The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2)

by McIlwraith, Anna

  Telly growled, a thin, wet sound. “Emma and I were not finished,” he bit out, barely sounding human.

  “No,” Emma said, earning herself a look from Telly that could have drawn blood, it was that sharp. “We’re done here.” She resisted adding “for now.” If she was lucky, she’d never be able to summon the guts to talk this way with Telly ever again.

  Even if part of her wanted to, badly.

  Telly just stared at her. Alexi straightened behind him. “Felani is sending food. It took her a while to convince the jackals to bring it to the tent.” Alexi’s tone was cool with irritation. “They want you out there, but Felani insisted you sup in private. It will give us time to rig you a thigh sheath for the peg.”

  Emma resisted a laugh; who actually used the word “sup”?

  Well, him.

  She looked at Telly, begging him with her eyes to leave. It was all suddenly too much, the adrenalin had faded, the thrum of magic and power dead in the air, leaving her with just the memory of words — crazy, fucked-up words. Had she really told the walking god where to go and where to stick it? She sorta felt like throwing up.

  “Fine,” said Telly. The tension slid out of him. He glanced away from Emma. When his eyes came back to her they were the most normal shade of blue-gray she could remember them ever being. “Yell if you need anything.” His gaze narrowed, briefly, and Emma knew he wasn’t telling her to yell with her voice. Then he left, and Emma could hear him murmuring to someone on the outside. Probably Red Sun. Probably telling him to keep an eye — or an ear — on them.

  Emma found she couldn’t resent that, as she tore her gaze from where Telly had just disappeared through the door-flap, and found Alexi staring at her.

  She thought of touching Fern’s mind, thought of merging with him, but stopped. Hell, whatever was on her mind right now, Alexi could read all he wanted of it.

  “History or not, you two really need to quit the macho bullshit, you know that?” Emma forced herself to look away from him as she padded to a table that held an ornate water pitcher, but she saw him cock his head out of the corner of her eye, and a moment later the air around her thickened.

  “You have no idea what you are talking about,” he said flatly. Then, with more heat: “Do not make the mistake of thinking you can treat me like one of your many devoted sycophants.” Emma turned, arching an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes.

  “Sycophants?” Emma put her hands on her hips, glass of water forgotten. The look on Alexi’s face was terrible, wide nostrils flaring, cheeks almost gaunt they were stretched so tight with anger, but she made herself face him.

  He lifted one lip in a silent snarl. “You think that because you have a small army of pliant men who put up with your attitude, you can talk to me the same way.” He took a step toward her, and the effort of holding his power in check was visible on his face, in the stiffness of his lean body. “You cannot. I owe you nothing but protection, and even that only at Seshua’s behest. I do not answer to you. I am not…” He searched her face as if looking there for the word, jaw working. “Yours.”

  His eyes blazed, boring into hers, but when she simply met him stare for stare and said nothing, the look in them smoldered down.

  When the air was breathable again, Emma filled her lungs with it, ignoring the edge of Alexi’s scent. “I know,” she said. “I know it. I’m not…” God, it felt way too weird to be having a deep-and-meaningful conversation with the subject of some of her nastiest nightmares to date, but what the hell. “I’m not treating you like one of mine, whatever that means, I just don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.” Alexi narrowed his eyes at her, and she battled on. “Honestly, we both know that if you’re here with orders from Seshua to protect me, there’s not much chance of you killing me now, is there? So why should I be afraid of you?”

  Wrong question. Alexi’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile, soft, cool lips — tinged with lilac, frostbite-blue — turning impossibly cruel. “Who do you think would have hunted you down, had you refused to come to our serpent’s aid?” His voice was a sibilant whisper of sound. “Who do you think is here to ensure you do your utmost to recover the captive?”

  22

  Emma choked back frustration. Not so long ago it would’ve hurt to know someone was willing to kill her. Now it just annoyed the shit out of her. It might scare her half to death, but it still annoyed the shit out of her.

