by Sara King
“You’ll have to bed me,” she realized, in a spasm of horror.
The djinni tightened his grip, pulling her back against his hot chest, wrapping the warmth of his arms around her. “We’ll get there, mon Dhi’b.” He smoothed her play-tousled hair. “Someday.”
Imelda was sitting up before she’d even opened her eyes. All night, she had dreamed of angels battling, of cities falling, of roads cracking and returning to the earth, of the slow, wasting death of Man. She had not only watched, but her decisions, her every thought, had been key, shifting the image this way or that. Each action, each whisper, had become the basis of a kaleidoscope of events, the wings of a butterfly on the tides of Fate.
God had given her a message. Now, she needed, more than anything, to know.
She crawled out of bed, fully dressed, not remembering how she had gotten there, not caring. She had to see her Padre. She grabbed her pistol from the nightstand and tucked it into her shoulder-holster. She was reaching for her boots when she felt the IV line snap tight against where it had been taped to the back of her hand.
For a moment, Imelda just stared down at it. Then she ripped it from her hand and went back to tugging on her boots.
A moment later, she was standing, rushing from the room, yanking open her door. A very worried-looking Jacquot was pacing the hall outside, and when he saw her burst from the door, he started. “You’re awake, ma mie?” As if the fact surprised him.
Deciding she probably didn’t want to know why he was staring at her with the same pale, wide-eyed respect one would give a ghost, she said, “What’s the status on the djinni?”
Blinking at her, he said, “The djinni has not been found. We’re thinking he’s somewhere on the north side of the Alaska Range, considering his speed and trajectory.”
“Good, stop looking.”
Jacquot’s brow dipped slightly. “But Zenaida said…”
She made a dismissive wave, cutting him off. “I don’t care what Zenaida said. The djinni is the least of our concerns. We need to figure out why the wolf is going north. I want an unmanned surveillance drone sent to the Brooks Range. High-altitude. Inform the technician it will not drop below thirty thousand feet.”
Jacquot frowned at her. “And what should I tell her we’re looking for, Inquisitrice?”
Imelda took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Dragons.”
Both of the Frenchman’s eyebrows went up. “Dragons, Inquisitrice? As in, more than one?”
“Possibly,” Imelda said. “I have nothing more than a hunch right now, but I’m guessing yes.”
Slowly, Jacquot said, “The Order is not prepared for one dragon, Inquisitrice, much less many of them.”
“Which is why,” Imelda said, “we’re going to find them, if they’re up there.” Glancing down the hall at the door to the basement, she said, “The djinni can wait. Zenaida has enough on her hands downstairs as it is. Right now, we need to figure out what we’re up against.”
“Then the wolf…is a dragon?” Jacquot asked.
Imelda remembered her dreams of angels lighting the clouds afire with their wings and grimaced. “I don’t think so, Jacquot. I think it might be worse.” She shook herself and gestured at the hall. “Make haste. Like fools, we’ve already allowed the wolf to make it across the Alaska Range. The worst territory is already behind them.”
“And,” Jacquot added, “once the snow-machiners begin their treks north, they could simply steal their machines and finish the journey.”
Imelda’s gut told her this wasn’t the case. Not once had the djinni or the wolf tried to steal a boat or a 4-wheeler in their trek north, and in the six months of preparation for the strike on the Sleeping Lady, Imelda had heard several neighbors comment that the ‘young Arab’ seemed adverse to riding the 4-wheelers, instead ‘walking everywhere she went to keep that lovely figure.’ Which made her wonder just how old were the creatures they were dealing with. Either—the djinni by his nature and the wolf by virtue of the Third Lander’s curse—could have easily seen the time of Christ. If she was an angel, then only God knew how old she could be. “I’m beginning to think,” Imelda said, shaking her head, “that they have an aversion to machinery.” Then she laughed. “After all, why carry a machine with you when you can walk the Void? You’d lose it the first time you opened the veil.”
Jacquot crossed himself. “Such things are unnatural.”
Imelda agreed with him, but was too tired to open up that particular discussion with a man as devout as Jacquot. “Go get the drones in the air. I want a report by this evening.”
