Lord of the Desert--a full-length contemporary paranormal romance

by Nina Bruhns

  “No,” he said, standing his ground and cupping her face between his palms. He peered at her earnestly. “It would be suicide. You must go through with the ceremony.”

  “But—”

  “Just think of me, and I’ll be there with you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and gave her one last, agonized kiss.

  And then he was gone.

  The section of wall blocking the passage slid back into place with a quiet finality.

  And once again, she was all alone.

  Chapter 41

  Let me drink in the shape of my love,

  tall in the shuddering night!

  —Great Heart’s Ease, Papyrus Chester Beaty I

  The night of the ceremony had arrived, and Gillian was not too proud to admit she was terrified out of her wits.

  She was about to have her blood sucked by a vampire in front of hundreds of witnesses. True, only she and Seth would be in the inner sanctum when it happened. But the sacred obsidian altar where it would take place lay directly in line with the portal to the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool, which in turn was wide-open to the huge hypostyle Festival Hall, and both courtyards would be filled to capacity with every one of the immortals of Khepesh.

  This was it.

  No way out.

  She groaned. Talk about insane! A few short days ago she would never have believed that any of this existed, let alone that she would be up to her eyeballs in otherworldly political intrigue!

  Nephtys glanced at her, frowned, then poured a goblet of wine and handed it to her. “Drink this. It will calm your nerves.”

  “Can’t you put some kind of spell on me?” Gillian pleaded. “Make me unconscious so I can wake up afterward and not remember a thing?”

  The priestess’s brow rose. “Oh, you’ll want to remember. Being bitten by a vampire is an amazing experience. Better than any sex you’ve ever had.”

  A dull pain pressed against Gillian’s chest. “Not if I don’t love him.”

  “Trust me—” Nephtys turned abruptly to peer at herself in the mirror, adjusting the high silver collar clasped around her neck. “Love has nothing to do with it.”

  Gillian tipped her goblet and drank down the wine. Every last drop. Her head spun a little as the alcohol hit her bloodstream. She held out the silver cup for more. Maybe vampire fangs were like certain other male appendages, and if she drank enough wine her blood-alcohol would get Seth too drunk to perform.

  She giggled at the thought. Gemma would have a field day with that one.

  Thinking about Gemma, Gillian wondered wistfully how her sisters were doing. They must have received her note by now, if Sheikh Shahin had delivered it as Seth had ordered. Had they been surprised to hear from her? Were they worried about her?

  How would they react if they knew the truth about where she was and what she was about to go through? What if they had been here now?

  Despite herself, she smiled. Gemma would no doubt be taking notes like mad, fascinated by everything and everyone. Josslyn would probably be raising holy hell, giving Seth what for about abusing innocent women, storming into the sanctuary in the nick of time to save Gillian from being drained. Probably ending up as the sacrifice herself because it would be the only way Seth could get Joss to shut up.

  Gillian laughed softly. God, she missed them so much!

  She realized Nephtys was staring at her with puzzled amusement.

  “My sisters,” Gillian explained wryly. “I was just thinking about them.”

  “Ah. I understand,” the other woman said, gesturing for her to come over to the mirror so she could check her outfit one final time. “I’m that way with Seth. Our youthful antics can pop into my head at the most inappropriate times.”

  Antics? Seth?

  “It’ll be nice to have a sister,” Nephtys went on, gazing kindly at her reflection. “To make new memories with.”

  Gillian realized with a start that the priestess meant her. “Um, yeah,” she quickly agreed. Then turned away to put down her goblet. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine them in a powwow on the floor, painting their toenails and laughing together over a bad date.

  Nephtys smoothed her fingers along the elaborately embroidered stole Gillian wore over her tight, black strapless gown, touching the pattern of tiny stars that spangled the shoulders of the wrap. “I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “But you are a lucky woman. The envy of every other female in Khepesh. Open yourself to the pleasures of your sacrifice, Gillian. You might find you enjoy it more than you think.”

  “I’ll try,” Gillian said, though she knew she wouldn’t. She had no defense against the power and magic the vampire demigod had over her body, but she would not betray Rhys in her mind.

  She gazed at her own reflection in the mirror, and was glad she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were heavily made-up, dark and sultry with kohl and black liner in the style of the ancients. Her lips were painted blood red, her complexion pale as snow against them. Her hair had been piled in a froth of curls on her head...presumably to keep it off her neck.

  Oh, God.

  She reached for the goblet again, then pulled back her hand. Lord. One more sip of wine and she’d probably keel over.

  Not necessarily a bad thing.

  But just delaying the inevitable.

  Because no matter how much she rebelled against the idea, this was really happening.

  To her.

  Tonight.

  Oh, God.

  Where was Rhys when she needed him?

  Chapter 42

  As at the welcome feast, Gillian was accompanied by Nephtys and the two shemats as she was walked with slow, measured steps to the middle of the hypostyle Festival Hall.

