by Sabrina York
“Was it so bad?”
“Yes!” He whirled on her and she took a step back, horrified by the pain and regret in every line of his body. “Yes. I deserve every second of my incarceration. Every punishment. Every torment.”
A cold ball curled in Aimalee’s chest. “Did you kill someone?”
He winced. He didn’t answer right away. But then he didn’t have to. She could read the answer in his eyes.
At long last he muttered, “I killed lots of men. I was a warrior.”
“But that’s not why you’re here?”
He snorted a laugh. It was not a happy sound. “No. I made the ultimate mistake.” His lips worked. “I-I fell in love.”
“With whom?”
His Adam’s apple made the torturous journey up and down his neck. “His sister.”
“He had a sister?” Somehow she’d never expected that. But then the Dark Djinn had been a man. Once.
“It was beyond betrayal. He was my teacher. My friend. He welcomed me into his home, gave me a seat at his feet, taught me, trusted me. And I…seduced her.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Straight down to the soul.”
“And you loved her?”
“Beyond sanity.”
“Did she love you?”
A flicker of longing flitted through his eyes. “I think so. I hope so.”
“You don’t know?”
“I… When Duvalli found out about us, he banished me, ripped us apart. I tried to get back into the palace but his magic was too strong. I never saw her again. I never…never got the chance to tell her…”
“What happened to her?”
His features turned to stone. His shoulders shook. His aura vibrated with tightly held energy, agony, pain. He blew out a great breath, whispering on the cusp of it, “She died.”
The words cut through the air like a knife. Aimalee cringed at the import. He stood before her, this great hulking bear of a man, utterly bereft and there was nothing she could do to ease his pain. She placed a hand on his shoulder nonetheless. His flesh rippled in response.
He swung around, fury flaring. “Loving me, he told me, ended her life. So you see? His punishment for me? See how fitting it is? Century after century he sends me a woman, a woman I am compelled to want. Compelled to seduce. But never really have. Each one a reminder of what I did to him. What I took from him.” He stilled, stared out at the shushing sea. “It is a punishment that shall never end.”
Aimalee enfolded him in her arms, hoping, somehow, to soothe his soul. No one deserved to suffer like this. Not for a day. Not for a year. Not for centuries upon centuries without end. Forever.
So she held him. And he wept.
Once he recovered from his outburst, Keeshan sat still in Aimalee’s arms, more than a little mortified.
What was wrong with him? He’d never shared his story. Not with anyone.
He’d certainly never broken down and cried like a child. Could it be he was becoming addled in his old age? That this interment was beginning to break him down, destroy him, drive him mad, as the Dark Djinn had always taunted would be his destiny?
Keeshan did not care for this prospect.
Sometimes his strength of spirit was the only thing he had left in this shell of a life. He couldn’t bear to lose that.
And the tangled wash of emotion he had whenever he thought of Aimalee—he didn’t like that at all. Despite his vow to keep his distance from this woman—his emotional distance at least—he was sinking and sinking fast, wavering between his tattered guilt, the sharp edge of the lamp’s lust and something else entirely. Something tender and tempting and utterly terrifying. She was a threat to his sanity, a threat to his guarded heart. He was an idiot to creep closer.
But somehow he was unable to resist that slow slide.
There had to be something he could do. Something he could try.
If only he did not have the option of the damn incantation, that tiny little spell that could force her into his arms. The gods knew he didn’t have the strength to resist the temptation. But if she could, if she could walk away, if she could remain distant. Maybe that would make life bearable when she finally left.
How he could manage that, he had no clue.
But Duvalli would know.
Keeshan stilled at the thought. The Dark Djinn could remove the temptation. Duvalli could release her from the power of the incantation. A flicker of hope kindled in his heart and then died.
Duvalli could. But would he?
“Are you hungry?” he asked and was relieved when her expression shifted.
She put a hand on her belly. “I am.”
Yes, he was relieved when she allowed him to distract her, to lead her back to the banquet hall and tempt her with a dizzying array of delights.
He was especially relieved when she forgot all her questions and allowed him to kiss her again. Allowed him to seduce her again.
He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have done it. But he couldn’t resist. Not when she was near and willing. And the magic of the lamp was working away on him, eroding his resistance.
He made love to her on the pillows surrounding the banquet table. And then he made love to her on the banquet table. He made love to her until they were both exhausted. She, too exhausted to think of any more ridiculous, annoying questions. He, too exhausted to contemplate the fate awaiting him should he allow himself to fall in love. Again.
It was, in all likelihood, inevitable. If nothing else, the past two thousand years had taught him that.
There was only one answer. Only one way to escape that doom. He had to ask—demand—that Duvalli release her from the incantation.
And refuse to take no for an answer.
Chapter Eight
Keeshan stepped out of the mist into a cold, dark chamber. Flaming urns on either side of the great hall cast the only light, along with ominous, flickering shadows. But he knew there was nothing much to see. The Dark Djinn’s audience chamber was a tomb, inaccessible except through magical means.
