by Bianca D’Arc
She wanted him.
She climaxed, her body shuddering before each muscle froze, her legs spread wide and slung over the edge of the tub, his name on her lips. And as her heartbeat slowed and her eyes drifted open he was there, leaning against the sink. Watching her.
He gave her that crooked grin. “You called?”
Love—it’s the real thing. And complicated as hell…
The Egyptian Demon’s Keeper
© 2009 Ciar Cullen
Archeologist Eliza Schneider assumes her meeting with an exotic stranger in the Egyptian desert was a heat-induced hallucination…until he materializes in New York. She has to give the tall, handsome Egyptian high marks for originality with his pick-up line: they’re fated to save the world together. The master/servant thing goes a long way toward sweeping her off her feet, but it’s easier to believe he’s just another in her long line of poor romantic choices.
Kasdeya, the Fifth Satan, waited eons for his Keeper to find her way to his tomb amongst the ancient ruins. He only has a limited time to convince Eliza that her role is critical to help defeat the loathsome Deumos, a female demon who has laid her claim to bearing his child—a child that will bring down mortals.
Trouble is, Eliza doesn’t even believe Kasdeya is real. If he can’t convince her he isn’t an illusion—and neither is their love—Deumos will win.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Egyptian Demon’s Keeper:
Eliza opened one eye and gulped back a scream. If she was asleep, then the dream was astounding. She wiggled her toes to make sure she wasn’t in sleep paralysis.
That man was humming. He was two feet away from her, staring at his palms as if a secret message were about to appear on his skin, and humming.
Okay, she thought, this is pretty bad. Unless the laws of physics had suddenly changed and rain could defy gravity, she had lost her mind, and this guy seemed a permanent part of her new psychosis. At least he was beautiful. Eliza hoped fervently that if she had to remain mad, he would continue to be part of her altered state.
“You hear about sunstroke killing people, you know, but you never hear about this stuff.”
He jumped to his feet and stared down at her, running his hand through his long black locks. “I was meditating. You…”
“I frightened you?”
His cheeks reddened, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Of course not. Mortals cannot frighten me.” He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, as if the stance would somehow convince her that she hadn’t startled him.
“Mortals? Did you say mortals? As opposed to…non-mortals?”
“Correct.” He tapped his foot in a very mortal gesture of impatience.
“This just gets better and better. Okie dokie then. I know I’m supposed to be your keeper or servant or something—isn’t that what you told me in Egypt? Excuse me, should that be ‘the land of pharaohs’?”
“Correct. You are my Keeper, my servant, and it is the land of pharaohs. I’m pleased you listened.”
“Great. I’m dying to please my own hallucination. Would my hallucination mind getting me some water?” I have to try to pull it together. What if this is a real guy, and he drugged you? Come on, the door is close enough. Please, God, please let my legs work.
He gestured to the ornate decanter and glass on the low table. The smirk pulling on his lips ticked her off. So, he knew she meant to make a break for it.
“I will pour for you of course.” He handed her a glass, and she pushed herself up so she could sip. Mind racing, coming up blank, she concentrated on clearing her head with the water. She stole glances at him, but his expression was impassive. What does a serial killer look like anyway? Why couldn’t one look like a soap opera star? An Egyptian soap opera star? Did they have soap operas in Egypt? I’m in real trouble, no matter how I look at this.
“Look, if it’s money you’re after, you picked the wrong girl. Maybe the museum would belly up a few thousand for me… Did you drug me? That’s it, isn’t it? You got to my canteen in Egypt…”
“And then miraculously found you in New York, slipped unnoticed into your office or apartment and put a poison potion in your glass?”
She shook her head uncertainly. It didn’t explain the raindrops, the change in his appearance from Dr. Kasey Smith to Kasdeya. Nothing was adding up.
“So, you don’t really know David, and you don’t really work for the museum in Boston.”
“What gave me away?” He smiled fully for the first time, his eyes coming to life and gentle creases appearing around them.
Eliza refilled her water glass in a half-hearted attempt to stall. No matter how hard she thought about it, she could only come to one conclusion. The Egyptian desert had robbed her of sanity. Perhaps she was already in an institution and didn’t know it?
“Where are we?” She glanced around the large room, what seemed like part of a larger suite. “Are we in New York?” The ornate furnishings smacked of something from an Arabian Nights tale, but with modern amenities. “It has that flying carpet thing going on.”
“Not that again.” His smile faded, and he rubbed at his temples.
“Sorry. I’m known to give people headaches. Do demons get headaches?”
Kasdeya took a deep breath and blew it out. Eliza knew that move. She’d watched her mother, David and just about everyone else in her life do it many times.
“Is the room to your liking? I thought you would feel comfortable with these…things.” He gestured to the furniture uncertainly as if he had carved the intricate woodwork himself and was concerned for her approval. The Fifth Satan was a complicated guy—big, buff, dangerous, easily startled and oddly ill at ease. Did he need something from her? Perhaps he didn’t hold all the cards.
“You didn’t answer my question. Are. We. In. New. York?”
“More or less. Would you like to be in New York?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then we are.”
A mild tremor rolled through the suite. An earthquake in New York?
“Did you do that?”
He cocked his head to one side and studied her. “I thought you said you wanted to be in New York. Well, we’re here. Or there. You are a very confused woman, and you’re beginning to confuse me.”
“Why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on, Mr. Kasdeya? And if you tell me not to curse, I’ll…I’ll curse again.”
“I will warn you that some of the answers you seek may come as a bit of a shock.”
“As opposed to rain stopping in midair? Try me.”
The last thing Eliza expected was for her captor to strip off his black T-shirt. “Dude, there’s no need for that!” Surely he wasn’t going to accost her? He shook his head subtly, as if he read her thought and wanted to ease her mind. “Look at me.”
“I’m looking.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him if she tried. Like an artist had wrapped a masterpiece of sculpture with velvety skin and breathed life into it, Kasdeya was exquisite. He moved his arm to point at the band of golden script that circled one bicep, and his stomach rippled, down to the ridges of muscles framing his slender hips.
“When was the last time you saw a man without a shirt, Eliza? I’m pointing to my arm. Look at it.” She glanced at his face instead. His smirk of satisfaction annoyed her.
“Oh, so big deal, you’re gorgeous. Get over yourself. All right, let me see your damned arm. I noticed that in pharaoh land. Skip the mumbo jumbo and tell me what it says and why I should care.”
“I don’t know what it says. You’re supposed to tell me. You’re my Keeper.”
“What the hell does that mean anyway? Like a zookeeper? When’s your feeding time? Damn, my head is killing me again.”
“You’re probably hungry. Come, let us dine and we can discuss things casually.”
“Oh, lovely, yes, let’s have a nice little chat over dinner. A night out on the town? Perhaps drinks first?”
“That sarcasm does not su
it you. You will want to freshen up of course.”
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