Read Claiming the Jackal Online
Authors: Seressia Glass
Claiming the Jackal
Despite an end to two thousand years of conflict with the
Daughters of Isis, jackal shifter Hector still distrusts the witches. But he
cannot deny his growing hunger for Rana, a beautiful and gentle priestess who
soothes his anger and awakens his passions as no other ever has.
As a healer, Rana is working tirelessly to find a way to
protect the jackals from a deadly curse—and restore the honor of her bloodline.
As a woman, she cannot resist surrendering to her desire for Hector, the
powerful and virile second in command. But when her secret is revealed, will
their new bond be strong enough to survive the truth?
Claiming the Jackal
Seressia Glass
Dear Reader,
Jackals and witches and passion, oh, my! After thousands of years of being enemies, the Daughters of Isis and the Sons of Anubis are finding common ground—and everlasting love. Their magics are stronger together than they are apart. Still, it’s harder for some to overcome centuries of mistrust than it is for others. With a common enemy focused on destroying Sons and Daughters alike, the jackals and priestesses are going to have to come together to survive. Will they make it? Will they work together? Will they overcome their differences? I’d like to think that with love all things are possible!
Seressia Glass
Dedication
To Larry, my guy, my heart, my other half, who keeps me fed and watered when I forget. Now I truly know how heroes are made.
Chapter One
“There, that should do it.” Rana smoothed the bandage in place, then smiled up at the jackal shifter. “You can take the wrap off tomorrow morning and apply the ointment again. After lunch, feel free to shift.”
“Thank you, Priestess.” The young jackal smiled, holding his bandaged forearm. “It feels better already. You surely have a magical touch.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, grabbing her chart to make a few final notes. The young guard—at least, he seemed young—had entered the infirmary with a six-inch gash in his arm, given to him by another guard during combat training. “How long does it normally take you to heal from your wounds when you shift into your jackal form?”
“Well, usually—” Suddenly he stiffened, eyes widening. A whimper seeped from his throat as he dropped his gaze.
Concerned with his abrupt change in demeanor, Rana reached out to touch his carotid artery. “Are you all right?”
Power rolled through the infirmary a split second before a warning growl did. Rana dropped her hand, suppressing a shiver as she recognized the distinctive signature of the magical energy weighing down the air.
He was here.
She turned to see Hector, the jackals’ second in command, filling the doorway. The large jackal growled again. “Remain away from your post for much longer and I can guarantee you will be in desperate need of a healer.”
The words were soft, almost negligent, but only a fool would ignore the threat woven in them. The young guard was no fool. “My apologies, Captain. I’ll return straightaway.” He beat a hasty retreat, Hector’s glower boring into him.
The shifter captain stepped into the exam room, turning the full weight of his silvery-green gaze to Rana. She stopped, stared, her duties forgotten.
Hector was stunning—in looks, in effect. Six feet three inches of solid, sleek muscle, olive skin highlighting his Greek-Egyptian heritage and gray-green eyes beneath thick brows and dark brown hair that seemed perpetually wind tossed. She knew that he was roughly two thousand years old, and his power was potent, heady.
Awareness tingled along her nerve endings, awareness of him. Every time she saw him, her breath caught in her throat, her blood heated and her palms grew damp. A month into her stay at the jackal compound and she was still struck mute by his nearness. He made her feel like a girl in the first blush of womanhood, not a priestess over three hundred years old.
Most of the Sons of Anubis were politely distant in a could-rip-your-throat-out sort of way. They all seemed fiercely protective and focused on their duties, something that she, a Daughter of Isis, could appreciate.
Hector, however, was...more. Large and lethal, he radiated danger and intensity even when standing still. The infirmary—six large beds and two cages flanked by new state-of-the-art equipment—seemed too small to contain the full force of his energy. She only had to look at him to know that he was fiercely committed to everything he did and accepted nothing less than a successful outcome.
He wore a simple white T-shirt and dark cargo pants, but on him they were a king’s raiment. The white cotton emphasized his broad shoulders, defined arms, taut abs.
Isis
,
have mercy.
She’d been introduced to the captain after Tia, granddaughter of Isis high priestess Aya and great-granddaughter of jackal clan founder Sekhanu, had wed the current clan leader, Markus. While the other male jackals had shown keen interest in Rana and the other Daughters of Isis who had attended the ceremony, Hector had been coldly reserved, almost to the point of hostility.
