"That's what every innocent thinks. Manara, don't be naïve. It can happen."
"Not to me," she maintained firmly. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern. She knew he was worried she would come to harm. Knowing he worried about her warmed her, but she didn't have time for emotions. She had to make him understand. "It would not be allowed. I was spared the brutality inflicted on my... people. I know I am protected."
He sighed, and held up his hands in surrender. "All right. But there's something else you need to think about."
She watched him warily. "What is that?"
"You can't hide from this thing between us forever."
No she couldn't. However, she could try. She feigned innocence. "I do not know what you mean."
He made an exasperated sound. "I want you, Manara, and no matter what you say, I know you want me, too. How long do you think you can deny this?"
She bit her lip. "It must not happen. It will not happen."
"It almost happened last week, Manara."
She nodded but said nothing. She could not give him the power of knowing he was the only man against whom she had no protection. Only her own strength of will shielded her from him and it was fraying dangerously under his gentle insistence and passionate kisses.
"Please," she hated herself for the plea she heard in her voice, "Please respect my need to remain pure. I must be able the trust you."
He sighed, drawing her gently into a loose embrace. His forehead touched hers, and her eyes closed beneath the hypnotic, erotic feel of his hands on her hips. "It may kill me, Manara, but I am trying."
She offered him a soft smile of gratitude as she pulled away. "Thank you. Now, come. There is much for you to see."
She moved away before the moment could turn any more intimate. She was already in trouble. Even more than wanting him, she feared she could actually come to care about Matthew Raleigh. It would be too easy to step from a Healer's concern to a lover's fear for his life.
She was halfway there, Manara acknowledged uneasily, she chewed the inside of her cheek, dread fluttering in her belly as she measured his progress behind her by the muffled thump of the cane and the slight huff of his labored breath. The latter was worrisome. He should be getting better. Even as injured as he was when she got to him, he'd had months to heal and no pre-existing medical condition she knew of. Yet, for all her remedies and all the prayers and incantations she said over her medicines, his wounds would not heal properly.
Matthew's physical weakness troubled her enough she sought guidance from the Goddess. So far, however, Ishtar remained silent on the matter. No visions, no dreams, and Her guiding voice inside Manara's heart and head was strangely quiet. That could only mean Matthew's inability to heal was the direct result of the evil stalking him from within. The knowledge was terrifying. He suffered a darkness she was painfully ill-equipped to combat.
"Manara..."
She slowed, matching her pace to his at the curious, concerned tone of his voice. "Yes?"
He nodded toward the hospice. "With all of those sick people, wouldn't it be better to stay in one place?"
She resisted the urge to bite her lip, aware he would see her own conflict over the issue in the motion. After all, he was right. Ideally, the hospice would be a stationary part of a temple. Only this was not an ideal world, and until she reclaimed the temple at Nineveh, they had no home and no building for the hospital.
"They would be in far more danger if we stayed in one place."
He didn't look convinced. "Why?"
"Sodalitas Arachaena."
He froze, and the tension on his pale face concerned her. He reacted as if he knew exactly what she was talking about, even as he demanded, "What?"
"The Brotherhood of Spiders," she translated the words patiently. "That is what they call themselves today, though all ancient texts refer to them as Sodalitas Arachaena. Does this have meaning to you?"
As the seconds dragged by, Manara's heart beat heavily within her chest. Did the soul within him recognize his own ancient enemy? She watched him carefully, dreading his answer but unable to read his face. Finally, Matthew shook his head, though the continued furrow of his brow did nothing to allay Manara's fears.
"No. Who are they?"
This would be difficult to explain to a man who denied the spiritual, but she knew she had to try. If she didn't, they were all doomed.
"The Brotherhood of Spiders is an evil society who takes the names of spiders. They are followers of a wicked sorcerer unnamed in any text I have ever studied. He is only referred to as 'the demon from Hierakonpolis.' It is said venomous spiders were the creation of his foul magic."
