The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Emma got barely a yard from the chopper before she was drenched, rain plastering her hair to her neck and forehead in long dark tendrils, soaking through her t-shirt in seconds. Thick rivulets ran down her legs and turned the tops of her sports socks squishy.

  Fern drew abreast of her with long strides, his white t-shirt already transparent. “This is the uppermost point of the palace,” he said, answering her unspoken questions about the layout of the ancient structure. “That over there,” he gestured with a jerk of his chin, “Is like the keep. From there we’ll go down a bunch of stairs to the broader lower levels, where Seshua’s rooms and stuff are. By the time you reach the subterranean chambers where most of the servants quarters are, the palace probably spans a few miles. Squared.”

  Emma’s mind boggled. The jaguar king’s other sanctuary — the Roadhouse where Emma had first met Seshua — was nothing compared to this. “You’ve spent a lot of time here.”

  His black eyes turned hooded, distant, though he was hiding nothing from her; it was memory that shadowed his face. “Yeah.”

  Before she could quiz him, they neared the one and only entrance to the palace. Emma recognized the guards who stepped forward to admit them all: Marco, the relatively short, terracotta-skinned leader of the guards, water running in rivulets through his spiky wine-red hair and into the creases of his black eyes as he squinted to see them through the falling curtains of water; and Leah, a tall blond female with the good looks of a catwalk model, smiling broadly with perfect white teeth, as though she delighted in the rain that flattened her long hair to her head. She nodded at Emma, and then again at Horne and Red Sun as they came up behind.

  Emma felt the warm presence of the two jackal guards at her back, too, unsure just how she could tell it was them, but she could.

  Marco addressed them. “Seshua would have been here personally, but business within the palace has waylaid him,” he yelled over the rushing, drumming cacophony of the deluge as it pounded the stone underfoot and the surrounding treetops, roaring waves of sound crashing down around their ears. “He sends his greetings and welcomes you to his sanctuary, and hopes to be with you soon.”

  “Awesome,” Emma yelled. “Now get us the hell inside!”

  After being seen to their sumptuous guest chambers, drying off, and getting a change of clothes, Emma and Fern were rushed off, in separate directions, and the maidens got to stay behind in the depths of the palace and rummage for whatever they wanted to take back with them to California. Horne and Red Sun stayed with Emma, as did Ashai and Teremun, the two jackal guards on loan from Egypt. With their gorgeous brown skin and dark eyes, long hair, and lean faces clean shaved save for small goatees braided in the tradition of their ancient people, they fit right in with the jaguar guards, although they were built lithe and lean, where the jaguars were usually thickset and huge.

  They hurried through the palace with no time to admire anything, and there was a lot to admire — so many rich stone carvings, gold inlays, and cool dark rooms full of antiquated treasures — so she could join Seshua in dealing with what Marco called an “unexpected matter of foreign diplomacy.” It was, Emma thought ruefully, exactly what she’d come to Central America for. She just hadn’t thought she’d be thrown into it so damn fast. As they hurried down a wide stone corridor — what was it with sanctuaries and stone corridors? — she managed to catch up to Marco and tug on his elbow.

  “Is Alexi here?”

  The look he gave her was priceless. “No. He has not yet returned from Egypt. You’ve nothing to fear in Seshua’s palace, save being late to this appointment.” He hurried on, and Emma rushed to keep up.

  There was nowhere near enough time to explore the labyrinth of the palace, and certainly not enough time to admire the beauty of the three outer courtyards — all at descending altitudes — huge expanses of moss-encrusted stones and towering carved pillars, carved idols of a kind Emma had never set eyes on, sacrificial altars that spanned several yards in width. All around there was the encroaching jungle, devouring the palace with vines and sagging boughs from the canopy outside the high walls. The pounding rain had ceased for the moment, leaving the world steamy and glittering with moisture. Birds soared and dipped overhead, bathing in rainbow flocks at recessed pools; animals shrieked in the distance, and lizards fled before Emma’s feet as Marco, Horne and Red Sun escorted her through the final archway into the lowest of the courtyards, where dozens of jaguar guards stood in frozen tableau, guns and spears at the ready — all of them aimed at one diminutive blond woman poised in the center of the circular stone space.