And the devil who reigned here lounged, in all his malevolent glory, on the throne, flanked by his two slavering hellhounds. He was a large man, made larger by the import of his sortilege. His dark-hooded cloak only added to his ominous appearance. His features had changed little over the years but his dark eyes were harder, colder and glittered with familiar malice. His nose was a proud, bold slash. An elegant tangle of magical tattoos swirled over one side of his visage.
The Dark Djinn had been a powerful man two thousand years ago. Keeshan could only imagine how strong his magic was now, after centuries of ceaseless study and practice.
He had tried and failed to thwart the spell that bound him. It became stronger with every attempt.
Duvalli glanced up as he sensed the disturbance, this emergence of familiar energy. His gaze lit on Keeshan and a smirk tugged at one side of his stark mouth. “So. A new dove has come. Has it been a hundred years already? My how time flies.” Keeshan growled in response and Duvalli chuckled. “What’s wrong, Sir Keeshan?” He used the appellation Keeshan hated, one that reminded him of the man he’d once been. The knight he’d once been. And never would be again. It was the Dark Djinn’s way of mocking what he had become. “Is she not a beauty? Did the lamp finally bring you an ugly woman?”
“She is beautiful. They all are.”
“They are all beautiful to you.” The amusement melted away. Keeshan knew he was thinking of his sister. Duvalli never forgot about Circe. Then again, neither did Keeshan.
How he hated these audiences. Even though he could visit Duvalli’s demesnes whenever he wished—and he never wished—he was only called into the Dark Djinn’s presence once a century. He always dreaded the audience.
“So.” Duvalli peered at Keeshan down the length of his arrogant beak of a nose. “Have you fucked her yet?”
Keeshan bristled. “That is none of your business.”
“You’ve fucked
her.” Duvalli affected a sigh. “You never could control yourself. You are one horny son of a bitch, Sir Keeshan. Did she like it? Beg for more? Oh wait. Of course she did. You used the incantation.” This was not a question but when a red tide rose on Keeshan’s cheeks, Duvalli laughed, a harsh cackle. “Let me guess. She appears in your chamber and less than a minute later you’re drawing your lust spell all over her body.” He spat onto the stones at his feet. “The little whore was probably crawling all over you—”
“Do not call her a whore.” Keeshan’s nails etched his palm. It was all he could do to keep from slamming his fist in Duvalli’s stony face.
A dark brow rose. “My. What a tone. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were challenging me.”
Annoyance, impatience, desperation riffled through him. Keeshan opened his mouth and a command just…slipped out. “Release her from the incantation.”
Duvalli blinked. Keeshan had never dared command anything of him before. Ever. “What?”
A cold trickle of fear dribbled through his bowels but Keeshan ignored it. What could Duvalli do to him that he had not already done? How much worse could it be? He steeled his spine and snapped, “You heard me.”
The Dark Djinn stared at him for an echoing eternity and then barked a harsh laugh. “Never say you are going soft, Sir Keeshan.”
“I want you to release her from the incantation.”
“Ridiculous. Why would you want to free her? That spell guarantees she cannot resist you.”
“I don’t want her like that.”
“It’s never stopped you before,” the Dark Djinn scoffed.
“Things are different now. I want it to be her choice.”
Duvalli studied him in silence, tapping his lips. “Don’t be an idiot. If the incantation is broken, it will be broken forever.”
“Good.” Keeshan’s response was not far from a sneer. He was weary to the bone of his life in the lamp. Weary to the bone of sex that meant nothing and never could.
Duvalli’s lips curled into a travesty of a smile, a mockery of nonchalance. His entire body was taut, vibrating like a bowstring. “Imagine it. Eternity trapped in the lamp with no way to make the women accept you. Constant, infinite lust. And no release.”
“Release her,” Keeshan snapped. Anguish clawed at him and the true reason for his roiling fear slipped out. “Every woman who has given me her heart under that incantation spent the rest of her life in misery.”
His nemesis smirked. “You ruined them for other men.”
“That was hardly my fault. You are the one who sent them to me. You carry this onus.”
“Technically, I had nothing to do with it.”
“You wove the spell!”
“But the Great Djinn chooses your consorts. We can only assume there are reasons for each choice. But do not fret about them.” The Dark Djinn forced a grin. It was not a pleasant sight. “No doubt when they moved on, into other incarnations, all your women were able to find a modicum of happiness with other men.”
Keeshan’s heart stuttered. “And your sister? Did she ever find happiness in other lives?”
Duvalli’s complexion mottled. His tattoos glowed a furious crimson. “You know damn well the mirror will not show her to me.”
Keeshan rocked back on his heels. He could tell he was making no progress with the Dark Djinn. He rarely did. But he still had one argument left. “So tell me, Duvalli. What is the difference between your sister and these women the lamp brings me?”
“What?”
“Would you condemn Circe to Aimalee’s fate? To be sent to the lamp? To be compelled to want me?”
Duvalli stood in a rush, his cloak swirling around his body. He fairly hummed with rage. He stormed down the stairs of the dais, stopping short just inches away. He glowered down upon his captive, drawing back his shoulders and thrusting out his chest. Keeshan refused to be intimidated by such petty theatrics. He had been a prisoner of this Djinn for far too long. If Duvalli could harm him, he would have done so long ago.
