Claiming the Jackal (3 page)

“Rana.” Her name on his lips had a desperate edge to it, as if it took all his will to hold back. She didn’t want him to hold back. She’d been ready for this moment all day, and she had to have it.

“Now, Hector,” she breathed. “Don’t make me wait.”

With a single, long thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt. They both froze, invader and invaded, breathless. “Gods, Rana,” Hector said, his voice strangled. “Feels good, so damn good.”

He shifted, and she was able to breathe again, air slipping from her chest on a soft moan of pleasure. She entwined her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, opening to him, taking him deeper. His hands tunneled beneath her shoulders to hold her place, aligning them perfectly head to toe.

Their mouths fused, and she could taste blood on his lip—one of them must have bit down at that first, overwhelming entry. His hips flexed as he withdrew almost completely, then slowly pushed back inside her. The experience of being filled, emptied, then refilled flooded her with pleasure, and she clung to him, desperate to find purchase as she climbed the heights of passion.

He hissed as her fingernails sank into his back. “Rana. Can’t go slow anymore. Sorry.”

“Don’t want slow. Want—” She broke off as he slammed into her, an arrow released from the bow. Sweet Mother Isis, he circled his hips with every rapid thrust, the root of his cock rubbing against her clit, kicking her higher and higher toward that perfect peak. She moved against him with driving need, feeling magic and pleasure pooling inside her, reaching, reaching...

Ecstasy claimed her in a screaming, flaming rush, her inner muscles spasming around him in an intense perfect pleasure. He pistoned into her again and again and oh, my gods, again, then threw back his head, roaring her name as he jetted deep inside her. Magic thundered through them, gathering them both up, sweeping them up and over and out into the abyss.

Chapter Three

Rana pushed back from her computer with a sigh, rubbing at her burning eyes. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting at the tiny desk tucked into a cramped corner of the infirmary between the private exam room and her lab area. Her body, however, told her it had been several hours. It was too easy to get lost in her work, and transcribing the jackal healer’s records made for work at times both fascinating and mind-numbing.

A month in, and she was still transcribing the late healer’s notes in an effort to understand the jackal’s bodily processes and find a cure for the Lost Ones’ curse. He seemed to have had a strong aversion to electronics. Everything was written in a flowing amalgam of Demotic, Greek and English that alternatively tested and fried her brain. Some of the healer’s notes were spells, some were charms and most were a bloodline history, documenting who was related to whom, for breeding purposes.

The jackals had a fascinating physiology to go along with their social structure. Higher metabolism and a faster heart rate. A sophisticated biological system capable of accelerated regeneration and impervious to nearly every human disease. Denser musculature that didn’t inhibit the ability to swim. Amazing endurance. Those assets, combined with a superior immune system, made it difficult for Rana to understand how the jackals could be fatally compromised by the Lost Ones’ curse. They were guardians. They defended the living against the undead. Their patron god and the source of their magic was the Lord of the Dead, Anubis himself. What was it about the curse that could strike down a jackal in prime fighting condition?

She didn’t know as much as she should about curses, but she needed to learn. She had a few controlled magical and mundane experiments running in a containment box holding samples of cursed and cured jackal blood, and a computer monitoring the results. The Daughters of Isis used a variety of rituals and spellwork to protect, defend and heal, but never to curse. High Priestess Aya and the Elders probably knew curses. They were all pre-Rift, born before the Great Betrayal that had broken the alliance between the priestesses and the Sons of Anubis. She hadn’t told anyone that she was a direct descendant of the jackals’ greatest enemy. She could only hope that by the time the truth did come out, it wouldn’t matter to anyone. Especially Hector.

Hector. Her stomach clenched for an entirely different reason. The mind-numbing pleasure they’d shared the night before was indescribable, and had left her shaken. She knew Hector had been just as affected, because he hadn’t said a word to her.
Awkward
didn’t begin to describe the moments after they’d come to their senses and he’d helped her back into her clothes. Then he’d shifted to jackal and escorted her back to the community house before disappearing into the darkness.

That was the last she’d seen or heard from him. She’d spent all day in anticipation, waiting for their regularly scheduled update meeting. The hour came and went, and when Rana realized she’d see neither Hector nor any patients, she’d thrown herself into her work to escape the hurt and the irritation. Now she was back to irritation.
Damned jackal.

The back of her neck prickled with awareness, with a warning of encroaching danger. Spinning her chair around, she gasped as she caught sight of Hector filling the space between her and the exit. His presence stole the air, making her light-headed. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the status report on your findings.”