“Uh, yes…” Jacquot hesitated. “Actually, ma mie, I need to cancel your funeral preparations.”
“My funeral preparations.” She raised an eyebrow at him and he coughed, his face flushing with embarrassment.
He fumbled with his cross, looking acutely nervous. “The priest just left. He administered you the Extreme Unction.”
Imelda raised a brow. “That was a bit premature, wouldn’t you say?”
“You were dead for minutes, Inquisidora,” Jacquot babbled, almost as if he would have preferred her to still be abed, quite dead. “The doctors counted three different times where you had no pulse.”
Imelda waved it off in disgust. “I needed sleep, nothing more.”
Jacquot swallowed, fumbling with his cross, and looked as if he planned to say something. Then he just nodded. “Herr Drescher will be happy to see you awake. The imbecile has been drinking himself stupid in the mess hall. Already refused the orders of a Père to stop.” Turning abruptly, he strode off, his boots clicking smartly against the hard linoleum.
Sighing, Imelda went to see the German.
Chapter 12: Works of Art
Thunderbird did not appear for their nightly song, and after a long hour of waiting, ‘Aqrab turned away from the cave entrance with a sigh. “Looks like he’s not coming.” After ten nights of singing in a row, ‘Aqrab had come to look forward to entertaining the First-Lander. Vain though he was, Thunderbird made an excellent audience. Unlike some other First-Landers…
“How horrible,” his magus said, right on cue. “I’ll be blessed with silence for a night.” She stabbed a few more sticks onto the fire, still in a foul mood from falling into a hidden glacial crevasse on the final leg of their journey through the Alaska Range. He’d had to melt a hole in the ice to get her out, and she was still drenched from the result. “What depravity do you have planned for me tonight, djinni? Massage your back? Bathe you?”
‘Aqrab’s face twisted at the latter. “No, I think I can do without that.”
She made a disgusted snort. “If you say so.”
‘Aqrab crossed his arms in consideration, grinning despite himself. “For that, I think you will massage me naked, mon Dhi’b.”
She dropped the stick she was poking into the fire, her face reddening like a pomegranate. “That is not going to happen.”
‘Aqrab shrugged. “That’s what you’ve said about the others, and yet you’ve done an excellent job of proving yourself wrong.”
“Bah-shi rejlee fee teezak, ‘Aqrab!” she screamed at him, throwing a half-charred stick at his face.
‘Aqrab ducked it, grinning. “I take it I’ll be eating dinner tonight alone, then? Smoked salmon—”
“Name your terms,” she growled, violence searing back up at him from her pretty brown eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
He caught himself staring at her. Just like that? She wasn’t even going to argue?
“What?” she demanded, when he could only gawk at her.
Shaking himself, ‘Aqrab summoned the Law of the Fourth Realm and said, “I, Yad al-‘Aqrab, sand-singer of the Scorpion clan, firstborn son of Bakr al-Shihab, eleventh djinni Lord of the Fourth Lands, hereby offer a bargain to you, Kaashifah the Fury, Handmaiden to Ares, Warrior-Priestess of Horus, Angel of Vengeance, and Justice of the Battlefields: Massage me naked, to my satisfaction, and I will bring you a meal fit for a king. Do you acc
ept?”
She waved a disgusted hand at him. “Yes, whatever. I’ll clear a spot for you to lie down.”
‘Aqrab had just enough time to register surprise at her complacency before the rush of power hit him like a sledge, knocking him free of the rules of time and space, casting him adrift, at the center of a spinning universe. His world became tinged with purple as the Law boomed through him, “As agreed, so decreed, the bargain has been made.”
Once it was over, ‘Aqrab slumped to his knees, still unused to the exhilarating feel of so much flirting with Law, in such a short space. He hadn’t even made this many bargains back in his homeland, when bedding djinn. He’d had the habit of being attracted to women that preferred to get messy.
“Is this going to work?” the Fury asked, when he was finally able to lift his head and look at her. She had uncovered a bed of moss and undergrowth, pushing the snow aside in a wave.
“Looks delightful,” he said. In all honesty, sleeping on stone had begun to wear on him.
