Dark Sins and Desert Sands

by Stephanie Draven

It broke her heart to see the anguish on his face, but she couldn’t tell him another lie. “You’re wrong, Ray. There was something you could’ve done for the dead villagers. You could’ve given them justice. The same kind of justice you want for yourself. You could’ve told the truth.”

  “It wouldn’t bring them back,” Ray said. “Besides, I wouldn’t sell out my friends. I’m a good friend. A good soldier. I’m loyal.”

  After a few moments of silence, she said, “I was loyal to Seth for thousands of years and I learned that sometimes loyalty is misplaced. You’re not ever going to be free of this until you set the record straight about Jack. You can’t just see the things you want to see.”

  The loudspeaker boomed into the silence. Last stop. The train was coming to the end of the line. They were somewhere in Maryland. It was night.

  “It’s time to go,” Ray said. Telling her his secret seemed to have sobered him. Wrung him out.

  It’d wrung her out, too. Layla stood up on wobbly legs, straightening her skirt. She fought tears as Ray steadied her, helping her step off the train onto the platform. In a few moments, the train would reverse direction and go back into the city, and Layla would have to be on it. Alone.

  “We’ll have to take a bus from here,” Ray was saying, wearily, starting toward the escalator.

  He obviously thought he’d convinced her to stay with him; she didn’t want to give him any indication otherwise. “You look so tired,” she said, stopping him to kiss the corner of his mouth.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “As long as I have you.”

  “You’ll always have me, even if we’re apart.” She’d tell him the truth, and he’d have that much to hold on to when she was gone. “I love you.”

  “I know,” he said, with just the hint of a cocky smile.

  The lights were blinking. The train was getting ready to close its doors. She waited for the last possible moment. The last bell. The last warning. “Goodbye, Ray.”

  He wasn’t expecting it—didn’t even seem to comprehend what she was doing. Breaking away, Layla turned and ran, cutting it so close that the train door clipped her heel before slamming shut like a solid wall between them.

  Chapter 18

  I end conversations and accompany waves. I live in

  heartbreak and at the side of graves.

  Goodbye? It took Ray a second to even realize what was happening. Then his sluggish mind roared to attention. “Layla!”

  He ran after her, too late. Layla’s palm was on the window in farewell. Ray pounded on the door to no avail as the metro train pulled forward, the metal sliding beneath his hands. Damn it! This couldn’t be happening. He ran a few steps, contemplating smashing the glass to get to her, but finding no purchase for his grip. He couldn’t even make her stop; she’d squeezed her eyes shut. She was shutting him down. Locking him out. “Layla!” he shouted again as the metro whisked her away.

  He stood there on the platform of the tunnel in stunned shock.

  Where the hell would she go? Back to Seth? The idea made him sick. Ray ambled up the empty escalator in a haze, wondering how to find her. He was bruised and battered, inside and out. He couldn’t think straight. To make matters worse, a pay phone was ringing. Its shrill cry split the night air and reverberated through Ray’s aching head.

  The phone was housed in a silver stand, open on three sides. It had to be a crank call. A wrong number. There was no one else on the platform and who else could know he was here? Unless it was Layla. With that thought, Ray snatched up the receiver.

  “Rayhan?” The war god’s malevolent voice was unmistakable.

  “How the hell did you find me, Seth?”

  “I put a microchip under your skin when you were unconscious. It’s something all responsible pet owners do. After having lost Layla once, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake with you. I’m letting you go, as a favor to her, but I want to give you a parting gift.”

  “The only thing I want is Layla.”

  The god laughed heartily. “I have something else you want.”

  What Ray wanted was to hammer the receiver down onto the stainless steel until it broke into pieces. Then Seth said, “Don’t you want to know who is responsible for taking everything away from you? Don’t you want to know the name of the anonymous informant who named you a traitor?”

  Ray had to know. “Who was it?”

  “Jack Bouchier.”

  Ray burst into outraged laughter. “Bullshit.”

  “Who else needed to get rid of you? You witnessed his crimes.”

