Lord of the Desert Read online

  “This must all be strange and overwhelming to her,” Rhys said. “Give her a chance to get used to things. To you.”

  “There won’t be much opportunity for that before the ceremony,” Seth observed with a frown.

  “You needn’t join your flesh with hers—” Rhys swallowed “—immediately afterward.”

  “It’s tradition.”

  “But not a requirement for the ritual. What you really need is the nourishment of her blood. The sex is just for added pleasure.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “If you like this woman, you should take extra care.” Nearly choking on the words, Rhys added, “You’ll have all eternity to enjoy the pleasures of her body.”

  “Very true.” Seth clasped his shoulder. “Your counsel is wise, Englishman. It’s unlike me to restrain myself, but I’ll give it some serious thought.”

  “Good,” Rhys said. “Meanwhile, I’ll look out for her. Make sure she learns the things appropriate to the high priest’s consort.”

  And try desperately to figure out just how in hell he’d go about changing Seth’s mind about her. Because when it came to Gillian, Rhys wasn’t certain he’d be able to restrain himself.

  But if one or the other didn’t happen, immortal or not, he had a nasty feeling his days on earth were numbered.

  “You mustn’t be afraid. No one here is going to harm you.”

  Gillian met the concerned eyes of the priestess Nephtys. Lithe and petite, with a cloud of angelic copper-colored hair and a penetrating gaze, the woman was a curious mix of youthful sensuality and womanly wisdom. Her shadowed eyes held a patina of emotions that Gillian couldn’t pin down. But she seemed sincere in this, at least.

  “Okay,” Gillian said, but sounded unconvinced even to herself.

  Nephtys smiled. “It’s a start. Come, let me show you where you’ll be staying for now.”

  The rooms and halls they walked through had Gillian’s jaw dropping in amazement. Burning torch-sconces lit their way, illuminating soaring columns, elaborately carved reliefs, gorgeous painted murals on the stone walls depicting scenes of the gods and secular life aboveground, luxurious tapestries and a collection of glass and precious metal objects and statuary that any museum would envy. The palace seemed to be endless. Josslyn would die and go to heaven for a glimpse of just one of these rooms.

  She shoved aside thoughts of her sister. She didn’t want to break down and cry. Would she ever see Joss and Gemma again?

  They came to a set of silver double doors, smaller than Khepesh’s monumental Western Gate but no less magnificent, which were opened by a pair of young women. They smiled genially and inclined their heads respectfully to Gillian and Nephtys as they passed through.

  They entered a large, rectangular room with columns lining the walls. “This is the hypostyle hall,” Nephtys said, “where people come to feast and celebrate. And this,” she said as they went through the next room, “is the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool of Set-Sutekh.” The room was made of forest-green marble, including a large, square raised basin, filled with sparkling water, and water lilies, their huge round-rimmed pads bearing bright pink flowers.

  “Night-blooming Victoria amazonica,” Nephtys explained at Gillian’s astonished look at the unusual plants. “Rhys received the first one as a gift from Howard Carter.”

  She shot her a startled glance. “The Howard Carter who discovered King Tut’s tomb?”

  Nephtys waved a hand. “Well. On a tip from Rhys. Carter was getting too close to the eastern tomb entrance to Khepesh, so he was…offered a distraction, shall we say?”

  “Sort of like I was,” Gillian muttered, skipping over the whole issue of the famous archaeologist’s death in 1939. All right, so she’d seen ample evidence that what Rhys had told her was all true, but she still found the notion of immortality hard to swallow.

  “Not exactly,” Nephtys said wryly. “Carter wasn’t half as clever as you, and would never have found the entry mechanism. But he had to be dealt with in any case. Anyone coming too close is a potential danger.”

  “I can imagine,” Gillian said, taking in her ex quisite surroundings. “If this place were ever discovered, you’d have some major explaining to do.”

  “It won’t be,” Nephtys returned with an indulgent lift of her lips. “Ever.” There was a wealth of information conveyed in her slight emphasis of the last word.

