Dark Sins and Desert Sands

by Stephanie Draven

  “Leave her alone, Layla,” Ray snapped. “She’s trying to help me get a little justice, a concept you’re not all that familiar with.”

  But he didn’t want Missy any more involved in this than she already was. He took a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it to her. “You did good, Jailbait. I’ve got it from here.”

  Missy caught the money in one hand, but her attention was on Layla. “Don’t be scared. He won’t hurt you. Will you, Ray?”

  Ray sighed. Nobody ever used to think that he was the type to hurt people. Sure, he carried a gun, but he was an interpreter. People looked to him for help. Now even Missy seemed to think he was a brute. He slammed the door, trapping Layla inside the car, and was about to launch into a tirade in answer to Missy’s question when he saw her smeared makeup and tearstained face. Layla’s questions seem to have really upset her and it wasn’t a simple case of teenaged moodiness. “Hey, Missy, are you okay?”

  “I’m not the kind of girl that she thinks I am. I’m not a bad person.”

  Damn it. He didn’t have time for drama. “I know that. Listen, you’ve really helped me out. You’re a good kid. Thanks for everything.”

  “Sure,” she said, sniffling and pulling up one of her exposed bra straps.

  He didn’t like leaving her upset like this, but it was for her sake as much as his that he didn’t want her involved. “Be good,” he said, then got in the car.

  “You’re just going to leave your girlfriend behind?” Layla asked as Ray turned the ignition.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Ray growled, pulling out of the parking spot. “She’s a hooker.”

  Sarcasm curled over Layla’s lips as she said one single, condemning word. “Nice.”

  He felt himself flush. “I’m not a client, but it’s nice to know you’re jealous.”

  Layla shot him a look—one that was decidedly not calm, cool, or collected. He was starting to see sides of her he didn’t know existed, and he was kind of looking forward to a snippy denial, some witty banter. But she didn’t say anything. She was too scared. He could see it in the tightness around her eyes.

  “So who is Seth?” Ray asked while he drove, though he suspected that he knew. Odds were good that the guy she was running from was the same guy who had buried her memories in sand. “Why has he got you so spooked?”

  “He’s very dangerous,” Layla said, her voice hollow. “He’s jealous, and petty, and cruel. I think I must have been married to him.”

  That wasn’t the answer Ray was expecting. He almost choked on it. He’d suspected that whoever ruined her memory had been someone more like him—someone else she’d interrogated and turned into a monster. The possibility of an abusive ex-husband hadn’t crossed his mind and the shock of it forced him to say, “Married? You think you were married to him?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know anything. I just know that he’ll kill you if he finds you with me. Or worse.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me off? Lady, I did four tours of duty and escaped two years of torture. I’ve had people trying to kill me or worse for my entire adult life.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Then just drive. Please, just get me as far away from here as you can.”

  Seth thought that if war gods could have vices, pride would have been his. He’d been so sure that Layla’s memories were safely buried that he hadn’t expected her to run. The betraying little slut should have been begging for his help. Instead, she’d disappeared.

  He stormed back into Layla’s office, ready to interrogate her assistant within an inch of her life. “When is Dr. Bahset’s next appointment?”

  Isabel rose up tall from behind her desk, imperious, as if she had a right to meet his eyes as an equal and only now, face-to-face, did he appreciate her truly Amazonian stature. “Why don’t you leave her alone?”

  Seth felt the corner of his lip furl at her impudence but remembered that he was here in mortal guise. “We’re just trying to protect her, ma’am.”

  “No, I know who you are…” Isabel said. “¡Bastardo!”

  Now this was interesting. At Seth’s sudden focus of concentration, the candles in the room flickered out, leaving only the harsher overhead office light to illuminate her face, and yet, she was beyond beautiful. He’d suspected she was an immortal. Now he was sure of it. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I’ve sensed you for a while now,” Isabel said, pointing at the flower vase on the low table. “But I only suspected. Now I see that my lilies have died. Mortal things wilt in your presence, so I’m sure.”

