Kiss of the Virgin Queen

by Sharon Buchbinder

  In a flash, Solomon saw she was as wretched as he. The heavy chains of royalty weighed each of them down, shackling her to a lonely destiny, him to a heartbroken lifetime. He pulled her tight, kissed her forehead and cheeks. He choked out the words he wished he would never have to say. “Go therefore and be well. And may God protect you on your travels and guide you safely home.”

  Before his resolve weakened, Solomon turned and headed toward his private chamber to grieve. Never again would he love a woman so hard, so deep, so strong. Never again would he write love poems for his beloved, her dove eyes, and her pomegranate lips. Never, ever again.

  ****

  Solomon receded into the shadowy recesses of the palace. The soldiers closed ranks around the king and followed him, leaving her alone in the courtyard with the lion and her broken heart. She wanted to run after him, to stop him, demand that he bed her right now. Why must he be so…so…wise? Her resistance to his charms had dissolved over the past months as she observed him with his people. With each dispute, each verdict, she viewed him with new eyes. The judgment she loved the most was also the one that turned her bowels to water with terror.

  One day two harlots had appeared before him carrying two babies, one dead, one living. One prostitute claimed the other rolled over on her own son, smothered him, and then stole her baby. The other woman claimed the dead child was not hers. Instead, she said she went to sleep with a live baby on her breast and awoke with a dead one. The other woman stole her baby and replaced him with the dead one.

  Solomon mulled aloud. “One says, ‘This is my son that lives, and your son is the dead. The other says, No, your son is the dead, mine is the living one.’” He motioned to Benaiah. “Bring me a sword.”

  His captain offered his own.

  “Now.” Solomon gestured at the living baby. “Split him in two. Each woman shall own half a child.”

  One woman shrugged. “Fine. Divide it.”

  “No!” The other woman cried out. “Give her the child. Let him live.”

  Solomon pointed to the second woman, the one willing to give the baby up rather than see him die. “Do not slay the infant. That is the real mother. Return the child to her.”

  He turned to the liar. “You will rue the day you came before me and bore false witness. You will pay this woman the equivalent of two weeks of work.”

  The woman opened her mouth to protest.

  He held his hand up. “You may no longer ply your trade within the walls of Jerusalem. If I hear from any of my soldiers that you are inside city limits, I will not be kind to you again.”

  Throughout the judging, beneath her impassive mask, Makeda’s heart was in her throat. Her wet palms still gripped the arms of her throne when she felt her breath whoosh out. When the court paused for meal time, she turned to him. “How did you discern the correct choice?”

  “A real mother would lay her life down for her child, not take it away.”

  That day he had won her head and her heart. But to what avail? Other kings would have forced her to be his concubine. Without her virginity, she would be freed from her promise, both a blessing and a curse. Despite his obvious desire, he did not force himself on her.

  He was right. Who would be her successor to the throne upon her death? Who could she groom and educate to take her place? Where would she find such a person? If she didn’t, her kingdom would be in turmoil. She need only recall that dreadful man she ordered to be killed on the spot. There would be other rebellious youths like him, muscular men who equated strength with privilege. Unearned rights, stomping on little people. Is that the legacy she’d leave to her nation?

  Makeda shook her head. She’d made a promise, a sacred oath that could be broken only with death or dishonor. She sighed and the lion stood. He gazed at her with large golden eyes. She reached over and stoked his head. “I’m sad to leave you, too, Shirzad, my friend.”

  The sting of a thousand insects prickled her skin and jinni stink wafted to her nose.

  Makeda whirled. “You again. Leave this place. I do not wish to see you.”

  The huge jinni who lurked in the shadows each time she visited the king, smirked and slid across the rocks, drawing closer to her, dragging along an unbearable stench.

  Frantic, Makeda searched for an exit. The brute blocked the only way out of the enclosed space. She tried to scream, but nothing came out, not even a whimper. What did he do to her? How did he silence her?

  She turned to run into the palace, but could not move.

  What happened to her legs? They shook like branches in a storm.

