“That’s just wrong,” Kurik burst out, thumping the granite bar and causing the shot glasses to rattle. “Females aren’t chattel. They are to be treasured, but they have their own minds and rights. No one should ever be forced!”
“It took me a while to realize that, that what I thought of as my duty to my clan wasn’t the way it had to be,” she admitted. “One day I just, I couldn’t do it anymore. I fought against it, fought the next male who came to me. I said no, and I refused to subject myself to that again.”
“Good,” Kurik growled. “Damn good.”
“Bad,” she corrected. “The males became afraid I was part Isis witch, come to steal their virility. I was deemed unfit, beaten and sentenced to death. My mother pleaded for banishment instead, and because my mother is a good breeder and mate to the late clan leader, they granted it. They also thought an honor killing would be too honorable for me. A slow death by banishment, in exile in the human world, was fitting punishment for someone like me. And so I was spirited across the border to Michigan and put on a bus with just enough money to get me here.”
Silence fell on them, thick and unyielding. She kept her eyes on the countertop, not willing to see further horror in their eyes. Even worse, pity. Or worse yet, no trace of the love and affection they’d showed her in the bedroom earlier.
Kurik finally spoke. “You’re young,” he reminded her, folding his arms across his chest. His expression revealed little of what he thought about her news. “Not even half a century old. Maybe with time, things can change.”
“Maybe.” She gave him a small smile, but inside she reeled. Kurik’s subdued reaction bothered her almost as much as Rashon’s outburst did. “Anything can happen in the future, right? Still, I thought it was important for you to know.”
Rashon slid off the stool, paced away from them. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
That stung. “When was I supposed to tell you, Rashon?” she demanded. “We had sex for the first time three days ago. You’re mated to Kurik. How was I supposed to know you wanted kids? I told you as soon as you mentioned wanting a family.”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, his expression stricken, as if he’d lost something. Someone. “Does Markus know? Not telling us is one thing, but our leader needs to know something that affects the clan’s future like that.”
“Rashon,” Kurik warned as she flinched. “Take it easy. Yeah, this is hard to hear, but it’s probably just as hard for Amarie to tell it.”
“Markus needs to know,” Rashon repeated, though some of the harshness had left his voice.
Amarie stared at him, buffeted by bewilderment, anger and hurt. Rashon made it seem as though she’d deceived them, like she’d done something wrong. “Markus knows,” she finally said. “I told him before he allowed me into the clan.”
Rashon shoved his hands through his hair, then turned away as though he couldn’t stand to look at her. “I can’t listen to any more of this right now.”
Amarie watched him walk away, her heart breaking with every step he took. The click of the bedroom door gently closing was loud in the room. She didn’t realize she was shaking until Kurik reached over to pry the shot glass from her clenched hand. She blinked at him, shocked by Rashon’s reaction, shocked by the depth of the pain welling up inside her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say. Rashon was hurting, and she’d caused him that hurt. But she hurt, too.
Kurik sighed heavily. “We...he needs time. This news was completely unexpected. He’s had this dream of us having a family with you for a while. It’s hard to deal with your dream dying right in front of you.”
She knew that. Hadn’t she just watched her own dream crash and burn moments before?
“You need to go to him. He needs you.”
Kurik hesitated, obviously torn, gods bless him. She nudged him with her shoulder. “Go on, Kurik. Go take care of your mate.”
With a last searching glance, Kurik followed Rashon into the master bedroom.
Chaos whirled through Amarie’s thoughts as she made her way to her bedroom. She leaned against the door, her gaze drifting over the contents. The house had two more bedrooms, one filled with gym equipment and the other with storage. This one though would make a great nursery.
Too bad the only way that would happen was for another woman to take her place. A healthy, whole woman who could be everything that Rashon and Kurik needed.
A woman who was not her.
Amarie pressed her hand against her flat abdomen. She didn’t want to give the men up. Not now, not ever. But if Rashon and Kurik wanted children more than they wanted her, she would have to step aside for someone else.