  Her acknowledgment of his nature gave him pleasure. It made his eyelids lower, in the manner of a lazy crocodile. Seth was the dread god of Egyptians, a civilization older than most on earth. Everything in creation should fear him and venerate him, so when Isabel did neither, he warned, “I think that if you really knew who I was, you’d flinch away from me.”

  “I said mortal things wilt in your presence.” Isabel smiled coyly. “But I’m not a mortal thing.” As she said this, the bracelet on her wrist became a swarm of red butterflies. The candles flickered with new flame and the lilies came to life again.

  It was a pretty but petty display. He could kill all her butterflies and flowers with a glance, but he was too busy contemplating the meaning of this. She wanted to show him that she still had powers. Perhaps not many—perhaps only decorative in nature—but she did have them. To the unspoken question in his eyes, she replied, “I’m Xochiquetzal.”

  This was entirely unexpected. Seth knew her only by name. In fact, the young goddess was born of a civilization much newer than his own, but he still felt an instant kinship with her. She didn’t have his age, or Layla’s wisdom, but she had a vitality that was infectious even to a deity of his stature. And now he wanted to know more. “An Aztec goddess, yet you speak Spanish?”

  “And you speak English. What of it?” she asked. “We all adapt. Besides, my real name is a mouthful for foreigners. So you may call me Isabel.”

  He didn’t smile, even though she’d so cleverly alluded to his identity—Seth the destroyer, the other, the foreigner. She was too brash to reveal herself to him like this, too sure of her frivolous charms. He shouldn’t encourage her. “I’ll call you what you are. A harlot. A goddess of prostitutes… No wonder you were drawn to Layla.”

  His sharp rebuke didn’t even give her pause. “Yes, I’m a patroness of all those girls who work on the street. But not only them and that’s not why I was drawn to Layla.”

  “She’s my minion,” Seth said harshly. “You can’t have her. Content yourself with birds and butterflies.”

  “Why should you care who Layla belongs to now? You cast her away. Two years now, she’s been foundering in this desert by herself, struggling to embrace her own sexuality. That’s why I was drawn to her.”

  “And now you want to make her into a painted trollop like you?”

  Isabel tilted her head. “Again, why you should care? There are other creatures in the world to add to your stable.”

  Yes, there were others. War forged some men into monsters—literally—and Seth was eager to add them to his menagerie and exploit their supernatural abilities. But Layla wasn’t war-forged. She was warborn. More importantly… “She’s mine!”

  “I pity the wretches that belong to you,” Isabel said. “You took a strong, womanly creature and you buried all her emotions and covered her in a shroud of forgetfulness. Now you won’t even leave her in peace. She doesn’t even know who she is. She doesn’t know what she is.”

  “And she never will,” Seth snapped. “I’m taking her away from you and the mortal men she debases herself with. It’s for their benefit as well as hers. She could ask the wrong question and drive yet another man to take his life.”

  Isabel’s eyes went soft, and he felt himself momentarily pulled into them. They were like chocolate and cinnamon, vibrant and rich. Too earthy and fertile for his tastes, so why didn’t he
look away? “You’re not worried about saving lives,” Isabel said quietly.

  He didn’t have to explain himself. Certainly not to a washed-up Mexican goddess. Yet, he found himself asking, “Aren’t I, though? A new minotaur has been unleashed. With his mental powers, he’s already destroyed several mortals, and in his desire to take revenge, he may kill a few more.”

  “A minotaur,” she repeated slowly. “There hasn’t been one of those in a very long time.”

  “He’ll come for Layla and when he does, I’ll capture him and bind him to me.”

  “So you intend to use Layla as bait?”

  Seth didn’t deny it. “If you dare to interfere…” He didn’t have to voice the threat. All the old immortals abided by rules of divine etiquette that circumscribed their behavior. Layla had been his minion long before Xochiquetzal was born. Layla belonged to him, and no other god could take her away unless he released her. Which he had not, and would not.

