The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  “Emmalina Chase, you torment me. Truly you do.”

  His deep bass voice was so sincere, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “It was your choice. You came after me, remember?”

  He nodded. “But if not me, then someone else. You would do well to remember that, pequeña. ” His gaze didn’t soften when he looked at her, merely lost its glinting edge. “Come.” He held out his arm for her to take. “Let us give Nadya her private audience.”

  Nadya and her two guards were escorted ahead of Emma and Seshua, giving Emma her first good look at the wawkalak men assigned to protect the Russian ambassador. They were a lot more impressive up close. There was nothing exotic about them, yet they raised the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck.

  Neither approached Seshua’s height and breadth, though they were built strong, Emma could see. They wore blue jeans, work boots, black shirts over white t-shirts. Both men wore their hair in unremarkable short male styles, dark blond, brown. Pale eyes in angular, expressionless faces.

  They should have looked normal, but to Emma, their appearances were a thin disguise — perfect, but inconsequential. What they were was plain to see. Power and lean, hungry grace, humble, and oh, so dangerous.

  The woman looked, if possible, fragile, and no more at home in the gilded receiving room with all its rich furnishings, lounges, and cushioned comforts than she had outside in the humid air. Here inside the palace, walls seven feet thick kept the rooms cool, but couldn’t dispel the stifling, otherworldly heat of several shapechangers with something to prove.

  The problem wasn’t Nadya, or Seshua, but the guards; aside from the two wawkalak men, the spacious receiving room was crowded with twelve other jaguar guards, Marco and Horne among them, plus Ashai and Teremun — and then there was the matter of Red Sun, whose unique aura was starting to take effect, not just on Emma but on their Russian guest as well. The air hummed with tension, itching against the insides of Emma’s skull, like a subaudible whine.

  Nadya took a deep breath, managing to look willowy and brittle all at once, and blew strands of blond hair out of her face. Her cheeks were flushed. “We are alone?”

  Emma shoved hard against Horne and maneuvered herself into the slim gap between him and Red Sun, careful not to brush Red’s bare arm with her own. “Hardly alone, but I think this is as private as we’re going to get.” Horne grasped her upper arm to prevent her from moving closer to the Russians, and Emma shot him an affronted look.

  Horne’s smoldering amber eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked.

  Not the most gratifying reaction.

  Emma turned her attention back to Nadya.

  The Russian swallowed what might have been a smile. “Good, it is good.” She nodded, looking at Emma, but not meeting her eyes. “I am thanking you for your flexibility in this matter. I have sensitive things to discuss. Sensitive, important things.” Her face tightened, and Emma noticed fine, spidery lines creasing it. Emma’s first estimate of her age went out the window — not as young as she looked.

  Seshua began to pace. Emma half suspected he did it just because he knew he looked even more breathtaking — and intimidating — in motion than at rest. His eyes never left Nadya but he didn’t speak, just paced, a silent challenge for her to fill the expectant void.

  Still she hesitated. Her gaze slid from Emma to Seshua, tracking his movements. Tendons stood out in her neck; Emma could almost see a pulse flickering in the woman’s throat, and if her heartbeat was fast and hard enough for Emma to see, then it was loud enough for the jaguars to hear. No wonder they were all so goddamn tense.

  The wawkalak guard at Nadya’s left — brown hair, a face full of austere lines and angles, eyes that might be icy green or just gray — shifted his stance, putting the line of his body against Nadya’s back.

  The touch seemed to relax her — and probably dispelled some of the heat from Red Sun’s presence. Nadya rolled her shoulders, and with visible effort settled her gaze on Emma, this time meeting her eyes.

  “Yevgeny Mihaylov’s only child is dying.” Nadya’s voice was flat and hard as her stare. “The waste is claiming her. She is not only princess, heir to the Russka wawkalaki throne, but beloved. And we cannot save her.”

  Seshua stopped pacing. Red quietly moved to the back of the room, and Emma said a silent prayer of thanks as her breath came easier and the hot flush left her cheeks. Some of the tension riding the air died. Relief did not follow, only an empty quiet.