  She took a step toward Alexi, putting as much threat into that one movement as she could muster from weeks of watching shapechangers do the same. She was a good learner. “Are you saying you want me to accept the prince’s pledge, regardless of how I might feel about it? Will you kill me if I don’t do as you wish?”

  Alexi let out a harsh breath through his teeth, unease bleeding into his face. Abruptly he turned away from her. He shoved a hand through his hair, ruining the braid, and tore the leather tie from the end of it, sending the thick black mass unraveling down his back.

  Why the tantrum? Emma wondered.

  He shot her a look that promised pain, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips as Felani entered the tent, arms full of baskets with woven lids. Something in them smelled fabulous, and Emma’s stomach grumbled in response.

  Felani eyed them both, and then fixed Emma with a dark, worried look before padding over and setting the baskets on a low table.

  “This is for you. The others have their share. Eat quickly, for we must go out there and mingle —” she said that last word with great disdain — “and convince this stupid king that you are considering his nephew’s pledge. Bah.” She made a face, removing lids and setting out small earthenware dishes. Her gaze slid to Alexi and hardened.

  “Thank-you, Felani, this is great.” Emma went to the maiden and put a hand on her arm to prevent her from saying something that might set Alexi off. “Come on, Alexi, help yourself.” She picked up a bowl, and then noticed the silence. She looked up.

  Felani stared at her in open horror. Alexi’s jaw looked wound so tight it might just explode off his face. Emma raised an incredulous eyebrow at Felani.

  “Emma…” The maiden looked indecisive, shooting nervous glances at Alexi. “The, uh, the sharing of food is, um, not something…” She waffled her hand through the air. Emma gave her a dry look.

  “What, is this another weird shapechanger thing? Jeez.” Emma started spooning rice into her bowl; Alexi made a choking sound. Emma looked up. “Oh, please. Just shut up and have something to eat. And no,” she said sharply, “I’m not treating you like one of mine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just being logical. And I’m grumpy, because I need to eat, and you haven’t answered my question.”

  There. She’d sufficiently kissed her ass goodbye; now she could get on with the eating. She concentrated on her food. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, it was going into her stomach.

  Felani crouched down beside her, wrapping her arms around her knees, and looked up at Alexi. “What question?”

  He snarled and stalked over to the table, looming over them. Emma craned her neck back at an absurd angle so she could look at him, and he sat down with a long-suffering sigh.

  “I have no idea if accepting the prince’s pledge would bring us closer to finding our stolen priest.” Alexi propped a knee up and rested one arm on it, shrugging his loose hair over his shoulder. There was just enough lamplight that the deep, dark green highlights of his hair glinted. When he spoke next, his voice was low, quiet.

  “Before we arrived, I was of a mind to… urge you to accept at once, since their reason for bringing us here is the pledge, and once it is taken, they have no more use for the serpent priest but every use for goodwill between our races, thereby ensuring the priest’s safe return.” He shifted and glanced away as though uncomfortable. “Now I am not so sure. I think it would be most useful to delay, keep the jackals busy while I and the rest of Seshua’s guard search, and hope that it does not become necessary for you to accept the pledge.” Alexi looked at Emma,
face unreadable. “I do not trust the king, or any of his people. I know what the jaguar king wants, and that is you, to himself, for he knows as we do that you never completed the ritual sacrifice to awaken your power. That, too, complicates things, though not for me.” He sniffed, nostrils flaring, and snatched up a piece of dark grilled meat. Emma did not see him chew — unsurprising, for a boa constrictor.

  Emma forced herself not to blush when she spoke next. “Given that we — Seshua and I — never completed the ritual, what would happen if I did accept the pledge? Would it work? If it didn’t work, would the jackals know, or are we all just flying by the seat of our pants here?”

  Alexi frowned at her, blinking a lot. “I…we do not know. There is no precedent.” He narrowed his eyes. “And are you planning on accepting the pledge, making a bid for power?” He snatched another piece of meat, eyes flashing with mocking laughter.

  “Why does everybody react like that?” Emma turned to Felani. “Is it so ridiculous that I might consider it?” Never mind how the prince gave her the heebie-jeebies with his plastered-on smile and his haunted eyes.

