by Jean Murray
Her shadow stretched across the floor as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. She stepped into the building but paused to scan the shadows. Warriors were almost undetectable, one of their many talents to include no scent, no heat signature and the ability to shift form.
Her eyes adjusted to the dimming light. The vision of the world changed to various colors depending on the heat signature of the object. The metal lit by the sun, glowed a bright red. Other areas faded to orange, green and then blue. She maneuvered around the broken metal and chains.
She closed her eyes and listened. In the other buildings rodents scurried about the floor and birds nested in the rafters. Silence greeted her ears. Nothing moved but the links in the pulleys. She tucked the clothes under her arm. Her fingers traced the outline of her saber, just in case he did not take kindly to her invasion.
A large empty elevator shaft with a chain link fence dominated the far wall. On the right sat an entrance to a stairwell, its door hanging from the hinges. She stared down the freight shaft into a black void below. Two levels down rubble littered the lowest point.
She dropped into the darkness and landed on the thickest piece of concrete. Crouching, she surveyed the cramped space, which was a collage of dark blues and greens. The wind whistled down the shaft and blew loose pieces of her hair forward. A wave rippled back and washed over her skin. Cold and statically charged, goose bumps rose along her arms and sent a shiver down her spine.
In one corner of the room, the wall had blackened in color. Siya’s heart pounded harder. He was nothing more than shadows and mist. Adrenaline flooded her muscles with power, a reaction she could not repress.
She stood and planted a foot behind her. Defying her own warrior instincts, she forced her arms out to her sides with palms forward.
The blackness consolidated into a large figure. An eddy of frigid air caressed her face. The dark energy prickled her skin and sent tiny shocks through her chest to her fingertips and toes. An odd sensation, since he was only a warrior. No god elicited that sensation. Not even her father.
A warning, perhaps.
The room’s temperature plummeted enough the cold seeped through her coat. Clouds of white mist formed with each of her exhaled breaths. The intensity absent on the beach revealed itself in the space between them. A warrior on the defensive—volatile and dangerous. The shadows thickened further into the outline of an enormous male. Warriors came in various large sizes, but this Commander was massive. The light from above dimmed further and darkness enclosed the shaft.
She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the complete darkness. Although dim, she could see him completely now. Her eyes were drawn downward, beckoned by the elaborate scarification tattoos trailing down his abdomen and disappearing underneath his waistband. Despite the lines of scars, they did not restrict his movement, like elaborate armor or a second skin.
She froze, waiting and watching while he stared at her with fierce black eyes. His feet made no sound as he stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
“Raise your arms,” he commanded.
Without hesitation she complied. She would do the same with an intruder, short of slicing off his neck. To gain his trust, she allowed him to be in control. His hand skimmed her waist and removed her saber. He pulled off her cape and removed the sword at her back. She exhaled a long low breath when he set them aside. Relieved she lowered her arms.
He moved to her back, leaving a fresh trail of goose bumps. “We are not finished.”
Gods, he was disarming her completely. She had to respect him for knowing she would have more weapons hidden. His large hands glided down her back to her butt and legs. He relieved her of two daggers from her ankle straps. The clothes she had bundled under her arm were cast aside.
He shifted around and stood in front of her, towering over her by several inches. She tipped her head back and met his hard calculating eyes. His energy never lessened, and her nose stung from the coldness he gave off. His hard palms glided down her arms and squeezed at strategic locations. He pulled back her sleeves and unsnapped the small knives from her forearms. The pile of weapons on the floor grew with each sweep. His hands dropped down her chest and cupped her breasts and continued their journey south. She fought the heat building from the simple pat-down.
Did he know how lucky he was to be the first and only?
She inhaled sharply when he grazed her inner thighs and gratuitously cupped her sex. His cold energy burned against the warmth of her sensitive skin. She was good, but to hide a weapon there was just obnoxious. He went through her coat pockets and threw the wrapped food to the floor. Irritated, Siya glared when he stood and faced her.
“Satisfied.”
“Not really. Why are you here?”
“I brought your coat. Felt it was only neighborly to replace your shirt and bring some food.”
“And you expect what in return?”
His bitterness hit like a slap in the face. He was right. She had come with an ulterior motive. “A truce.” An alliance, but she dare not speak of it.
He frowned and stepped back. She stooped and picked up the bundle of fabric. “Listen, I have interests to protect, just as I am sure you do. I want no trouble.” She held it out for him to take.
He ignored her offer and crossed his arms over his bare chest. Damn if he was as stubborn as Khalfani. Possibly more so. This whole situation intrigued her. “Take it or leave it, I care not.” She leaned against the broken rock and gripped the clothing in her lap. Haru always said her obstinate nature rivaled anyone he knew.
After a ten minute staring contest, he stalked forward and snatched the bundle from her hands. He pulled the gray sweatshirt over his head. She admired the ripple of his muscles across the expanse of his back and arms. Despite choosing the largest size, the material stretched snug across his chest and broad shoulders. The length matched his long torso perfectly. He ran a hand down the front, smoothing out the fabric. This particular manmade material trapped in body heat and insulated from the cold.