“Good. Disrobe and lie facedown, there.” She pointed imperiously to the ground beside the fire.
Seeing the matter-of-fact way she was approaching the subject, ‘Aqrab wondered if now was a good time to tell her that, by ‘massage me naked,’ he had not meant himself. But he obliged her anyway, tossing his sirwal to a branch. There was plenty of time for her to discover such details later. He eased his chest and stomach to the ground with a groan of blessed relaxation. “You know, mon Dhi’b, dragging you through the ice was…difficult. I think I strained something.”
The Fury, who had patiently waited with her back turned while he undressed, turned back to him and immediately began running her delicate hands in firm, smooth motions down his spine, rubbing her knuckles into the knots, pulling at the muscle groups with her fingers. It felt heavenly. In only moments, ‘Aqrab was drooling.
“Why is this taking so long?” the Fury eventually demanded.
‘Aqrab started awake. “Huh?”
Her hands were still rubbing him into sweet oblivion from above. “You’re obviously enjoying yourself, you damn word-twisting ba—” She caught herself with a strangled sound. “Did you forget to bind it in Law?”
‘Aqrab winced. He was pretty sure she was about to get unreasonable, but at least he’d gotten a good massage from the affair. “Uh. No, mon Dhi’b. It is thoroughly bound in Law.”
He could feel her glaring at him. “Then why, when I kneel here, massaging your naked ass into oblivion, does it not—” Her words choked off and her fingers, which had become sweet bliss upon his back, hesitated. “You meant me.”
‘Aqrab slowly rolled to face her. Too late, he realized that doing so would reveal to her that which she had been taught to loathe, and she twisted her head quickly to look at something else.
“Tell me, djinni,” she growled, “that you did not mean me when you said ‘naked.’” Her voice was low and dangerous, and, in the way tendons were standing out in her neck, he got the very vivid image of a sword slicing his spine.
“Uh,” ‘Aqrab began. He gave a nervous chuckle.
“Isn’t,” the magus bit out, “that something you should have told me? Or were you going to let me paw at your back all night like a fool?”
“It does feel divine,” he admitted. “You have a way with your hands, mon Dhi’b.”
Slowly, the Fury twisted back to face him. Her eyes were filled with fire when she said, “You are going to amend our bargain.”
“The bargain is made,” ‘Aqrab said, stiffening for the fight he knew would come. “I can’t—”
“—because, after an hour of rubbing your damn back like a fool, like Hell I’m letting you have all the pleasure. I fell into a crevasse. My back is killing me.”
At that, the Fury began to undress. Belying the confidence of her words, however, her fingers hesitated at the hem of her sweater for several long moments before she tentatively pulled it over her head, giving him an intimate view of her bloodstained bra. She unbuttoned her pants and her fingers hesitated yet again. He saw the indecision in her face, saw her eyes dart to his groin before quickly looking away. She slid the jeans from her legs and put them in an awkward pile beside her, exposing her fine, beautiful legs.
‘Aqrab knew his jaw had fallen open, but he couldn’t find the muscles which with to close it.
His magus reached behind her to unbutton the bra, then quickly hid the tantalizing brown areolas with her arms as she pulled garment free. She cast him an uncertain look. Then, her hands trembling, the Fury dipped her thumbs under her panties and pushed them down the roundness of her buttocks, over her fine, lithe legs.
“Goddess,” ‘Aqrab whispered. He could find no words to describe the boon she was giving him.
“You’re staring at me,” she muttered. She had covered her pert breasts with crossed arms and was looking at anything but him. “Where do you want me?”
In my bed, he thought, in agony. Unable to speak, ‘Aqrab simply inched aside and gestured at the ground beside him.
If the magus noticed his silence for what it was, she made no comment. She simply stretched out facedown on the ground, as he had done a moment before.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen me before,” his magus muttered, when he continued to stare. “I know you spied on me as I undressed.”
Embarrassed, ‘Aqrab felt his face heat. “Well, uh, three thousand years of sexual desperation can do interesting things to a djinni’s moral bearing, mon Dhi’b.”
