeking out from around his shoulder.
His sigh sounded more exasperated than anything else. “That she’d have one incubating down here.”
“One what?” It couldn’t be the answer that popped into my mind. Surely not. Surely we weren’t that unlucky.
A hiss in the darkness, and the creature took a few steps forward into the light cast by the torch that now flickered on the ground.
It was a man or a Serim. Once. Red, unholy eyes glared into the thick blackness, and the sound of sniffing filled the silence. Then his eyes focused on me. “Blood,” the man growled, his mouth opening to reveal an enormous set of white fangs.
Yikes!
I slid a shaking hand under my shirt, reaching for the vamp derringer. Before I could whip the gun out of its holster, Zane was stepping forward, arms spread wide in a protective gesture as he blocked me from the creature’s view. “That one belongs to me, friend,” Zane said, his voice taking on an urbane, smooth quality that I was learning to recognize as his “charmer” voice. “You’ll have to look elsewhere for your first meal.”
First meal? My mind flashed back to Zane’s previous comment about incubating, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. The red-eyed monster was a newly made vampire, and he was hungry as hell and looking to me for dinner.
I slid the derringer into my hand and cocked it. The click echoed in the silence, but neither vampire turned to look at me. They were locked in a showdown, circling each other like a fanged version of West Side Story.
Zane’s eyes flared red and he bared his fangs. “She is mine,” he repeated.
At that moment, the torch sputtered and went out, leaving me in darkness save for the red eyes that reminded me that I was alone in a tomb with two vampires, one of which was very, very hungry.
The stupid Itch was aroused by the fact that the two men were fighting over me, and my body throbbed with a mixture of fear and excitement. Would Zane win? What would happen if he didn’t?
I backed up against the wall, gun clutched in my hand as I waited.
One set of red eyes leapt at the other, then there was a terrible orgy of sounds as the two vampires launched into an epic fight in the dark. Snarling, hissing, and the sound of flesh tearing filled the air. I cringed with each new sound, wondering if Zane was winning, or if I’d have to run for m
y life. The hot tang of blood filled me with fear, and I clutched the gun with shaking fingers, hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot.
After a few tense minutes there was a cry of pain and the sound of fabric tearing, and the next thing I knew, rough hands were grabbing me by the arms.
It was now or never—I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The boom was deafening, and the explosion of light illuminated a bloody and battle-torn Zane.
Whom I’d just shot.
“Zane,” I cried as he began to curse long and fluently.
The gun was wrestled out of my hand. “Where did you get this?” His angry voice pounded in my ear, and I shrank against the tomb wall.
“Remy gave it to me.”
“You’ve nearly shot my hand off,” he said, barely leashed fury in his voice.
I bit my lip. “I wasn’t sure if it was you or not. How was I supposed to know?”
“You could have fucking asked! How many shots are in this ridiculous little gun?”
“Um, two.”
Zane stormed away, his footsteps echoing in the silence, punctuated by a faint groan from the vampire he’d just defeated. There was another click, and another gunshot rocked the tomb.
The moaning stopped.
“Our friend’s taken care of now,” Zane said, his voice cold.
A shudder racked through me and I slid along the wall, frightened of what Zane might do to me, trying to feel my way to the exit. My fingers discovered air—the doorway. I crouched low and scrambled back through the long tunnel, panting with fear.
The wind cooled my clammy, sticky face as I emerged on trembling legs. The camels whuffed at the sight of me and I ran straight for the first mount in full-blown panic mode. Untying him, I slapped his rump to send him off into the desert, stranding Zane out here. All I wanted was to get away from angry vampires, friend or foe.
I managed to shimmy up into my kneeling camel’s saddle and slapped at the creature’s rump. The beast tried to bite me, but when I slapped its rump again it began to trot away at a rapid pace.
I didn’t start to breathe until my camel crested a dune and the tomb was out of sight. I checked to see if Zane was running after us, but the desert was empty. Part of me felt strangely disappointed that he wasn’t bothering to pursue, but I quelled the feeling, concentrating on staying atop my camel. I’d find my way back to Cairo somehow.
Suddenly rough hands encircled my waist, and before I had the time to think, I was plucked off the camel’s back and hoisted straight into the air. A scream tore from my throat and I struggled, totally disoriented and confused as to what was going on.
“Stop fidgeting,” Zane admonished from above me. “You just about killed my hand with your damned gun, and my grip’s not so good. It’ll be your fault if I drop you on the sand, and that’ll be a long, painful recovery.”
I stilled in his arms, not quite willing to believe my senses. The smell of cigarettes and sand and another smell I couldn’t quite place filled my nostrils. “Z-Zane?”
“Put your arms around me, Princess, and it’ll make the flight a lot easier on both of us.” His voice sounded strained.
I turned over to wrap my arms around his neck, and wonder and disbelief struck me as I watched his long, beautiful ebony wings flap in the night sky—wings that stretched from Zane’s corded, muscular back.
“Your trench coat,” I murmured, realizing that my hands were knotted against his bare skin and not his leather trench coat. “It’s gone.”
“Lost it in the fight,” he agreed, his gaze focused on the ground below us. “Do me a favor and save the small talk for later, all right? I’m not in the mood.”
I huddled against his neck and watched his gorgeous wings flap above me. Wings. All this time, and he never told me. This is what he traded for when he became a vampire.
It was a sobering thought, one that kept me quiet until we reached the hotel several hours later, when dawn was beginning to color the skies with pink.