  The Russian was svelte, demure, and she looked about as out of place in the mossy courtyard as Emma felt. The woman’s khaki linen suit was creased from hours of travel; her braided hair frizzed and unraveling from humidity. She stared up at Emma with a mixture of exhaustion, indignation, and terror in her frosty eyes.

  The terror had nothing to do with Emma and everything to do with the cobalt skinned jaguar king who didn’t even bother to glance at Emma as she moved to his side. He stood one step down from her on the huge set of stone steps leading down from the archway, and still he was taller — seven feet of muscle the color of steel-blue silk, rippling with black and cobalt highlights, the mark of a royal shapechanger whose ancestry lay in the mists of time, when human contact with the Americas was just a dream in the sleeping mind of the world.

  Seshua’s tangled mane of black hair was pulled back, exposing a face as carved as any idol: thickset jaws, arrogant chin, strong nose. Full lips the color of blueberries. Dark brows framing deepset eyes of such intense, oceanic blue, you could almost drown in them — and Emma knew all too well. He’d tried to drown her several times already.

  Right now though, the force of that blue-lagoon gaze was directed at the frosty Russian, and the lady looked like she could use a lifeboat. And perhaps to not be held at gunpoint by the two dozen armed guards flanking the king’s receiving courtyard. The Russian had guards of her own, but they were back at the entrance gates, weapons confiscated.

  Emma thought it was all a bit much, since the Russian and her bodyguards were official foreign ambassadors. According to Marco, who had filled her in on the way, the Russians had an appointment — and their only crime was being early. They had not stormed the jaguar king’s jungle stronghold with heavy artillery.

  Then again, they happened to be werewolves.

  Marco walked around Seshua and down the stone steps, which served as a dais, elevating Seshua — and Emma herself — above their “subjects.”

  Yuck, Emma thought.

  Marco was nowhere near as tall as most of the jaguar men Emma knew, didn’t look as ferocious, but he had a compact, muscular build and his black-brown eyes were shrewd. He was leader of the guard for a reason, even if Emma didn’t know what the reason was. He lifted his chin and knocked the end of his spear against the stones underfoot. The Russian slid her gaze to look at him, without turning her head. Emma saw her jaw tense.

  Marco’s voice was soft, but it carried through the close, humid jungle air. “Come forward and announce yourself.”

  Something squawked overhead. Emma didn’t recognize the sound, refrained from looking to the surrounding treetops. It would be rude to get distracted. This was a formal address, and as Seshua’s royal ally and guest, she had to observe what little protocol she could actually remember from her briefing on the phone this morning. She knew that Seshua and the jaguars already knew who the Russian was; announcing oneself was courtesy.

  Courtesy also prevented Emma from swatting at mosquitoes. She wondered if courtesy would require her to wear a paper bag over her head when she was eventually swollen and disfigured from insect bites.

  The Russian moved closer to the steps where Emma and Seshua stood. Emma sensed one of the jackals behind her tense, heard the man make an odd little noise in the back of his throat. She glanced up at Seshua. His eyes remained on the Russian, but a slight tilt of his chin suggested he was paying attention
to the guard as well. Emma was learning that Seshua was more attentive than he let on.

  The Russian tossed her head, flicking wisps of pale hair from her face. “My name is Nadezhda Denisova.” Her accent was thick, throaty. “I come on behalf of Yevgeny Mihaylov, king of the Ruskiy wawkalaki. On his behalf, I entreat you to permit audience with the caller of the blood.”

  Emma bit her lip and fought to keep her face polite. Unless the Russian was being overly formal, it looked like she didn’t actually know that Emma was the caller of the blood.

  The Russian took a deep breath and bowed slowly, stiffly from the waist, tension plain to see in the corded muscles of her back beneath the well fitted suit. Nadezhda Denisova did not like to bow. She straightened and fixed Seshua with her icy gaze once more, hard and glittering. For someone who was there to ask a favor, there was a lot of challenge in her eyes.