Matthew made a sound she supposed he meant to be disbelief, but came out strangled. Her eyes narrowed. He knew more about this than he was willing to admit to; she could feel it deep in her soul. He cocked her a skeptical look. "Followers of a sorcerer, huh? This isn't Dungeons and Dragons, Manara."
Her brow furrowed in confusion at his reference. "Dragons?"
A wry grin tugged up his lips. "Yeah. Forget it. What do these people do that's so dangerous?"
"They prey upon people and animals, drinking their blood and stealing their souls in order to sustain their lives and magic. Some among them are said to be centuries old and still appear hale and whole. It is written that, over the millennia, they have made pacts with more terrible powers for their strength, and... Matthew, are you unwell?"
Fear plunged through her at the stark pallor of his face and the sweat sheening his skin. He looked shaky and terrified. She stepped forward immediately.
He drew a sharp breath, and his glazed eyes cleared as he blinked at her. Immediately, his color returned. "I'm fine."
He didn't sound fine. His voice was still hoarse and shaky, but he kept his own counsel and she refused to pry. She cleared her throat and continued, "They are even rumored to be the cause of the destruction of the island known today as Atlantis."
The uneasy, but dubious, expression on his face troubled her. What did he know, and why wouldn't he tell her?
"So, why are they a threat to your hospital, then?"
Manara closed her eyes and prayed fervently for the courage to explain the age-old struggle between the Children of Ishtar and the Brotherhood of Spiders without revealing all that she truly was. To do so, she would seal her fate with Matthew and he would become her enemy as well.
Inanna, grant me deliverance from this burden.
Once again, however, her prayer fell on deaf ears. Finally, she heaved a sigh and capitulated. "They are hunting me. As long as I am here, these people are in mortal danger."
He blinked, his expression stunned. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, before he managed a hoarse, "Why?"
She could think of a hundred reasons why, each one more complicated than the last. They would solve nothing. The simplest explanations, Percy once taught her, were the easiest. She didn't have to lie if she just omitted and allowed her audience to draw their own conclusions.
"I possess the key to a place, and a power, they very much want to control." She knew he would assume she kept a physical key hidden somewhere. She wasn't about to tell him the physical key was lost millennia ago, and she was the only remaining key. Only her bloodline could open the temple without Sargon's sigil.
Matthew's silent regard stayed on her for a long moment and she feared he was already withdrawing. She relaxed as he asked, "What do you plan to do?"
She shrugged. She couldn't answer that question, though she knew exactly the course she would take. She would not allow anyone -- especially not this man -- to sway her from her duty. Resolute, she began walking again. "Stop them."
Matthew followed her. She could feel his suspicious gaze on her. "How?"
She didn't answer at first, searching instead for an answer he wouldn't immediately reject. "I must get to the temple first."
"Temple? Where?"
This, she could and would answer. She stopped at the edge
of the camp and gestured. "There."
She watched his eyes widen as he followed her pointing finger and heard the muttered oath that flew from his lips. She was quite aware those patrol units moving in the distance meant danger for both of them.
"Whose army am I looking at?" His voice was quiet, intense.
"We are currently camped less than one day's journey from the border of Iraq." At his startled expression, she added, "On the Syrian side."
He spun to face her, challenging. "You can't mean to cross that border!"
"I most certainly do." She didn't have a choice, and she wasn't afraid of those men and their guns. She knew greater dangers awaited her at Nineveh.
"How?" Matthew demanded. "Unless you have an army stashed somewhere that I don't know about..."
"Look there," she instructed, pointing toward the camp's perimeter where a group of women in "chocolate-chips" -- desert warfare BDUs -- patrolled the camp, M-16s and Uzis slung from their shoulders, their chests crossed with bandoliers.
"And there." She pointed toward the hospice where more women stood guard. "They are my army -- my Telal'a Inanna. Each one has been trained from birth to fight and die in protection of these people."
His face was a mask of horrified disbelief. She cringed inwardly. "I don't care if they're trained SEALs, Manara. A camp full of women and children crossing a border are easy targets. Those guys," he flung an arm toward the border, "will slaughter you all on sight."