She stared at him, simply because it was impossible not to. He wore the dark cargo pants and black T-shirt that all the guards had chosen as a uniform, thick-soled boots on his feet. An Anubis medallion hung on a golden chain around his neck. She remembered catching a glimpse of it against his skin last night. The amulet was the only thing that remained with them when they shifted forms, though no one knew why—or of they did, they weren’t telling her. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Why not?” His silver-green eyes flashed with impatience and something else. Not the expression she’d expected of a man who’d made her scream his name in pleasure the night before. “Today’s our regular meeting day, isn’t it?”

It was, but after the way he’d left her last night, she hadn’t expected to see him. She actually thought he’d order someone else to take over the duty, one of the female jackal guards. He looked so remote and businesslike that it almost caused her to doubt that their passionate interlude had occurred. Her body, oh, her body remembered, nipples hardening, inner muscles tightening with remembered pleasure. “Um, yeah. But I think today is now tomorrow.”

His dour expression cleared. “We had drills, then I had patrols. I’m late, but I’m here now.”

She blinked at him. Hector was giving her explanations, and that was so unlike the jackal captain that she wondered if she’d fallen asleep and was actually dreaming the conversation. “Yes, yes, you are. Give me a minute, and I’ll be ready to report.”

She tried to unfold herself from her chair, unwilling to stay seated while he loomed over her. Her back and knees protested every movement. Gods, she needed a timer or something to remind herself to stand every hour or so, but when it came to research, she shut the world out and focused on the job. It was a leftover habit from performing medical miracles in war zones years ago. Sleep would come later. So would a shower. And food.

Mmm
,
food.
Her stomach growled. Her hopes that Hector hadn’t heard it were quickly dashed. He frowned down at her. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

“Um...” Flushing with embarrassment, she glanced at her watch. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. Dear Isis, where had the day gone? “I went upstairs when breakfast was being served. I grabbed something then.”

His eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “You haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours?”

Heat scoured her cheeks. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“You lost track of time?” he asked, dumbfounded. “You’ve been in here since breakfast?”

“I get buried in my work and I forget,” she said defensively. “I eat something eventually.”

He growled, then grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet. “Come on.”

She tried to pull away, but Hector was a force of nature that she couldn’t resist him without calling her magic. “Stop! Where are you taking me?”

“To get something to eat.” He pulled her out of the infirmary and into the hall painted with scenes from the Book of the Dead, then headed for the stairs.

“But the weekly report—”

“You can make your report while you’re eating. Now, are you coming or do I have to carry you upstairs?”

What was it with him? Still, she followed him upstairs, trying to rein in her pique and failing. “Look, I just lost track of time. I’ll get something to eat later. Can’t we just get the meeting over with?”

“No. You need food. I will provide.” He turned, placing his hand at the small of her back to guide her ahead of him through the main room and down another hallway to the large kitchen on the main floor. Heat stole through her, blossoming outward from where his fingers rested so lightly. Just like that she was no longer angry. Instead, desire flooded her, a sweet yearning for the blissful surrender this man had given her. She wanted him again, wanted him with an ache that nothing else would alleviate.

She just didn’t know if Hector felt the same.

The community house boasted a dining room the size of a cafeteria and a large kitchen complete with industrial-size appliances. The jackals seemed to like taking meals together, especially the guards and the unmated males. There was always someone in the kitchen for the scheduled mealtimes, with plenty of leftovers or other fixings for stragglers or late-night eaters. Rana hadn’t gotten to the point where she felt comfortable raiding the kitchen, but she did like taking meals with everyone. When she remembered to eat.

Hector guided her into the kitchen, then surprised her by wrapping his hands around her waist and lifting her onto a bar stool in front of the oak-and-granite island. He paused as if surprised by his own actions, then turned to the fridge. “Dinner was beef stroganoff,” he told her, his voice muffled by the massive stainless steel doors. “I’m assuming you don’t want that at two in the morning.”

Her stomach rumbled. “I’d better not, not if I want to get a decent amount of sleep. Maybe a sandwich and some fruit?”

“Sandwiches it is.” He turned from the fridge, his arms loaded with foodstuffs. After arranging everything on the counter, he poured two glasses of milk, adding ice to hers.

“How did you know?” she asked. At his questioning glance, she raised her glass. “Ice in my milk. And yesterday—knowing how I walk the lake. How did you know?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job to be observant. Someone could get killed if I’m not paying attention.”

