Lord of the Desert Page 8

  Rhys cringed, glad the immortals of Khepesh were not here to hear the unflattering epithets. He feared Gillian would pay dearly for such insults.

  He tried a different tack. “Gillian, you’re not really planning to hike through the desert all the way to Naqada by yourself, and dressed like that, are you?”

  That stopped her. She looked down at the gorgeous but insubstantial, flowing dress he’d given her, and her bare feet.

  She turned, her mouth pressed in a thin line. “Where are my own clothes?”

  “As I recall, littering the floor of my study.”

  Her flush deepened. He couldn’t help but feel a burst of smugness. At his expression, her chin went up and she started marching toward the hall, presumably to go and change. This time he didn’t stop himself. He closed the distance between them in two strides.

  “Stop!” he ordered when she struggled against his hold. “Shh.” He waited until her resistance ceased, then murmured, “You took off your clothes for me, Gillian. You let me taste your body. You trusted me enough to do that, and much more.”

  “That was…before,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” He forced her chin up, so she had no choice but to look at him. “Didn’t know what, Gillian?”

  Dismay clouded her green eyes. And something more… Attraction.

  He dipped under her hem and slowly ran his hand up her thigh and over her bare hip, caressed the smooth curve of her bottom. She’d stayed naked for him under the dress.

  “I could take you right now. You’d let me. We both know it.”

  She didn’t deny his claim. How could she? With an unhappy groan, she wrapped her fingers around his upper arms and tried to push him away. To hide her body’s reaction to his words, to his touch. Too late. He felt the alabaster hardness of her nipples, the sultry heat of her skin. And smelled the perfume of her desire.

  “Trust me,” he whispered. “Trust me to bring you to a wondrous palace where Set-Sutekh’s immortals live in sensual splendor forever. Come to Khepesh with me. See it for yourself. Then decide if you will join us or not.”

  Her voice hitched. “These things are impossible, Rhys. What you say is impossible.”

  He searched her disbelieving eyes. “Is it? Let me prove it to you. All of it. You have nothing to lose, and eternity to gain.”

  “And what of this blood sacrifice you talked about?” she asked. “It’s crazy, and I don’t want any part of it.”

  At the mention of the ceremony, he tamped down a renewed surge of jealousy. It was the last thing he wanted, too. The thought of Seth drinking her blood, touching her body was unbearable. But they would both get through it. “It’s just a small amount of blood. Nothing dangerous. And do you remember the pleasure I gave you earlier?”

  She swallowed. Averted her gaze and nodded.

  “The pleasure of the ritual is a thousand times greater.” Which was true. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be Rhys bestowing it. He wanted to howl with frustration, but he knew his duty. First and foremost it was to Seth-Aziz, his friend, his leader.

  “Come with me,” he murmured seductively. He had to get her to Khepesh. Afterward he would find a way to change Seth’s mind.

  She nibbled her lip. Tempted. But skeptical. “This is totally insane. None of what you say is physically possible.”

  “But what if it is?” he murmured, and waited. “What if I am truly offering you a chance for immortality? Would you pass it up so easily?”

  He could see she was wavering. From sheer curiosity, if nothing else. “If…if I consent to trust you,” she asked, “to let you show me these things you speak of, if I still want to leave, will you then let me go?”

  “You won’t want to,” he assured her, certain of the lure of the powers she would be granted. As well as the temptation of himself… That last was possibly a cruel deception, but at this point there was no way around it. The solace was that he would be as upset as she if they were ultimately denied each other.

  But he had already told her the truth of the matter. She belonged to Khepesh now, willing or no. After discovering the tomb entrance, and especially after Haru-Re’s threat and witnessing Shahin’s shift to hawk, Seth would never let her go. Not alive. Nothing in Rhys’s power could change that.

  “I promise to help you discover what became of your mother,” he added. Though, all indications were that she would not like what she was bound to learn. Not if Haru-Re was involved.