  A shiver worked up Gillian’s spine. The priestess was really subtly saying that she would never be found.

  As though reading her mind, Nephtys said, “You’ll like it here, Gillian. I promise you. I also was a captive once, and I grew to love my captor with all my heart. You will, too. You’ll see.”

  So there it was, official now. She was a captive. The thought should have been more upsetting than it was. But she was strangely calm.

  Because of Rhys.

  What would Nephtys say if Gillian told her she was already halfway there? That despite missing her family dreadfully, the thought of spending the next thousand years with Rhys Kilpatrick made this whole situation far less terrifying? That deep down, she was even a little excited about it? Was that crazy?

  “My brother may appear intimidating, but he’s a good man with a wonderful heart,” Nephtys assured her.

  “You’re Rhys’s sister?” Gillian asked in surprise.

  The other woman blinked. “Goodness, no. I meant Seth, of course.”

  “Oh. But—”

  Just then they stepped through the portal to the inner sanctum, and instantly everything else fell from her mind. The sanctuary was breathtaking. Torch-lined walls were clad in glittering silver, the floor made of obsidian so black her feet seemed to be treading upon the empty void of outer space. But it was the arched ceiling that truly made her breath catch. The whole curved expanse was fashioned of dark blue lapis lazuli the exact color of the night sky, spangled with what could only be diamonds, sparkling and winking in the same constellations as the trillion stars over the real desert above.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Nephtys said proudly.

  “Beautiful doesn’t come close,” Gillian said in awe.

  “I’m glad you like it. This is where your ceremony will take place.”

  The spell shattered, and her attention snapped to the series of gorgeous pedestaled altars Nephtys indicated. There were six of them, lined up on each side of an intricately carved obsidian sarcophagus that also served as a large central altar, overflowing with fragrant offerings of flowers and fruit and goblets of wine. As far as venues went, it was splendid. But Gillian had no intention of becoming a sacrificial virgin.

  “Look, um, I understand this ritual is important to your, um, per netjer, but I really don’t think I’m interested in being part of it.”

  Nephtys tilted her head and studied her. “Didn’t Lord Kilpatrick explain everything to you?”

  “Just that it involves blood, and that I must be willing.”

  “I see,” the priestess mused. “Well, I suppose that’s true…in a way.”

  Gillian was starting to get a bad feeling. “What are you saying?”

  Nephtys walked to the sarcophagus and ran her fingers along the smooth top. “It is a great honor to be chosen by the god. Any one of the shemsu of Set-Sutekh would take your place in a heartbeat. Taking mortal blood is required once a year, but immortals can be used in a pinch to tide him over. So there is really no need for an unwilling participant.”

  “Okay. Good.” She felt a “but” coming.

  “But my brother has his heart set on you.”

  “Oh.” She also felt a buzz of warning.

  “And he generally gets what he wants.”

  Gillian didn’t miss the implication. Nor did she doubt it. The man was intimidating as hell. But surely this wasn't what it sounded like… She swallowed. “I guess I could learn more about the ritual,” she hedged. “Find out what’s involved. Then decide.”

  Again she got that indulgent little smile. “It’s not complica
ted. I can tell you right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s called the Ritual of Transformation, because during the ceremony the high priest is transformed into the living embodiment of the god Set-Sutekh. But it should probably be called the Ritual of Transfusion. You see, once a year Seth must partake of fresh human blood from a female, to replenish his own. Naturally, the whole ceremony is filled with pomp and circumstance, but the actual act is quite simple. You lie upon the altar and he drinks from your neck.”

  Her neck?

  Gillian froze where she stood, her eyes bugging out. “My G-god,” she stammered. “Seth-Aziz… He really is a v-vampire?”

  Nephtys seemed shocked. “Sweet Isis. I thought you knew.”

  “Naturally I’ve heard the stories, but I didn’t actually believe… I never imagined… Jesus, would I become a vampire, too, after that?”

  “Mercifully, no. That’s just a myth,” Nephtys said, and Gillian sagged with relief. “But you do gain a good measure of power. Certain skills…and pleasures. Your participation is amply rewarded.”