Swallowing the cool liquid, Rana focused on hiding her disappointment. Of course it was his job to be observant. It wasn’t because she was anything special. How could she be, when he acted as if last night had never happened?

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” She moved to slip off the bar stool.

He gripped her shoulders. “You will stay. You will eat. Or I will hold you down and force-feed you.”

Anger came roaring back. “I’m not one of your jackals you can order around. Don’t even think about trying to do that!”

“I can and I will,” he told her, his expression grim. “You have chosen to be the healer for the clan. That means you are now under the protection of the clan. We need you at your best, Doctor, and that means not pushing yourself unnecessarily, and getting plenty of food and rest, as you counsel so many of your patients to do. If you won’t take care of yourself, I will. As I told you yesterday, if you have needs, I will provide.”

Warmth spread through her as she watched him slice into a loaf of homemade bread. Hector didn’t have anything close to a bedside manner, but his care was evident. He cared about the clan, their survival, their success. As much as he’d initially shown distrust of the Daughters of Isis, and still did, he considered Rana and her sister priestesses to be under his protection. She had no illusions that he would protect her over a jackal, but he’d stand between her and the Lost Ones—and her own brutal work ethic, apparently.

“More milk, or water?” he asked, eyeing her empty glass.

“Oh, I hope there’s some sweet tea in there. I can get it.” She moved to slide off the stool.

“I’ll get it.” A hand to her thigh froze her in place but heated her blood. “You were doddering like an old woman a few moments ago.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll have you know I’m three hundred years young. I have millennia to go before I’m considered doddering. What about you?”

With an economy of movements he washed her glass, filled it with ice, then tea. “I was born in Greece in the first century, C.E.”

Their fingers brushed as he handed the glass of tea to her. She fought to hide her reaction. These little gestures and slight touches were just as powerful as a caress to her breasts would have been. By the gods, how could he affect her so and stand there, the epitome of nonchalance? Time to ruffle his fur.

“First century, huh?” She saluted him with her glass. “Well, you look pretty good for an old guy. And we both know your endurance is top-notch.”

His eyes widened a fraction, then a small smile swept across his lips. Her belly fluttered in response. The smile transformed his face, making the harsh lines a little softer, his eyes a little warmer. She vowed to give him reason to smile more.

Her mouth dropped open as Hector placed the largest sandwich she’d ever seen in front of her. “You expect me to eat all of that?”

“Yes.” He put an equally massive sandwich down beside her, then sat on the adjoining stool. He lifted half the grinder then waited, giving a pointed look to her plate.

She wrapped her hands around half the stack of the multigrain bread, lettuce, tomato, turkey, roast beef and cheese monstrosity, then bit down. As the flavors burst on her tongue, her stomach roared back into full-on hunger mode. “Mmm-hmm, this is so good! Thank you!”

Another smile, more defined this time. “You’re welcome, Rana. So, what is the current health of the clan?”

She took another bite, delaying her response. Seeing him, knowing that he’d come looking for her, filled her with a giddiness that belied her three hundred years. At two in the morning, he could have waited until after sunrise to get her report. Instead he’d come looking for her. That had to mean something. She just wasn’t sure what.

She reported on the clan members she’d seen in the past week, giving him general information, nothing specific or identifiable. He may have been captain of the guard, but she wouldn’t violate her patients’ privacy. “Also, I’d like to do a final checkup on the three jackals who were attacked by the Lost Ones a month ago, especially the female—Amarie, I think her name is. I want to ensure that they all have a clean bill of health, and no lasting ill effects.”

“I will speak to the Anput to arrange it.” He swallowed a large bite of his sandwich. “I’m sure it’s been said before, but let me add my thanks to you for choosing to be part of the delegation here. Your presence has been invaluable to the clan.”

The praise warmed her, all the more because she knew he didn’t praise anyone, especially an Isis witch, lightly. “Thank you. I’m glad to be of service.”

“I know you care for your patients, but today you only had one or two. What were you working on that you’d push yourself to the point of exhaustion?”

So he’d kept tabs on her even though he hadn’t been around. Was that a good or bad thing? “I’m trying to find a cure, something that can be used as an antidote, if not a vaccine. That way if someone is cursed again, we can spare Markus and Tia exerting themselves unless we really need them.”

“You would do that for us?”

“Of course,” she answered, wondering at his surprise. Did he still doubt that she was there to help the clan in any way that she could?

“If you can find a way to defeat the Lost Ones’ curse...” He turned to her. “Is there anything you need to help you?”