She had to know. For better or worse, she needed to know the truth of where she now stood with them. She made her way to their bedroom but stopped short as she heard the guys talking. Rashon’s next words flayed her to her soul.
“Maybe we should approach an Isis witch.”
Pain exploded in her chest, almost buckling her knees. She skittered backward, back to her bedroom. They didn’t want her. They wanted children, and now that they knew their female roommate was no longer a convenient means to an end, they were done, ready to turn to a Daughter of Isis to give them what they wanted.
Her skin itched with the need to escape, to feel the night air on her face. She hurriedly changed her shorts for jeans, grabbing her gun and knives as a matter of rote. Her weapons were her security, and right now, she needed every semblance of security she could get.
Holding her breath, she slipped down the hall to the front door. She didn’t breathe again until she closed the front door behind her and turned to face the night. Lights still gleamed from the community house; obviously the party rocked on while her world had crumbled around her. Not wanting to face anyone, she took the long way around to the lake, trying to gather her thoughts.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she vacillated between anger and despair. Deep in the quagmire of her thoughts, she didn’t realize she’d made it to the fence line that ringed the jackal property. This far back the fence, tucked under sweeping oaks and magnolias, edged a steep drop that ended in a tangle of brambles and bush, with an abandoned railroad track beyond. She knew from her guard duties that clan property ended some twenty feet beyond the fence, but the drop was the most logical place to erect a barrier. No one expected an attack from this area, so the fence was monitored remotely but not regularly patrolled.
Which didn’t explain why no one had reported the breach in the fence line or the group of undead skittering through.
Crap. Panic flooded her chest as she crouched in the underbrush, heartbreak forgotten. There were way too many Lost Ones for her to take on, but she didn’t dare leave to try to summon help. Jackals patrolled the perimeter of the property; most concentrated near the families, the community house and the clan leaders’ home. Shots would alert the jackals patrolling the compound’s perimeter, but shots would also announce her presence to the undead skulking about. She was already outnumbered; revealing herself would be a death sentence.
She eased her gun from the holster. There was no other choice. She couldn’t let the clan be ambushed by whatever the undead had in mind. Couldn’t let them summon more of their brethren.
With a whispered prayer to Anubis, she stood and started firing.
CHAPTER NINE
When Kurik entered the bedroom he shared with Rashon, it was to find his mate standing at the foot of the bed, a growl rumbling from his throat as he stared down at the sex-tangled sheets. Concern crashed through him. Rashon vibrated with fury, an emotion so against his easygoing nature that Kurik couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“‘Shon?” he called, his voice soft. “Are you okay?”
“No.” The growling ended with a snarl. “I want to kill.”
Fear slammed in Kurik’s chest. He didn’t mean...? “Who?”
An unholy rage burned in Rashon’s eyes as he turned to look at K
urik. “Those Canadian jackals. I want to kill every one of them who’ve ever touched Amarie. I don’t care how few jackals there are. They don’t deserve the name if that’s how they treat a female. If Markus knows about Amarie’s condition, then he knows how they treated her. He’ll let us go up there and take care of them.”
“Agreed.” Kurik relaxed, glad to know that Rashon’s anger wasn’t directed at Amarie. “Um, listen. About Amarie...”
“I was thinking about that, too. Maybe we should approach an Isis witch.”
Kurik stared at his mate in disbelief. “Gods, man, she just told you she can’t have children, and you’re already planning to replace her?”
“What? No! I thought one of the Daughters could help Amarie. Lady Tia pulled me back from death. Surely she can heal Amarie.”
Kurik’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Gods. I thought you wanted someone instead of Amarie.”
Indignation replaced the shock on Rashon’s face. “How in the hell could you think I want to replace her?”
“I didn’t want to think that,” Kurik countered. “She saw you talking to those Isis witches at the party. The look on her face...gods, it hurt. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was afraid that she wouldn’t be enough for us. That maybe we should talk to one of the Daughters instead, since they could give us everything she couldn’t.”