  Seshua inclined his head, meeting her stare, but there was no challenge to it, just the fixed, unblinking stare of a big cat. Then he moved. Down one step, two, bare feet slapping against the stones. The deep red, silk palazzo-style pants he wore swished around his thighs, slits gaping at each side to bare his hips. The red fabric brought out the blue in his skin, made him look like some kind of demigod.

  “Welcome, Nadezhda Denisova, to the kingdom of the jaguar.” Seshua’s voice was purring thunder. “I grant you audience with the caller of the blood. State your business.”

  This wasn’t exactly how Emma imagined this panning out. Nadezhda Denisova’s eyes widened a fraction, and her gaze slid in slow motion to Emma.

  Emma resisted the urge to squirm. Nadezhda’s eyes were perfect glacier blue, and ringed with black. Husky-dog blue. The eyes narrowed. “Caller of the blood?”

  Emma padded down a couple steps. Red Sun made a low grumbling noise behind her, but she kept going.

  She knew she didn’t cut as striking a figure as Seshua, in her denim cutoffs and army green Zombie Outbreak Response Unit tank, damp hair bound tight in a braid down her back to minimize the effect of the jungle heat. She’d worn the tank top specifically to annoy Felani, but her hair looked good against the dark green, and her legs were muscular and a little less pale than usual thanks to three months of outdoor exercise back at the California ranch she now called home. But she would still never be as spectacular as most of the company she kept. She could understand the Russian’s skepticism, and try not to hold it against the woman.

  “You can call me Emma.”

  Nadezhda cocked her head, nostrils flaring. “Then you call me Nadya. Yes?”

  Seshua bristled, huffing air through his nose. “Nadezhda Denisova, will you state your business, or no?”

  The Russian’s gaze flicked to the king, and for a second Emma saw more than the woman’s human face. Lean bones beneath the high arch of her cheeks, white teeth behind perfect coral pink lips. Nadezhda Denisova drew her shoulders back.

  “I have come to propose an alliance between the Russka wawkalaki and the caller of the blood.”

  Seshua crossed his arms, tilted his chin. Marco, standing closest to the Russian woman, shifted his footing.

  Nadezhda’s eyes widened, sparkling with anxiety. “The Russka wawkalaki understand such an alliance would necessarily be with the Central American jaguar kingdom also.” She looked as though she itched to turn and confront Marco, but protocol required she address Seshua and Emma alone.

  Seshua’s expression didn’t change. Emma could see this dragging on forever, and she didn’t have forever.

  “Nadya, why?” Emma ignored Seshua’s stare.

  The woman looked at Emma, startled. “Why?”

  Emma moved down another step and heard the rustle and chink of weapons as her guards mirrored her. This time, Red merely chuckled. Emma tried her best to ignore them all. “Why do you want the alliance?”

  Nadezhda swallowed, slender throat bobbing. She looked from Emma to Seshua and back again. “I had hoped we could be discussing this in a more private manner.”

  Seshua moved so he stood closer to the Russian than Emma did. “We negotiate here.” His tone rang like struck steel, hard and pure. “If you cannot explain your proposal in detail, I will end this meeting here and now. I have much to do this day.”

  Nadezhda’s face sharpened. She quivered, and Emma doubted it was fear; this woman was not accustomed to asking anyone for anything. It made Emma wonder what brought her here, what was so important, and so sensitive they couldn’t talk about it in the open. Most of the jaguar people assembled in the outer courtyard this afternoon were guards, but a few were court officials whose purpose Emma still wasn’t sure of. Then there were the two jackal warriors who had come with Emma from California — technically they were ambassadors for their kingdom in Egypt, physical proof of Emma’s alliance with the Egyptian jackals, though they functioned as bodyguards for lack of anything more political to do.

  For all Emma knew, the Russian wolves feared their sensitive political information might get out and spread via the jaguar kingdom and the jackal kingdom. For all Emma knew, they were right.

  “Seshua.” She put a hand on his arm. He looked at her; she never touched him on purpose. “Can we talk for a second?”

