Lilith T. Bell
Published by Selkie Publishing
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Copyright © 2017 by Lilith T. Bell, All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter One
The desert breeze did little to cool Eiluhepa, belly flat against the roof of the hut. Drawing the bowstring too soon would fatigue her arms. Muscles would shake as their strength was taxed, so that her shot might fly wild or fall short. Knowing this, she held the bow and an arrow, but waited. Even knowing why she did it, waiting turned her stomach like rotten goat milk.
The Egyptian soldiers were approaching the village, looking somewhat disconcerted to find it apparently abandoned. Some of the damage from the raids was still visible and she wondered if they had known about them. There were only around fifty of the soldiers, which instantly put her on edge. Her village’s scout had said the Egyptians’ numbers were closer to a thousand. Either the man was an idiot, or this was only an advance guard. So long as the rest of the army wasn’t going to circle around and catch all of the villagers who had fled, then utter disaster might still be averted. Her own death would be a small price to pay for their safety.
Eiluhepa had been a child when the Pharaoh had first attacked the Hittite nation of Hatti. The battles had continued intermittently with neither nation ever fully gaining the upper hand. It was to be expected in some ways, as they were two kingdoms that were far too close to one another. Yet Eiluhepa had learned that far worse than being on one side or the other was to be caught between the two.
There were three chariots among the Egyptians, with two men on each. The rest of the soldiers were on their feet. The majority of them wore nothing more than the simple shenti, the typical dress of Egyptians. The shenti consisted of a linen scarf wrapped around the waist and between the legs as a loincloth. Some of them wore something more, which looked similar to the kilt that Eiluhepa and Hittite men wore. The Egyptian version of the kilt was draped and folded decoratively, drawn up slightly in the front with no fear of accidentally exposing their manhood to danger because of the shenti beneath.
Despite being a woman, Eili had long ago decided she would dress as the men, for convenience and the freedom it afforded. When her husband had been alive, no man dared to look at her legs, for fear of what he might do to them. Now she had to put them in fear herself.
On one of the chariots there was a tall, powerfully built man with closely cropped dark brown curls like a sheep’s wool and a strikingly sculpted face devoid of hair. All of the Egyptian men Eiluhepa had ever seen were clean shaven, so his smooth face wasn’t unusual even if it would have marked him for a boy among her own people. The hair on the man’s head was unusual, though. Most of the other Egyptians she had encountered shaved their heads. Only one other man was in the chariot, controlling the horses, for there was no room for more men. The Egyptian chariots looked laughably small and flimsy in comparison to what the Hittites used in battle. The tall man wore a kilt with a decoratively cut tunic over it, his sword a sturdy iron one instead of the more common bronze that most Egyptians carried. One of his hands rested idly on the hilt of that sword as he looked around with a casual arrogance. He looked to have recently left youth behind, maybe two or more years older than Eiluhepa, but his dress and his manner instantly marked him for what he was. Eiluhepa turned her bow toward the handsome commander. If they took out this small group of them, it would at least give the rest of the village more time to flee. The chances of defeating close to a thousand Egyptians were poor at best, but they could delay them.
“Spread out,” the tall one said in the foreign tongue as he drew his own sword. “They’re here somewhere.”
Apparently having decided his chariot was of little use with no one to charge, the commander stepped out to search with his men. The soldiers broke up into small groups or men by themselves as they began pushing their way into huts. The commander went toward the nearest hut to rip down the flimsy hide covering the doorway. He was distracted, with his back turned toward Eiluhepa. It was perfect.
The silence was punctured by the hum of the arrow. The commander ducked into the doorway and spun in his crouch, the arrow burying itself in the dried mud of the hut. Weapons slid from their sheaths, soldiers quickly falling into a defensive position, but their commander was already raising his hand to gesture to them.
“Hold,” he ordered his men, before raising his voice. When next he spoke, it was in Nesili, the Hittite language. It had an accent to it, but was unmistakable. “If you give up now, we won’t have to attack. Give Pharaoh his tribute and we’ll offer protection from anyone else who may come.”
“Back to the underworld with you!” a voice called from the far end of the village. The bushes rustled, as did the trees. There could have been a dozen men hiding themselves there, though Eili knew there was not. It was a weak distraction, to draw the attention of the Egyptians so they did not notice the archers laying on rooftops just as Eiluheupa did. They all waited, arrows drawn and ready to set loose.
As the rest of the Egyptians turned their focus to the foliage, the commander’s eyes swept across the village, then paused. Eiluhepa felt her heart skip a beat as the commander’s startlingly pale yellow eyes locked with her own. She might have sworn she met the eyes of a jackal.
“Shoot them!” yelled the commander, pointing to the archers a second before he ducked through the doorway again, narrowly missing two more arrows.