  Seth brushed past Isabel and reached for the door when vibrant green vines suddenly wound about his wrist, buds blossoming into giant orange flowers. She was actually trying to keep him here! She dared? He turned on her in a rage, and blustered, “Trifle with me and I’ll bury this whole city in sand.”

  “I just want you to answer one question,” Isabel said. “What did Layla do to deserve such punishment?”

  “She defied me,” he said, the memory of it still a burning hole of anger in his heart. “All for the sake of a mortal man.”

  “Why didn’t you smite her where she stood?”

  Seth withered the vines on his arm and threw them to the ground, a heap of dried husk. “Because she’s all but immortal. Besides, death doesn’t frighten her. There’s only one thing that would kill her, and it’s the one thing she wanted most.”

  Isabel understood immediately. “The one thing you can’t give her.”

  She reached out for his cheek. His skin wicked away the moisture on her fingertips and Seth considered biting her with his savage teeth. It made him angry to be comforted by her. To be pitied by her. “Unhand me, you filthy whore.”

  She smiled sadly and withdrew her touch. “As you wish, Scorpion King.”

  Nothing was as Seth wished it. Nothing had been as he wished it to be for a very long time.

  But when he captured Layla and the minotaur, that would all change.

  Chapter 8

  What’s worthless when stolen, priceless when

  shared, a token of love when two souls are bared?

  Sitting in a car next to a possible terrorist, Layla couldn’t forget the way she’d felt the moment he kissed her. The scent of him had been like straw and sweat. Then there was the disturbing imagery. In the dreamlike shadowy haze, Ray’s nose had been a flat broad expanse, almost as wet and black as his eyes. His skin was almost like hide, soft to the touch, but somehow sleeker than skin. She’d felt the powerful muscles that bulged beneath, the cords of his neck tightening with unspeakable power. It had made her feel like he could tear her to pieces with his bare hands, but it also made her feel as if he was the one man who could protect her from anything.

  She’d gone with him, fear and all, because some part of her wondered—in the arms of a beast like Ray—would she ever have to fear anyone else? “You’re not going to hurt me,” she said, as if realizing it for the first time.

  “I told you that I wouldn’t. We’ll be at my motel in a minute, we’ll have a nice leisurely chat, and then you won’t ever have to see me again.”

  “No,” Layla said instantly. “We can’t stay here in Vegas. We have to just get on the highway and keep driving.”

  He glanced at her for a moment, then shook his head. “This car wouldn’t make it an hour into the desert. I’d have to buy a new car and there’s not a dealership in the world—not even one in Vegas—that’s going to sell us anything looking like we do.”

  That was when Layla first noticed the blood. Her cut hands had bled freely and stained her blouse. The scratches on Ray’s forearms were starting to scab over, but he too was smeared and filthy. They’d have to clean up before they went anywhere.

  Given the pinched expression on Layla’s face, Ray was pretty sure that she hadn’t ever been to a place that rented rooms by the hour. “What’s the matter, Princess Jasmine?” he taunted, shutting the motel room door and locking it behind them. “A little too low-rent for you? The good news is that nobody saw us come in together, and even if they did, nobody thinks you’re on the run. They’d just think you’re here with me for a quick roll in the hay.” He’d only meant it as a joke—to lighten the mood—but she turned her head as if he’d slapped her. “Hey, I was just teasing. I told you before that I wouldn’t use my powers to take advantage of you.”

  She didn’t even smile. “Then why did you kiss me in the parking garage?”

  Okay, so she had him there. “I kissed you to shut you up and keep you from screaming,” he said, though he was pretty sure that was a complete lie. He’d kissed her because her face had haunted his dreams for years. And because he could. What’s more, she’d liked it, so he wasn’t about to apologize.

  He watched her cross the room and pick up the receiver of the phone. He was on her heels and caught her by the hand. “Who the hell are you calling?”

  Her green eyes blinked. Once. Twice. “I was just checking to see if there was a dial tone. If Seth followed us—if he’s planning to storm this place with his thugs—one of the first things he’ll do is cut the phone lines.”

