Shadow of the Sheikh

by Nina Bruhns

Because, to her horror, she realized she wanted this.

  It was impetuous and reckless, and no doubt dangerous as hell.

  But she wanted him, oh how she wanted him! And everything he planned to do to her…

  He drew his bisht around her, the heavy native cloak protecting her from the wind and the dust. His scent, musky, masculine and already arousingly familiar, wrapped itself around her along with the thick cloth. By slow degrees, she relented and let her body lean back against his broad chest. She stopped fighting his hold. But she couldn’t quite tame the trembling in her limbs.

  This was so unlike her. Never in a million years would she have believed herself capable of feelings like this. She was the one who listened to the stories and tales of adventure that others had experienced. Always the audience, never the teller or the one who lived them. Her fantasies lived strictly on paper, or in her dreams. Never in real life.

  But this was one fantasy she could not deny herself. It was as though the sensual smell of him held a powerful spell that worked its magic as she breathed it in. Tempting her. Arousing her. Seducing her to his will.

  On and on they rode, the smooth lope of the camel lulling her to relax more and more. She closed her eyes and lost track of time, acutely aware of the hard male body pressed into hers, the strength of his arms as he held her close, and the aching thrum of desire that pulsed between her legs.

  His hand slipped beneath the cloak and sought out her shirt, finding its row of buttons.

  She’d dressed in practical clothes for the trek into the desert, khaki riding pants, knee-length boots, long-sleeved khaki shirt, a Blue Devils baseball cap which she’d lost during the struggle.

  She held her breath as the man’s fingers maneuvered the top button open. And the next. And a third. And then his hand slid over her breast.

  Her breath sucked in. Heat streaked through her flesh.

  His fingers tugged down the lacy edges of her bra. “When we reach camp I will burn this,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked, momentarily stunned.

  He cupped her breast. “I want you free of encumbrance and ready to my hand,” he murmured against her hair. His thumb brushed over her nipple.

  “Oh!” she gasped softly, a jolt of desire arcing through her. “Ohhh,” she moaned on a quivering exhale as he gently pinched it.

  And that’s when she realized she was in even bigger trouble than she ever imagined. Because as his hand closed intimately around her breast and her body caught fire, she knew she had no will to resist this man. She would do anything he asked of her.

  Anything at all.

  Shahin had bespelled the woman. He had invaded her dreams. He had made her want him with a burning need matched only by his own. He had made her willing and pliable to his touch. To his possession.

  The spell was working.

  Gemma Haliday was putty in his hands.

  And Shahin liked it. She was pretty. And soft. And filled his hands perfectly. He might just let the spell continue after they got to camp, instead of lifting it as he’d planned.

  Kilpatrick had often said in his crusade against unwilling seduction that there was no challenge in making love to a woman who couldn’t say no. Normally, Shahin agreed.

  On the other hand, keeping the spell on Gemma intact would cut out a whole lot of unnecessary drama. He was short on time, and long on need. With Haru-Re on the warpath, Shahin had been so busy guarding the borders and running his spies that he’d hardly had a chance to sit down for decent meal, let alone find a woman to share his bed for a night or two.

  Gemma would be a very welcome addition to camp life. For a while.

  He had no intention of keeping her, of course. Not for the long-term. Even if he could imagine spending eternity with the same woman—which he couldn’t—there was no place for a female in his world. He’d been down that road before—the biggest mistake of his life. It was the woman he’d once thought he loved who had sold his sister to Haru-Re, all for a promise of power and wealth. His parents had followed, and his father had died avenging her cruel fate. His mother was still a captive at Petru. Because of a faithless woman, Shahin had no family.

  No, women were deceitful, untrustworthy creatures, and there was only one thing he wanted from them.

  Gemma Haliday was no exception. He would enjoy her bounty, and after he grew tired of her, Seth-Aziz would rule on the woman’s future: whether she would become a shabti—a human servant robbed of her will—or invited as a full-fledged initiate into the per netjer to become an immortal follower of Set-Sutekh. It was up to her to accept the coming revelations or not. She could join them willingly or unwillingly. But she would join, one way or another. Her sister’s treason had seen to that.

  Meanwhile, Shahin would have the use of her. Her lush curves under his hands felt good, reminding him of how long it had been since he’d enjoyed the delights of a woman’s body.

  He had no desire to delay his pleasure with this one. But he had been out on patrol along the borderlands with a small troop of the Khepesh guard, which he commanded, when he’d felt the nearness of her here in the desert. He hadn’t expected her to come so soon. Normally, it took more than one night of dreams to influence a mortal’s behavior to this extent.

  He’d had the troop shift and detour to pick her up. Although it was an inconvenience having to stay in human form to transport her to camp, the pleasures that awaited him tonight far made up for it.

  Meanwhile, he and his men needed to finish the patrol, which included checking on a remote outpost where two of his best spies were based. They were approaching it now.

  The camels slowed and he withdrew his hand. “Button your shirt,” he ordered. “And when we get there, do not speak, even if addressed.”

  “When we get where?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with arousal.

  His need grew stronger and he barely resisted leaning over her for a kiss. But he wanted more than a quick tonguing. She would keep. And so would his need.