Hector’s distrust and dislike of Rana and the other Daughters of Isis was palpable. It didn’t matter that she had worked tirelessly both magically and surgically to save three of his fellow clan mates after an attack by the undead. It didn’t matter that she and her fellow priestesses had nothing to do with the murders that had started the war between their peoples. Hector tolerated the presence of the priestesses because he had to. Rana had the feeling that if Hector had his way, the Daughters of Isis would never set foot on jackal lands again.
Rana, of course, couldn’t stay away. She’d known from the moment she’d entered the jackal compound that she was meant to be there. Discovering that the shifters’ healer had died trying to save other members from a deadly curse a few months ago and they didn’t have another confirmed it. She’d been the first to volunteer to be part of the visiting delegation, and had every intention of making it permanent. She even had Aya’s blessing, the high priestess saying it was the will of Isis. Here, Rana could right the wrongs inflicted by Amansuanan. Somehow, she would make reparations for the horrors her grandmother had caused with her twisted jealousy. She’d been behind the attack on the Daughters of Isis and the Sons of Anubis—her jealousy over then—high priestess Asharet and her mate, Sekhanu, had festered into a killing rage. She’d managed to kill both leaders and several followers and somehow blame the jackals for the crime. Four thousand long years of enmity, of hiding and avoidance and a few outright conflicts that had left whole swaths of the Two Lands uninhabitable.
Shame, hurt and anger burned through Rana. Her mother had betrayed Tia to Amansuanan, enabling her to be kidnapped. Amansuanan had thought she’d be able to depose Aya and take over the coven, but she hadn’t counted on the bonds Tia had forged with Markus and the jackals. She hadn’t counted on Aya being as formidable as she was. Rana had thrown herself onto Aya’s mercy. She’d had no idea that Cassandra had planned to betray the coven. She hadn’t known that Amansuanan was alive. Now she wanted to make amends, to prove her loyalty and restore the honor of her bloodline.
If the jackals, and Hector in particular, would let her, that was. Remembering how the young jackal had fled as if his tail was on fire, Rana regained her composure, keeping her hands occupied with putting her supplies away. “Was that necessary?”
Hector sauntered further into the room, hands behind his back, observing her every move. Rana instinctively tracked him, trying to dismiss the sensation of being stalked. “He’s a cub. Hardly a challenge for you.”
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t need my patients to challenge me.” She moved to a cabinet to restock the bandages, telling herself that she wasn’t retreating from him. Not really. “May I ask to what I owe the honor of this visit? Our weekly update meeting isn’t until tomorrow.”
The meetings shouldn’t have been with him at all. She was supposed to have these meetings with Tia. Part of Tia’s duties as Anput, the female embodiment of Anubis, was to see to the physical welfare of the jackals. Rana had worked with Tia to completely redesign the infirmary, and the weekly meetings were to give the Anput a status check on the general health of the clan.
For some unknown reason, Hector had taken over the meetings as of last week. She hadn’t questioned it—clan business wasn’t her business, after all—but sitting down with Tia was a lot easier than sitting down with Hector.
“You’ve noticed by now that we have few women. While many females have two mates, that still leaves numerous men without a partner. Many of them have never known a woman’s touch.”
“Seriously?”
His hard gaze roamed over her. “The younger ones are still settling into their nature, their discipline. You and your fellow priestesses have upset that discipline.”
She forced herself to continue putting away her supplies. “If your men have a discipline problem, it’s not because of anything that I have done.”
“Truly?” His eyes narrowed. “How many warriors have come to you with injuries?”
A surprising number, enough that made her wonder if “practice” for jackals meant fight to the death. “More than I would have thought.”
“Too many,” he agreed, his tone sharpening. “Willing to risk permanent damage just to know your touch. Therefore, you are not to treat any jackal for anything less than bone protruding from flesh. Even then, if a jackal enters the infirmary under his own power, he is not injured enough to require your services.”
The brusqueness of his tone stiffened her back. “You can’t ask me to do that!”
He bared his teeth. “I’m not asking.”
Rana dropped the roll of gauze, her hands settling on her hips. “And you most certainly can’t order me to do that, either. I refuse!”
He blinked in surprise, as if no one had ever dared defy him. Rana probably wouldn’t have, either, over anything but her calling. When it came to healing, she answered only to the gods themselves, and she’d question them if they wanted her to do harm.
His gaze narrowed. “Watch your tone, witch!”
“Is that supposed to be an insult, jackal?” Acting before thinking, Rana crossed to him, stopping when they were nose to nose. “Yes, I’m a witch—a damn good one, if I say so myself. And I’m also a doctor. I went to med school, did emergency-room rotations and spent some time in Africa with Doctors Without Borders. I have stared down warlords and children with rifles, so all your growling and chest beating have zero effect on me.”