  “You’re not going to try to call the police?”

  “The police can’t protect me,” Layla said, breaking free of him. “Not from Seth and obviously not from you, either. After all, you were able to get past security and into my apartment without unbolting the locks, weren’t you?”

  “I was never in your apartment,” Ray explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I was in your mind. In your dreams.”

  “No, you were in my bedroom,” Layla insisted. “My headboard was slashed open!”

  “That was all you, sweetheart,” Ray said, a hint of smugness at the corners of his mouth as he lifted his gouged arms. “You like to scratch in moments of passion.”

  Passion. Even the word sounded foreign to Layla’s ears. Like something forbidden and wonderful. Like something she’d once wanted very much but could never have.

  She glanced down at his bed, which looked like it’d been shredded by some wild animal. The sheets were torn rags. “I guess you’re going to tell me that I did this too, then?”

  “No,” Ray confessed, with another rueful twist to his lips. “But it was your fault. When I went into your dream— You do remember your dream, don’t you?”

  “Just in bits and pieces.” Embarrassed at the memory of their near intimacy, she looked down at herself and sighed. “I’m going to need a change of clothes.”

  “What you need to do is sit down and answer some questions for me.”

  “I will. I promise. I’ll tell you anything I can remember. But not here. Get me a change of clothes and then we can go. There’s a dealership in the valley. We can trade in your car for something that’ll make the trip to California. Or New York. Yes. The East Coast. The farther we can get from here the better.”

  “Who says I’m letting you go anywhere?” Ray asked. “Besides, we can’t trade in the car tonight. By the time I get you a change of clothing, the dealerships will be closed.”

  “I have a lot of money,” she said, hugging herself. “We could bribe someone.”

  “I thought you were a smart lady. If you interrupt some used car salesman at dinner by waving around a ton of cash on the way out of town, he’s going to remember your face. And mine. The best thing to do is hunker down here until morning.”

  Until morning. Surely he didn’t expect her to stay here with him until morning. On the other hand, maybe it was the smart thing to do. She needed time to calm down and think things through.

  “But what if he finds us?” Layla asked. “What i
f Seth somehow finds us here?”

  Ray pulled his gun out of the waistband of his jeans and held it up. “Then I’ll kill him.”

  Layla put both hands over her mouth. Two things had shocked her. The first was that this time, she was able to identify his gun on sight. It was a Makarov semiautomatic pistol. The second thing that shocked her was the calm way in which he promised to kill someone. Ray was a soldier. Maybe killing came easy to him. Yet, the idea that he might kill for her, to protect her, was more comforting than she wanted to admit.

  She’d stay here with him, then. Just until morning.

  He seemed to realize without her having to say so that they’d come to some kind of truce and he took off his bloody shirt, dropping it in a disorderly heap on the floor. Then she watched him plod over to the sink and turn on the faucet. She drew closer, marveling at what she’d done to him. He looked as if he’d been clawed by a wild animal. Both exhilarated and sickened by the deep gouges she’d scratched into his arm, she drew closer. “Here, let me help you,” she said, reaching for the soap.

  He tried to shrug her off, but then their hands twined in the warm, sudsy water. He stilled, then looked away as she cleaned his wounds. His silence only emphasized the sound of their breathing. His deep and sonorous, hers quick and airy. She’d only intended to help slough the blood off his arms and fetch him a towel, but her efficient lathering slowed until his hands joined with hers. Then they were washing together.

  Before this place and time, she hadn’t known if he was a guilty man. For that matter, neither did she know if she were an innocent woman. In this moment, something changed between them.

  Their shoulders touched, but it was more than that. She was leaning against his bare chest as if she’d been running lost through a wilderness and finally come to rest against the base of a mighty tree. She’d been so frightened, for so long, and against all reason, she felt safe with him. In the warm flowing water, his big thumbs caressed her palms, stroking her with a gentleness that belied the animal savagery she’d seen before. It was as if the sins of their past were washing away down the drain with the blood and dirt.