  Nadya took their silence for confusion, and rushed to explain herself. “King Yevgeny hopes an alliance may heal his daughter, through him. Blood ties are strong among our people, especially those with ancient lineage, and if our king pledges to the caller of the blood…” Nadya clenched her fists. “It may be enough to keep our princess alive.”

  Emma spoke before Seshua could. “What makes you think it would work?”

  Nadya’s cheek twitched; Emma got the feeling the Russian was trying not to glance at the jaguar king. “The Egyptian jackals pledged to you.” Nadya’s eyes betrayed her with a nervous flicker in Seshua’s direction. “Only six weeks have passed, yet already their queen is with child.”

  Emma tried not to look surprised. She’d received the news a week ago, from the newly crowned jackal king himself, but obviously good news traveled fast. She must not have schooled her face well enough, because Nadya’s brows rose in understanding.

  “You are confused, I see,” Nadya said gently. “We were friends of the jackal kingdom, in times past. But we had not been on good terms for many years. We were happy for Kahotep’s ascension to the throne. He is a good king, as his father was.”

  Fascinating. If the Russian king had been friends with the last legitimate jackal king, then by “many years,” Nadya in fact meant over a hundred.

  With the help of Emma and the pledge, Kahotep and his mate Nathifa had ascended the throne by overthrowing Kahotep’s uncle, a sadistic necromancer who killed Kahotep’s mother, father, and all his living relatives to seize the Pharaoh’s throne — and the only reason he’d been able to do so was because Kahotep’s father was away, searching the world for a cure for his queen’s wasting illness. Six weeks ago, Kahotep had pledged himself to Emma, forging a magical connection to her power in order to save the rest of his people from the fate that his mother and a few others of their race had succumbed to.

  And the Russian’s princess was suffering the same disease.

  Although news of Nathifa’s pregnancy was wonderful, Emma hadn’t known it was significant in light of the jackal’s pledge and couldn’t quite think why it would be, but Seshua would be totally pissed if she betrayed her own ignorance and said it out loud. She couldn’t ask anybody here — but she could ask Fern.

  The mere thought of him dissolved her soft mental shields, and the touch of Fern’s mind rushed like liquid warmth into hers. They had both been shielding to stay focused on their respective business, but also because they needed the practice.

  Does Nathifa’s pregnancy have something to do with Kahotep making the pledge?

  The wasting illness affects birth rates first, he sent. If the jackals had already lost adults to the waste, then they would have stopped conceiving some time ago. When Kahotep called to tell us the good news, I thought you knew. She sensed him shake his head. I’m sorry. I would have told you.

  She suppressed a sigh. No. I’ve got too much to learn and I don’t ask the right questions. Damn it. Not for the first time, she was reminded that she was woefully underqualified to be Caller of the Blood — but since Fate wasn’t taking applications from anyone else, the world was stuck with her.

  Fern sent her a sharp jab of chagrin. You can’t be a full time martyr, Emma. Not everything is your fault. The smile in his mental voice softened the reproach, but Emma was still mortified.

  I do not have a martyr complex.

  Fern just laughed.

  Horne squeezed her arm and she looked up at him. His mustache quirked with a smile. “Still with us, m
y lady?”

  Emma had managed to break most of the guards of addressing her as Caller of the Blood — capitalization implicit — every time they spoke, but she couldn’t budge “my lady” from their vocabulary, not in formal situations. Emma glanced around and found everyone staring expectantly. Seshua looked thoughtful and unhappy, but he didn’t rush to guide the proceedings. Emma assumed she was still allowed free reign, but chose her next words carefully.

  “Nadya, the jackal queen’s pregnancy is great news, but I don’t know if it proves we can do anything for your king’s daughter. The jackal queen conceived after the king made the pledge.” There — now nobody would know she’d had no clue the pregnancy even meant anything to begin with.