  In answer, he tipped his chin at the rocky edge of a wadi just ahead. The dry wash, carved out by the waters of an ancient flood, provided the best cover for miles. And the only shade.

  The woman knew Egypt well enough that she didn’t question their destination.

  “Why can’t I speak?” she asked, doing up her buttons. Plainly, she didn’t know him well enough.

  “Because it is my wish.”

  “What if it’s my wish to talk?”

  Irritation flashed through him. “You will do as I say.”

  She glanced back at him again. This time her eyes were clear and cool. “And if I don’t?”

  “By the tail of Anubis, you will!”

  He heard her puff out a breath and mutter something, but could only make out, “…not part of the fantasy…”

  He drilled his fingers into her hair and turned her so she’d have to look into his eyes. “Did you not consider,” he asked in a low growl, “that you are part of my fantasy?”

  She blinked. Her tongue peeked out and swept over her lower lip. Again he had to restrain himself from taking that impudent mouth and teaching it to obey.

  Later.

  Letting her go, he exchanged a few quick words with his men as they crested the edge of the wadi and lined up the camels along it. From a short distance away came the yip-yipping of a jackal.

  He glanced down at the woman sharing his saddle and hesitated. He should throw a spell of oblivion over her so he wouldn’t have to deal with her as he heard his spies’ reports. But the sooner she realized what she was involved with, the sooner she would accept her future. Or not.

  “You may see things here you don’t understand,” he told her as they descended into the depths of the wadi. “Do not be afraid.”

  She turned and searched his face. “What kind of things?”

  “These men are…a bit wild. The sight of a female may cause a stir.”

  “I see.”

  No, she didn’t.
But she would soon enough. “Stay behind my back at all times,” he ordered her sternly. “I mean it, Gemma.”

  She looked startled. “You know my name,” she accused. “How?”

  He pinned her with a pitying look. “Of course I know your name. Do you really think your capture was random? That I didn’t know exactly who I lured to meet me in the desert?”

  Stricken, she stared at him, her expression reminiscent of an enemy just before Shahin’s sword severed the bastard’s neck.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked hoarsely. “Who are you?”

  He touched her cheek, running his fingers down to her jaw. “You’ve already guessed who I am, kalila—sweetheart. Earlier, when you looked into my eyes as I flew above you, I felt your recognition.”

  She frowned, then started to shake her head. Suddenly, her frame went rigid. “No,” she whispered. Disbelief slashed across her face.

  “Yes,” he assured her. “My name is Shahin Gameel Aswadi. But most people know me simply as Sheikh Shahin.”

  Chapter 6

  “That’s r-ridiculous,” Gemma stammered, clearly shaken. “Sheikh Shahin d-doesn’t exist. He’s just a legend.”

  Now was as good a time as any to disabuse her of her romantic fantasies. It would have been nice to let her keep them for the coming night, but Shahin had no patience for subtlety. She would find out the truth of the matter soon enough anyway.

  “As you can see, I most assuredly do exist. Although I suppose my prowess might be considered legendary,” he added drily.

  Her voice choked with distrust, she surprised him by saying, “Prove it.”

  He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, deliberately dragging it down a fraction. Enough to convey his meaning. “Oh, I intend to.”

  A blush ripped across her cheeks and she turned away. “Not what I meant.”

  He just smiled, his body stirring with anticipation of the night ahead.

  But they had come to the mouth of the hollowed-out wind cave where his spies made their base camp, so he urged his camel to the ground and dismounted along with his men. He reached up and swung Gemma from the saddle down to her feet. He removed his bisht cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Not to cover her. Unlike their modern counterparts, the ancient Egyptians—and the residents of Khepesh—treated their women as equals, and did not force any woman to hide her beauty beneath a veil and burka. But rather, Shahin covered her with his garment to mark her as his.

  It looked good on her.

  “Wear this and there will be no doubt to whom you belong,” he said.

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” she returned with a scowl, but nevertheless wrapped the cloak around her body.

  An uncharacteristic barb of possessiveness caught in his chest. By Osiris, she did belong to him! He opened his mouth to tell her so, then quickly snapped it shut again. Thot preserve him.

  Had he lost his mind? Only a witless fool would want to possess any woman for longer than the fleeting physical pleasure she could bring him. He’d gone down that road before and lived to bitterly regret it. He’d learned his lesson the first time a woman deceived and betrayed him. It would also be the last. And if he needed further evidence of the untrustworthiness of the creatures, he need look no further than his good friend Rhys Kilpatrick. He’d also fallen victim to a woman’s trickery, had trusted her with his immortal life. See where that had gotten him—in the camp of the enemy, his home and friends lost to him, and a death sentence hanging over his head.

  Gemma was that woman’s sister. Shahin must never forget it.

  Dismissing the whole distasteful feminine subject from his mind, he strode to where his men had gathered. They, at least, he could rely upon.

  “Auwa!” Shahin called into the cave. “Time to wake up! Show yourself and greet your captain!”

  The growl of a jackal answered him from the depths of the cave. Behind him, he heard Gemma gasp. Her body scooted closer to his back.

