by Nina Bruhns
She frowned, noticing the faint color of the drink, caused by a handful of red seeds slowly sinking to the bottom of the glass. “I thought martinis were supposed to have olives,” she said.
“Not mine. Taste,” he urged.
She sipped, tipping a few seeds into her mouth and rolling them on her tongue. Suddenly her eyes flared, and he could see her struggle to decide whether to spit them out or not. She finally swallowed, and said, “Seriously? Pomegranate seeds? That’s not a bit obvious?”
He smiled, pleased that she’d caught the irony. “Don’t worry, kalila. I assure you, I am not Hades. I simply like the taste of pomegranate.”
And unlike Persephone, there would be no bargains made for her freedom. He was hers. Not for six months of the year, but for as long as he wished to keep her.
She took another sip; this time, her swallow was more convulsive. She glanced sideways at the ragged silhouette of tents that stretched the length of the valley, then westward, to the giant dunes that rolled out from the oasis, stretching halfway across the continent of Africa. The orange sun was nearly gone now, consumed by the deepening darkness of the coming night. Just a sliver remained, hovering like a burning drop of mercury on the horizon.
She watched it as she said, “You aren’t planning to let me go in the morning, are you.”
Again, not a question.
She was still bespelled, but only concerning her attraction to him, not regarding her capture. Apparently, that would be unnecessary, it seemed, even for the short term. He was glad she’d accepted her fate. It would make everything so much easier on her.
“No,” he affirmed. “I am not.”
The last remnant of sun blinked out, vanquished. She did not look back at him.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why me?”
He sensed she did not want to be given platitudes, told he’d taken her because she was the most beautiful woman in the world and he couldn’t live another day without having her. She wanted the truth. The strange thing was, that was the truth. Or part of it, at least. If she hadn’t thoroughly captured his masculine interest at the temple yesterday, she would now be a prisoner in Khepesh, awaiting the decision of the high priest as to what would be done with her.
Being here with him was infinitely better. Here, she would have a chance to learn what it was like to be an immortal in the service of the god, and could decide to join the per netjer of her own free will. For if she didn’t, she would be robbed of that free will and turned into a shabti, a human servant, to spend eternity in the service of the immortals, with no trace of her former self intact. A living purgatory.
The unhappy fate of his own mother.
He shook off the unwelcome reminder of his family and tamped down the instinctive fury that always rode him just beneath the surface because of it, consuming him with the need for revenge.
“It’s complicated,” he said gruffly, and jerked down the remainder of his martini, then poured another and topped up hers.
“It would appear,” she said drily, “that I have nothing but time on my hands. So go ahead. Give me the unabridged version.”
He sighed and silently debated what and how much to tell her this early on. But he was not a palace courtier used to prevarication and intrigue.
He was a warrior, for better or worse, plainspoken and straightforward. So he gave her the no-frills version.
“Actually,” he said, “it’s your sister we want. You are just…shall we say, collateral damage.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“I’m speaking of the per netjer, the temple, of course. Not me personally. Because you are definitely the sister I want. Only you.” He gave her a smile. But he saw plainly it did not take the bite from his words.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t understand,” she said at length. “Why does the cult, this per netjer as you call it, want my sister? Which sister?”
He adjusted his position on the pillows, turning toward her somberly. “At first, it was Gillian. Somehow, she discovered the hidden entrance to Khepesh Palace, the home of the immortals of Set-Sutekh. You must understand, there was no way we could let her leave with that knowledge.”
Gemma frowned. “Gillian is a historian and she’d been hired to find some long-lost British lord’s grave. She was out searching for it on the day she vanished. But she phoned us. She told us she’d met a man and had decided to stay with him for a while.” She leveled Shahin a gaze. “Are you saying that wasn’t true?”
He shook his head. “No, that much was indeed true. It was Lord Kilpatrick she met. He is…was…one of us.”
