by Nina Bruhns
Furthermore, he was not being irrational.
He was not losing control of his element to call—which happened to be the element of chaos. It was not his fault that everything around them was falling apart at the seams! It was all that damn woman’s fault!
And another thing was for damn certain. When he decided to take a new consort, his choice of soul mate would not be a woman who was a goddamn living magnet for trouble and catastrophe.
By the balls of Mithra!
He ground his jaw. For a man used to maintaining cool, reasonable authority and an even temper at all times, this entire day had been one long nightmare of emotional uproar.
He needed to calm down.
To gather himself.
To figure out a strategy to deal with this newest mess the blasted woman had sent hurling into his life.
Hell. He needed to run.
He stormed into his private rooms, heading straight to his bedroom to change into clothes that wouldn’t be—
“By the gods!” he gritted out.
There were two women curled on his bed, head to head, one with a mass of auburn curls, the other a tangle of golden tresses. When he burst in like a whirlwind, they shot up with startled faces.
“Seth!” Gemma exclaimed in surprise, reaching for her sister’s hand. Josslyn said nothing, but her face flooded with something that looked a lot like mortification.
“What are you two doing here?” he demanded, further irritated by the cheeky woman’s use of his name instead of the proper form of address. He lasered in on the blonde. “Why isn’t she gone?”
“We were talking,” Gemma said, irritatingly unafraid of him. “Must have lost track of time. Sorry.”
Sorry?
Unperturbed by the thunderous expression he summoned, she lifted Josslyn’s wrist. “And what is this all about?” she pointedly asked, referring to the silver bindings that still hung from it. “My sister is not a prisoner, and I was led to believe that you abolished slavery in Khepesh a thousand years ago. Why is she in chains?”
It was a flaming wonder that Shahin put up with the blasted woman.
Seth schooled his knee-jerk impulse to show her exactly which of them in the room was the demigod. “I do as I please,” he told her with chilly precision. “And it pleases me to see her bound.”
Gemma’s lips pressed together. Josslyn’s gaze flipped back and forth between them, unsure whether to be afraid of him or not.
Which gave him just the idea he was seeking.
He stabbed a finger at Gemma. “You. Out.”
Josslyn’s uncertainty increased visibly.
“What are you going to do to her?” Gemma asked, suspicion rife in her tone.
In reply he ground out, “I have also abolished public flogging, but I am dangerously close to reinstating it.”
She—wisely—silently lifted her chin and rose with exaggerated dignity from the bed, shook her gown into place and regarded him. “Be nice to her,” she admonished. “My lord,” she added in a belated and not entirely successful show of respect.
“I shall take it under advisement,” he said, glaring at her until she turned to Josslyn and kissed her on the cheek.
“Remember what I told you,” she said quietly. “And don’t worry about Seth. He’s all bark and no bite.” She realized her mistake and did her best to suppress a smile. “Well. Mostly.”
And then she swept out of the room, head held high.
“Has she always been this trying?” he asked Josslyn when the dust had settled.
“No.” She crossed her arms tightly over her middle, the silver chain jingling musically. “Usually she’s a lot worse.”
Seth couldn’t decide whether she was joking or not.
He looked at her and hated that he was teetering dangerously on the edge of being amused by the pair. The only people allowed to make him laugh were Nephtys and Rhys. And on rare occasions Shahin, but not often. The sheikh was even more somber than he.
Seth shook off the unwanted appeal and hardened himself. Then he started to remove his clothes.
She watched him nervously.
“Take off your dress,” he ordered her.
She didn’t move. “I—I thought you were finished with me,” she said, her color rising.
He could feel the warmth of her blush all the way across the room. Because her blood flowed in his veins, his own body felt a whisper of whatever hers did. If she cut herself, he would sense her pain. If she felt hunger, or panic, he would know it.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Something that would frighten her away from him for good. If they both objected, even the Great Council could not force a union.
He felt her heart flutter. “What is it?” she asked.
He stripped off his boots and silk Bedouin trousers. He was naked and she still hadn’t moved. “The dress,” he repeated impatiently.
Hesitatingly, she pulled the long, flowing garment over her head and clutched it in front of her body. Covering herself as she waited uneasily on the bed.
“Come here,” he said.
“Seth-Aziz,” she began.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
She obviously didn’t like to be ordered about. She obeyed, but with tangible reluctance. He felt her heart beating a tattoo in her chest.
When she reached him, he lifted a hand and made a slight movement with his fingers, and with a quick spell, he dressed them both in soft, loose trousers, tunics and knee-length boots. Hers were all in black; his top was black and his pants and boots tawny-brown. He took the opportunity to rid her of the handcuffs. They’d be disappearing shortly anyway.
She gaped in astonishment at the instant transformation, taking an unsteady step backward, her hands flying up. “How did you—” But she didn’t complete the question. She was learning.
He turned and strode toward the door. “Follow me,” he commanded, and he didn’t wait to see if she would obey this time.