  “But no blood, Rhys. I mean it.”

  “Not if I have any say in the matter,” he vowed, and meant it, though ultimately he had little say in that, either.

  “Okay,” she finally acceded, though reluctance still tugged at her. “I’ll come with you. But just for a look.”

  He smiled and kissed her, wrapping his conscience in the silken heat of her response.

  He pulled her close, pressing into her belly with the fierce erection that had again grown thick and long from want of her. A stallion’s erection. She gave a soft exhale at its bold prodding at her soft flesh.

  He groaned low. “Feel how I deny myself to win you over.”

  After a second, the tension slowly left her body and she relaxed against him, easing out a sigh. “How can I be so terrified of you, Rhys Kilpatrick, and so damned attracted to you at the same time?”

  He smiled into her hair, breathing in the scent of her. “Maybe you like your lovers dark and dangerous.”

  “I never have before,” she confessed, making him wonder how many men she’d had. Not many, he’d wager.

  “Which might explain the absence of a man in your life.”

  He felt her wince. “For the moment.”

  “That is about to change,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her temple.

  He just prayed he would be the one to change it.

  “But first,” he said, pulling away before he gave in and did what his body was urging him to do, but which he would surely live to regret, “are you ready?”

  “For what?”

  “For me to blow your notion of reality all to hell.”

  “Sister, what troubles you?”

  Nephtys tore her gaze from the amethyst amulet she held in her fingers and forced a smile to her lips. “No troubles, hadu,” she said, turning away from the enchanted glass through which she had been gazing at the sun and sky in the desert above the underground palace. “Quite the opposite. I have had a vision.”

  A frown sketched her brother’s forehead when he saw what she held. Seth knew it had been a gift from Haru-Re. A scarab made of the finest purple amethyst with his cartouche carved on its belly, given to her the morning after he’d taken her virginity. A meager payment, but more than any of his other slaves had ever received. She’d worn it faithfully until his callous betrayal. Now she only brought it out when trouble brewed. Seth hated the sight of it.

  Thankfully, instead of scolding her, he asked, “Oh? Anything interesting in your vision?”

  She slipped the amulet into the pocket of her caftan and reached for his hands. This time her smile was genuine. “Wonderful news. I have seen her. Your future consort.”

  His eyes lit. “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Indications are she is wise, and will become a favorite of the people. She’s also quite beautiful. A blonde, you’ll be happy to hear,” she added, knowing his taste in women ran to pale and elegant.

  Seth’s attention sharpened. “A blonde, you say. Would you know this woman again?”

  “Of course. Why? Do you know of a possibility?”

  “Lord Kilpatrick has marked a new initiate. He will arrive with her soon. It’s why I came to fetch you. We should meet them at the Western Gate.”

  She nodded. “Give me a moment to prepare. I’ll join you there.”

  He started to turn away, then stopped and looked back at her, letting his gaze slip down to the pocket of her caftan. “Did you see him, too?” he asked. “In this vision?”

  She swallowed. And shook he
r head. “No,” she said. Well, she hadn’t. And there was no use worrying Seth with conjecture. “Not for a long time now.” She pulled a smile from somewhere.

  His eyes searched hers for a long moment, no doubt sensing she was keeping some inner torment from him. Too perceptive, as always. “Why do you continue to torture yourself, my little sister? It pains me to see you suffer over a man who would destroy you and all you love without a thought.”

  She struggled against the emotion, holding it back from finding cracks in her resolve. “I know,” she said. “You are my brother, my dearest and only family, and I am so grateful for all you have given me. All you have done for me. I hate him for betraying me. But I hate him more for wanting to take me from you and Khepesh.”

  “I’ll never let him. You know that.”

  “I swear I would die before I served him against you.”