Eiluhepa didn’t bother with wasting another arrow, already sliding down the back of the hut. She prayed her companions would survive the Egyptian archers as she raced between buildings. There was a window sans shutter at the back of the hut the commander had ducked into. Eiluhepa knew, because it was her own home, achingly empty these days. She slid through quietly, then dropped to the ground in a crouch, an arrow drawn. It wasn’t a large space inside and the Egyptian would have a difficult time hiding from her.
She began to move slowly forward, careful to keep her steps light. The commander was near the doorway, waiting until he could move without being pinned down by a stray arrow. Eiluhepa straightened for a better shot at the other man, determined to not miss.
Chapter Two
There was the slightest shift of the Egyptian’s head, his eye flicking to the side. He spun and kicked a stack of baskets into Eiluhepa. The arrow flew, but buried itself in a basket instead of the commander’s heart. Eiluhepa immediately dropped the bow and drew her sword, swinging it up in time to catch the Egyptian blade arcing for her neck.
“You’re a woman.” The commander gaped, looking as shocked by the realization of her gender as the fact that she’d been ready with her swo
rd.
Finally having the element of surprise when the damned man had been prepared for everything else she’d thrown at him, she pressed her attack. Each swing of her blade pushed him back towards the entrance. “Oh, it’s true what they say. Egyptians are clever.”
“Blow the horns!” the commander called out when he’d deflected her blade for the moment.
Outside, there was the sound of several horns at once. As they faded, they were replaced by the sounds of battle, more vicious than it had been even moments before.
Despite her bravado, Eiluhepa feared. She had only begun practicing with a sword a few years before and never sparred inside of a hut before. Every thrust of her sword met a block from the Egyptian commander, who looked more intrigued than intimidated. Getting the man out into the open would make things easier, but the commander had other plans. Eiluhepa’s next thrust was deflected into the wall as the Egyptian slid out of the way. Their blades still locked together, the Egyptian drove his elbow into Eiluhepa’s ribs. The blow knocked the breath from her and made her cry out as she was thrown off balance and back into the wall.
Eiluhepa gasped for breath. “You Egyptian dog.”
She was at a poor angle for using her blade, but she could turn her sword to strike the commander’s head with the hilt. The blow made the Egyptian grunt in pain and he reached out to grasp Eiluhepa’s wrist, pinning it back against the wall. The Egyptian slammed her hand into the wall twice and squeezed until Eiluhepa’s fingers involuntarily lost their grip under inhuman strength and the blade clattered to the floor.
“We’re not here to kill you unless we have to, you foolish girl,” the Egyptian snapped. “Surrender and all Pharaoh asks is tribute.”
“Never. My people owe your king nothing.”
Without her sword or bow, she should have had little hope of killing the commander, but as long as she had life she still had hope. There was the knife at her ankle. Her sword wasn’t far out of reach. Eiluhepa struggled between the wall and the commander, trying to find some sort of leverage against the man’s body. The Egyptian was broad of shoulder and easily a head taller than her. He was likely used to being stronger than others, never having to use the fine arts of balance and momentum, never needing to fight dirty. Overpowering him would be easy if only she could reverse their positions.
“Your people are on our land,” he said.
It was true, but only out of necessity. The current Hittite king - Eiluhepa’s own uncle, Urhi-Teshub - had driven them onto the Egyptian border. They had paid tribute in the beginning, but then had found themselves besieged by raiders and the Egyptians did nothing. What use was tribute to them without protection?
“Then your king should take better care of his land.”
The commander still held his sword, though he’d made no move to use it. That was his mistake. With her free hand, Eiluhepa gripped the man’s wrist, digging her thumb between small bones there until the Egyptian cried out in pain and released his sword. At that same moment, Eiluhepa pushed herself away from the wall, spinning and slamming the Egyptian into it. There was a crack as part of the wall crumbled behind the man.
This close, Eiluhepa could see the young commander had eyes a muddy color somewhere between yellow and green. When his pupils dilated in the dim hut, the yellow flared as though something inside of him was taking control. His eyes were rimmed with kohl in the Egyptian fashion and widened in shock, large and expressive. His nose was flatter than the aquiline noses of the Hittites, though narrower than those she’d seen on peoples from farther to the south. His lips looked soft and full. Temptingly so. Eiluhepa could imagine doing all sorts of things with lips like that. The commander’s skin tone had a different quality to it, like honey or bronze. Eiluhepa had the strangest desire to taste it. There was a graceful masculinity to the commander’s face, but it was far from delicate. His strong jaw with the faintest hint of a cleft in his chin made it clear he was no pretty youth.
The Egyptian struggled between Eiluhepa and the wall, pressing himself back closer to it rather than pushing against Eiluhepa. The choice of that movement confused her and she tightened her grip on the man’s right wrist, but she didn’t look down.
That was her mistake as the next moment she felt pain explode from one knee as that leg collapsed under her from a sharp kick upward into her kneecap. The commander twisted and leveraged his weight, forcing Eiluhepa down onto the ground and beneath him. The Egyptian sat straddling her, Eiluhepa’s arms pinned over her head as they both panted into one another’s face.