  Nadya swallowed with visible effort. “We must try. We are willing to offer anything. Any bargain. Any request, within our considerable means, and we will happily hand it over in exchange merely for a chance.” The Russian’s husky-blue eyes brightened to diamond chips and her guards shifted closer to her, both of them putting their bodies against hers. “I beg of you, Emma Chase, Caller of the Blood.” Nadya closed her eyes, hands clenching into fists, voice tight and strained. “The Russka wawkalaki beg you.”

  Emma felt like the floor was dropping out from under her. Pity up welled in sharp, bitter waves. She kept her face and voice blank, afraid to offer the Russians even a hint of mercy when she didn’t know she could do anything for them.

  “How old is the king’s daughter?”

  Nadya still had her eyes closed. Almost too low to hear, she said, “Twelve.”

  Emma flinched. Then Nadya opened her eyes, and they weren’t human, not even close. Still husky-dog blue but big and round and piercing, and slanting at the corners, angling down toward the lengthening sweep of her straight nose.

  Emma smelled water and ozone a split second before Horne growled, sending jarring vibrations through Emma’s skin, straight to her bones.

  She heard guns being cocked and said, “No!” She glanced around at Seshua’s jaguar guards, ones she didn’t know — their guns were trained on the Russians. Ashai and Teremun had unsheathed their own hardware — short sword and double-tipped spear, respectively. Jesus. They were the first to ease their weapons down.

  Nadya looked to be fighting to restrain herself, emotion clouding her skin with a silvery gray shadow, precursor to the change. Emma watched her slowly breathe her skin back to a human hue, calm her eyes to merely beautiful black-rimmed blue.

  Finally, into a silence so thick it ought to be served in wedges, Nadya cleared her throat. “I must apologize.” She stared resolutely at the floor. “I offer no insult, nor violence. I am merely…overcome.” Her slim shoulders shook; she rolled them, breathing deep, and raised her eyes to Seshua. “If you will consider accepting us as allies, the Russka wawkalaki would be too grateful for my grasp of the English words to say.”

  Seshua crossed his arms over his vast chest. His deep, dark eyes betrayed no mercy, no thoughts readable in his carved idol face. “Why did the king of the Russka wawkalaki not come himself?”

  “Our princess would not survive separation from her father, and she cannot be transported.” Nadya’s left eyelid twitched. “As I said, our blood ties are strong. The royal wawkalaki are a strong family. Yevgeny’s presence keeps her alive.” In a quieter voice, Nadya added, “Her name is Yekaterina.”

  Seshua’s face hardened. “If your king cannot travel, then Emma would have to come to you.”

  Nadya nodded. “Every security precaution would be in place, to any specification —”

  Seshua interrupted her with a voice as flat and cold as Emma ever heard it. “No.”

  Nadya dropped her gaze and proceeded to use it to blaze a hole in the thick woven rug underfoot. After a lifetime of shocked silence, Nadya spoke.

  “Very well. If I and my guards could be escorted to the courtyard, please.”

  Emma gaped at Seshua as his guards moved to flank Nadya. The Russian woman walked out with a stiff back and short, clipped strides, boot heels clacking. When she and her guards were gone and out of earshot, with all of Seshua’s guards save for Marco and Horne, Emma elbowed past Horne and stood on the rug with her hands on her hips.

  “Seshua.” She ground the word out between clenched teeth.

  He uncrossed his arms but stayed where he was, unreadable gaze as cold as it ever got. “How do you manage to make my name sound like a threat, pequeña ?”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at him, sizing him up. He was playing this cool, maybe hoping to catch her off guard with a different tactic than usual. In the spirit of winning, she changed her game plan.

  “Why are you afraid of the Russians?”

  Seshua cocked an eyebrow. A crease appeared above the bridge of his intimidating nose. “What makes you think I am afraid of the Russians?”

  “You’re against the idea of an alliance with them, but it can’t be because you don’t want the power — you always want power. It can’t be because you don’t want me to accept the pledge from their king, because we proved in Egypt that sex isn’t necessary for the pledge to work.” Emma suppressed a triumphant smile as she watched that last part sink in. “So, the only reason I can think of for you to refuse them, is fear.”

