Shadow of the Sheikh (4 page)

Through battle, treachery and magic, nearly all the vampire demigods who once flourished in Egypt have been destroyed. Today, only two still live to lead their
shemsu
—Seth-Aziz and Haru-Re.

 

It was déjà-vu.

The same bunch of black-clad warriors bore down on Gemma as the day before, but today, they looked twice as terrifying. Especially without Joss and her shotgun at her side. Gemma tamed her fear and pulled up, feeling mouse-small as the disdainful camels thundered up and completely surrounded her little mare. Again no escape.

Her heart nearly stalled in her chest, but she reminded herself that this was why she'd come.
She
had sought
them
out.

Him
, a provoking little voice singsonged in her head.

Okay, fine. Completely irrational, she'd wanted to see
him
again. The man in her dreams. The man who had single-handedly compelled this fool's errand.

She scanned the circle of men, seeking their leader. And found him, his black eyes studying her with a sinister air of deliberation.

Her pulse spiked painfully. She swallowed down her rising apprehension, and said, “Thank God I found you!” ignoring the fact that
they
had in fact found
her
. “I'm afraid my guide deserted me. I was hoping to…to—”

To what? The sight of the object of her lust sitting up there on his camel, a man so powerful, so obviously unfettered by the bounds of civilization, even more gorgeous and arrogant than she remembered, sucked out every one of her brain cells. The real reason for her journey became tangled with heated memories of her erotic dreams.
Lord.
What
was
she hoping for, here? “Um…”

His black brows rose.

“—to ask you a few questions about my sister,” she managed to recover her wits enough to say.

He continued to watch her, the expression on his handsome face hard, emotionless. Silent.

“Since you, um, delivered that note from her,” she went on gamely, “you must know where she is. How she's doing…” Again her words trailed off. Did he even understand her? Yesterday he'd spoken English. Well, one sentence, anyway. “My sister,” she said in Arabic.

“I know what you meant,” he said, again in flawless English. He glanced at her mare. Then moved his camel forward. Before she knew what was happening, he swept her off her horse and onto his own mount, like she weighed nothing.

“Hey!” she squeaked, alarm rushing through her.

“What do you think you're—”

“You will come with me,” he said, pulling her in front of him on the saddle. One impossibly strong arm banded around her.

Just as in her dream.

Except this was all too real.

“Wait!” She struggled against his hold. It tightened.

He made a clicking sound and the camel lurched forward, accelerating into a run, followed in tight formation by the others. Her mare galloped along behind as though on a lead.

Panic surged through her. “Where are you taking
me?” she demanded, still fighting him as best she could.

“My camp.”

The rocking gait of the camel pitched her back more firmly against his chest. His other arm came around her. A spill of energy, male and potent, sizzled through her at his touch.

“Is my sister there?” she asked, seeking desperately for a reason for the hijacking.

Other than the obvious.

Just as in her dream.

“No.”

Somehow, she'd known that. She fought a tremble of terror…and a small tingle of unwilling excitement.

“This is kidnapping!” she cried, trying to pry herself from his grip.

He didn't comment. Just clicked again and the camels went faster.

“What do you want from me?” she demanded, but it came out sounding a lot more uncertain than she'd intended.

In answer, his hand splayed over her ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast. Her nipples zinged to attention. Her body sang with dismay.

He put his lips to her ear and whispered roughly, “Everything.”

Oh, God.

Somehow she'd known that, too.

She should be terrified. Hell, she
was
terrified. Had
been
terrified from the first moment she'd seen him coming for her—for there hadn't been any doubt that he'd come for her. Not to rescue her from being lost. Not to tell her where he'd gotten Gillian's note. But to take her. Capture her and bring her to his place of hiding.

To his bed.

She'd seen it written plainly in his eyes, even yesterday. Which was probably why she'd dreamed all night of his doing just that.

She was terrified, all right.

But more by her own reaction than by him, or by what was happening.

Because, to her horror, she realized she
wanted
this.

It was impetuous and reckless, and no doubt dangerous as hell.

But she wanted him, oh how she wanted him! And everything he planned to do to her…

He drew his
bisht
around her, the heavy native cloak protecting her from the wind and the dust. His scent, musky, masculine and already arousingly familiar, wrapped itself around her along with the thick cloth. By slow degrees, she relented and let her body lean back against his broad chest. She stopped
fighting his hold. But she couldn't quite tame the trembling in her limbs.

This was so unlike her. Never in a million years would she have believed herself capable of feelings like this. She was the one who
listened
to the stories and tales of adventure that others had experienced. Always the audience, never the teller or the one who lived them. Her fantasies lived strictly on paper, or in her dreams. Never in real life.

But this was one fantasy she could not deny herself. It was as though the sensual smell of him held a powerful spell that worked its magic as she breathed it in. Tempting her. Arousing her. Seducing her to his will.

On and on they rode, the smooth lope of the camel lulling her to relax more and more. She closed her eyes and lost track of time, acutely aware of the hard male body pressed into hers, the strength of his arms as he held her close, and the aching thrum of desire that pulsed between her legs.

His hand slipped beneath the cloak and sought out her shirt, finding its row of buttons.

She'd dressed in practical clothes for the trek into the desert, khaki riding pants, knee-length boots, long-sleeved khaki shirt, a Blue Devils baseball cap which she'd lost during the struggle.

She held her breath as the man's fingers
maneuvered the top button open. And the next. And a third. And then his hand slid over her breast.

Her breath sucked in. Heat streaked through her flesh.

His fingers tugged down the lacy edges of her bra. “When we reach camp I will burn this,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, momentarily stunned.