  Felani just smiled sadly at her and patted her knee. “Not ridiculous, Emma darling.” She laid her head on Emma’s shoulder, rubbing like a cat. “Merely improbable. Now eat up, we are expected out there as soon as possible.”

  Emma didn’t know whether to hope she was right, or pray she was wrong.

  Emma and the others emerged from a crowded, chaotic avenue of low mud-brick buildings into a wide open field of dry grass ringed with torches and crowded with people. To the left the entire field was flanked by the high wall that enclosed the palace and its courtyards.

  “Great,” she murmured as she took it all in. A raised, stepped platform stood against the thick boundary wall of the palace, and a throne decorated with furs sat atop it — and at its foot stood Khai-Khaldun, with Tarik not far away.

  Horne and Andres moved around in front of her as their group approached Khai-Khaldun. Tarik noticed them and his dark eyes flashed; he looked exactly the same as before, linen shirt and slacks, and the jackal king hadn’t changed wardrobe either. Emma sorely regretted letting Felani put her in the dress, though she supposed since Khai-Khaldun wore a skirt, it was only fair.

  Please don’t say anything like that to him. Fern sounded way too serious — he thought she just might do it. That almost cheered her up.

  Khai-Khaldun crossed his arms and ignored the men, eyes on Emma. His gaze flicked down the length of her body, taking in the way the dress hugged every curve, and his expression never changed.

  “I trust your lodgings are sufficient. You certainly spent enough time there.”

  Emma stilled Horne with a light touch on the back of his arm. He didn’t need to get a punch in the face defending her from one man’s unappreciative eyeballing and snippy innuendos.

  “The tent is fine,” said Emma flatly. “I and my group have jet-lag, and I just got the snot kicked out of me. You’ll have to excuse us if we took our time making ourselves presentable, your royal highness Khai-Khaldun. Oh, whoops, sorry. Your majesty. I get those two confused all the time.”

  The jaguar guards sucked in a collective breath, no doubt wondering where Emma’s brain had gone, but Khai-Khaldun just laughed. “Please,” he rumbled, way too warm and fuzzy for Emma’s liking. “Call me Khai.” He smiled at her, a big smile that left his golden eyes cold as steel. He held out his hand, and Emma tried not to look at it as though he were handing her a steaming pile of dung. Instead she pushed through the wall of jaguar guard in front of her and placed her hand in his.

  “Khai, then.” Her voice, by some miracle, did not waver — even though the feel of Khai’s skin against hers drew a shudder up her spine. His hand was cold, dry. It was a shock. Shapechangers always seemed hot and bright with energy, sizzling with it, even when their power could freeze the skin off your bones. But Khai felt different. Unnatural somehow. And his scent — sweet, with something nasty underneath.

  “Emma.” Horne didn’t bother disguising the growl. She shot him a look over her shoulder that said, shut up.

  Fern, follow me. He didn’t bother with a reply. Telly, Emma projected her mental voice, concentrating hard on sending to him. Like a shock of adrenalin, she felt his mind touch hers, silent. I’m taking one for the team and giving you guys a window here. Tell Red Sun and Horne to shadow me, and the rest of the guards can take up position wherever they want. Alexi and the maidens can slip away and do some recon. Yes or no?

  He laughed in her mind, a low sound that tickled her insides. Yes, that is a good idea. I’ll let them know. And I’ll be with Red, he added, a snarl vibrating against Emma’s brain.

  “Come, caller of the blood.” Khai-Khaldun gestured ahead. “The dancing is about to begin.”

  Emma nodded, ignoring the cool, cloying feel of Khai’s hand wrapped around hers, forcing herself to trust that the others were following. At least Tarik stayed where he was.

  Her gaze darted about, following the seemingly endless line of the palace wall and the horizon of low hills and rocky outcroppings that formed the lip of the valley at least a mile and a half away, maybe more. On all other sides the valley stretched out, but the light from the bonfires obscured the view, as did the hundreds of people dancing and leaping in the open space.