A small amount of satisfaction flooded her soul and fed the side most like her mother. Did they both have a weakness for rogue males? Siya shifted her weight on the rock, suddenly uncomfortable with the thought. Distracted, she did not notice his closeness.
Only when the chill lessened against her skin did she look up. Black brows dipped low over his eyes. A mix of curiosity and confusion infused those dark depths. She cleared her throat and grabbed the brown package off the floor. “Here. It is not much.”
He unwrapped the paper and stared down at the stacks of bread, meat and cheese. “They call them heroes.” When he narrowed his eyes, she groaned. “Poisoning is not my style,” she said, and grabbing the top sandwich, she bit into it. She placed it back on the stack and raised her arms at her sides. “See.”
Gods, she loved these sloppy but delicious human sandwiches. She savored the flavor before swallowing. Licking the corners of her mouth, she caught the small drops of mustard and froze, realizing he was watching her intently. “Sorry,” she shrugged. “I never did have great table manners.”
Sitting across from her, he lifted the sandwich to his lips and took a large bite. He paused mid-chew and looked at her.
“Good?” she asked with a half-smile. Maybe the human saying was true. The way to a man was through his stomach.
He gulped the five foot-long sandwiches, then folded the wrapper and placed it next to him. Placing his hand across his stomach, he leaned back against the wall and sighed.
She surveyed the room. Did he sleep here? She frowned, looking at the damp cold cement. Debris and rodent excrement littered the ground. She walked over to an opening and peered inside. Much of the same. No bed or fire.
Memories of the first years of her exile assaulted her. Back then she had abided by the laws of no interaction with humans. She had starved for weeks before resorting to stealing and plundering crops. Rumors had spread in her wake of plagues and curses.
Idle and without purpose, s
he spiraled in a series of self-destructive behaviors over the centuries. No one had been there to stop or redirect her. Despite the rare interaction with Haru, she had no contact with the Pantheon.
Drunk on human wine, she had passed out in a villager’s barn. It had been the humans who saved her after all she had done to them. A family with little more than the clothes on their backs, a rickety barn and a one room farmhouse changed her life.
* * *
Bomani stared at the goddess’ profile, which was outlined in glowing white. The scarab mark at the base of her neck burned bright green against the red warmth of her body. Oddly, her heat did not burn him, like every other Creation god. Her soul’s flame burned a luminescent white, untainted. His eyes gravitated to the scarab mark. A perplexing contradiction.
She appeared out of sorts in the drab grey utility clothing. Her high cheekbones, soft brow and full lips were of regal dissent. Soft wisps of hair caressed the perfect skin of her cheek. The straps of her sword’s harness hugged the tight curves of her body. He fisted his hands remembering the softer areas.
Sekhmet did not appear rushed or paranoid, like most exilers he hunted. Her posture was alert, yet relaxed in her surroundings. She was still in possession of Creation weapons.
He reminded himself to heed at least one of Bast’s directives—not to underestimate the Goddess of War. An undeniable danger saturated the air around this female. An exiler of extraordinary power and strength demanded respect and distance.
“I do not want any trouble. We understand each other?” Her fair green eyes targeted him.
Her tone had him guessing whether she was flirting or threatening him. He had felt the tension in her body when he disarmed her. The fine contraction in her muscles when he ran his hands over her body. To see her in action must be extraordinary.
She cocked her hip and crossed her arms over her chest. “So you lost your soul and your voice?”
He jerked himself out of his trance and stood on his feet. “Yeah, no trouble.”
“Glad we understand each other,” she said and bent over to pick up her weapons.
Bomani stared at the fine curve of her hips and ass. Hunger burned in his veins, despite the fullness of his stomach. He buried the sensation. He had to remain unattached and aloof to avoid any more complications.
She was an exiler. His mark.
“Watch yourself.” Sekhmet met his gaze one last time, and then leapt to the upper level.
Bomani stared at the elevator shaft, the space now empty. Bast would lengthen his sentence if she ever discovered he had made contact with the exiler. Finding the answers about his predecessor was not worth the risk.
He rubbed the pain in his temple and paced the small expanse of concrete. “Leave it alone,” he growled at himself, but the pull on his chest worsened with each passing second.
Damn it. Unable to resist the urge to follow her, he dematerialized and reappeared on the first floor. Sekhmet stood in the doorway staring up into the night sky. The moonlight wrapped her in an earthly glow.
Did she wait for him?
He banished the question from his mind. The answer did not matter. He needed to obtain Sekhmet’s trust and with it intel he could use for Bast.
“Thank you,” he said on forced breath, hating he now owed her. If he learned anything from Bast, nothing came without a price.
“You are welcome, Bomani.” She regarded him a moment from the doorway before stepping onto the dock.
Bomani followed, despising his compulsion for the female. His instincts were screaming, burning in fact. Either he was on the right path or ready to step into a pit.
A disturbing thought came to the forefront and soured his stomach as he joined Sekhmet. With all her powers, Bast could not find this goddess who lived out in the open and harnessed power he could sense two blocks away?