  His dark blue eyes narrowed. “Of course, Emmalina. ” Ouch. This was going to be bad — he never called her that unless he was very unhappy.

  2

  Seshua swept Emma into the curve of his arm and walked her back up the steps, stopping beneath the tall stone mantle that shadowed the archway to the second courtyard and cast deep shade.

  “What grief do you plan to give me now, pequeña ?” His voice was a whisper, but still he managed to rumble. She lifted her chin, craned her head back, and met his eyes, determined not to drown in them.

  “Why won’t you give the Russian a private audience?” She kept her voice low.

  He sighed, nostrils flaring wide, glaring down at her. “I already stated —”

  “What’s the real reason?” Emma pretended not to notice the thunderous look on his face, or the way his hands curled into fists. It was hard; he was seven feet tall and intimidation ought to be his middle name. But she managed. “It’s because you don’t want any more alliances, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms, and then noticed that from Seshua’s extreme angle of height, she now had abundant cleavage. She uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips.

  Seshua quirked a brow at her, eyes filling with heat, managing to be suggestive and mocking at the same time. “I do not see what the Russka wawkalaki have to offer us that the jackals do not already provide.” His suggestive smile died a grim death. “Except more violence and threats upon your life.”

  Emma clenched her teeth. “What do those words even mean?”

  It was his turn to cross his arms. “What, violence and threats upon —”

  “Very funny. Russka-whatever — what does it mean?”

  Seshua chuckled. The sound scared Emma. It was the same sound she imagined he’d make if he somehow managed to get her underpants off with the power of his mind alone.

  Now there was a frightening possibility.

  “Russka wawkalaki — Russian werewolves, pequeña. That is what it means. I believe it is an old word, which the king uses as his ancestors did.” The words were warm and smooth as hot chocolate, rich with male amusement.

  “Are you laughing at me?” Emma poked him in the chest. His pectorals were so hard she almost broke a nail. “Don’t laugh at me. I want you to give the Russian werewolves a private audience.”

  He growled. “Emmalina…”

  “Don’t Emmalina me. These little visits of ours go both ways; if I’m going to sit by your side, all nice and visible to your people, it can’t be just a token gesture. Either I have some say in this stuff, or I don’t come here again.”

  The growl deepened, vibrating against the cage of Seshua’s sternum, rattling Emma’s bones — and a warm flush of power, tangible and electric, swirled between them. It smelled exactly like the jungle surr
ounding the palace: lush, green, hot and fragrant. Something like iron and ozone, and the rich mineral tang of freshwater on the back of Emma’s tongue — simple as that, the taste of Seshua’s power invading her, assaulting her senses, an aura he could either cloak or let loose and use to devastating effect.

  His eyes were bottomless pools of blue, electric in the smoky darkness of his face. Emma breathed in humid magic and spoke past it. “Stop it.”

  He crowded closer to her, towering over her. Bold, pressed for time, Emma put both hands against his chest and pushed. The black mark on her right palm gave a small, unearthly pulse, and then was quiet. No matter how intimidating Emma found the jaguar king, that protective mark on her hand would not flare up unless she felt truly threatened.

  He didn’t budge, and she had to endure the feel of his thick, velvety skin, thrumming with magic and the electric rush of life racing through veins and capillaries. “If you don’t stop it,” she said, “I’ll call for Red Sun and make him take me home.”

  Abruptly, the magic died, but the feel of Seshua’s flesh beneath her hands stayed the same. She jerked back as if it burned. It didn’t feel good to have to threaten him, but at least it was effective; they both knew it was no empty threat. Red Sun really could take her home if she asked, and he didn’t need to book a flight and somehow get her to the nearest airport to do it — nor did he need to hijack one of the king’s private jets and learn to fly it, though he probably already knew how.

  Seshua no longer glared down at her. He stared out toward the gathered throng, where Nadezhda Denisova, ambassador for the Russka wawkalaki, stood stiff and finely trembling under the onslaught of the gaze of at least two dozen jaguar guards, two jackal warriors, and a handful of court officials.