Captive of the Desert King

by Donna Young

  She sat cross-legged on the ground. But when he crouched in front of her, she tensed.

  “Relax,” he murmured, in the same even tone he’d used on the horses.

  While her features remained passive, she could do very little to ease the tension in her shoulders.

  For the first few minutes, Jarek worked in silence, cleaning the cut with an antiseptic wipe.

  “This will sting.”

  Sarah hissed at the sharp slice of pain. “You weren’t kidding.”

  Gently, he blew across the wound, taking the sting away from her temple. “I never realized you had graduated from the University of Nevada.”

  “Forty-eight hours doesn’t allow much time for much personal history.” But was plenty of time to fall in love with a king, she thought.

  “The file said you graduated at the top of your class. Majored in journalism. Minored in history.” Jarek brushed away a few strands of hair, tucked them behind her ear. “That must have made your father happy.”

  “It did.” The brush of his finger against the shell of her ear touched off a ripple of goose bumps down her neck. “But I happen to enjoy history. So it made me happy, too.”

  “You are quite brave, Sarah,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. His fingers worked efficiently. His feather-light touches were gentle, almost soothing as he applied the medicated cream.

  “Not really.” Without realizing it, her voice dipped low to match his. “I’ve had worse injuries.”

  With him only mere inches away, it was hard not to study the man. The set plains of his face, the jaw slightly dusted with whiskers, the sculpted line of his mouth.

  This wasn’t the man who ruled a country. It was the man who haunted her dreams.

  “I’m not talking about this cut,” Jarek explained and reached for a butterfly bandage. “You’ve weathered the day pretty well, considering.”

  “I guess,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the brush of his knuckle against her cheek. “One doesn’t have a choice in a situation like this.”

  He pressed the small bandage to her temple. “I’ve known many who’ve acted cowardly under less dangerous situations.”

  “Then you might want to question the company you keep.” Suddenly, she remembered she was addressing royalty. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

  “No need to be sorry. I happen to agree with you. But sometimes we are not able to choose so easily.” Jarek placed another bandage on her wound. “You might have a scar.”

  “It’s just a mark,” she joked, but the words were no more than a whisper. “And it isn’t the first. In third grade, I got into a fight with the playground bully. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Did he hurt you?” His fingers drifted over the delicate line of her jaw.

  “It was a girl,” she joked lightly. “And I gave her a fat lip. But walked away with a nasty scar on my shin. She was wearing roller skates. The metal kind.”

  “You’re pretty tough aren’t you?” His thumb skimmed the soft skin behind her ear.

  “Sometimes.” In that moment, the lightness was lost, destroyed by the shiver that tripped down her spine, the tension that curled tight in her belly. “Then, other times, not very tough at all.”

  “How about now?” Jarek’s gaze drifted over her features, rested for a moment on her mouth.

  “Papa?”

  Jarek stiffened. His hand dropped away from her face. “I’m here. Go back to sleep, son.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  After the little boy turned over, Jarek stood. “Sarah, I—”

  “Don’t,” she said quickly, then untucked her hair from her ear, using the long strands as a curtain to cover her confusion. “It’s all right. We both got carried away.” She tried for flippancy, but managed a quiet sort of dignity. “We’ll chalk it up to the stress of day.”

  “Time to sleep, then.”

  “Together?” Her head shot up.

  “With Rashid between us,” Jarek corrected. “Trust me, he is a ball of heat. You just have to watch the elbows and knees.”

  “I have nieces that are the same age.” Sarah slipped off her shoes and placed them in her purse. “I take it he’s crawled in bed with you on occasion.”

  Jarek glanced from Sarah to the sleeping boy. So many things had slipped away. “He used to.”

  Chapter Six

  Memories took their revenge in the subconscious, spurred by the vulnerability that came with sleep. The thwack of the whip against raw flesh. The whimpers of the almost dead. The dull rhythmic beat of both sounds swirled and ebbed—a backbeat to his nightmare. Seductive, persuasive, both whispered to him, nurtured by the dark edge of insanity, the bitterness of betrayal.