  The burn of the stings jinni stench became unbearable. The creature reached out to grab Makeda.

  The lion roared and leaped at the jinni.

  The evil one vanished in a puff of green smoke.

  Released from whatever spell the jinni used, screams erupted from Makeda. The great cat roared along with her. Soldiers poured out of the palace, swords at the ready.

  Shirzad sat in front of Makeda and shook his head at the men.

  Fingers wrapped in his black mane, she choked out, “Find the king, I must speak with him now.”

  Trembling, thoughts raced through her head. What if the king allowed him to speak? The jinni would reveal her secret in a heartbeat. What if the jinni followed her? Even if she left Israel, he could appear anywhere along the route and attack her, take her against her will. No. She couldn’t allow that to happen. Ever.

  After her father told the truth about her mother being a jinniyah, Makeda sought out every wise man and woman she could find to tell her everything about the jinnis. No one had a sure method to destroy them. However, one ancient crone told her how to capture them. There was no other choice. That jinni was a danger to her and her kingdom.

  “Makeda, what is it? What’s wrong?” Disheveled, red-eyed, hair sticking out at odd angles, Solomon strode across the courtyard. For the king, the lion stepped aside.

  “I changed my mind. I cannot live without you. I will marry you.”

  Solomon’s face lit up as if a thousand suns rose in the sky. He grabbed her hands and kissed the palms. “You are my beloved, and my beloved is mine.”

  “Under one condition.”

  Face glowing, he pulled her close. “Do you hear my heart? It clamors with joy. I will give you anything, whatever is mine is yours. My kingdom is your kingdom. Your wish my command.”

  “That evil jinni must go.”

  The king tilted his head. “I don’t understand. He’s my strongest worker.”

  “That brute hides in the shadows, follows me, and attempted to attack me after you left my side.” She shuddered. “If not for Shirzad, God only knows what he would have done.”

  Solomon stroked his beard. “My love, my seal controls him. He could not harm you.”

  “He turned me to stone, sealed my mouth with some sort of binding curse. I tell you he is evil.”

  The king considered her words. “That he is. If not for the seal, I would be dead by his sword.”

  She grasped his hand with both of hers. “He knows your feelings for me. The demon seeks to rip your heart out by harming me. His malevolence toward you has no bounds.”

  “A menace to me endangers the kingdom. What shall we do?”

  “There is only one way to deal with him.” She lowered her voice for his ears only. “Then and only then, can I be yours in every way.”

  The following day, Solomon, Makeda, Hoopoe, and Shirzad set out for a trip on the Dead Sea, accompanied by the minimum number of bodyguards. The Queen of Sheba instructed her followers this was a private matter, and they were not to accompany her. A few exchanged anxious glances, but Tehetena, the handmaiden who pretended to be queen when Makeda met Solomon, hugged her mistress and gave her a knowing smile.

  Let her think it was a lovers’ tryst. Better that than the truth.

  Benaiah grumbled, but agreed with Solomon that the Shebans might fear for their queen in her absence and grow restless. He stayed behind to keep an
eye on the visitors’ encampment.

  Wishing to avoid the eyes of the curious or the conniving, Makeda insisted on a late departure. The captain set sail as the sun headed toward the horizon, turning the sky purple. A light breeze sprang up, sending the small vessel skimming across the water.

  Just as the sun kissed the water, Makeda turned to Solomon. “It is time.”

  Solomon ordered the captain and the men to cover their eyes and raised his hands. “My strongest jinni, I call you to my side. I have need of you.”

  Green mist swirled and coalesced before them on the deck. The giant inclined his head to the king—and smirked at Makeda.

  She drew a sharp breath. If his tongue was loosened, he would reveal her secret. She had to act fast. “Now.”

  A puzzled expression crossed the jinni’s face. Then he spotted the iron amphora sitting on the deck. His features twisted with rage.

  “With this seal, I, King Solomon, command you to get in that jug and remain until the stopper is removed.”