He firmed his chin. “Release her from the incantation.”
Apparently Duvalli found his lack of trepidation annoying. “Stop saying that,” he spat, spinning around to pace across the chamber. The dogs tracked him with leaden eyes, their heads moving as one. “I cannot remove that enchantment. You should know better than to ask.”
“Then ask the Great Djinn.”
Silence, cold and hard, settled over the room. The stark fury on Duvalli’s visage stunned Keeshan. Not because it was fury—he’d seen plenty of that from this man. But because it was laced with something else. Something that looked like…fear. Tension crackled and spit between them.
“No one asks anything of the Great Djinn.”
“He’s the one in charge. He’s the one who controls this realm.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know enough. I know he’s your master.”
“I am the Great Djinn’s agent.”
“Agent?” Keeshan laughed. “You became his slave the day you cast your spell on me and we both know it. You became entombed here, right along with me.”
“A price I would gladly pay a thousand times over to make you suffer,” Duvalli said.
“Circe is gone.”
“Don’t you dare say her name.”
“She was released to the great wheel of incarnation two thousand years ago. How many lives has she lived since then? How many were happy lives?”
The Djinn snarled. “How many great loves has she had since you?”
If this was an attempt to strike at Keeshan’s heart, it missed the mark. “I do not care if she has loved other men.”
“Because you never loved her.”
“Because I love her still. I want nothing, nothing but her happiness.”
“You killed her!” His bellow rocked the room.
“I did not kill her.”
“Your love killed her.”
“I did not kill her.” Silence seethed around them like a nest of hissing vipers. And then, “How did she die?”
“Go to hell.”
“I am already there.”
“You are only getting what you deserve.”
Keeshan steeled his spine. “Perhaps you are right. I deserve this torment.” He glanced up and caught Duvalli’s gaze. “But she does not. Release her from the damn incantation.”
The Dark Djinn went pale. “I cannot,” he said through bloodless lips. “Stop asking!”
“Release her! Re—”
Duvalli held up his hand, cutting him off mid-word. “Do not say it again. If you don’t want that woman to be compelled to fuck you, then don’t draw the damn incantation.”
Keeshan’s gut dropped. Not draw the incantation? When the lust claimed him, he did not have the strength to resist. He never did. “You’re the one who wove the spell in the first place. You know that’s not possible. Release Aimalee from that damn incantation and do it now!”
Duvalli seemed to deflate then, that great hulking creature. His face fell and his shoulders crumpled. He walked slowly back to his throne and sat with a boneless thud. He wiped his palm over his brow and muttered an invective to himself. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever known.” He shrugged, his countenance suddenly a moue of supreme disinterest. “You make me weary, Sir Keeshan. Be gone.”
With a flick of the Dark Djinn’s fingers, his prisoner was drawn back to his cell.
Duvalli was, once again, alone.
He glared for a long while at the place Sir Keeshan had been standing, brooding over their exchange. Did the bastard have any idea what he’d done? Judging from Keeshan’s anger when he left, Duvalli thought not. Hopefully the good knight had forgotten his lessons. Forgotten about the Power of Sevens.
He probably had. Two thousand years was a really long time.
He would realize soon enough, when he tried to draw the incantation on his latest little concubine. He would realize that part of the spell, at least, was
broken.
Served him right for being so damn insistent. By simply repeating his request seven times, Keeshan had lost the one tool he needed to battle the lust of the lamp.
How long would it take him to figure out the rest?
Duvalli’s mind roiled.
Irritation and…some other emotion swirled in his gut. He needed a release.
At his gesture, the curtain to the antechamber rose.
“Come,” he commanded. And obediently, she entered the great hall. Duvalli allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk as he watched her cross the chamber, her head down, hands folded demurely at her waist, the way women held themselves in her time. She would not be so demure in a moment, he resolved.
She stopped before him and lifted her eyes to his. They were brown and beautiful and lushly lashed…and absolutely indifferent as she surveyed him. “You summoned me, my master?” The words, from her lush, berry-ripened lips, in her husky voice, sent a shudder down his spine.
In response he spread his legs and opened the flap of his breeches.
She knew what he wanted, what he needed, just as he knew she would comply.
She always did.
She had for centuries.
Chapter Nine
Keeshan returned to the lamp to find Aimalee in the sleep chamber, curled in a ball and weeping. He fell to his knees and wrapped her in his arms and held her until the racking sobs stilled. “What is it?” he asked, kissing her temple.
It took her a minute to catch her breath, to be able to form words. “It’s-it’s Carter.”
Keeshan’s brow furrowed. Damn Carter. How he wished Aimalee had never met the bastard. But then if she’d never met Carter, she wouldn’t have found the lamp. And he would never have found her.
But still. Carter was an ass.
“What about him?”
She gazed up at him, her lashes bedewed with tears. He had the not-so-fleeting urge to wring Carter’s scrawny ascot-swathed neck. “I saw him.”
Keeshan’s heart lurched. Surely she hadn’t—
“I asked the mirror.”
Oh hell. She had.