  A few seconds later up on the wadi, a large mountain lion padded to the edge and peered down at them. It snarled in greeting.

  “Asad! Get down here.” Shahin beckoned with a hand. “I am anxious for your report as well.”

  The lion padded easily down the steep incline. At the last few yards he crouched and leaped, his human form materializing in midair to land gracefully on his feet with a twist and a grin. Show-off.

  From behind Shahin came a silence so thick you could slice it with a saber.

  Auwa trotted out from the cave and also shifted to human form. With a smooth stretch onto his hind legs, the jackal unfolded into a compact, muscular man with beady eyes and a long nose which he jerked hungrily in Gemma’s direction.

  That’s when she screamed.

  Shahin spared a glance backward in annoyance and threw a calming spell over her. The scream choked off, but her eyes remained wild with fear and disbelief.

  He signaled the men to sit for their meeting. Then with a hand to her shoulder, he urged her down behind him before she collapsed.

  “Welcome to your new world, kalila,” he murmured with just a hint of smile. “Now if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I have some business to conduct before taking you home.”

  Please, God. This could not be happening.

  Gemma struggled to slow the two-minute mile of her heartbeat and quell the panic doing somersaults in her stomach. This was insane!

  What she’d just witnessed was not possible. And yet, it had happened. In broad daylight. Right in front of her eyes. Two animals had turned into men, and they were now chatting away with the one who called himself Sheikh Shahin and claimed to be a hawk, as though there was nothing strange or unusual about any of it.

  Shape-shifters!

  Just like the countless stories the villagers had told her over and over in her ethnographical work. There’d been no doubt the locals believed their tales of the shape-shifting guardians of the old gods. But Gemma had never taken the tales as anything other than myth. Had always chalked up the villagers’ staunch belief in them to rampant superstition and lack of education. What rational person wouldn’t?

  Just now when she’d dared Shahin to prove who he was, it had only been to flatly discredit his outrageous assertion. Not from any remote belief he was who he claimed.

  But could it be true? Could it all really be true?

  Unless she was hallucinating or going mad, it had to be. There was no other explanation for what she’d just seen. Not that that made her feel any better. “Welcome to your new world,” Shahin had told her. But that world was crazy, out-of-control. She wanted the old one back!

  Or…did she? The ethnographer within her—who wanted to ask the shape-shifters a million questions—warred with the coward who just wanted to hide her head in the sand and pretend it was all just a hallucination. That she wasn’t stuck in the middle of the desert with a man legend said could change into a hawk, along with his troop of death warriors, inhabitants of an otherworld she was just superstitious enough to credit as a dim possibility.

  God help her, what should she do?

  First on the list was not to think about that other thing he’d said earlier. Involving the word capture.

  Because surely he didn’t intend to keep her? It was one thing to spend the night with a dangerously attractive man, indulging in a scorching-hot, if majorly ill-advised, desert sheikh fantasy. But she wanted to go home in the morning. She needed to go home in the morning. The alternative was unthinkable.

  She sat there now on the ground behind him, taking nervous peeks at the men sitting on their heels in a circle engaged in intent conversation. Were they all shape-shifters? Or just Shahin and the two she’d seen…change?

  God. She couldn’t even believe she was asking herself that question. Joss would think she’d finally flipped over the edge.

  Hell, maybe she had. Since her frightened scream, an unnatural calm had wrapped around her along with Shahin’s cloak, making all of this seem completely unreal.

 
; Or maybe she was still dreaming.

  She pinched herself hopefully. Nope. No such luck.

  Suddenly, the men all stood. The two shape-shifting spies eyed her warily. The others headed for the camels.

  “Let’s go,” Shahin said and extended his hand to help her up.

  Which was when, in that war in her head, the coward won out.

  “Um, look…” she began, brushing the dirt from his bisht and handing it back to him. “I really don’t think this is such a good idea, after all.”

  “What isn’t?” he asked, slipping it on.

  She started to walk toward her mare, which was standing amidst the much larger camels contentedly munching on the green leaves of a small bush. “Me going with you,” she answered. “I should get back to the villa. Josslyn will worry, and—”

  He caught her arm and changed her direction, firmly steering her toward his camel instead. “The sun will be going down soon,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly let you ride across the desert alone at this hour. Besides, you’d never find your way. We are a long way from Naqada.”

  The fact that he was probably right on all counts did not reassure her all that much. But he didn’t seem to be giving her an option. She was pretty sure fighting him on it in front of his men would only make him even more determined. Men liked to be in control. Or at least appear to be. No way she’d win that battle.

  She bit her lip.

  “The morning, then,” she said. “You’ll show me the way back home in the morning. Right?”

  He lifted her onto the saddle, then jumped up behind her and put his mouth to her ear. “In the morning,” he murmured low, as the camel rose to its feet. “I promise, you will not wish to go back.”

  A shiver of awareness twisted through her insides at the nearness of his body and the deep rumble of his words. The erotic promise lying under them wrapped her in a veil of temptation, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach got all mixed up with her attraction to him. She felt helpless against the pull. Unable to resist giving in to him.

  What was wrong with her?