  His voice returned to him, the jinni shrieked, “Nooooooo—” He twirled like a tent in a sandstorm. His feet lengthened and became threadlike, entering the mouth of the bottle first, then his legs, hips, and chest. Palms pushing upward on the lip of the bottle, the jinni howled as he was drawn in, inch by inch, until his head was sucked in with a popping sound. Solomon pushed the lead stopper into the opening and bound it with iron chains. Together, Makeda and Solomon lifted the weighted urn and tossed it overboard.

  Heart racing, Makeda leaned over the side of the boat and peered into the depths. The bottle twirled downward, headed to an eternal rest.

  Her arm around Solomon’s waist, she pointed at the water. “We did it, my love. We are free of that evil jinni.”

  “Now we can be one.” He nuzzled her ear. “We must announce the royal wedding.”

  “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.” Love swelled her breast with joy, tinged with guilt. According to her father’s decree, she chose dishonor. Was it? Wouldn’t it be a greater disgrace if her father’s work for his nation died with her? With the Wisdom of Solomon, she made the right decision. Marriage and children with this great king would ensure her father’s line endured. Makeda sighed. The beast was gone, the threat of discovery destroyed. She glanced back at the water one last time.

  A bubble exploded on the glassy surface and a deep voice roared, “I curse you and your family for all generations to come. Your children and your children’s children will suffer the revenge of my people.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Summertown, Present Day

  A cross between the screams of a human and the high-pitched, yelping howl of a wolf filled the woods as the dark-brown werewolf’s ear erupted with bright red blood. Were those her screams? The only thing that mattered was the King Kong of werewolves had, to her breathless relief, turned tail and taken off. No silver bullets required. The tingling was subsiding. She had to pursue him. It. Whatever. Now. She rolled over to her side and came face to face with—

  “Arta?”

  Shadows danced and blurred his features. His nose thinned, his eyes grew rounder and darker. He shook his head and his hair, long, luxuriant, almost a black mane, returned to his business man’s cut.

  She blinked. What the hell was going on?

  He reached out and touched her cheek, his brow furrowed, eyes glinting with flecks of gold. “I got here as fast as I could. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.” She searched his face. Had he just shifted? No. He couldn’t be—Or could he? “You—you’re—”

  “Fine.” Arta rolled over and leaped to his feet.

  Eliana holstered her Sig Sauer and rose to her knees. He extended his hand, pulled her upright, and yanked her closer than expected. Her breath caught in her throat and came out in a husky whisper. “Thanks.”

  “You scared me half to death.” He held her hand a second longer than needed and searched her face. He brushed at her hair. Bits of dead leaves fluttered free. “You are fearless in the midst of the sea of fear.”

  A shaky laugh escaped her. “More poetry?” Her hand trembled at his touch. Better to move away, before his words unraveled her and she did something foolish. She stepped back and gave him the once over. “Your clothes. They’re torn.”

  “Thorn bushes. Thought I’d never get free of them.” He pointed behind her. “You know him?”

  Six feet away, a gray-haired man lay bleeding, unconscious, and naked.

  She nodded. “Lowell Adalwolf, the alpha wolf of the pack.”

  Arta moved to the older man’s side and began to examine him. “Pupils equal, reactive to light. Pulse is weak, thready.” He rolled the man over and winced. Arta removed his blazer and handed it to Eliana. “Careful. There’s an antique Koran in my inner pocket.” He pulled off his button-down oxford shirt and cotton tee, and fashioned a makeshift bandage. “Nasty gash. He needs stitches and IV fluids.” He wrapped the arms of the shirt around Adalwolf’s torso. Deep scratches seeped crimson around the edges of the cotton. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

  Eliana peered into the dark woods. The burning sensation from her jinni radar was gone. A blue jay’s angry squawk broke the silence of the forest, underscoring the creature’s absence. She returned her attention to the injured man and the shirtless Arta. Dark hair tapered to a vee down well-defined pectoral muscles giving new meaning to six-pack abs.

  Good grief. Was the man a body builder in his spare time? If she knew poetry, she’d be quoting it soon. ‘Swoon-worthy’ was the word that kept running through her mind, but somehow even that did the man no justice.