After a moment, he heard a quick exhale, and her footsteps approached behind him. Inwardly he smiled and led her through the maze of corridors toward the Great Western Gate.
It was well after dusk, the sun having been consumed by the darkness several hours ago, and most of the shemsu were up and about the palace. They smiled and greeted him as he strode past.
“Taking your lady out for a run, my lord?”
“May Set-Sutekh, God of the Night Sky, watch over you both, my lord.”
He didn’t bother to correct their assumptions about him and Josslyn. They’d understand soon enough that they were wrong.
He reached the gate, and without breaking his stride on the marble floor, he whirled once and spoke the magic words with which the god had gifted him on the night of his transformation long, long ago. The powerful spell that would change his human flesh into his immortal form. Mihos Rukem. The Black Lion of Egypt.
His body grew massive and muscular, his head enormous under a thick black mane. His huge paws could crush a man with a single swipe.
At his shift, Josslyn lurched backward, stifling a scream. He felt it build in her lungs, but she refused to let it out.
He rose on his powerful hind legs and gave a mighty roar, his rampant form towering over the people who had gathered to admire him. He was their demigod, their sovereign leader, their protector, a lion in his own right even as a human. He was the most powerful lord on earth, and he could shift into any creature he wished. He shared his ba with all living things. But Mihos Rukem was his favorite.
As the great lion, he could run like the wind, vanquish any enemy and strike fear into the hearts of every mortal who gazed upon him.
But tonight, there was only one mortal he was interested in frightening.
He came down on all fours and prowled over to her, circling around her with a low growl. He could feel the surge of fear that stabbed through her, the painful beating of her heart, the strangled breath.
She did not scream. Or run. She turned in a slow spin, keeping his black eyes in her sight even as he padded around her, growling, brushing against her with his shoulder, shaking his massive mane at her.
And still she would not scream.
They would see about that.
He hunched his body down low, pushed at her with his blunt nose and shoved her onto his back.
She gave a small cry and grabbed his mane with her fingers, her legs sliding down around his ribs and her knees gripping him as if he were a horse. At the last second he spun a spell around her, so she wouldn’t fall off. He wanted to scare her, not hurt her.
The guard had already opened the gate for them.
Seth took off at a lope through the midnight-dark tunnels that led to the desert above, digging his deadly claws into the cool earth underfoot. He picked up speed, inwardly chanting the spell that opened the hidden portal high up on the gebel, where no human dared climb.
He burst up into the warm desert night like a shooting star returning to the sky.
And he ran.
With the woman clinging to his back, he streaked across the desert sand, heading away from the Nile Valley, away from the gebel and Khepesh, away from all humanity, mortal and shemsu.
He carried her far into the night, deep into his realm, the domain of Set-Sutekh, Lord of the Night Sky, Guardian of the Moon, God of the Hot Winds, Chaos and Darkness.
He ran until his breath was ragged and his paws left tracks of blood with each footfall from meeting the rough ground. He ran until his mind was free of the turmoil of the day and his heart was filled with the peace of the desert night.
Then he slowed to an easy lope, and eventually he came to a halt. He stood, his lungs sucking down gulps of air, at the top of a rocky plateau that overlooked the vastness of the continent of Africa, the moonlit sands undulating in a glittering sea for two thousand miles to the west.
He felt Josslyn slide from his back and collapse on the sand at his feet. She lay there for a brief moment, suspended in movement, staring up at the star-strewn sky, her eyes wide.
“Oh. My God,” she said in a strangled voice.
And then…and then she started to laugh.
Chapter 11
Nephtys paced back and forth at the garden window. Something was going on. She could feel it in her bones, in the way Haru-Re was avoiding her and in the buzz of tension that permeated the palace. Petru was mobilizing for an attack on Khepesh. She was certain of it.
She must warn Seth!
But how? After her “ride” yesterday, Ray had placed her under constant guard. There was no way for her to escape to warn her brother. And no one else was being let in or out of the palace, either, not without specific permission from the high priest. So her spies were useless.
The only possibility was the ancient spell that Ray had discovered and she’d subsequently stolen. The spell by which he had invaded first her dreams, then her meditations. The one by which he had come to her inside the formerly protective walls of Khepesh, to spring the trap that had forced her capture.
He’d found it on a scroll buried in the library of Petru. It was an immensely powerful but difficult spell to invoke, a rare type of love spell that only worked between two people with a strong emotional connection—love.
The magic enabled the spellbinder to be there, physically, with the object of the spell, even though by all appearances the receiver—or in Nephtys’s case the unwitting victim—was just having a dream. Except it wasn’t a dream. Ray had actually been there, as solid and real as she was. He’d fucked her, bitten her, threatened her, all the while being there with her in the all-too-real flesh.
The more often he’d used the spell against her, the stronger his hold over her had grown. She was terrified that his growled prediction would come true, and one day soon he’d be able to invade her world while she was wide awake.
Not a pretty thought.
Suddenly Gillian burst into her room like a whirlwind. She glared at the guard who’d followed her in until he went out again and closed the door.