  “I see my sanctuary interests you,” Khai-Khaldun said. Emma looked up at him from beneath her lashes, wishing she could twist her hand out of his grip. He flashed her a grim smile. “You look upon it with a sharp eye; not just for the pleasure of looking, but noting the lay of the land, taking it in. Collecting the information for later use, as a good warrior would. As a man would.”

  She glared at him to cover her surprise: she hadn’t even realized herself what she was doing. “And what, a woman wouldn’t notice this stuff?” She inwardly cursed herself; she talked too much when she was nervous.

  He laughed. “There are some, indeed, many women worthy in capacities I generally reserve for men.”

  Emma forced herself not to roll her eyes. First physical torture, now mental. A day more of the king’s genial conversation and she’d be ready to cry uncle and accept the prince’s pledge in a heartbeat. But so long as he was willing to talk…

  “You don’t speak like a king.” He glanced sharply down at her and she cursed herself again. “I mean you you sound like you have military experience.” She tried not to sound too flattering, but not insulting, either. Didn’t want him to think she was stroking his ego — which she was.

  Khai grunted and stopped walking. Emma turned to look up at him. The expression on his face was one of dull respect — or maybe just curiosity.

  He seemed to gather himself. “You are right. I was commander of the royal army before I ascended the throne.” He started walking again, eyes ahead. “I found it a comfort to know first-hand who was loyal to me in battle, and who was not. Who was worthy.”

  “But you have women, too, who are worthy. Right?” He looked down at her, one thick black brow raised. “Nathifa,” Emma said.

  Khai-Khaldun’s gaze turned sidelong, his eyes glowing golden crescents in the darkness of his face. “Perhaps. I thought so until tonight. Now, such a defeat as she suffered at your hands…”

  Emma held her breath, grateful that the king held her left hand and not her right. He had to have seen the mark, but did he know what it was? She was tempted to change the subject again and didn’t. It would be too obvious.

  Just act natural. Fern brushed her mind with a worried touch. She brushed back but said nothing.

  “In any case,” said Khai-Khaldun, voice pitched against the rising swell of music that grew louder as they approached the musician’s campfire. “Your victory this night won you time enough to explore these outer edges of my sanctuary, with prince Kahotep your guide, as is fitting. So tonight we celebrate.” He turned to face her; Emma felt a little flare of alarm burst like bubbles in her brain, and couldn’t tell if it were hers or Fern’s or both.

&n
bsp; Khai stepped close to her, towering over her, and her heart jumped into her mouth. There was no tension, no heat, no magnetism in the closeness of his body — only cold menace and threat. “A dance, Emma?”

  His lips were parted, no doubt taking in her scent, slightly pointed teeth gleaming white. Emma couldn’t look away from them and did not know what to say — except perhaps, is it compulsory?

  Dread seized her. She was going to have to dance with this man.

  She opened her mouth to say yes and never got the chance. A melodious voice interrupted her.

  “May I have the pleasure?”

  Emma turned and looked up, full into Kahotep’s face, and couldn’t help but be struck a second time by his beauty — but maybe that was just because this time he was her savior. His silken half-fall of hair was braided intricately away from his face, exposing a long, pointed ear heavy with gold rings, and he wore some kind of white, pleated kilt that reached to his knees and a woven gold belt. His shirt was white and sheer, with a loose neck and wide kimono-style sleeves, dark lean body visible clearly beneath it. His huge brown eyes were fixed on his uncle.

  Khai-Khaldun regarded the prince with guarded features. “I suppose I must oblige you, since you are her suitor.” He stepped back, bowed low, smiling mildly. Something cunning flashed in his eyes, and Emma made a mental note to kill his ass at the very first opportunity — not that there was likely to be one.

  Looking at Kahotep, Emma almost felt guilty. Khai was his uncle. How would he feel about her nasty little thoughts? And did she care?

  He offered her his hand, and she took it, a traitorous thrill of warmth pulsing through her. His skin was smooth, his touch light, undemanding — but hot and alive. The polar opposite of Khai-Khaldun.