  Her adopted brother smiled kindly at her and kissed her cheek. “I’ve never doubted it, habibi.” He sighed. “It should be you at my side as consort,” he said. “Not some strange woman I have yet to meet.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Marrying one’s sister may have been the way of the pharaohs, but I’ve seen you in too many preposterously compromising positions even to entertain the notion of sharing your bed.”

  He pretended to be affronted, but his grin gave him away. “I should smite you for your impertinence, woman.” He leaned over her. “At the very least a good spanking.”

  She poked his chest. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not into kinky sex.”

  He snorted.

  Her mouth dropped open, scandalized at the implication of that rude noise. “You!”

  “I could shift myself to look like my enemy while we couple,” he suggested cheekily.

  He laughed as she attacked him, fending off her fists and slaps until they both dissolved into giggles in each other’s arms. The thought of Seth shifting into the other man’s likeness was outrageous. He would rather die.

  She cleared her throat. “I appreciate the consideration, brother, but I’d rather sleep with a rabid jackal than give myself to Haru-Re again, real or not.” She extracted herself from their tangle of arms and smoothed her gown, attempting to regain her sisterly dignity. “And as for being your consort, I’d rather marry a flatulent water buffalo. No offense,” she added with a final lopsided grin.

  After a bark of laughter at her declaration, he assured her affectionately, “None taken.”

  As usual, he’d known exactly how to tease her from her blue mood. To his flock, Seth-Aziz was ever the regal, somber, autocratic high priest who’d steadfastly led them through five millennia of triumphs and disasters. But to Nephtys, he would always be the dear, fun-loving practical joker she’d grown up with.

  “Come,” he invited her. “Let us go and meet my new bride and welcome her into our family.”

  She smiled. “Try and keep me away.”

  She took his arm and followed him out of the temple and down the long hall toward the Great Western Gate. To her consternation, with every step she took, the heavy amethyst amulet in her pocket bounced against her thigh. An unwelcome reminder of the ugly conflicts that lay ahead on the horizon.

  Perhaps this new initiate, the woman destined to be Seth’s consort and mistress of Khepesh, would help them win the coming battle. For against Haru-Re, Nephtys herself was bound to lose every time.

  The sun was a fiery ball of orange that hung just above the gebel as Gillian followed Rhys out to the stables. She tried desperately not to think about what might happen now. She didn’t believe a word he’d said. Except about his attraction to her, which was obviously genuine. As was hers for him. This cult—this per netjer—thing scared her. And the talk of blood sacrifices. But it was the part about her mother that kept her from walking away. She was certain he knew more about that photo than he was telling. Had her mother gotten involved in the per netjer Rhys spoke of? If so, why wouldn’t Rhys just tell her? Why the elaborate setup? She owed it to herself and her sisters to find out the truth.

  The heat of the day was waning, cooled by the deep shade of the vertical sandstone cliffs surrounding Rhys’s estate on three sides. It was the first time she’d seen it from the outside. The place was incredibly beautiful.

  Done in traditional Moorish architecture, the house and outbuildings were works of art. Delicate arches and soaring columns were decorated with tasteful mosaic tile work and punctuated by bubbling fountains and giant ceramic pots spilling lush greenery and exotic-smelling flowers.

  Even the stables looked as though they should house royalty, rather than mere horses. Gillian wondered what could possibly be found inside that Rhys was so determined she should see. To be honest, at the moment she was far more interested in studying the man himself. Crazy or not, he was undeniably a stud.

  Before leaving the house he’d donned his outer cloak, which swirled about him like a black whirlwind as he walked. Along with his black tunic, breeches and knee-high leather boots, he also wore a long black keffiyeh headdress, shot through here and there with silver threads, held in place on his head by a thick, multistranded silver agal. He looked incredible. Like some impossibly sexy Bedouin sheikh.

  In nothing but the gossamer turquoise dress that kept falling off her shoulders and a pair of delicate silver sandals he’d given her, she feared she fit the part all too well of a helpless, captive slave girl destined for his harem.