Gemma’s eyes widened and for a moment she was mute. Then, “My God. Lord Rhys Kilpatrick? It was his grave Gillian was searching for! But he’s been dead for over a hundred y—” Her sentence choked off in dismay.
“Needless to say, Kilpatrick is still very much alive,” Shahin said. “And in love with your sister. They ran away together.”
Gemma closed her eyes and amazed him when her lips lifted in a bleak smile. “Thank God. At least something good has come out of all this insanity. She mentioned a wedding in her note. So they eloped?”
At the reminder of Rhys’s treachery, Shahin finished his drink with a scowl and set the glass on the brass table with a clunk. Seth claimed to have himself engineered Rhys’s defection to Petru, the palace of their enemy, as a sort of Trojan horse, but Shahin feared Seth’s fondness for the Englishman had convinced him of a loyalty that did not exist. “Not exactly,” he said.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Our priestess, Nephtys, had a vision of Gillian as the demigod Seth-Aziz’s consort. The wedding she mentioned was to Seth, not Kilpatrick. But she and Rhys defied the god and went over to our enemy, Haru-Re, to seek sanctuary.”
Gemma’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. You wanted her to be consort to a demigod?” Her expression turned to patent disbelief. She started to shake her head, then shot him a sharp glance. “Wait. Seth-Aziz? As in Seth-Aziz the high priest of the cult of Set-Sutekh? The one in all the local native legends? That’s the cult you’re talking about?”
“Cult has such a negative connotation. You must use the term per netjer. Ours is not a cult worshiping a specific deity. It’s a way of life. An offering of service.”
But again she was not listening. She looked completely aghast. “But Seth-Aziz, he’s supposed to be a…a…”
“Vampire?” he helpfully supplied. “Yes, he is.”
“No…” she whispered, going deathly pale. “Vampires don’t exist.” Her denials were getting repetitious.
“They do. Two of them, at any rate. Haru-Re our enemy, and Seth-Aziz, our leader.”
“And you wanted my sister to be his consort.” She looked utterly appalled.
“We still do. Well, one of them.”
“You can’t be serious. Surely, you don’t mean…?”
Shahin jetted out a decisive breath. “Oh, but that’s exactly what I mean. Seth has decided that because of Lady Gillian’s defection, your other sister, Josslyn, is to take her place. As his wife.”
“No!” Gemma jumped up so fast that the rest of her drink splashed out of the glass, soaking her shirt. She barely noticed. “How dare you?” she demanded. “What gives you the right to force such a thing on her? On any woman? Did it ever occur to you that she might not want to be a vampire’s—His—”
“Don’t,” Shahin warned, and rose in a single swift motion.
He grasped her arms when she whirled and started to stalk off. Where she’d go, she had no idea. But it didn’t matter. This was too much. “Let go of me!”
“There’s one thing you need to understand,” he growled. “We don’t force ourselves on anyone. In fact, we go to great lengths to avoid mortals even knowing of our existence. It was Gillian who intruded on our space and forced our hand. But in the end, she chose to join us and agreed to become Seth’s consort of her own free will.”
; “I don’t believe you!” Gemma spat out. “Consort to a vampire?”
“Seth is a demigod, our high priest. Being a vampire makes him more powerful, but to all appearances, he is a man like any other.”
She couldn’t decide if he was serious or just plain crazy. So she grabbed on to an objection he couldn’t argue against. “Even if what you say is true—and I don’t believe it for a second—she wouldn’t leave Joss and me like that. With no explanation.” Just as their mother had…
“What would you have had her say?” Shahin argued. “In any event, she did phone you and wrote the note so you wouldn’t worry. But believe me, she intended to stay. She wants to be with us.” He tugged her closer to his body. “Just as you will.”
She didn’t think so. Shahin might not be planning to let her go in the morning, but she had no intention of staying. Hello? She wanted nothing to do with a cult of vampires! Shahin wasn’t that sexy.
Besides, he wasn’t interested in her anyway. She was just collateral damage.