  Gillian glanced around again, her mind in a chaotic whirl. “But all this silver everywhere. Isn’t silver lethal to vampires?”

  Nephtys smiled. “Not here in Egypt. Nor silver bullets, wooden stakes, crosses or garlic. None of that has any effect on Seth. Only the rays of the sun.”

  “But he does drink blood.”

  “Just once a year. And only a small quantity. It’s not about hunger. It is a requirement for his continued immortality. A bargain made long ago with his goddess Sekhmet. Over the year she steals the strength of his blood, so he must replenish it or weaken and perish.”

  Thus the annual sacrifice. The word sacrifice triggered what Seth had said to Rhys as she’d entered Khepesh. She’ll make a succulent sacrifice…and a worthy consort.

  Again, alarm tingled up the back of her neck. Oh. My. God. She’d almost forgotten about that among the plethora of other panic-inducing stuff. Surely, he didn’t plan to make her his—

  “—honestly, it’s not the least bit scary. Hollywood likes to overdramatize things so. And that Transylvanian upstart—” Nephtys rolled her eyes “—he really ruined it for—”

  “Wait!” Gillian choked out. “Is there more?” she interrupted with growing dismay. “To the ritual? After the blood-drinking part?”

  Nephtys regarded her for a long moment. “Yes,” she said at length. “Sometimes there is.”

  “What happens?” she demanded.

  “If the god wills it, the sacrificial vessel is bestowed a great honor,” Nephtys said, her eyes redolent with secret knowledge.

  Gillian swallowed heavily. “And what is that?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Tell me.”

  “The most holy act of all. The god takes her body to his,” the priestess said softly. “And joins his flesh with hers as one.”

  Chapter 12

  Oh, throw the temple gates of her wide,

  his mistress readies for sacrifice!

  —Nakht Sobek, scribe in the City of the Dead

  At Khepesh, palace intrigues were, on the whole, a thing of the past. Seth strove to maintain harmony and worked hard to see that everyone was happy and content in their lives as the immortals of Set-Sutekh. Which was why palace guards were found solely at the outside gates and aboveground, all under the command of Sheikh Shahin Aswadi.

  In other words, there were no inconvenient guards to hinder Rhys’s progress into the temple compound that night. And he would have been very surprised if Nephtys had posted a sentinel at Gillian’s door. After all, where could she go?

  Obviously, Nephtys did not know Gillian at all.

  And Gillian didn’t know Khepesh. Being under ground with no difference between night and day, people would be about at all hours. Including the men guarding the palace exits.

  Which was why Rhys had decided to post himself in the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool, just outside the entrance to the haram of the temple priestess and shemats, where Gillian had been given rooms. He had little doubt she’d appear before the night was through.

  He’d extinguished all but one of the ever-burning sconces, and stretched out on the wide-rimmed lip of the sacred basin, hands stacked under his head, hoping the pineapple-and-spice scent of the water lilies and tinkling sound of the cascading water would soothe his frayed nerves and soothe his rattled composure.

  He desperately needed to speak with Gillian. To explain. To beg her to—what? There was precious little either of them could do at this point to change what was happening.

  Hell, he really just wanted to see her.

  He’d nearly fallen into an uneasy slumber when, sure enough, she slipped out through the haram door, candle in hand.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked with voice low, annoyance joining his unaccustomed jumble of emotions. Sometimes he really hated being right.

  She gasped, whirling to face him so quickly her candle flew from her hand, its flame out in an instant, leaving them in near darkness. “Rhys?”

  He rose lithely to his feet. “Did Nephtys not tell you the consequences of trying to escape?”

  “Yes!” she hissed angrily. “She said I’d be robbed of my personality and will, left to live as a zombie forever. Something you failed to mention.”

  “I’m sorry, Gillian.” He approached and grasped her nearly bare shoulders. She was still wearing the delicate gown he’d given her that morning. A good sign. “I had no choice but to bring you here. You set that in motion yourself. And believe me, you would have liked the alternative even less.”