  When he fought back, the demons came. They ripped through his skin, splaying muscle and bone, exposing nerves until the air turned foul—thick with the stench of rancid blood and feces.

  Jarek awoke, his jaw clenched, sweat sticking between his shirt and skin. He cursed the memories, the scars on his back that would never let him forget.

  A penance for past sins.

  It was rare for Jarek to sleep more than a few hours a night. Even rarer for the nightmares to leave him in peace.

  Unaware of his demons, Sarah continued sleeping, her head resting in the crook of Jarek’s shoulder.

  Rashid lay between them, his head pillowed against her chest and one arm flung over her side.

  A shaft of longing speared his chest, catching him off-guard.

  The horses shifted, their stance turned edgy. Taaj blew air out of his nostrils in warning.

  Slowly Jarek untangled himself from Rashid and Sarah.

  When she stirred, he placed a hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” he whispered. “We’ve got company. Wake Rashid.”

  When she nodded, he grabbed his rifle from the wall nearby. “Ramon’s gun is in the backpack,” he said almost tonelessly.

  Sarah nodded again, this time the movement was stiff with fear.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  But he was gone.

  Quickly, she put her hand to Rashid’s mouth and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, sport.”

  SHADOWS STRETCHED and twisted beyond the cave and into the semidarkness. The chill of the night lingered in the cool and damp of the predawn.

  Taaj moved restlessly against Jarek. “It’s all right, my friend,” he murmured, adding a few words in his native tongue of Taer.

  After the animals settled, he followed the wall to the edge of the cave opening.

  The noise was soft. A whisper of cloth against stone. The grind of sand beneath a heel.

  But it was enough.

  Soundlessly, Jarek placed his rifle against the wall and drew his knife from his boot.

  The shadows stretched farther—morphing suddenly into the shape of a man’s head and shoulders.

  Jarek waited the length of a three heartbeats, then stepped out from the rocks, knife first.

  The man, startled, let out a whoosh of breath as the knife made contact with his first rib. Jarek lifted and shoved. The man hit the wall, his eyes frozen, his face nothing more than a mask of death. Slowly, Jarek stepped back, then froze when he heard a faint bleep.

  He glanced down at the man’s wrist and caught the green glow of a miniature GPS receiver. Quickly he cut the device from the rebel’s wrist and shoved it into his pocket.

  Suddenly, another man jumped from the path. Younger, than the first, his eyes wide in fear. The rebel raised his rifle and fired. Three shots exploded into the night air, before Jarek’s knife found its mark in the man’s chest.

  Swearing, Jarek reached for the watch in his pocket. The signal in his hand grew stronger as he returned to the cave.

  “What is it, Papa?”

  Jarek didn’t answer, instead he ripped the gun from Sarah’s hand and tossed it to the ground.

  “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  “How much did they pay you, Miss Kwong?”

  “What are you tal
king about—”

  Jarek grabbed her purse and dumped it onto the floor. The wristband suddenly vibrated against his fingers.

  “You didn’t have time to tell them I wasn’t on the plane with you?” He reached down and grabbed a small round disc from the pile of items. He smashed it under his heel. The vibration stopped. “They must have promised a lot of money for you to risk your life in a plane crash.”

  “You’re delusional. I have no idea how that tracking bug got into my purse,” Sarah argued. “For all you know, Ramon—”

  “Don’t!” Fury flashed crossed Jarek’s features. He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

  “Try it,” Sarah warned, her own anger flaring. She met him toe-to-toe. The sting of accusation drove any thought of fear from her mind. “That bug could’ve been put in my purse by anyone, anywhere. You’ve just been waiting for an excuse to ship me home.”

  “I’m not sending you home anytime soon. You’re going to be my personal guest until I decide what to do with you.”

  “Personal guest?” Sarah seethed. “You mean a prisoner, don’t you?”

  “Call it what you want.”