“Desperation.” His magus snorted, laying her head against the mosses to look up at him. “You should tell that puffed-up pigeon to stop wasting his time. He seems to think he’ll somehow make it easier for you to bed me if he does the act first himself.” She wiggled as she got settled, flexing the delicate mounds of her ass with such exquisiteness that ‘Aqrab’s heart skipped. Blithely unaware of what she was doing to him, the Fury went on, “I almost think he perceives it as him doing you a favor. You need to break it to him he won’t be doing you any favors before he makes a total fool out of himself.”
She still thinks I can’t bed her, he thought, in despair. ‘Aqrab decided now was as wretched a time as any to inform her of her false conclusions regarding that fact. “Actually, mon Dhi’b—”
She interrupted him with a nervous laugh. “I mean, hell, if I didn’t know you couldn’t do anything with it, I’d never have taken off my shirt. But I don’t know. It kind of makes it bearable to know I could crawl all over you and you’d never be able to do anything about it.” She looked up and gave him a playful wink.
‘Aqrab hardened in a rush. Now there was a thought…
Clearing his throat, he sat up and placed his hands upon his mistress’s cool back. She groaned almost immediately upon his fingers touching her spine. “Oh my gods,” she moaned, as he began kneading out the knots in her tiny body, “that feels so good.”
“Well worth a day’s meal,” ‘Aqrab agreed.
“I’ll say.” She continued to groan as he followed the muscles of her back up into her shoulders.
Watching her face relax with pleasure as the minutes continued to pass, something occurred to ‘Aqrab that had been bothering him ever since he’d first contracted with her to touch him. “That night on the mountain, after Thunderbird knocked us both on our asses…” he ventured, after he’d given her plenty of time to relax.
“Nnnggghh?”
He bit his lip. How to broach the subject without losing everything he had gained. “You said I’d have to bed you…?”
As he had feared, her small body went tense beneath him. He saw her eyes open, saw her stare at the mosses by her face.
“Don’t worry yourself with it,” his magus said. “It’s not going to happen. I forgot that you’re cursed.” She closed her eyes again and settled back into the ground, conversation apparently over.
‘Aqrab cleared his throat again, nervously. “Ah, mon Dhi’b, what if I were to tell you, ah, that I can, ah, bed you?”
/> She laughed beneath him. “Then I’d say you were about to lose your powers as a djinni. You already told me you couldn’t. Now keep going. I gave you a good hour, you cretin.”
‘Aqrab stiffened as Law rushed through him once more and boomed, “You have reset your seven days.”
“Damn,” she cursed, into the moss. “I had four days that time.”
“You’re improving,” ‘Aqrab admitted, though his mind was elsewhere. “Mon Dhi’b,” he ventured, “what if I told you I never said I couldn’t bed you?”
She cackled at him. “You never told me you couldn’t—”
Suddenly, she was twisting out from under his touch, her delicate breasts bouncing as she scrambled away from him. “You wald il qaraqir!” she screamed at him, from the other side of the fire. “You told me…”
“You have reset your seven days—I told you I couldn’t bed women,” ‘Aqrab babbled, realizing from her look of horror that he had quite possibly made a horrible mistake.
“What,” she snarled, anger beginning to liven her eyes, “because you only have one dick, djinni?”
“Because I can only bed you,” he blurted. Then winced, because, in saying it, it had to be true.
Kaashifah stopped, mid-scrabbling for her pants. Frozen in place, she looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What did you say?”
He was, he realized by the look of Fury on her face, totally screwed. Hence, the words that spilled from him were completely unplanned, the words of a fool. “I made a wish after my last lover spurned me,” he stammered. “Normally, a djinni can’t wish for himself, but if he’s filled with enough passion, sometimes the Law will follow its flow. I made a wish, mon Dhi’b, and I got you.”
She hovered over her clothes, staring at him in a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You…wished…for me?”
“Not you specifically,” ‘Aqrab blundered on. “My wish was, “May I never bed another woman who is not the mirror to my soul, and, once I find her, may she be a slave to my heart, may she seek nothing of me I cannot give, and may she revile the touch of other men.”