She nodded gravely. She knew even better than he did how dangerous the Iraqi army could be to a nomadic people like hers. "They would indeed, if we attempted to cross in broad daylight and all at once. I intend no such stupidity."
His jaw tightened. "How many and when?"
She shook her head. "That, I will not tell you. I am the only one who knows. I intend to keep it so."
His expression told her he believed she'd taken leave of her senses. "And what's on the other side of that border that's worth risking your life for?"
Her eyes met his, unflinching, as she came up against this next desperate truth. She had hoped to avoid this moment, but she knew deep inside she could not escape it. "Home."
The color drained from his face and distrust brewed in his eyes. "You're Iraqi?"
She laughed bitterly. "Iraqi? No. My people distinguish no such border. This is Mesopotamia and it belongs to us, not dictators and fanatical politicians. Now, shall we go find your men so you may assure yourself they are alive and well before I answer the rest of your questions?"
Turning on her heel, she headed back for the hospice pavilion, leaving a bemused and troubled Matthew no choice but to follow.
The abrupt change in Manara when he asked if she was Iraqi startled Matt. Her sudden reluctance to talk at all, now, grated on his nerves. How could a woman who smelled so good and fit him so perfectly be so cold? She was a walking contradiction. Usually, Matt avoided women -- or anyone for that matter -- who kept secrets. He hated mysteries and riddles. His rule of thumb was simple. Anyone with something to hide meant him harm and was best avoided.
So why did Manara get under his skin so easily? She was beautiful, sure -- breathtakingly, drop-dead gorgeous. However, he walked away from models and beauty queens without even a backward glance. She was sweet and gentle, yeah; but Sharla was all that and more and he still abandoned her when he realized how much she really cared. He couldn't love anyone. Not like that.
Manara was something more than all of those things. She was intoxicating. Captivating. She drew him in a way he almost resented. Manara had radiance unlike any woman he ever encountered, and her wellspring of pure light burned him like a moth in a flame. For the first time in his life, he wanted nothing more than to solve the mystery behind this woman's eyes. Matt sighed heavily as he limped along behind her, leaning on the cane. He hoped he wasn't setting himself up to get what was left of his heart broken.
He wasn't about to dwell on the idea. Instead, he hobbled faster, ignoring the sharp pain in his abdomen and leg that reminded him again how he nearly died from his wounds. His mind shot back to the little girl in the hospice, and the troubling dreams that left him with more burning questions than answers. Maybe he could get an answer to one of those questions now.
"So what does Mukarramma mean?"
She stiffened, casting him a sharp look. "Where did you hear that?"
He couldn't tell her he first heard it in his dreams, or how he spoke that very name in what felt like another lifetime. He didn't believe in reincarnation, or any other hocus-pocus. He didn't even want to contemplate the memories that crowded his head when she talked about the Brotherhood of Spiders. He pushed the thoughts aside and cleared his throat before answering her question. "Shahdi, at the hospice. She called you Mukarramma."
Manara relaxed then, shrugging as if the word meant nothing to her. He happened to know it was quite the opposite. "It is a title. Something I was given because of my Gifts."
This was dangerous territory. The memory of Rachel flashed through his mind. He didn't want to believe Manara owed her healing skills to some terrible blood pact. She spoke so vehemently against it a few moments ago. He didn't want to know, but Matt knew he had to ask. If his men were still alive, he had a responsibility to them to know as much as he could about the woman who literally held their lives in her hands.
"Your, ah, gifts... what are they? Where do they come from?"
She glanced at him again, her dark eyes unreadable, but concern mirrored in the lines of her face and the slant of her brows. "I have the Gifts of Healing and Prophecy. They have always been mine for as far back as I can remember. Why do you ask?"