She tried to block him out, but his otherworldly energy, potent and shiveringly seductive, spilled through her, weakening her resistance. Her breasts tingled, and a rash of goose bumps splashed over her arms where his fingers touched her. Okay, maybe he was that sexy. But Sheikh Shahin was far too dangerous to mess with. This whole thing was dangerous and insane. She had to warn Joss.
She tried to pull away, knowing if she didn’t, she’d be lost. “We’re not talking about me,” she insisted. “Or even Gillian. But Josslyn. Vampire or no, no one can make her marry a man she’s not in love with!”
“It’s not my decision, kalila. And from what I’ve seen, your sister is more than capable of taking care of herself and making her own decisions.”
“Yes, but—”
“Seth is very angry right now, but as I’ve told you, he is not a monster. I’m sure he will listen to her if she objects.”
“If?”
His tension gave way to a lazy, bone-melting smile. Watching the change in demeanor from captor to seducer, her whole body tingled.
“Seth-Aziz is a very powerful and charming man,” Shahin said. “I’m sure he will persuade her of his…many attractions.” He paused to let his gaze drift slowly down her body, then started to walk her backward into the tent. “And perhaps, my dear, it is time to persuade you of mine.”
Alarm buzzed through her. Along with an unwanted wash of intense arousal. Heavens. What was wrong with her? “Shahin—”
“I like how you say my name, kalila,” he murmured, parting the curtained door behind her with a hand and kept backing her up.
She struggled to keep her wits about her as she was enveloped by the cool dimness of the tent—and a thick fog of awareness. His endearment echoed in her heart like a love song. Kalila. She really wished he would stop calling her that. It was messing with her will to stay strong.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” she croaked, pushing at his chest. But he was immovable. Like the Sphinx. “Are you a vampire, too?” she asked, terrified of the answer.
“No. Just Seth-Aziz.”
Thank God! Her heart spun with relief. And something else.
“Worried?”
“What do you think?” She tried to wriggle from his grasp. It was no use.
His warm breath stirred her hair. “Why do you fight me?” he murmured. “You know we both want this.”
Maybe she did want him, physically. There was no denying it. But…if she gave herself over to him, what was she really consenting to? A brief fantasy affair…or to spend forever in some mythical cult she didn’t believe in?
She licked her lips, desperately seeking a way to delay what seemed more and more inevitable. “I do want you, Shahin. But…I’m…I’m covered in martini and dust, and—”
He stilled and his expression turned wry. “Ah, I understand. The desert heat. My smell offends you.”
“No, you smell wonderful. It’s just—” She knew she’d made a tactical error when that lazy smile reappeared. Damn.
“All the same, what kind of a gentleman would I be not to offer my lady a soothing bath after a hard day of riding?”
He didn’t add. “and before indulging in a ride of a different sort,” but it was plainly written in the slant of his dark, languorous eyes.
She pulled at her martini-soaked shirt, pretending she didn’t understand exactly what he was saying. “That would be, um, great.”
“Excellent. Come with me.”
If she’d expected him to call a bevy of servants to pull out a copper tub and heat water to fill it, giving her an hour or more to debate her options, she was sadly mistaken.
He lifted her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, then linked fingers and led her through another curtained door in the very back of the tent. “Here we are.”
Her breath caught. They’d entered a smaller tent that was attached to the main one like a satellite. But this room had a tile floor instead of carpets, and contained an elaborate stone basin, like a Roman tub, fed by a bubbling hot spring that cascaded over the lip in a smooth, wide fall. A light mist of sweetly fragrant steam rose invitingly from the water, curling into the gauzy lengths of shimmery fabric that decorated the inside walls of the tent. The whole room had an air of sensual mystery.
He waved his hand and a hundred glowing flames sprang to life, lighting the drifts of candles that were scattered about on the stone surfaces.
Instantly, her qualms were forgotten. “Oh! It’s lovely!” She went to the edge of the tub and dipped her fingers in. The temperature was perfect. She sighed in delight. The bathroom in the rental villa was primitive, the shower an ugly cement cubicle. She turned to tell him how much she was going to enjoy this.