He cupped her breast. “I want you free of encumbrance and ready to my hand,” he murmured against her hair. His thumb brushed over her nipple.

“Oh!” she gasped softly, a jolt of desire arcing through her. “Ohhh,” she moaned on a quivering exhale as he gently pinched it.

And that's when she realized she was in even bigger trouble than she ever imagined. Because as his hand closed intimately around her breast and her body caught fire, she knew she had no will to resist this man. She would do anything he asked of her.

Anything at all.

 

Shahin had bespelled the woman. He had invaded her dreams. He had made her want him with a burning need matched only by his own. He had made her willing and pliable to his touch. To his possession.

The spell was working.

Gemma Haliday was putty in his hands.

And Shahin liked it. She was pretty. And soft. And filled his hands perfectly. He might just let the spell continue after they got to camp, instead of lifting it as he'd planned.

Kilpatrick had often said in his crusade against unwilling seduction that there was no challenge in making love to a woman who couldn't say no. Normally, Shahin agreed.

On the other hand, keeping the spell on Gemma intact would cut out a whole lot of unnecessary drama. He was short on time, and long on need. With Haru-Re on the warpath, Shahin had been so busy guarding the borders and running his spies that he'd hardly had a chance to sit down for decent meal, let alone find a woman to share his bed for a night or two.

Gemma would be a very welcome addition to camp life. For a while.

He had no intention of keeping her, of course. Not for the long-term. Even if he could imagine spending eternity with the same woman—which he couldn't—there was no place for a female in his world. He'd been down that road before—the biggest mistake of his life. It was the woman he'd once thought he loved who had sold his sister to Haru-Re, all for a promise of power and wealth. His parents had followed, and his father had died
avenging her cruel fate. His mother was still a captive at Petru. Because of a faithless woman, Shahin had no family.

No, women were deceitful, untrustworthy creatures, and there was only one thing he wanted from them.

Gemma Haliday was no exception. He would enjoy her bounty, and after he grew tired of her, Seth-Aziz would rule on the woman's future: whether she would become a
shabti
—a human servant robbed of her will—or invited as a full-fledged initiate into the
per netjer
to become an immortal follower of Set-Sutekh. It was up to her to accept the coming revelations or not. She could join them willingly or unwillingly. But she
would
join, one way or another. Her sister's treason had seen to that.

Meanwhile, Shahin would have the use of her. Her lush curves under his hands felt good, reminding him of how long it had been since he'd enjoyed the delights of a woman's body.

He had no desire to delay his pleasure with this one. But he had been out on patrol along the borderlands with a small troop of the Khepesh guard, which he commanded, when he'd felt the nearness of her here in the desert. He hadn't expected her to come so soon. Normally, it took more than one night of dreams to influence a mortal's behavior to this extent.

He'd had the troop shift and detour to pick her up. Although it was an inconvenience having to stay in human form to transport her to camp, the pleasures that awaited him tonight far made up for it.

Meanwhile, he and his men needed to finish the patrol, which included checking on a remote outpost where two of his best spies were based. They were approaching it now.

The camels slowed and he withdrew his hand. “Button your shirt,” he ordered. “And when we get there, do not speak, even if addressed.”

“When we get where?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes soft and heavy-lidded with arousal.

His need grew stronger and he barely resisted leaning over her for a kiss. But he wanted more than a quick tonguing. She would keep. And so would his need.

In answer, he tipped his chin at the rocky edge of a wadi just ahead. The dry wash, carved out by the waters of an ancient flood, provided the best cover for miles. And the only shade.

The woman knew Egypt well enough that she didn't question their destination.

“Why can't I speak?” she asked, doing up her buttons. Plainly, she didn't know
him
well enough.

“Because it is my wish.”

“What if it's my wish to talk?”

Irritation flashed through him. “You will do as I say.”

She glanced back at him again. This time her eyes were clear and cool. “And if I don't?”

“By the tail of Anubis, you will!”

He heard her puff out a breath and mutter something, but could only make out, “…
not
part of the fantasy…”

He drilled his fingers into her hair and turned her so she'd have to look into his eyes. “Did you not consider,” he asked in a low growl, “that you are part of
my
fantasy?”

She blinked. Her tongue peeked out and swept over her lower lip. Again he had to restrain himself from taking that impudent mouth and teaching it to obey.

Later.

Letting her go, he exchanged a few quick words with his men as they crested the edge of the wadi and lined up the camels along it. From a short distance away came the yip-yipping of a jackal.

He glanced down at the woman sharing his saddle and hesitated. He should throw a spell of oblivion over her so he wouldn't have to deal with her as he heard his spies' reports. But the sooner she realized what she was involved with, the sooner she would accept her future. Or not.

“You may see things here you don't understand,”
he told her as they descended into the depths of the wadi. “Do not be afraid.”

She turned and searched his face. “What kind of things?”

“These men are…a bit wild. The sight of a female may cause a stir.”

“I see.”

No, she didn't. But she would soon enough. “Stay behind my back at all times,” he ordered her sternly. “I mean it, Gemma.”

She looked startled. “You know my name,” she accused. “How?”

He pinned her with a pitying look. “Of course I know your name. Do you really think your capture was random? That I didn't know exactly who I lured to meet me in the desert?”

Stricken, she stared at him, her expression reminiscent of an enemy just before Shahin's sword severed the bastard's neck.

“What are you talking about?” she asked hoarsely. “Who
are
you?”

He touched her cheek, running his fingers down to her jaw. “You've already guessed who I am,
kalila
—sweetheart. Earlier, when you looked into my eyes as I flew above you, I felt your recognition.”

She frowned, then started to shake her head. Suddenly, her frame went rigid. “No,” she whispered. Disbelief slashed across her face.