  Which really should have worried her more than it did. But somehow she had managed to lock away her fears and give him the trust he’d asked of her. For now, at any rate. If he meant to harm her, surely he’d have done so by now. He’d had ample opportunity. But instead, he’d given her pleasures such as she’d never experienced before in her life. And promised far more.

  To her surprise, he led her straight through the cool, dark interior of the stables, which smelled of sweet hay and tangy alfalfa, past several stable hands who bowed and lowered their eyes respectfully as she passed, and out into a carefully tended grassy meadow.

  A servant appeared at the barn door holding a thin rope. Rhys waved him off. The servant bowed and disappeared again.

  Rhys took her to the center of the pasture and let go of her hand, then backed away. His amber eyes studied her, his expression giving away none of his thoughts.

  “With the sun behind you, I can see right through your dress,” he remarked. “Your body is breathtaking. You look like a golden-haired temple maiden from the days of the pharaohs.”

  Heat suffused her cheeks, but in pleasure. It should bother her that he was practically drinking in her nakedness, but it didn’t. She had abandoned her modesty hours ago with this man. She could still feel his tongue between her legs.

  “And you look like a romantic sheikh straight out of an old black-and-white movie,” she returned warmly.

  His lips curved. “I’m much taller than Rudy Valentino.”

  “And way sexier,” she murmured.

  She’d also given up pretending she didn’t want him. Dangerous con man, cult fanatic or plain nut-case, Rhys Kilpatrick was walking, talking, knee-melting sex, and she wanted more of him.

  His nostrils flared. “Darling, you are making it very difficult for me to resist ravishing you on the spot.”

  She tilted her head and arched her brows in invitation.

  He wagged his finger at her. “You are a very naughty girl.” Not that he seemed in the least bit upset about that. “But you will not distract me from my purpose. Not yet.”

  She gave a moue. Maybe if she let the dress slide all the way off…

  “Are you ready for a ride?” he asked.

  She smiled. More like it. She took a step toward him. “Oh, yes.”

  “Good.” He grasped her by the hips. “Whatever happens, hold on tight.”

  Okaaay… She melted into him with a flutter of illicit excitement, prepared to wrap her legs around his waist and be ravished. Or ravish him if he didn’t hurry up. “I will.”

&n
bsp; She felt herself being lifted, but to her surprise, instead of lifting her dress and impaling her on his mouth-wateringly huge erection, he swung her around to his back and joined her hands at the base of his throat, then slipped his own hands around her thighs.

  “Hang on!” he called and twirled once like a dervish, his robes wrapping about them both like a whirling black cocoon, and chanting some strange—

  What the—

  All at once his body began to grow bigger, and harder, and bigger still, and then bucked and bent over double so she was sitting astride his back, but… high up in the air.

  She cried out and grabbed fistfuls of his hair to keep from toppling off. It was long and coarse in her fingers, not his hair at all, but…a horse’s mane! And suddenly she realized she was sitting astride not a man but a huge, coal-black stallion.

  Oh, sweet Jesus. Just as Shahin had changed into a hawk, Rhys’s body had shifted into that of a horse.

  It raised its head and trumpeted a deafening equine call, lifting up onto its hind legs, forelegs pumping in the air. She bent low over its neck and hung on for dear life, shaking with shock and terror.

  Her mind rebelled.

  It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible.

  It wasn’t possible!

  But the evidence between her knees was impossible to ignore, impossible to deny.

  Rhys had shifted himself from man to beast!

  And that was when it hit her.

  My God! Al Fahl. The black stallion up on the gebel!

  The one who’d watched her so intently even then, sending chills of awareness through her body.

  Al Fahl. The ghost stallion was Rhys!

  Chapter 10

  Oh, might I welcome you

  as the king’s own steed is welcome,

  thoroughbred, best in the stables!

  How well the heart of a girl can feel it

  (charge on and on, my lovely stallion!)

  when her love’s not far away.