She jabbed her forefinger into his chest with every sentence she spat. “You don’t decide whom I treat. You don’t decide how severe an injury is. You don’t decide anything about the infirmary at all. Your commander, Markus, put me in charge of this infirmary, and as long as I’m here, I will treat anyone who comes to me for assistance, whether that is a pup with a scraped knee or a guard with a gaping wound. This is my charge and my duty, and I won’t let anyone keep me from doing it. Not even you!”
A tense silence fell between them. Her fingertip hurt from poking it into Hector’s rock-hard chest. Realization sank its claws into Rana’s awareness as Hector’s eyes glowed molten. She was probably the first person to challenge his authority. And most likely the last.
Oh
,
crap.
His hand covered hers on his chest. Her palm flattened out, cupping one very well developed pectoral muscle. Heat sped from her hand, up her arm to burn her cheeks and enflame her insides.
“So much fire,” he said, his voice low with wonder. “I always thought Isis witches were cold.”
That insulted her more than being called a witch. “I’m not—”
“I know.”
His hand stroked over hers, flat against his heart. She could feel the fast tempo of a jackal’s heartbeat through her fingertips, sure and strong.
Your body is amazing
.
His fingers tightened on hers. “My body’s what?”
Gods, did she say that aloud? “Uh—I mean, your physiology’s amazing. I don’t know much about jackal biology, but I’m hoping the information I’m gathering can be used to heal.”
A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. “So we’re nothing more than guinea pigs to you.”
Stung, she tried to snatch her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Of course not! But the more information I gather, the better I’ll be able to help you, all of you.”
“Why?”
She blinked, surprised at the simple question. “Why what?”
“Why are you so...passionate about helping jackals?”
“I don’t care if they’re jackals or wolves or humans or Daughters of Isis. They’re patients first. If they need my help, my healing skills, I’m going to give it to them.”
He cocked his head, his skepticism clear. “You can so easily forget that we were enemies, not even two months ago?”
Butterflies formed in her belly. “I’m only three hundred years old, so the tragedy that severed our alliance was the equivalent of a history lesson to me. No jackals have ever personally caused me harm. I hadn’t even met a jackal until your clan came to the coven to defend Tia from the Lost Ones and my—and Amansuanan. If anything, that event proved how wrong the Daughters were to blame you and fear you. It made me even more determined to help your clan.”
She stared up into those amazing silver-green eyes, trying to read him. “Do you still think of us as enemies?”
“Not all of you.” Distrust and a healthy dose of confusion pushed back some of the anger in his expression. “Not you.”
Their gazes locked. Hector’s nostrils flared. She didn’t know if she swayed forward or he did, but their cheeks brushed as each inhaled the other’s scent. Gods, he smelled good.
He felt even better.
“What is it about you?” Wonder filled his voice.
Again she tried to pull her hand away. Again he restrained her. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. I’m just standing here.”
“No. There’s something about you.” He leaned closer. “Something that makes my men careless in practice just so that they can have you tend to them. I would know why they choose to risk my wrath to come to you.”
“I don’t do anything other than ask them questions as I treat them,” she managed to say, painfully aware of the frenetic beating of her heart. “Same as I have done for the female jackals, for the children. Getting a medical history is standard practice.”
He stared down at her, skepticism silvering his gaze. “You expect me to believe that you aren’t enchanting my men in some way?”
“Enchanting? It’s not my fault that your men are unused to being around women. You should allow them to socialize more.”
“With humans who do not know what we are or what we do?” He snorted. “Or with Isis witches who have been our enemies for centuries?”
“Not anymore, remember?”
“Not all of you. Remember?”
She suppressed a wince. He had a point, a very good one. Millennia ago a priestess—her grandmother, Amansuanan—had caused the rift between the Sons of Anubis and the Daughters of Isis. All the Daughters, even high priestess Aya, had believed Amansuanan dead. Realizing only recently that she was not only alive, but also the root cause of the rift between priestesses and jackals—and creator of this new breed of undead Lost Ones—had shocked the coven. While many Daughters didn’t know or couldn’t remember Rana’s connection to Amansuanan—after all, she’d never met her grandmother—they all knew Cassandra, Rana’s mother and a priestess, had set Tia up to be captured by the Lost Ones. Cassandra had escaped with Amansuanan, leaving Rana ashamed, angry and determined to prove she had nothing to do with her relatives’ evil machinations.