  Ray’s jaw worked by the receiver. No, it didn’t make sense. Jack couldn’t have been that desperate. Couldn’t have been that evil.

  “Ray, even with your damaged mind, if you think it through, all the pieces fall into place. When you’re ready to accept it, you know where to find him. Jack lives in Virginia, doesn’t he? Not so very far, given how long you’ve come to exact vengeance….”

  Layla stepped into Seth’s office in Arlington, her feet whispering reluctantly over the rug until she stood in front of his desk. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t say anything. Just stood there, trembling, resolved to remember Ray’s face no matter what Seth did to her.

  The blow Seth landed across Layla’s cheek was sharp enough to send her face to the side, and it stung afterward, needles of pain. It was only a warning strike; she knew Seth and how much more violence he was capable of. She also knew that he’d want to humble her, so she wasn’t surprised when he hit her again with such force that one of her earrings came loose and skittered across the floor of his office. She lifted one hand in a pitiful effort to defend herself, but he wrenched it back just short of the breaking point. “Have you learned your lesson, Layla? What has all this taught you?”

  It had taught her that there were better men in the world than Seth. Men who could master her without touch and hold her without chains. She’d learned that she was more than a minion. She was capable of love, happiness and more. She could feel things that had nothing to do with her creator and that she could stand on her own. But she could tell Seth none of that, so she said, “I’ve learned that you can take away everything that matters to me, and so I must submit myself to you.”

  Seth struck her again then shoved her into a chair. Even over the ringing in her ears, she heard him say, “Show me where the minotaur touched you.”

  Layla’s chest rose and fell with her fear and indignation. She didn’t want to tell him, much less show him, but the war god wouldn’t be denied, so she put her hand over her heart. “Here.”

  Seth seemed confused. His thumb traced Layla’s lower lip, which had split open from the blows and was now bleeding and throbbing painfully. “Did the minotaur touch you here?”

  “Yes,” Layla whispered.

  Rough hands cupped both breasts, and squeezed with angry force. “And here?”

  “Yes.”

  Seth grasped her by the nape of the neck, arching her head back as he forced her knees apart with his thigh. “And here?”

  “He touched me everywhere! And I let him because he loves me and I love him.”

  Seth’s brow creased, as if he’d never heard something so vexing. “You love him? Why?”

  “Because he’s a good man.”

  “Is he?” Seth caught her fingers in a crushing grasp. “Do you know why I chose him? I chose him because he was already the kind of man who could witness murder and look the other way. I knew that he was the kind of man I could shape into a monster. Why do you think I agreed to release him, Layla? Did you really think I’d trade his freedom for yours? I let him go because he’ll return to me eventually—when he realizes that there’s no other place for him.”

  Seth sleeked her hair back, like she was his house cat. It disgusted her. “Ray would never willingly serve you.”

  “Oh?” Seth let her go, walking around to the side of his desk to turn his computer screen so she could see it. “What do you think Ray is going to do with the freedom you’ve g
iven him? I predict that he is, at this very moment, about to become exactly the vengeful monster I want him to be. Do you see that red dot? That’s your minotaur.”

  “You’re tracking him?” Layla staggered to her feet, the sour taste of betrayal in her throat. “You promised—”

  “I promised I’d let the minotaur go. I’ve done that. I didn’t promise to unleash a monster into the world without any notion of where he might roam. I’m not the only god who might want to use him and I’m not about to allow someone else the benefit of my work.”

  Layla’s mouth was dry as she watched the little red spot move on the screen.

  Seth’s lips curled in amusement. “You’re wondering where he’s going, aren’t you? I’ll tell you. He’s on his way to commit murder.”

  Layla’s hands balled at her sides. “If only it were yours!”

  Seth smirked. “You don’t believe me.”

  No. She didn’t. She’d never believe anything that Seth had to say. “Ray isn’t a murderer.”

  “Tell me, what do you think Ray would do if he found out that his best friend is the one who set him up to look like a terrorist?”

