Shadow of the Sheikh (8 page)

S
hahin was thoroughly captivated. Gemma was an inspiring lover.

Stretching awake, he glanced over at her sprawled on the bed in sexy disarray, her pale, shapely limbs in pleasing contrast to the black satin linens, her hair a cloud of auburn strewn across the pillows, half obscuring her pretty face.

He'd been agreeably surprised by her.

Rarely did women hold his interest for more than a time or two—after all, how many ways could you join with a woman without it becoming mindless, empty physicality—in other words, boring? But Gemma had kept him aroused and coming back
for more the whole night long. She was open and mischievous, curious and seductive, and so damned trusting of him that he actually thought his passion spell had somehow not been lifted, and when she dropped off for a few minutes he'd repeated the incantation to reverse it again. But when she opened her eyes, she'd just looked up at him with that same misty, romantic look in them.

He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and tell her not to be so bloody naive. He did not trust her; she sure as hell should not trust him.

He would use her and then let her go, as he invariably did with all women. Tender feelings did not enter into his plans. Not with her. Not with any woman. How could they, after the cruel lesson he'd endured at deceitful female hands? Gemma should keep her emotions to herself and not waste them on a man who had no use for such things.

Still, she was unquestionably a breath of fresh air in his all-too-predictable bed. Women tended to fall into two categories with him: those who were terrified of his powers, and those who were greedy for the things his powers could give them. Neither appealed.

But Gemma seemed determined to forget Sheikh Shahin the immortal, and simply made love with Shahin the man. She delighted when he touched her, laughed when he whispered silly things in her
ear, shook in explosive response when he made her come. She gave as good as she got, and demurred at nothing he suggested they try.

And he had suggested many things. Things he hadn't done in ages. Things he hadn't wanted to do with any other woman.

Yes, she was as captivating as one of Isis's famed temple handmaidens. A guileless odalisque. An innocent temptress.

He just might have to keep her around for a good long while. Longer than he'd indicated to Seth. And as the captain of the guard, in charge of keeping the
per netjer
safe from treachery inside and out, possibly longer than was prudent to keep the sister of a traitor.

She stirred and gave a soft hum and a little smile, as though she were dreaming of him. His heart caught.

Followed swiftly by a slap of irritation. He didn't like that she could cause him to drop his guard for even a moment. With a sharp exhale, he slid out of bed and strode to the bath to clean up and get dressed. There were still several hours of nighttime left and he had things to do.

Leaving his tent, he went straight to the stables to check on Gemma's little mare. “See to it she is well cared for,” he told the boy, Hasim, whom he'd tasked with the job. “And be sure she does not get
loose. Horses have an unerring sense of direction, and she would run straight home.”

“Causing unwanted panic over madam,” Hasim filled in, nodding. Smart boy.

Hasim was a mortal, one of an endless series of orphan boys whom Shahin had taken in over the years and employed as servants in the camp. As they grew to manhood, some became spies for him in the outside world, some given a pot of money and urged into a suitable profession helpful to the
per netjer
. A few chose to become immortal and join Shahin's Guardians of Khepesh. All were fanatically loyal to him personally. And amply rewarded for that loyalty.

“Exactly,” Shahin said, ruffled his hair, then reached out to stroke the horse's muzzle. Having a real animal in camp was rare, other than those they used as food. “Ride her if you wish, come daylight. She'd like the exercise, I'm sure.”

Hasim's eyes lit up. “Yes, sir!”

Shahin took his leave, striding out into the night, gathering his cloak around him. With a swift twist of his feet and a soft chant of magical words, his body spun in on itself and became the powerful black hawk of legend. His arms morphed into mighty wings that spread wide on the wind and carried him up into the vast, star-spangled sky.

He circled the oasis once, twice, his sharp avian
eyes scanning the camp to see that all was as it should be.

The guards were posted. A few fires crackled in stony pits, several of his men and a handful of the camp women gathered around each bright blaze, conversing and laughing as they swapped stories and made plans for the next evening's sortie.

All was well.