  When she turned on her heel, he grabbed her arm, forcing her back around.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, you son of a—”

  “Papa?”

  Sarah snapped her teeth together, but her glare didn’t waver.

  “Get your things, Rashid. We need to leave.” Jarek’s tone was short, uncompromising. “The Al Asheera will find us. And when they do, we’ll be cornered if we don’t move.”

  Startled, Sarah argued. “It’s too dark—”

  “The sun will rise within an hour. A blessing and a curse. We will have better footing, but we will also become easier targets.”

  Jarek released his hold. “Gather your belongings.”

  Angry, she picked up her things and shoved them back into her purse. “I hope you have a plan. Or are you planning on spending the next few days roaming these cliffs.”

  “We will find my uncle’s caravan.”

  “Uncle Bari?” Rashid asked, frowning.

  “Yes.”

  “But Taaj. And Ping?”

  “We leave the horses and continue on foot.” Jarek grabbed Ramon’s pistol from the ground, then shoved it into the backpack. “I am familiar with these paths. We should have no problems navigating them for the short time before dawn breaks over the horizon.”

  “And if we fall?”

  “We won’t. The ledges are dangerous, but can be traveled,” Jarek commented grimly. “And we have little choice. Those shots you heard were a signal. It will be only a matter of time before more of your friends pinpoint our location.”

  Sarah refused to defend herself again.

  “If we leave the horses, they could die,” Rashid insisted while he blocked the entrance, his hands fisted.

  “Where we have to go, the ledges are too narrow for them to maneuver.” Jarek slipped the backpack straps over his shoulders. “By my estimates, Bari’s caravan is less than two days west of here if we cut through the cliff faces. Once we reach the caravan, I will make sure the horses will be taken care of.”

  “Two days without food—”

  “As long as they have the water from the spring they can go two days without food.” This time he didn’t disguise the impatience in his tone. “Do not worry, Rashid. Taaj will take care of Ping.”

  “Yes, Papa.” The young boy held back a small sob and went to say goodbye to his horse.

  “If Ping dies, Rashid will never forgive himself,” Sarah warned Jarek quietly.

  “Better a horse than my son,” Jarek snapped back, barely managing to keep his voice low. “Damn it. He should not have been out here. He should not have followed me.”

  “Maybe you should not have ridden out here, either.”

  “If I hadn’t you’d be a prisoner of the Al Asheera.”

  “Better me than your son.” Using his words against him. “Of course, I could be conspiring with them.”

  “I hope for your sake the latter is true.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I have seen firsthand how the Al Asheera torture women.”

  Chapter Seven

  When they stepped outside the cave, the predawn haze blurred the line of day and night, leaving most of the area still in shadows.

  “I hope you have an excellent memory, Your Majesty.”

  “The sun will soon break over the horizon, then we will have more light.” Within moments, the path narrowed to less than three feet, drawing the edge of the cliff closer. Jarek had no choice but to place Rashid between him and Sarah.

  “Watch your step. The edge crumbles without notice,” Jarek warned. He slipped off the backpack and held it in front of him. “Keep your back pressed to the wall whenever possible.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  Rashid found her hand with his and squeezed. “We will be all right, Sarah—”

  A shot pinged off the rock near Rashid’s face. She stifled a scream and gripped the boy closer to her side.

  Jarek swore. “Looks like the Al Asheera turned on you, Miss Kwong.”

  A shout came from below the ridge as more fire peppered the walls above them.

  Jarek dropped the backpack and quickly pulled Rashid under a slight overhang. “Stay with Sarah under the ledge and close to the wall.”

  He pinned her with his stare. “Keep him safe. Or so help me—”

  More gunfire exploded above their heads. “Where is safe?” she muttered while Jarek made his way farther down the path.

  “Papa?” Rashid took a step toward his father.

  “Stay there! You’re protected by the overhang,” he ordered sharply. “No matter what happens, do not move.”

  “Jarek!” Sarah pointed up.

  Thirty men lined the ridge a hundred feet above them, their crimson robes easily seen against the backdrop of the morning sky.