  Layla actually felt the room spin. She didn’t even have to wonder what Ray would do. After everything Ray had been through—after all the betrayals he’d endured—this final piece of the puzzle would push him over the edge. Ray’s inner monster would take utter possession of him and he’d kill Jack. Probably with his own bare hands. “I’ve got to stop him….”

  Seth shoved her so hard that she fell, landing on her hands and knees, the burn of industrial carpet beneath her palms. Seth hovered over her, saying, “See the truth, Layla. Rayhan Stavrakis is a rampaging monster. Not you or anybody else can stop him.”

  Prostrate at Seth’s feet, Layla remembered that the god liked begging and she was too desperate now to let her pride get in the way. It disgusted her to use a transparently sexual appeal, sliding her hands up his thighs. But there was nothing else to do. “I could stop him. Just let me try,” she beseeched and he allowed her to draw close. He even allowed her to slip her hands teasingly into his pockets. “Please let me try.”

  He’d only let her touch him so that he could hurt her. She didn’t see the needle until it was jabbed halfway into her arm. “You and the minotaur already said your goodbyes,” Seth said, shoving her away. She landed on her back, heat flowing up her arm even as her puncture wound closed over, hiding all evidence of the injection.

  For a moment, she was afraid that Seth was going to descend upon her, kick her knees apart and reclaim her as he used to do. Instead, he stepped over her and she watched his black polished shoes retreat across the carpet to the door. “Now, my pet, it’s time for you to get some sleep.” With that, he closed the door and locked it behind him.

  Sleep. Her eyelashes were fluttering closed, and she fought against the coming darkness. Layla opened her hand slowly, revealing the cell phone she’d stolen from Seth’s pocket. She didn’t know who she’d call for help until she saw the name in his call log. Isabel Flores.

  Layla fumbled over the keys and hit the recall button. Struggling to bring the phone to her lips, Layla whispered, “Isabel, please find Ray. You’ve got to stop him….”

  Then everything went black.

  Outside Jack Bouchier’s suburban McMansion in Virginia, Ray stayed in the shadows, watching his friend through the glass. Ray kept rewinding every conversation he’d had with Jack since his escape. All the times that Jack had tried to set up a meeting… Had those been earnest offers of help, or had it all been part of a plan to lure Ray into a trap? Had the authorities really followed and arrested Missy or had Jack called them? The pieces of betrayal started falling into place, and the sick certainty that Jack was the son-of-a-bitch that stole his life from him crowded out every other thought.

  Ray used to think of Jack as a brother. When they got leave to come stateside, Ray had even been a guest in this home. Now he just wanted to smash it all to pieces. Ray forgot his family, he forgot Missy, he even forgot Layla… Because if Jack was the anonymous informant, the only way to clear his name for treason would be to tell the truth about what Jack did—which Ray couldn’t do without implicating himself in the cover-up. If Jack had set him up, then Ray’s whole life had become a maze with no exit. He’d be going to jail, one way or another. And that left only one option: revenge.

  His shoulders heaving and fists raised, Ray crashed through the sliding glass door. Jack jumped up out of his chair, dropping the bottle of beer which shattered and mixed with the rest of the glass on the floor. Ray trampled it, heedless of being cut. His footfalls were hard and his face was elongated into a menacing snout.

  A strangled cry escaped Jack’s lips before he leaped back. He was going for the gun cabinet. Ray had been a guest in this house enough times to know where it was, and blocked his path. Trapped, Jack grabbed up the nearest thing he could find to use as a weapon—which happened to be a lamp. He swung it and it crashed into Ray’s shoulder, popping and blinking out. Ray didn’t even feel the pain.

  “Who in the hell are you?” Jack asked. “What are you?”

  So Jack didn’t recognize him. Whatever Jack saw when he looked at Ray wasn’t entirely human. Maybe Ray shouldn’t have been surprised, because that’s what had happened to Jack in Afghanistan. He’d forgotten how to recognize human beings; when he’d looked at those civilians, all he’d seen was an enemy bent on killing him. Now Ray didn’t see human beings either. All he saw in front of him was the lowest kind of scum on earth. Grabbing Jack and throwing him down, Ray snarled, “We’re both monsters now, Jack, but I’m a minotaur.”