And her breath caught again, this time for an entirely different reason.
He’d taken off his tunic, peeled down to his bare skin.
His chest was magnificent, broad and lean and olive tan. His abs were a rippling six-pack, all angled shadows, bisected by a light vee of black hair.
He walked over to the basin, sat down on the rim, and pulled off his riding boots. First one, then the other, hit the floor. “What are you waiting for, kalila?” She blinked. Oh, lord.
“You want to…” She glanced at the swirling water as he poured a handful of crystals into it and they began to foam. “Together?”
His brows rose. “That’s generally how it’s done. Unless you Americans have invented a new way I’m unfamiliar with?”
He obviously wasn’t talking about bathing.
He untied the waistband of his trousers. They, too, dropped to the floor.
Leaving him completely, wonderfully, rampantly naked.
Not what she’d expected.
But oh. My. God.
Impossible to refuse.
Chapter 9
Ribbons of heat shot through Gemma from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Mine, she thought giddily. All mine.
“Shy?” Shahin asked when she didn’t—couldn’t—move. He came toward her. “Shall I undress you?”
“N-no,” she stammered. “I mean y-yes.” She slammed her eyes shut. Totally befuddled and embarrassed. “I mean—”
“Shh,” he murmured, reaching for her. “It’s okay. I will bare your body for you.”
She stood immobile, helpless to move. Her blood was thick with want and her limbs trembled with need as he, one by agonizing one, unfastened the buttons of her shirt. He pushed it from her shoulders, leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose along the side of her temple, burrowing into her hair, rubbing his cheek against hers in an impossibly sensual gesture. Not quite affection, not quite possessive, but something in-between.
Her shirt fell to the floor, and his lips moved down her throat, trailing along her collarbone and across her shoulder, leaving sparks of unbearable desire along the way.
He unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. When it was in midair he made a movement with his fingers and it disintegrated in a short burst of flame and smoke
. Then his hands were on her naked breasts.
She gasped as he cupped them and flicked his thumbs across her nipples, as he had when they were on the camel. An excruciating need flamed through her. He teased and squeezed her until she thought she would go mad. She couldn’t take this much longer.
“Please,” she softly begged. “I want you.”
“I know,” he murmured, shifting to unfasten her riding breeches and inch them down over her hips. “I have bespelled you.”
Her mind was too dizzy from his touch to truly grasp what he was saying. “Yes,” she agreed on a soft, desperate moan. “I am completely under your spell.”
He lowered himself to his knees in front of her and drew off her boots, and in a twinkling, the rest of her clothes. When she was as nude as he, he gazed up at her. His black eyes burned with…she didn’t know, but whatever the emotion, it was strong and fierce. And a little frightening.
Make that downright scary. Because the intensity of it only made her want him more.
How crazy was that?
He put his hands on her and ran them slowly, deliberately, over the flesh of her curves. She was ready to detonate. She wanted him on top of her, in her. Swallowing her up with his incredible sensual power.
He rose to his feet and cupped her face in his large hands. She could feel the barely leashed strength of his fingers as he caressed her jaw. She shivered.
“Please,” she whispered.
“No, I will not take you like this,” he said.
Confusion bewildered what was left of her brain. “I…I don’t understand.”
“You are bespelled. Unable to say no. There is no honor in possessing a woman like that. It brings no real pleasure, for either of us.”
She begged to disagree.
Shaking her head, she reached for him. She needed to feel his body against hers, skin to skin, his thick arousal completing her, filling her. Yes, possessing her. Her flesh ached for it. For him.
“Believe me, I don’t want to say no,” she assured.
“That’s because I took away your will to deny me. Yesterday, when I saw you at the temple, I put a spell of passion on you, and again last night in your dreams. It was essential you come to me, and the easiest way to accomplish that was to make you want me as a lover. I gave you no choice in the matter.”