  There she was greeted by the immortals of Khepesh with raucous cheers and showers of scarlet flower petals shaped like droplets of blood. The men were bare-chested, wearing only black Bedouin trousers, with chilling black masks painted around their eyes. The women all wore sleeveless, pleated gowns of silver that turned nearly transparent when the torchlight hit them just right, and elaborate jewelry of the finest gems. Like hers, their eyes were also made-up with black liner and kohl, each woman more beautiful than Cleopatra herself.

  Gillian wasn’t the only one who’d had a bit too much to drink. The mood for the ceremony was pure bacchanalia, men and women crushed together in an ebb and flow of naked limbs and breathless anticipation. The air was thickly fragrant and electric with immortal power. It sparked over her skin like sensual fur, seeking out the most secret places of her body and bringing them to life. It was impossible not to feel the excitement and eroticism of the night stroking her flesh.

  Music, strange and melodic, drifted through the room, and as one, the crowd began to move back and forth in a rhythmic dance. The sensual power increased.

  She gasped as it washed over her, raising goose flesh along her arms in a tingle of yearning desire, pooling between her thighs.

  The wake of the crowd pulled her along toward the Courtyard of the Sacred Pool like a magnetic force. She didn’t resist. She found herself succumbing to the will of the mob, her mind gradually accepting what was happening. As she relaxed, her body came to life with breathless sensitivity and shivers of carnality the likes of which she’d never before felt.

  A narrow, curved bridge had been erected over the pool, with a small platform at the center. The exotic night lilies were in full bloom, a sweet-smelling forest of fanciful pink discs below. The crowd urged her forward, excitement nipping at everyone’s heels. When she reached the platform, on cue the throng hushed.

  This was where she was to repeat the sacred incantations she’d memorized in the library.

  As she did so, the crowd began to chant along, an eerie, dissonant harmony, their words and notes meshing in an extraordinary way with hers. Her mind spun, falling dizzily into unity with the collective. The sounds seeped into her consciousness, got tangled up in her ears and her mind, drawing her in deeper, somehow infusing h
er with their seductive meaning even though she didn’t understand the language that was spoken.

  Go to him

  he who is bright with ten thousand

  pleasures!

  His fragrance of desire spreads like a

  floodtide

  drowning your eyes, and your head whirls

  as he drinks his fill...

  Was she being hypnotized by the crowd? Or bespelled...?

  She lost all measure of time as they sang on and on, a beautiful, lyrical prayer to their god that he accept her blood sacrifice and shower his blessings upon his faithful servants. All the while her body hummed with a vivid, erotic vibration that aroused her senses to the point of madness and made her ache to be part of the roiling mass of bodies below, touching and tasting the drug of their immortality.

  Or rather, one man’s immortality.

  The song called to her, and her body answered with a cry for Rhys.

  It was him she wanted.

  She wanted to be a part of him, touching and tasting the drowning sensations of the man she loved.

  She looked down at the people, searching for him, knowing in her desperate heart she wouldn’t see him. But how she wished he would miraculously appear!

  When you really need me, whisper my name. I’ll be there to keep you safe.

  But that wasn’t possible. He was far away by now.

  And she’d have to face this on her own.

  Nephtys beckoned, and the shemats led Gillian over the bridge and down to the threshold of the inner sanctum, the holy of holies. The cave-dark chamber was alive with the glitter of two thousand tiny votive candles. The sweet spice of incense and ambergris and a thousand flowers wafted from the six side altars.

  Her breath caught in her lungs.

  An impossibly tall figure stood before the obsidian sarcophagus in the center, muscular and powerful, towering over everything around him. He looked like a huge statue of the god come to life. The brilliance of his raiment nearly blinded the eye. Diamonds covered his silver collar and black kilt, sparkling more brightly than the stars in the heavens he worshipped. The high, distinctive crown of Upper Egypt shone like mother-of-pearl on his head, making him appear even more ominous.

  He wore a half mask of silver, with lapis lazuli forming the elaborate eyes and hiding his features, but there was only one man it could be—the vampire High Priest Seth-Aziz. And he was truly magnificent.

  She felt a deep shiver of unwilling and terrifying attraction low in her belly as he lifted his hand toward her.

  “Come, my chosen one. Join the god and feed his hunger,” his voice boomed, echoing through the courtyards of the temple like thunder.

  The crowd urged her on.

  She didn’t want to go.

  Her knees trembled, her blood felt as insubstantial as faerie wings in her veins. She felt dizzy with fear.

  Whisper my name. I’ll be there.

  “Rhys,” she whispered, needing him desperately.

  She felt a whir of magic within her heart at the sound of his name on her lips. Giving her the courage she needed.

  The stern eyes behind the mask pinioned her with their authority, willing her to obey and come to him. To release herself to his dominion.

  It was impossible to resist his command. Of their own volition, her feet stepped over the threshold into the narrow chamber, and she went to stand before him. She closed her eyes and took his hand, swallowing heavily when his fingers closed around hers.

  “My love,” he said, the words low and filled with emotion. Her eyes shot open in shock.

  She looked up at his face. And that’s when she realized that the eyes looking back at her, shadowed by the mask, were not black, but the color of amber.

  Rhys!

  She opened her mouth to exclaim, but he bent to cover her lips with his, capturing her cry of joy and swallowing it as his own breath.

  “Shhh,” he admonished into her mouth. “You must not give me away.”