“Beautiful night,” Sekhmet said and returned her gaze to the stars.
“Cold,” Bomani growled and pulled the hood up over his head. The fabric smelled of flowers. He hated to admit her generosity saved him from freezing another night.
“This, coming from an Underworlder?” She laughed, but then pressed her lips together in a suppressed smile.
Despite her levity, he did not find it all that funny. He stared ahead, refusing to comment.
“Just trying to lighten the tension.”
He met her gaze. She stared him dead in the eyes. He wondered if anyone intimidated this goddess. “I am not very good company.”
“Trust me, I understand.” She kicked at the dry wood beneath her feet. “Listen, I am not going to ask why you are here, but you need to know, it is not safe.”
“Safe from you?” His intended smile presented more as a sneer.
“That is not what I meant.”
“So, you are concerned for my safety?” He may be rogue, but he was not the one marked for death.
“Consider it a professional courtesy.”
“Warning taken.”
She unsheathed the dagger from her thigh holster.
Bomani’s muscles tensed, not quite ready to trust her.
She flipped the blade and offered him the hilt. “If you plan on staying, you will need this.”
He hesitated accepting her offer. Again, nothing came without payment.
“Take the damn blade,” she grunted.
He gripped the weapon, but before he could lift it away her slender fingers wrapped around his hand.
“I meant what I said about being careful.” She released him. “It was nice to meet you, Bomani.” With a nod she turned and jogged down the dock.
He stared down at the weapon completely dumbfounded by the goddess’ actions. This was the Destroyer Bast feared? Even the exilers he had captured grimaced at the name.
Tucking the blade into the waistband of his pants, he gazed at the energy trail the goddess had conveniently left behind. Bast and Sekhmet had given him fair enough warning to stay away.
He stepped towards the collapsed warehouse, chastising himself for even thinking about going after the goddess. He stalked back into the building intent on waiting Bast out. In two strides he froze, his body uncommitted to his mind’s task.
It hungered for something far more pleasing.
He pivoted and charged out the door to chase danger.
Chapter Sixteen
Had she finally lost her mind?
Theris was right. Siya could not leave well enough alone. In addition to orphans, she’d added a wayward warrior to the list. Younglings were one thing to win over. Food, shelter and protection.
A warrior? A more complicated prospect, especially one who either escaped or was kicked out of the underworld. She scratched the scarab mark on her neck, contemplating the possible outcomes.
Best case scenario, Bomani heeded her warning and left the city.
Worst case, he stayed and would bring complications she was not sure how to handle. Not unlike her horse, those dark brooding eyes were growing on her more than she would like. Not to mention, the intricate tattoos carved into his flesh were far too tempting. She regretted seeing him pull the black shirt over them.
She blew out a breath of pure frustration. Her head should not go there, nor should her heart. Those fancies were lost the minute she was branded an exiler. Exasperated with how badly she handled things with Bomani, she pulled her hood up and delved deeper into the city. Based on Henry’s sighting, the youngling would have crossed over Fifth Avenue. One more, she promised herself. Once the youngling was off the streets, she would refigure her strategy.
Pulling out the last of her cash from her pocket, she stopped at the hero joint. A cashier sat at the curbside window with red peeling paint framing the grease covered screen.
“All meat on wheat, please.”
“Sure thing.” The cashier turned and yelled at the grill cook, repeating her order. The girl glanced at Siya briefly, and then went back to texting on her phone. The cook smiled and arched his eyebrows, but then quickly went
to work making the sandwich. Humans never held Siya’s stare for long, nor did they invade her personal space. Even the gawking males behind her subverted their gaze as if sensing their rung on the evolutionary ladder.
Despite Siya’s emersion among humans, she was still an outsider. Regardless, she had vowed her life to protect Mother’s creation. So had the Creation Pantheon, but where were they in this fight?
Haru asked too much of her. To go up against her father alone?
She had been somewhat hopeful when Bomani crossed her path. The Commander obviously had issues of his own. She had never seen a warrior so disheveled or morphed for that matter. His eyes were black and his teeth jagged, never a good sign. The only time she ever saw Khalfani in that state was in the heat of battle.
“Here you go.” The girl handed Siya the sandwich.
“Thanks.” Siya tucked the food into her cloak pocket and moved deeper into the city. Bright lights illuminated the banner above the American History Museum, announcing the featured exhibit—King Tut’s tomb.
Siya frowned, hating that the remnants of the ancient society had been scattered all over the globe. The world of her kind had crumbled along with the monuments risen in their honor. She forced her eyes away and focused on the energy surrounding her. The youngling could be anywhere.
Sticking to the alleys, she snaked her way through the city. She paused at the next street. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as her eyes gravitated to the end of the empty alley. The light scent of decay carried in the air. The bitterness burned her nose. Similar to her father’s, but more sulfuric.
She narrowed her eyes and scanned from street to rooftop. The energy and scent was familiar in a way that put a chill to her bones. Loosening the saber at her waist, she stepped forward.