  She shook him off. “You lied to me!”

  “No, I didn’t lie. But admittedly, I did leave out some details.”

  “No shit.” She spun on a toe and stalked toward the courtyard portal that glowed like a beacon in the darkness. “I am so outta here.”

  He caught her arm. “You’d rather be a zombie, as you call it, than—”

  “Than become a sex slave and blood donor to a freaking vampire for all eternity? Ya think? Rhys, he plans to rape me at this so-called ceremony!” She wrenched free again and continued striding toward the temple exit.

  “He’s not going to rape you, Gillian. If that part happens at all, the woman must be willing.”

  “Tell that to Nephtys. She seems to think it’s already decided!”

  He took a second to gather his powers. He’d been in such personal turmoil he’d been acting like a mortal. He quickly sent out a spell blocking the portal with an invisible force field.

  She ran into it, narrowed her eyes at the solid air and pounded at it with a furious fist. “Damn it! Let me go, Rhys.”

  “Hell, no. You are going to listen to me.”

  She banded her arms across her chest, but didn’t turn. Her gossamer dress fluttered in the wave of his impatience. “Why would I listen to a goddamn word you say? Nothing you say has been true.” Her voice hitched.

  “You’re wrong,” he said, grasping her shoulders again. “I meant every word I said.”

  “Liar!”

  He pulled her stiff frame backward against his chest and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He felt her heart rhythm leap. But she didn’t struggle against him. So he let his hands smooth slowly down the sensual dips and curves of her body. His own flesh quickened and his breath came faster.

  “Bodies don’t lie,” he murmured. “Neither yours nor mine. We ache to be lovers, and I swear to you, I’ll do everything in my power to see that Seth does not take you as his consort or put more than teeth to you at the ceremony.”

  She jetted out a breath. “What chance is there that you’ll succeed? He seems…determined. And what about what Nephtys said? About that vision she had? She claims I’ll be happy as his consort in the future.” She turned in his arms. “But I really don’t see that happening, unless I’ve been completely robbed of my will, so there you go. Zombieland, here I come.”

  Despite the contradiction, he felt compelled to defend his friend. “I pro
mise, he hasn’t taken a woman yet who didn’t want him. He’s a vampire, darling, not a monster.”

  Her shoulders notched down a bit. “Truthfully, he doesn’t seem like such a bad guy. I just can’t see myself ever falling in love with him.”

  Immeasurable relief flooded through Rhys. When had it become so important to him that she return his overwhelming desire in equal measure? Though he hadn’t admitted it to himself until this moment, he’d been terrified that under the circumstances she might shift her affections to Seth.

  “You just met the man,” he forced himself to say. “How can you know your feelings with such certainty? Most women find Seth impossible to resist.”

  She let out a long sigh. Then laid her cheek against his chest and whispered, “I know…because I’m already falling for someone else.”

  Gillian’s heart pounded painfully, waiting for Rhys to react to her unexpected declaration. At length his arms tightened around her and he murmured, “We are both in such deep trouble.”

  The understatement of the millennium, if her take on the situation was anywhere near accurate.

  “What do we do?” she asked, finally letting her self sink into his embrace. He hadn’t exactly returned her sentiment, but at least he’d included himself in his equation of doom. Did that mean he felt something for her, as well? Beyond his obvious lust? Her head was spinning with everything that had been thrown at her over the past twenty-four hours. She was so far out of her field of experience she was in a whole other universe. Literally. “How can we hope to change Seth’s mind if he believes Nephtys’s vision of the future is correct?”

  “Nephtys has rarely been known to be wrong,” Rhys said. “But it does happen. The future is not set in stone. Its course can shift an infinite number of ways, taking everyone by surprise. She knows that. So does Seth. I’ll just have to convince them this is one of those times.”

  “Do you think it’ll work?” she murmured.

  “It has to.”

  His lips swept over hers and a wisp of need spun through her center. “Oh, Rhys, what will we do if he won’t let me go?”