“Let me put it another way,” the man said. “Submit or you will be killed.”
Chapter Three
Eiluhepa’s husband, Yutis, had been killed a year before, in a raid from an enemy people nearby. Yet in that moment she could imagine her lover alive again. Long before they were wed, they had been sparring partners. Once shortly before he died, he’d pinned Eiluhepa and kissed her roughly. If she wouldn’t submit to him in battle, Yutis said, he’d find other ways to make Eiluhepa submit. And oh, did he.
This was different. The Egyptian commander would kill Eiluhepa for her refusal, not mount her, yet her body didn’t seem to recognize that. The feel of a man’s weight on top of her, of thighs wrapped around her hips, was more than enough to remind her of how lonely the last year had been. Particularly when battle lust was still upon her and her blood roared in her veins.
“You will never make me submit.”
“No?” The commander shifted against her, sliding his hand up Eiluhepa’s thigh. The typical dress for a Hittite man was a leather jerkin that came down to mid-thigh, with a short kilt beneath it. For dealing with the heat and maneuverability, it was excellent. For keeping the Egyptian’s hands off of her, it left something to be desired. “You looked like you were about to kiss me before. Are you certain?”
“Get off of me!” she hissed, struggling again.
With only one hand to hold her down, the Egyptian had given up his advantage. A heave and her feet braced against the floor were all it took for Eiluhepa to flip them over, pinning the commander under her body. Now she could feel every inch of him against her through their clothes. Close as she was, she could feel the throb of his heartbeat, drawing her own to match it beat for beat. It made Eiluhepa pause rather than draw her knife. He was so different from other men, so beautiful, so exciting. It seemed like something that would anger the gods to snuff out such a life while looking into those haunting eyes. Was it madness to wonder if he was truly a mortal at all?
Eiluhepa’s hand was at her side, ready to pull the knife, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Pinning the man to the floor had given her the clear advantage with a weapon still at hand. The Egyptian was helpless.
Instead of killing the commander, Eiluhepa ducked to slide her lips over his, giving into the temptation to discover what they felt like. Just as full and soft as she had imagined, they caressed hers automatically, the Egyptian leaning up to press into the kiss. His hands skimmed down her arms as they gasped for breath together, sending shivers up her spine. Callused fingers closed around her wrists and too late she realized she’d missed her opening to grab her knife. Rather than tense, she relaxed against him, waiting to see what his next move was. Would he attack? By the hold on her wrists, he dragged her in closer to him, then released one to wrap his arm around her waist. His lips parted, his tongue claiming her mouth. He tasted of cloves and wine.
Something thrummed under her skin, a vibration like a plucked bowstring, unlike any lust she’d felt with Yutis. Her skin itched to feel his against hers, her head swam. She broke from the kiss to suck in air hungrily, though it did little to cool her. The Egyptian’s lips trailed from hers down to her throat, where she felt the light scrape of his shaved beard and the brief sting of teeth.
“Let go of me,” she hissed, squirming against him. “Don’t touch me.”
The commander drew back to lay flat on the floor, raising his hands to rest them above his head, his chest shaki
ng slightly with suppressed laughter. The green in his eyes was just a thin sliver around the iris now, replaced almost entirely with the jackal yellow. “You’re on top of me, girl. Get up if you’re that offended.”
She leaned back from him, her hand moving closer to the little knife at her ankle. Not much use until an enemy was close, but she’d never had one closer than this. Yet that vibration wouldn’t let go, as though a song had taken hold in her soul, drawing her closer to him despite all sense and reason. As a girl, she’d been trained in the ways of the Hittite hasawa, midwives and priestesses and healers and diviners. Her eyes met the strange golden ones of the Egyptian commander again. Was this some sorcery from him?
“What have you done to me?” she demanded.
“Nothing, yet.” He snatched up her wrists again and rolled to pin her beneath his larger body on the cool, packed earth floor. “But I’m also not an idiot. If you’re not giving me your lips again, I won’t lay there exposing my throat to you.”
She writhed up from the floor to try to make more space, but only succeeded in pressing harder into his body. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Does it?” He grinned. “I will do you no harm if you do me none. Is that better?”
Even for as broad as the man was, he was still stronger than he looked. She went lax under him with a huff. “Of course you’ll do me harm. You’re an Egyptian dog.”
That description made him laugh, though she couldn’t see what was so funny about it. Still holding her wrists, he bent down closer to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his lips hovering over hers and see individual eyelashes. “I seek submission, girl. Not your suffering.”
It took hardly anything at all to lean up that tiny bit and meet his lips again, though her cheeks burned with embarrassment over how she hungered for him. He made a quiet sound of approval, swallowed up in the kiss. She felt his grip on her wrists loosen, then one of his hands slide downward to her thigh.
Taken (Chosen by Egypt Book 1) Page 1