Yet Shahin's animal instincts took over and he felt suddenly tense. On edge. Something uneasy hovered in the air—a gathering of energy, a premonition, a brush of magic.

But there was nothing wrong that he could see. He shook off the feeling and with a piercing call down to his men, he flew off into the night toward Khepesh.

When he reached the hidden entrance at the very top of the remotest part of the
gebel
, he spoke the unlocking spell in his mind and the entrance yawned open for him. He flew down the stairs and through the midnight-dark tunnels to the Great Western Gate, where he winged to a halt, wheeled in a circle and shifted back to his human form, landing on his feet at the base of the magnificent silver double portal to the palace.

After speaking briefly with the portal guards, telling them to be on extra alert, he went to find Seth-Aziz.

He found him in his private quarters, reading. Unusual…

“My lord,” Shahin said, sweeping a bow as he studied his leader's reclining form, “I trust you are well?”

Seth waved him off and set aside the book. “Just a bit tired.” He rose and went over to a silver samovar on a sideboard. “Tea?”

“Thanks.” Shahin watched him pour the thick black concentrate from a small, ornate kettle over sugar cubes in two tall glasses, then fill them with hot water from the samovar. The strong fragrant aroma tickled his nose as he accepted it and took a grateful sip. He and Gemma had managed to squeeze in a quick meal amidst their bedplay, but they'd not bothered with after-dinner coffee. They'd been too distracted by lust.

“I see by your expression you have something to report,” Seth said, settling comfortably onto a silk divan, glass saucer on his knee.

Shahin paced to a copper brazier that blazed in one corner of the room and stared into the flames. “Haru-Re continues to post his guards along our frontier. Our spies are convinced he is readying himself for action against us.”

“Not unexpected,” Seth remarked, sipping. “Last week he warned us if we didn't agree to share Nephtys with Petru, it would mean war.”

“And yet we do nothing,” Shahin said, turning in frustration. “I do not have a good feeling about this. We must answer his moves with our own!”

“What would you have me do?” Seth asked calmly. “We do not have the numbers to defeat him in battle. We know it. He knows it. I must resort to other means to quell his threats.”

Shahin blew a breath through his nose. “You speak of Lord Kilpatrick.” Seth's plan to use his former master steward as a kind of Trojan horse—something he'd inexplicably neglected to tell the man in question—had been a huge bone of contention between them since Kilpatrick and his lover defected to Petru last week. “I cannot believe you would leave the fate of Khepesh in the hands of—”

“No,” Seth interrupted. “I am hopeful Rhys will help our cause from inside Haru-Re's stronghold, but I do not depend on him.”

“What, then?”

Seth smiled. “Superior strategy.”

Shahin hiked a brow, polishing off his tea and setting the glass aside.

Seth shrugged. “Sounds better than fervent prayer and a lot of luck,” he said philosophically.

This attitude did not bode well. “You cannot give up, my lord. We all depend upon your strength and wisdom to get us through this crisis.”

“I have no intention of giving up. But—” he sighed “—I am…tired.”

Shahin straightened, suddenly understanding. “You need blood.”

“I'll admit I'm starting to feel the delay of the ceremony.” He regarded Shahin somberly. “You must fetch the sisters today so I can feed at once.”

“Sister,” he corrected, nodding with purpose. This was good. “I already have Gemma Haliday at my camp.”

It was Seth's turn to raise his brows. “Indeed? Were you so hungry for the taste of her you couldn't wait?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Shahin felt his lips curve. “She was the hungry one. She sought me out yesterday, riding into the western desert on her own to search for our oasis.”

Seth's grin turned lopsided. “I'm surprised you are here.”

“Surprised, why?” asked Nephtys as she breezed into the room and sized them up with a single glance. “Ah, a woman, I gather. Who is it this week, my lord sheikh?”

“Miss Haliday,” Seth answered for him, sounding amused as well as mildly impressed. “Gemma, that is. She went to the oasis all on her own.”

Nephtys gazed at Shahin consideringly. “Interesting. Did she come for you, or her missing sister?”