  “But how—”

  “The secret passage.”

  Her heart soared and quailed at the same time. “What about Seth?”

  “Drugged. With a sleep herb from my garden.”

  He broke the kiss and straightened, leaving her breathless for more. She reached for him, and he took her in his embrace.

  The crowd cheered its approval. The vampire had claimed his sacrificial vessel!

  “Is it really you? This isn’t some trick of magic?” she asked, terrified she was being deceived.

  “It’s really me, my darling.”

  Her body trembled to his touch, recognizing her lover by the tender way he held her, and by the subtle, earthy scent of al Fahl on his skin.

  He raised a hand over her head, performing a thundering incantation over her and the immortals beyond.

  “We must be gone before he awakes,” he murmured as the crowd chanted a response. “An hour at most to complete the ceremony.”

  But the spell was real, and his power wove through the onlookers, spilling through her body like a fire-fall. She swayed and quickened with an intense surge of physical desire.

  She caught sight of the huge altar behind him, gleaming black and ready for her sacrifice. “But you’re not a vampire...” she murmured breathlessly. Wishing for a split second he were.

  He showed her a vial of blood secreted in his palm. “I’ve seen the ritual a hundred times and can do it in my sleep. The crowd will pay more attention to each other than to us, reveling in the pleasures of the magic.”

  In illustration, he threw out his hands and chanted a few words. Instantly, the air was charged with a thick current of carnal awareness.

  “Oh!”

  A shock of erotic sensation coursed through her body. He caught her hands as she reached out to steady herself. His touch sent her mind spinning, her body suddenly a mass of need.

  For him.

  She wanted to cry out his name, but stopped herself. “My lord!” she said on a moan instead. “Please!”

  He continued to chant, and the throng of celebrants joined in with fevered enthusiasm as he unfastened the row of buttons down the front of the stole that covered her neck and shoulders. The hum of power around her leaped to a crescendo. It was blissful agony. She didn’t think she could wait patiently while he finished taking off her wrap. She wanted to rip it off and grab him. Make him take her. His fingers brushed her naked skin, thrumming her arousal like sexual harp strings.

  “Hurry,” she urged. “Please hurry!”

  He smiled, the architect of her body’s capture, the sorcerer who’d enchanted her heart. She wanted his hands and his mouth on her. And his awesome power within her.

  He slid the stole from her shoulders, baring her chest to his gaze and her throat to his bloody kiss. Her breasts rose and fell with her panting breath, the bodice of her gown far too tight against her aching nipples. She wanted him to tear it off her and take them in his mouth.

  The crowd’s chanting rose, urging the vampire to put his fangs to her neck and take his sacrifice. Excitement flushed through her, as his strong fingers grasped her arms, pulling her closer. His power was intoxicating, overwhelming; it flowed through her like potent liquor, robbing her of reason, making her flesh scream with need.

  She knew she was bespelled. She didn’t care. It felt too good.

  “Do you give yourself to me?” he boomed so the restless, rowdy crowd could hear. “Do you wish to feed the god with your body and nurture him with your devotion?”

  “Yes!” she answered, and with a shiver of surrender, she gave herself over to him.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her to the altar, where he laid her down. The black stone was slick and cool as ice against her bare back, and Rhys was hot, so hot, against her front as he mounted the altar and knelt over her.

  He slid his hand behind her neck and lifted her upper body to press into his broad chest. His fingers brushed across the side of her throat, seeking the pulse. He bent over her and opened
his mouth, licking a path along the throbbing vein he’d found. She burned with the contact, his tongue like a flame to her flesh. A flame of arousal.

  His mouth opened wider and the edges of his teeth grazed her painfully sensitive skin. Erotic shivers cascaded through her breasts and down to the core of her need.

  His eyes sought hers.

  “Yes,” she answered his unspoken question, needing him with every molecule in her body. “Do it.”

  His mouth closed around the flesh of her throat and he sucked. She felt a jolt of pleasure between her legs, like he was sucking her there. She moaned, tilting her head to give him better access. She felt boneless, helpless, at his complete mercy. His tongue flicked and she gasped, feeling the sensation on the nub throbbing painfully between her thighs.

  His hand closed around her breast, his thumb rubbing her beaded nipple through the thin silk of her gown. He bent down to suck her there and she bowed up in intense pleasure, crying out. The first tingle of orgasm shimmered through her body.

  “Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please don’t stop!”

  He tugged down the top of her bodice, grasping her taut nipples with relentless fingers, and returned his mouth to her throat. The quiver of climax blossomed, impossible to stop. She writhed under him. Reaching...reaching.

  His teeth clamped around her frantically leaping pulse and he bit down, sucking hard as he squeezed her nipples.

  She screamed.

  Orgasm seized her in its clutches and tore through her, throwing her entire being into a savage whirl wind of quivering, shaking, bone-melting pleasure.

  And that’s when she felt two sharp pricks biting deep into the flesh of her throat.

  Fangs?

  Her universe exploded into a gush of blood and another searing, mind-bending orgasm. But she had just enough presence of mind to think, oh, my God!

  Had Seth awakened?

  Chapter 43