  “Grab his feet.” Arta placed his hands under Adalwolf’s shoulders.

  She tore her eyes off his sculpted body and snapped to attention.

  “Hold on.” Tucking her blazer into the makeshift bandage, the jacket gave Adalwolf a modicum of modesty. At least some of the older man’s dignity would still be intact if he came to in the car. Perhaps.

  Adalwolf’s limp body required rest breaks, each one an opportunity for catching her breath—and unobstructed views of Arta. Covered in a sheen of sweat, stripped to the waist, his glistening skin golden, the normally sedate psychiatrist resembled an ancient Persian warrior carrying a fallen comrade off the field of battle. On the third stop, Eliana dragged her eyes away from the unexpected beefcake before her, fanned her neck, and wiped her brow.

  Adalwolf groaned and opened his eyes. “What happened?”

  Arta crouched beside the man. “Thanks to Eliana, you’re alive.”

  “Arta bandaged a terrible gash.”

  The old alpha wolf sat up, stared at his blazer-covered groin, and frowned. “The other werewolf?”

  “One of yours?” Eliana asked.

  Adalwolf’s frown deepened. “Not one of my pack mates. Too big. Too smelly.”

  “Jinni stink,” Arta said.

  Eliana shot a glance at Arta. “We’re not sure—”

  “Stop.” The alpha wolf shook his head. “That’s been your party line ever since you arrived in Summertown. I’ve seen a lot of werewolves in my very long lifetime. Thousands. This thing was nothing like any I’ve ever seen before. Rabid werewolves are sick. They don’t get bigger. They become anorexic, shrink into themselves, crawl into a cave, and die. This is the biggest, craziest one I’ve seen in my life. It was as if he was taken over by something else—”

  Arta’s eyes fixed on Adalwolf. “Possessed?”

  “Exactly.”

  Arta and Eliana locked gazes. This was worse than they thought. Much worse.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” Eliana said. “You need stitches.”

  Adalwolf chuffed. “You sure? Why don’t you take a peek first.”

  Arta lifted the bandage and shook his head. “Unbelievable. The wound is healing already.”

  “Werewolves heal fast. Our immune systems resist almost anything, except rabies. Vaccinations are mandatory in my pack.” He shook his head. “I was out for a run.
Just wanted some time to myself. Then I ran into you.” He nodded at Eliana. “I didn’t recognize you at first because I was in wolf mode. That was the ugliest werewolf I’ve ever seen. So much for time to myself.” He got to his feet. “Drop me off at my house. I don’t need stitches, but I do need rest.”

  “He bit you. We need to swab you for DNA and we need a statement. Your body is a walking evidence locker.”

  ****

  Arta gave the older man the front passenger seat to accommodate Adalwolf’s long legs and to give himself time to think. Something had changed since his last shape-shifting incident. In Chevy Chase, as in Arizona, he’d been taken off guard and unable to control the change. Today as he raced through the woods, the change notified him of its impending arrival, like an aura before a migraine. He ran into the fray, praying for the strength to accept God’s will and the ability to do right by the one who gave him this gift. The pace of the change slowed. Only his hands and face morphed, sparing his clothes from the shredding they took in Chevy Chase. He prayed for the integrity to use his lion powers when needed and prayed Eliana would not see him in lion form—not yet. Somehow, he’d been able to control the change, slow it down, make it specific to the two most needed areas and reverse it faster than the two previous times. By the time he arrived at her side, the reversal to his human form was almost complete. Almost, but not quite. Her expression had telegraphed that she’d seen something. He was grateful she’d let it drop—for the moment.

  He glanced at Eliana in the rearview mirror and they locked gazes. She quirked an eyebrow, as if to say, “Well?”

  She’d seen. With all her experience with shape-shifters, she must know. What should he do? Would she be understanding or repelled if he told her about Arizona and Chevy Chase? Even with all his research, it was still hard for him to believe. How would he explain it to her? Despite his self talk about hallucinations, he’d conducted blood tests to be sure he wasn’t harboring some exotic illness and found no abnormalities.