“Both,” he answered. “But she will stay for me.”

“No ego there,” Nephtys said, and poured herself a glass of tea. “I assume there is a spell involved?”

“Not at the moment.”

“That
is
impressive.
Mabruk
, Shahin. Perhaps you have finally found a woman who will put up with your foul temper and moody disposition.” She winked to soften her words, and added a dollop of milk to her tea.

“Amusing as always,” he said drily. Nephtys was the one woman in the world he trusted enough to let tease him with impunity. “But it will do her no good to ‘put up with me.' I am not interested in keeping her.”

“One day,” Nephtys said sagely, “you will have to set aside your need to punish all women for the evil deeds of one, Sheikh Shahin.”

“Not until my enemy has paid that debt with his life,” he returned emphatically. He did not like being reminded of the reason for his defensive posture toward females.

She stirred her tea and regarded him. “You are all about fate and following one's path, are you not, Shahin? Have you not considered that maybe this is the woman meant to join you on that path? Your soul mate?”

He also did not like having his spiritual beliefs
used against him. Though the priestess knew very well he did not believe in forever mates. “No,” he said. “I have not.”

But then he suddenly wondered if Nephtys had received a vision about him. Not that he would ever ask. He did accept her gift as real, but like a soon-to-be father who refused to speculate about the gender of his coming offspring, Shahin did not want to know what the future held. It was already written, decided long before his birth, and there was nothing he could do but follow his convictions and accept what befell him with honor. Knowing? It only complicated matters. Just look at the hoop Seth was jumping through to fulfill the prophecy of a wise and beloved consort.

But far from condemning Shahin's stance on women, Nephtys, he knew, understood. Perhaps better than most. Had not her own cruel betrayal caused her to eschew men—and love—for all these long millennia? Thank Osiris the fulfillment of his own need for revenge would also discharge hers. He'd hate to think by killing Haru-Re he would be hurting her.

Though the gods knew it wouldn't stop him.

In an unexpected move, she came over to him and placed a warm kiss on his cheek accompanied by a heartfelt sigh. “I truly envy your conviction,
Lord Shahin, and hope the universe grants you the path you imagine.”

But something in her voice made him doubt she believed it would be what he expected.
Did
she know something he didn't? His heart stilled, and he thought suddenly of the woman waiting in his bed for him to return.
Was
she somehow tangled up in his destiny?

No. He refused to believe it. Gemma was just a passing dalliance, that was all. A temporary delight. A reward from Set-Sutekh for all his hard work.

He smiled at Nephtys and lifted her knuckles to his lips. “You are most gracious, my lady. I hope the same for you.”

“Hey, what about me?” Seth cut in, pretending to appear piqued but failing miserably. Nephtys always brought out the softer side of her autocratic brother.

Shahin glanced at her, but she had already turned away. She went to Seth and settled next to him on the divan. Her smile faltered as she studied her brother's face. “
Hadu
, you look exhausted. Is it the lack of blood?” When he nodded, she said, “You must accept a sacrifice immediately.”

He nodded again. “I've already instructed Shahin to fetch Josslyn Haliday to Khepesh today.”

“That could take hours. Perhaps days. Let me
send one of my
shemats
to you right away to tide you over.”

Seth needed mortal blood, taken from a willing female, to fulfill his obligation to the goddess Sekhmet and renew his strength. But in a pinch, an immortal woman's blood would do to stave off the hunger until an appropriate sacrificial vessel could be found.

He frowned. “God, no. The last thing I need to deal with right now is a vamp-struck temple maiden.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Shahin smiled. The last time Seth had taken blood from one of the
shemsu
, she'd gotten all starry-eyed, mooning after him for weeks until the euphoria wore off, totally besotted. It took a strong woman to resist a vampire's sexual powers.

“But we need you strong, my brother. You must not succumb to the blood weakness now, of all times,” Nephtys argued.

“I'll be fine for a day or two. I wish to wait for my consort. The hungrier I am, the tighter the binding with her. That is my decision.”