  Chapter 19

  Fragile enough to shatter, in happiness I soared.

  Defeat brings me low but with love I am restored.

  Seth had crushed Layla’s petty rebellion and broken her spirit. He should’ve enjoyed his victory over his sphinx, but it left him cold. Why should that be? He looked over to where Layla lay upon the stainless steel table. He’d had his doctors examine her—more a function of his desire to humiliate her than for any true practical purpose—and he could sense her delicious misery.

  Even in sadness and pain, Layla was still as beautiful as ever. So why didn’t he desire her? Perhaps Layla wasn’t truly worthy of him. What powers did the sphinx have except to riddle mortal minds? Layla couldn’t make butterflies and hummingbirds appear from the air. She had no dominion over plants or flowers. She couldn’t seduce a man merely by looking at him….

  The war god frowned, trying to shake off whatever madness had him thinking about the Aztec deity. After all, he’d had enough of goddesses. More than enough. His first wife, Nephthys, was as forceful a goddess as ever lived. Seth still sometimes thought about her sharp talons and hawkish features, but their shared ferocity hadn’t been enough to keep them together. His second wife, Taweret, was a savage demonic fighter who could take the shape of a hippo, a crocodile or a lion. But that relationship ended when she tried to chain him to a wall. His third and fourth wives, Anat and Astarte, were both war goddesses in their own right…. Yes, all of his wives had been goddesses, too powerful to tame. And each had betrayed or abandoned him in turn, which was why he’d created his sphinx in the first place.

  The shape of Layla’s face was precisely to his liking. Her breasts the exact size that he preferred in his hands. He’d molded her from sand to be his perfect companion and he should enjoy having her back under his power. So why wasn’t he happier about it? What magic spell had Isabel—that painted whore goddess—cast over him that he couldn’t get her out of his mind?

  It must simply be that he hadn’t truly reclaimed Layla yet. He could still sense the fingerprints of another man on her body and didn’t feel as if she belonged to him in the way she once had. She’d given herself to the minotaur. He’d just have to ensure that such a thing could never happen again.

  Ray duct-taped Jack to an old rocker by the fireplace. Jack writhed beneath his hood. “Ray?”


  “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to say my name like I’m a friend.”

  “Just take the bag off my head and we’ll talk.” Ray recognized the plaintive tone, the one they’d both used to calm down hostiles in the field, and it made him furious. Jack just kept talking. “Whatever kinda trouble yer in—”

  Ray didn’t let him finish. Instead, he punched Jack in the face, not sure if he hit nose or chin or mouth, and not caring. Jack made a choking sound, as if tasting his own blood. “I’m your friend, Ray. Whatever you done, we can find a way out of it.”

  “Like I helped you out of a court-martial? Or like you helped me when you told the government I was a traitor?” Ray slammed his fist down hard on Jack’s hand, the crack of bones reverberating under Jack’s howl of pain. It should’ve been deeply satisfying, but it wasn’t. Maybe Ray just hadn’t caused enough pain yet.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack whimpered.

  Red fury danced before Ray’s vision. “You’re fucking sorry?”

  “I thought you were gonna tell the truth about what happened in Afghanistan. I panicked. I just thought that if I cast a little doubt on you, then nothing you said about me would ever stick. I just thought they’d question you but wouldn’t have enough evidence to do anything about it, so I spun one lie, and it became another…”

  There it was, then. All the confirmation Ray needed. It really had been Jack who had betrayed him. Jack who had murdered civilians and condemned Ray to a dungeon. He could still taste the flesh that they’d told him had been cut from his own nephew. Remembering it, Ray yanked off Jack’s hood, tape and all, taking some hair and skin with it. Then he stooped down to pull off Jack’s socks.

  “What are you doin’, Ray?”

  “I’m gonna show you a little trick I learned in a Syrian dungeon,” Ray answered, his boots crunching on broken glass as he readied the jumper cables that he’d taken from the trunk of Jack’s car. “I bet you don’t know how sensitive the bottoms of your feet are…”