Zane landed on the roof with a slight thump and released me. “Do you still have your burqa?” he asked, his massive wings folding against his back like a neat, black-feathered cloak. His face was shuttered as he stared at me, his eyes cold slits.
“I lost it in the desert,” I said, feeling slightly ashamed. Why the hell did I feel guilty? I had no reason to, but somehow he managed to make me feel like a misbehaving child.
He strode past me and headed for the door that led down into the hotel, pulled it open, and gestured for me to enter before him.
I stepped past him and descended the utility stairs.
“If we meet anyone on the way to your room, I want you to distract them, understand me?” His dark eyes blazed with anger. Definitely furious at me.
I nodded in silence and headed for our hall.
A busboy pushed a room service cart down the hall as we turned the final corner to our rooms, and I froze at the sight of him.
He stilled at the sight of me as well, noticing my stained, sweaty T-shirt and the blood on my shorts. (Zane’s blood, not mine.)
Zane coughed behind me, reminding me of my task, and I strode forward toward the busboy.
“Hi, there,” I said, sidling up to the cart and leaning over it to smile at him. “You must be room service. What’ve you got for me?”
His jaw dropped slightly as I leaned forward, and his eyes focused on my double-Ds. “M-miss Brighton,” he stammered. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
I frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“We all know your name and your room number, Miss Brighton. Everyone in the hotel does.” He continued to stare at my breasts, a look of wonder on his face.
I was getting a little turned on by the attention, thanks to the Itch. I slipped an arm around his neck and pressed myself against his torso. It felt so good to my starved body that I wanted to cry, but I forced myself to remain on-task. “Were you coming up to visit me?” My voice dropped an octave, husky and seductive.
Good and distracted, the busboy planted his hands on my behind and rubbed it, his eyes wide and unbelieving. “You smell like camels, Miss Brighton,” he whispered, dipping his face down for a kiss.
I averted my mouth at the last moment, noticing his very bad teeth and even worse breath. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“No, miss,” he said reverently, and buried his face in my cleavage.
Zane stalked past me down the hall and turned the knob to my room, shutting the door behind him.
The busboy bit the side of my breast, jerking my attention back to him with a gasp. The feeling was pleasurable, and I could tell from the look on his face that he was willing to go at it right here, right now in the middle of the hallway.
My body wanted it badly, but the rest of me was repelled. I pried him off my breasts and forced him to look into my eyes. “What’s your name, honey?”
“Kasib, miss.”
“Well, Kasib,” I said, sliding one of the hot breakfast plates off his cart. “What time do you get off work?” I touched the tip of my finger in the pat of butter sliding off a pancake and licked it suggestively.
His jaw dropped at what I was implying, and I must admit, it sent a thrill straight through me as well. The fact that I had so much power over a man went straight to my head at times. No wonder Remy was such a slut.
Kasib began to stammer. “I … I … I am free after seven tonight, miss.”
Making a note to be long gone before then, I smiled seductively. “Come to my room then, Kasib, and we’ll finish what we started here.”
“Yes, miss!” He adjusted his crotch and raced back down the hallway with his cart.
I ran to my room, heading straight for Zane, who was seated on the far side of the bed, bent over. His injured hand was splayed out before him, his good one clutching his wrist.
“Oh my God,” I said, dropping beside him as I stared at his injuries. Shriveled and blackened as if scorched in a fire,
his fingers were curled into his palm against the pain. The skin of his hand was charred black and looked like it had been melted by intense heat. Blisters covered every inch of skin up to his elbow.
“My gun did that?” I put my fist to my mouth and bit down hard, determined not to cry. “Oh Zane, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t,” he said, his voice tight with pain as he slowly uncurled his fingers. “Get me something to wrap this up.”
I quickly brought him a cool, wet towel, and he carefully wrapped it around his hand. As he did, I caught a glimpse of a small tattoo—a symbol I had never seen before—on his inner wrist. An angelic symbol, just like Noah had. It was a stark reminder of what he had once been.
“I’m so sorry that I shot you,” I apologized again. “Remy told me to use the gun if I got into trouble and I, uh, jumped the gun. No pun intended.”
He snorted. “Count on Remy to buy an outdated gun with terrible accuracy and only two shots. No doubt it was stylish, or something idiotic like that.”
“Pink,” I agreed, feeling like a moron. “I didn’t know it was that bad of a gun.”
“All guns are shit in the wrong hands.”
I couldn’t disagree. “Will it heal?”
He gave me a wry look, a return to the old, familiar Zane. “In about two to three days; faster if I get a few good feedings in to rejuvenate my system.” He cast a meaningful look at me.
Desire shot through me and I swallowed hard. When he’d asked me a few hours ago, I’d turned him down. But I’d seen some aspects of Zane recently that confused me, and some that charmed me, as well. He was human underneath his tough vampire exterior, underneath the wings. He’d saved me, kept me safe when he could have abandoned me. He’d carried me back to Cairo with an injured hand, when he could have left me to wander in the desert.
Underneath it all was a man who I could have fallen in love with when I was human.
But things changed. I had changed. And he wasn’t a man I could ever, ever fall in love with.
He was the enemy, an agent for the Queen of Vampires.
I sighed and moved away from him to try to ease the fierce longing throbbing through my body. My vision was hazy at the edges, my hands unsteady, and I knew it’d only get progressively worse as I continued to fight the Itch. “I can’t, Zane.”