  Of course, Seshua already knew that Emma had accepted the magically binding pledge from the Egyptian jackal prince without sex, contrary to popular wisdom — but now she’d said it out loud, he couldn’t pretend that he’d refused the Russians in order to preserve Emma’s virtue.

  Besides, Emma thought suddenly — if sex wasn’t necessary to make the pledge, couldn’t the Russian princess make the pledge herself? There was more hope in that than in accepting the pledge from the Russian king. Emma’s mind raced, resolve strengthening.

  Seshua’s frown deepened. Marco and Horne stayed very still, trying to make themselves as invisible as possible; they weren’t accustomed to watching their king be openly manipulated and humiliated — by a human woman, for that matter.

  “Surely you do not expect to mock me into submission, pequeña, not after the disaster in Egypt.”

  Well, actually, that was exactly what she’d planned to do. “We were coerced into Egypt, we didn’t go on our own terms. This would be on our terms, Seshua.”

  “No.”

  “All our own security, guns, you name it, I wouldn’t agree to anything less.”

  “No. ”

  “We can’t hide from the world forever.”

  A snarl ripped from Seshua’s throat, wet and violent. He stalked to Emma and stood so close she had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes, but she did it.

  “NO,” he rumbled.

  “Her name,” Emma growled, “Is Yekaterina. ”

  He breathed hard, his massive chest expanding like a huge velvet drum, pushing against her. His lips peeled back from thick, white teeth, exposing jutting incisors that looked the size of Emma’s thumbs. The scent of jungle heat and rich fertile earth swirled around them both, humid, hard to breathe; his eyes in the darkness of his face were electric, angry, magnificent.

  Seshua lowered his head, inhaling, taking her scent. Emma tensed to run, run before he tried to bite her face off — or kiss her.

  “When at last you submit to me, Emmalina…” He exhaled. “It will be good.” He straightened and stepped away from her. “Marco, come.” The leader of the guard looked up as though he had been gazing into nowhere the entire time — as though he hadn’t watched and fought with himself over what to do if his king attacked his kingdom’s greatest asset.

  Seshua gestured to him, heading for the door. “We must talk security with the Russians.”

  Marco nodded, glancing only once at Emma with wide black eyes before following Seshua out to the courtyards — leaving her shaking like a bowl of Jell O and not knowing exactly why.

  3

  When at last her legs were steady enough to walk on, Emma arrived in the outer courtyard in time to find Seshua in consultation with his guards, the two Russ
ian guards, and one of the other jaguars whose role was less clear to her. Nobody looked happy. A fresh breeze swirled through the courtyard, stirring the thick canopy of trees that surrounded the walls, promising rain during the coming night — but the high vault of sky framed by the jungle was still a perfect azure blue.

  Fern, eavesdropping on her thoughts, brushed her mind with his. In a few hours the sun will go down, turn the sky purple. If my sister hasn’t nagged us to death by then, we should go to the roof and watch.

  Emma smiled. Maybe we can invite Seshua, and push him off the edge.

  Fern barked a laugh in her mind. He’d just get back up and come after us.

  Unfortunately, Fern was right. Emma looked around for Nadya and found her standing away from the others, blotting at her face in a small compact mirror.

  She saw Emma coming and snapped the compact shut, spine going rigid. Jaguar guards moved to flank her as Emma approached, veering her course from Seshua to the Russian woman instead. She got within ten feet before Horne and another guard she didn’t know artfully put their bodies in front of hers.

  Nadya’s eyes were red rimmed. It occurred to Emma that the Russian might be acting, all a ruse to enhance the authenticity of their story — but what did it matter? There was no way of knowing, not until Seshua and his guards investigated the security situation in Russia independently, which Emma had no doubt they would do once the Russians were gone. He hadn’t been able to exercise such authority when they went to Egypt, because they’d been coerced into the journey, but he would now.

  Nadya stared at Emma with wide, wolf eyes. “I am disgracing myself.” She patted her hair, smoothing it down, though the wind picked up flyaway strands and tried to make off with them. “I am the only woman here, off crying in a corner.” She made a disgusted noise, casting her eyes down to her rumpled linen suit, dusting at it.