Rashon looked stricken. “She actually said that? She believed that?”
“I tried to convince her differently.” A lead weight settled in Kurik’s chest. The two people he cared most about in the world were hurting, and he’d give anything to take their pain away. “I told her she was exactly what we wanted, and she—she told me she loved me, right before you came home.”
He leaned against the wall. “She offered it up, like the precious gift it is, like she felt safe enough to commit to it. To commit to loving us.”
Rashon groaned. “Then I had to go and screw it up by springing the family idea on her. Then I walked out on her.” He ran his hands over his hair. “When she told us her story, I was so angry I was about to lose it. I didn’t want to blow up in front of her and have her think it was at her. She probably thinks I’m mad at her, just like you did. Gods, I’m such an ass. I need to apologize.”
He bolted for the bedroom door, ripping it open to rush down the hall to Amarie’s bedroom. “Amarie? Amarie? Where are you, sweetheart?”
A pair of shorts lay on the bed, the drawer where she stored her weapons open. “She’s gone out,” Kurik said, a feeling of dread settling in his gut. “Her weapons are gone.”
Rashon headed for the main room. “You don’t think she’d leave the compound, do you? Because of what I said?”
“The car keys are still hanging by the door,” Kurik answered, heading for the entrance and out into the night, Rashon following. “Maybe she’s just walking the property. She did that a lot when she first got here.”
Four pops cracked the silence of the night. Fear slammed into Kurik. “Those were gunshots.”
They didn’t think, just shifted and ran toward the fading echoes of gunshot. Kurik howled a warning to alert the other jackals as they raced for the thick underbrush on the remote side of the compound. Six more gunshots shattered the night. Rashon poured on more speed, outpacing Kurik as they raced around the lake.
Ten shots, Amarie had fired ten shots. That meant she had emptied the gun clip. Amarie wouldn’t fire the gun without good reason. Suddenly, he knew the good reason was really, really bad.
Blessed, Anubis. Please don’t let us be too late.
Kurik followed Rashon’s jackal, other guards spilling into the night behind them. They burst through the trees. The dry death-dust of Lost Ones assaulted his nose. Amarie must have made each bullet count, but many of the undead surrounded her. Too many. He skidded on his haunches as another sharp smell stung his senses. Blood.
Jackal blood.
Lost Ones surrounded Amarie, almost overwhelming her. Still in human form, she spun in a deadly dance of blades, darting and feinting, stabbing and slashing, leading the Lost Ones back toward a breach in the outer fence. Rashon roared with rage and leaped forward, attacking in a whirlwind of claws and teeth. Kurik followed the path of destruction, beheading the Lost Ones with lethal swipes of his massive claws, his only thought to get to Amarie. The undead fought back, and even though Kurik knew he and Rashon had bettered the odds, they hadn’t evened them.
Leap, bite, dart. Snap, rend, run. Feint, claw, kill. Kurik’s world narrowed to the art of fighting, the act of survival. Everything fell away except instinct. Attack the enemy, defend his mates. Protect his chosen family.
He and Rashon cut a swath to her, aware that reinforcements had finally arrived. Her left-handed blade bit deep into the neck of one of the undead and stuck there. She released it, stabbed the right blade deep into an eye. His blood boiled as she jumped backward to avoid a blow, then shifted to jackal form. Rashon reached her side, then his and Kurik’s view was blocked by a swarm of Lost Ones.
The desiccated creatures fought with inhuman silence and a coordinated intensity Kurik had never experienced before. Desperation seized him, the need to reach his mates overriding everything else. A yelp of pain pierced his soul. One of the Lost Ones had grabbed Amarie, claws digging deep into her flanks as it lifted her high. Dangling, snarling with pain, Amarie tried to snap at the undead’s throat but missed. As he watched, Rashon leaped up in a half-shifted form, swinging for the creature’s throat with one clawed hand, while grabbing for Amarie with the other.