He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to explain. To his surprise, the words refused to come out. They froze on his tongue and he knew he couldn't tell her why he couldn't believe in her gifts. He couldn't harm this innocent by implying she bought her abilities in the blood of others. He couldn't even tell her about Rachel or how he forgot how to believe or trust in anyone. He forgot, a long time ago, how to follow. He couldn't tell her that. She saved his life. He owed her some faith and he found it wasn't so hard. He trusted her in ways that surprised even him. But hurting her? That wasn't an option, so he clamped his mouth shut on the words.
Manara watched the tortured cascade of emotions flood Matthew's face and the pain bubbling to the surface of his eyes, and knew this man suffered torments more horrible than death, ravages more costly than the most debilitating disease. Somewhere, in some other time, someone stole a piece of his soul. The eyes she looked into now were cold and hard, reflecting only empty horror and pain. Pain even her Gift of Healing could not soothe away. Matthew Raleigh walked a dark path only he knew. Only he could find his way back. She could not help him, but she could understand. Sadness wound through her as she recalled her friend, Hope MacKenzie, and realized this man shared her friend's world-wariness. Like Hope, Matthew Raleigh chose to confront the demons of others rather than face his own.
Empathy surged through her; she had to comfort him, even knowing it could not solve the problem. She reached out slowly, as she might to a wounded animal. He flinched, but didn't pull away as her fingertips skimmed his cheek. She considered that a good sign -- he was trying to trust her. She stroked his cheek in a soothing gesture and crooned beneath her breath.
"It is all right, Matthew," she whispered, her own voice thick with emotion. "You do not have to tell me now. When you are ready to speak, I will be there to listen."
His gaze met hers and she drew in a sharp breath as those eyes sucked her into the depths of his soul. The coldness abruptly fled, replaced by fiery heat, and her body trembled from the inside.
He groaned, his hands cupping her face as he lowered his head. She saw the kiss coming as if in slow motion, and still she was powerless to stop it.
The tenderness and hunger of his lips against hers flashed fire through her body to settle in places only Matthew ever dared touch. She wanted to melt into him, to feel his body against hers. However, t
hey were outside in broad daylight where anyone could see. She was not about to foster false hopes and rumors among her people.
She eased away gently, softening her rejection with an apologetic smile. Matthew immediately backed off. He drew a deep breath and muttered, "Sorry."
"Come." Her smile broadened as she laced her fingers with his and began walking again, careful to keep her pace even with his much slower gait. "Your men are as anxious to assure themselves you still live as you have been to see them."
As his hand wrapped securely around hers, Manara buried the sting of pained tears behind a shaky smile. Matthew Raleigh must learn the value of peace before he would ever be content with his own destiny. She only prayed she could teach him to trust her before the dark secrets in his soul severed her from him forever.
Chapter Ten
"Matt! Damn, it's good to see you, man!"
Matt's throat tightened at the exuberant greeting from the normally reserved Trevor Watkins, as the lanky black man hopped up from his pallet to grasp Matt's shoulder in welcome. His amber gaze took in Matt's cane and he frowned, but offered no other comment. Matt forced a smile to his lips, wondering why he ever doubted Watkins was one of the survivors. The former Delta Force operative gave an all-encompassing meaning to the term "too tough to kill." Trevor Watkins was a hardened veteran of more than a dozen armed conflicts and insertions. They first met under the worst conditions two people could endure -- they shared the same cage through months of hell in Somalia. Now, Matt breathed a sigh of relief to see Trevor came through this one reasonably unscathed.
"It's good to see you, too." Matt returned Trevor's broad grin. Then, as he turned to the tall, dark-haired man who sat, cross-legged and silent on the next pallet, tears stung Matt's eyes.
"Pete." The name rasped in his throat. Ever since he awakened in Manara's care, he battled one fear more than any other. The fear he'd learn Peter Talladay hadn't made it. From the moment he heard that terrible explosion, he feared he finally lost his best friend to the Bean Si Peter escaped once. Pete's belief that the spirits of his homeland would one day claim him was a reality Matt did his best to ignore. Pete was the brother he never had. He couldn't bear to lose more family.
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