  Jarek fired his rifle. Sarah heard a scream, then a volley of gunfire pounded the path close to her and Rashid.

  “If you give yourself up, we will not harm your son,” a man called from the ridge.

  “Jarek?” Sarah glanced down at Rashid. They were pinned to the wall. Easy targets for the men above.

  “Don’t follow!” he shouted at Sarah. “Or so help me—”

  Suddenly a rocket exploded behind the group of men. Screams ricocheted and bodies tumbled from the rocks into the ravine below.

  The whop-whop of helicopter blades filled the chasm, until the buzz numbed the air around them. Two helicopters hovered into Jarek’s view. Each with the symbol of the Taer military on its belly.

  “It’s Uncle Quamar!” Excited, the little boy stepped away from the wall to wave.

  “Rashid!” But Sarah’s warning came too late.

  Machine gunfire burst from the first helicopter, driving the Al Asheera back, knocking the stones from the wall. The overhang broke loose with a shudder, catching the little boy in its path.

  Sarah threw herself to the ground and reached for Rashid’s hand just as he disappeared over the edge.

  “I have you.” Sarah held tight to Rashid’s hands, leaving his body dangling over the gully beneath.

  “Sarah! Help!” The little boy screamed. “My hands are slipping.”

  “Hold on, sweetheart.” She lay awkwardly along the path with half her body over the edge. Rocks scraped her belly, dug into her ribs. She tried to shift back, to give herself leverage, but the ledge left her no room to maneuver. “Jarek!”

  She didn’t dare look up to find him, so instead she stayed focused on Rashid’s head. “Hurry. I don’t know how long I can hold him.”

  She could feel the sweat gather in her palms, her fingers cramp under the added weight. Terror whipped through her, making her limbs shake.

  “Almost there.” The path had fallen away, leaving Jarek stranded on the other side. He studied the four-foot gap and the surrounding area, made his decision in a millis
econd.

  With his back to the wall, Jarek straddled the gap, placing his foot softly, testing the other side of the path. Finding it solid, he shifted his weight across the missing portion of the ledge.

  Twisting, Rashid tried to find footing in the rock. The movement jarred Sarah’s shoulders.

  “Stay still,” she ordered, her voice sharp.

  Immediately, Rashid froze, letting his feet dangle once more.

  “Jarek!” Sarah’s arms shook, the muscles straining to hold the little boy. Once again, she tried shifting back but the leverage wasn’t there.

  She caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye.

  “Sarah! Scorpion!” Rashid screamed the warning. Sarah cried out because the little boy squirmed, jerking her neck, weakening her grip.

  Without warning, the sting hit her forearm and set her whole limb on fire.

  “Hang on, Sarah.”

  Sarah looked down at her arm. The skin on her forearm swelled. “Hurry, Jarek, I can’t feel my hand.”

  “I’m here.” Jarek laid on top of her and reached for Rashid. He hauled the boy up to him. Within moments, Jarek had Sarah and his son in his arms.

  He held them both for a long minute, trying to get his own heart rate under control.

  “Keep your arm lower than your heart.” Jarek shifted Rashid next to him on the ledge. “Don’t move again,” he warned his son.

  He ripped two long strips of material from his scarf.

  Jarek tied one strip above and one just below the sting on Sarah’s arm.

  “What do we do?” Rashid asked, his voice tight with fear. With shaking hands, Jarek gathered his son and Sarah back under his arms. “Now we wait for your Uncle Quamar.”

  He glanced down at Sarah. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “HELLO, SARAH.”

  Quamar Al Asadi was a big man, over six feet of solid muscle with a bald head and a gentle smile that reached warm, brown eyes.

  “Hello, Quamar.” Sarah smiled ruefully. “I was hoping to see you under better circumstances.”

  He clasped her hands in his big, meaty palms, then took his time looking at her injury. “It is no more than a scratch,” he teased, before he leaned in and kissed her forehead. “You are okay?”