For a heartbeat, they were safe. Then one of the Lost Ones swiped at Rashon’s back and side. The scent of jackal blood saturated the air as Rashon howled in pain. In slow motion, Kurik watched his mates stumble sideways, then fall backward through the jagged tear in the fence.
Kurik roared in fury and grief. His vision reddened as he plowed through the Lost Ones, ripping them apart with massive sweeps of his clawed hands, unaware of when he’d half shifted. After an eternity, he reached the fence. Bunching his muscles, he leaped high, launching himself through the breach. For a moment, he hung in midair then plunged down through branches, rocks and red Georgia clay.
Pain exploded in his body, but fear pushed adrenaline through his veins, shutting out everything else. He landed hard but quickly rolled to his feet, shifting back to his fully human form. “Rashon! Amarie!”
Crashing through the broken vegetation, he opened his senses, searching for his mates. Their blood seemed to be everywhere, sending panic through his heart. Blessed Anubis, please let them be all right. Please.
He crashed through the dense underbrush, stumbling to a halt when he came to a small clearing. Breath seized in his lungs. Even in the dim moonlight, he could tell that things were bad.
Rashon had fully regained his human form. He had his back against a snapped-off pine. A jagged hole gaped in his left side, and his shoulder looked to be dislocated. Amarie lay beside him, still in jackal form, her hind legs bent in a way nature hadn’t intended. Kurik could smell the Lost Ones’ poison.
“K-Kurik.” Rashon smiled at him, a trickle of blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. “There’s my love.”
His legs gave way and he dropped to the ground, his heart shredding. “I need you to hang on,” he pleaded. “Both of you. Help is on the way.”
“Try,” Rashon whispered, his breathing labored. “For you I’ll try, but I need you to tell her.”
His right hand stroked Amarie’s fur as his eyes glassed over. Amarie lay still and silent, no whimper of agony, no flinch of pain. “Babies or no babies, I wanted her for us, always. Make sure she knows.”
“You’ll tell her yourself,” Kurik asserted through a tight throat. “When you’re both healed.”
“Yeah, I think I will.” His eyes slid closed. “Maybe she’ll let me make the journey through Duat with her.”
No.
Throwing himself down before them, Kurik reached out with everything he had—mind, body, m
agic, love—wrapping his will around them, gathering them close. He couldn’t let them go. He wouldn’t.
Dimly he became aware of others around them. He snarled in warning, but no one tried to touch them. No one tried to take them away from him. Magic fell over them, a golden glow soft and warm and touched with the divine. When it faded, the grass and dirt and blood he’d knelt in had been replaced by flooring. The infirmary in the community house.
Kurik growled as a large shadow fell over them. He looked up, into the glowing eyes of Markus in his Anubis form. The Anapa pointed at his mates. “Give them to me.”
Kurik curled over his lovers. “I-I can’t, sir. Please. Don’t make me let them go.” He couldn’t lose them. Couldn’t be without them. He would fight them all, he’d fight the Great Father Anubis himself at the gates of the underworld if he had to. As long as he had breath, he would fight for them.
Power rolled over him as the Anput joined her mate. “You hold their souls, their ba and their ka. They have not entered the gates of Duat yet, and they do not wish to because of their love for you. We will do what we must to heal their bodies—with the blessing of Isis and Anubis. But you must give them over to our care. Now.”
“Yes, Lady Anput.” Carefully, Kurik handed his precious burden over, then rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He hadn’t fared well in his fight with the Lost Ones, but he’d survive. If Amarie and Rashon didn’t... “Please, Lord Anapa, whatever you can do, whatever you need from me, I offer freely. I can’t be without them.”
“Follow me.”
Kurik followed his lord and lady to the waiting Daughters of Isis, vowing that in life or in death, he would be with Rashon and Amarie.
CHAPTER TEN
Amarie swam up through layers of unconsciousness, then beautiful dreams of cuddling up with Kurik and Rashon punctuated by nightmares of being ripped away from them. Kurik was always there, even in the blackness, his will and his warmth surrounding her and keeping her grounded.
Hunting the Jackal Page 7