“Nephtys!” The other woman rushed up to her and whispered urgently, “Rhys says they’re readying the guard to invade Khepesh! In the morning!”
“I knew it!” Nephtys slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound of her cry. “All evening I’ve had a terrible feeling something bad was about to happen.”
“Haru-Re and his captain called Rhys in front of the council, to ask him about the interior layout of Khepesh,” Gillian went on. “They all tried to act casual, but Rhys thought their questions were a little too specific. He bribed a servant who later overheard some of the plans.” Gillian wrung her hands. “What do we do? Gemma and Josslyn are both there!”
“There’s no other way. We must use the dream spell to warn Seth.”
Nephtys went swiftly to the small meditation chamber off her bedroom to fetch the carefully hidden scroll where she’d copied down the magical words. It had actually been Gillian who had managed to get hold of a copy first, a few weeks ago.
“But how?” Gillian asked nervously. “It’s only just gotten dark. Neither Seth nor my sisters will be asleep now. Probably not for hours!”
Nephtys had never used the dream spell herself to contact her brother. She was too afraid Haru-Re would sense it and somehow inveigle himself into Seth’s mind and turn her love into a weapon against him. Gillian was still a fledgling at magic and did not yet have the skills to work the spell by herself. But with Lord Rhys’s help last week, she’d managed to invoke the spell and had successfully reached out to her sister Gemma.
“We must try,” Nephtys said, desperation clawing through her body. “And keep trying until one of them falls asleep. This is too important.”
She didn’t know what she’d do if anything happened to her brother…if Ray killed him. The very thought brought stinging tears to her eyes. “We can’t let Haru-Re win this war!”
Seth was the only family she had, Khepesh the only true home she’d ever known. If she lost them…
Gillian looked disheartened. “Rhys says Khepesh is badly outnumbered. He says it’ll be tough going for Shahin and his warriors to defeat Haru-Re’s armies.”
“If they have proper warning…” Nephtys said hopefully. But they both knew how difficult the coming battle would be, even with forewarning. Barring a miracle, many immortals would die come morning, and victory was by no means assured.
They sat tailor-style on the floor cushions and emptied their minds for several minutes in preparation. Then they joined hands, and Nephtys poured her power into the younger woman. Gillian recited the magical words of the spell.
First she tried Gemma, with no success. Though she could feel her sister’s presence, she couldn’t get through to her mind.
“It’s no use. She probably just woke up,” Gillian lamented. “Shahin prefers the nighttime to do his patrols, and no doubt she’s adopted his sleep schedule.”
“Try Josslyn,” Nephtys urged. There was no time to lose.
Gillian glanced over at her, a worried look on her face. “I’ve never contacted Joss like this before. She might think it’s just a dream and not tell Seth about it.”
“You’ll just have to convince her.”
Gillian looked doubtful. “She’s kind of a skeptic.”
Nephtys glanced around and picked up a small alabaster statuette of Re-Horakhti. “Here. Give her this. It’ll still be there when she wakes up, so she’ll have proof you weren’t a dream. Have her speak to Gemma if she’s still unconvinced.”
Gillian took the statuette. “That should help. Hopefully I can get through to her.”
>
But Josslyn wasn’t asleep, either.
“You’ve got to try Seth,” Gillian said, giving up.
Nephtys’s heart began to pound painfully. “I’m so afraid. What if Ray somehow senses what I’m doing? What if he hijacks the spell? He’s a demigod, Gillian. Far more powerful than I am.”
“What choice do we have? Somehow Seth has to be warned about the attack, and my emotional connection with him isn’t exactly love. You have to do it.”
Nephtys knew Gillian was right, but she didn’t like it. Not one little bit. Haru-Re was not just powerful, he was ruthless when it came to Seth. He wouldn’t hesitate to use her to get to her brother. Not to mention what he’d do to her…
She took a deep, calming breath. She nodded, closed her eyes and began to speak the magical words, calling to Seth, praying he was asleep to hear her plea.
Naturally he wasn’t. No matter how she called to him, hammering on the walls of his mind, he didn’t hear her.
But Haru-Re did hear her. Just as she’d feared.
It seemed like mere seconds later that the hall door thundered open and Ray appeared in the arched doorway surrounded by a strobing halo of golden light. His dark eyes glittered with a maelstrom of fire, like fine black opals. They latched on to her like rivets and held her pinned, helpless, as he growled to Gillian, “Get out.”
Gillian got out.
“Who gave you the spell?” he asked. His voice was deep and now completely void of emotion. Which was even scarier than when he yelled at her. Sparks spangled the air around him.
“No one,” she answered, forcing equanimity into her tone when she felt none. “It’s amazing what you can find in the library when you know what you’re looking for.”
“Clever girl,” he said, his tone betraying a reluctant hint of admiration along with his sharp annoyance. But the sparks did not diminish.
“How did you know I was using the spell?” she asked, though there was little doubt of the answer.
He regarded her. “The question is, how did you know of our plans?”
“What plans?”