The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2)

by McIlwraith, Anna

  He flooded her with warmth, but not certainty. I think so. The others think so, I can tell. Probably as good as we’re going to get.

  She nodded. “That is acceptable. You’ll let us know if you find any sign of Kal?”

  He stared down at her, brow crinkling just a little. He looked like he almost believed that she thought he was really going to send his guards to search for Kal. Emma hoped it was just because she was a woman, and not because she naturally looked gullible.

  “You will be informed as soon as my search party finds anything. You have my word.” There was a hard gleam in his eye that Emma didn’t like. But she let it go; there was nothing she could do about it now.

  She turned to Kahotep and put a hand on his chest — the side that wasn’t torn open — and leaned in. Her cheek brushed his as she moved her lips so close to his ear that a hard thought would have brought them together.

  “Come to us if you can,” she whispered, her voice so soft and thready she couldn’t even hear it. Only Kahotep could hear it. Though he gave no indication that he did — just stared down at her with heat and weight behind his gaze, the triumph of having won this round against Khai, the grief of knowing that when Emma left, she left him to this. To centuries of this.

  The servants arrived to escort her and the others to their rooms, and Emma tried not to feel like she was running from the look in his eyes.

  They left, and Khai-Khaldun watched Kahotep’s eyes follow until the stone doors to the chamber slid closed.

  “So,” he said in a language that pre-dated ancient Egyptian by almost five thousand years, stepping down off the dais to circle his nephew. “She is genuine.”

  Kahotep turned, and the eyes that met Khai’s were flat, dead. He knew better than to plead with his uncle.

  “Yes, she is.” He didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’

  Khai laughed. “Such a pity, then, that Tarik marred this lovely body of yours in error. Still, you cannot blame me for doubting you.” He reached out and dragged his curved fingernails across the tip of the wound. Kahotep’s throat worked; other than that, he gave no sign of how much it hurt for the claws of a shapechanger to re-open flesh that had already spent so much energy trying to knit itself.

  Khai hooked one talon into the end of the slash wound and whipped his hand down.

  Kahotep made a strangled sound as Khai sliced him open all the way down to his navel. A flesh wound, that was all — Kahotep breathed, nostrils quivering, whites of his eyes stark against the make-up, against the drowning brown of his irises.

  Khai snarled in his face, angry power trickling off his skin like smoke; acrid, oily, tinged somehow with the ripe smell of decay, of death and ruin. It was a scent that clung — no matter how hard Kahotep scrubbed, he could feel one hundred and fifteen years’ worth of it staining his soul.

  “Go then, pup, and clean yourself up for the caller of the blood.” Khai’s lips curled back, gold eyes shimmering with cruel laughter. “It’ll be time, soon enough, to take that white little body of hers and make it ours.” He turned his back and Kahotep moved away, his steps even. He would not run from his uncle. Running only made him give chase.

  “Kahotep.” Khai spat the word as though it tasted bad. Kahotep’s name meant peaceful essence. Khai thought it weak.

  Kahotep stopped, turning to meet his uncle’s eyes. “Yes?”

  “What do you really think of her, this little human thing? Do you relish making the pledge? Or would you rather…someone take your place?” Khai had crossed his arms over his chest. He stroked his goatee thoughtfully.

  Kahotep forced the panic down. Careful, oh, so careful. “She is human,” he said without inflection. “Frail, but she does have power. It is not the type of power our kind are used to — not the intoxication of the beast — but it has its appeal.” He shrugged. “And she is beautiful enough.” He swallowed. “There will be pleasure in the pledge, of that I am certain.” He met Khai’s eyes and waited.

  A slow grin spread across Khai’s face; it was one of the most frightening expressions Kahotep had ever seen his uncle make. It brought his heart to a fluttering, inhumanly-fast beat.

  “Good.” His uncle dismissed him, and he left.

  Khai stayed where he was until the whisper of Kahotep’s footsteps died. Then he went to one of the sarcophagi and put his hands on its polished surface, fingers toying with the seals.

  “Did you hear that?” He whispered. Something scraped against the inside of the tomb. “She is beautiful, he said. And she accepts the pledge. He doesn’t even know I have you, doesn’t know you are destined to wet my altar with your rich, hot blood, yet still he is thinking of another.” Khai pressed his face to the hardness of the sarcophagus and growled, and it vibrated against the stone, through it — and inside, Nathifa struggled against the lengths of steel cable that bound her arms and legs, cutting into the slashes and the bruises and the open, weeping wounds, but the physical bonds weren’t the worst of it.

  She had screamed and screamed, and flung her senses out, desperately opening the call over and over again — and by some dark magic wrought by Khai, no-one could hear her, or even sense her.

  “Perhaps I shall give you to Tarik, after all,” Khai crooned, meeting his vizier’s eyes. Horror swam in their black depths, but it fought a losing battle with desire and revenge.

  Nathifa could almost feel the gaze of the vizier through the thick sarcophagus walls. Khai had done this to her — so that he could make her listen, try to break her heart as well as her mind and body, and he would probably make her watch, when the time came — but it was Tarik who would finish it. She hated them both. They thought they could break her — they wanted to.

  But they had underestimated the strength of a battle queen of Nephthys. You didn’t need to be capable of screaming to pray to the lady of the underworld — and that was what Nathifa did.

  31

  By the time it was almost too dark to navigate the SUV across open desert, Seshua and his two guards knew they were being tailed anyway. The moon was crescent-thin, its light casting the sandy landscape in myopic gray, but it wasn’t enough, even for their cat’s eyes — not to drive by, not when the ground was getting rockier and more uneven the farther they went.

  The engine roared as Marco put on one last burst of speed, swearing under his breath as rocks and broken pieces of limestone boulders clanged against the truck’s undercarriage, jerking the wheel in his hands and throwing Seshua and Leah against the passenger doors.

  “Let’s give it up, Marco,” Leah snarled, pitching sideways in the back seat as she tried to look out the back window. “Take our chance while they’re still far enough away to give us a head start.”

  Marco snarled back in response. “There’s still light.” It was Seshua’s urgency infecting Marco, pushing him to throw caution to the wind. They bounced in their seats as the truck hit an uneven patch and its wheels left the ground, throwing them against the ceiling, the suspension squealing its protest.

  But Seshua knew they had to get to Emma and the rest of the jaguars in one piece and fit to aid them, else their efforts were for nothing. He grabbed the dashboard and flung a hand out to his lieutenant.

  “Marco, we stop here.” His rumbling, velvet voice filled the cabin of the vehicle, grinding harder than the stones they were plowing through. “They’re following the truck and they know the way better than we do.” The vehicle tailing them had been too far away for most of the journey for Seshua and his guards to see it in their rear-view, but they were catching up.

  Swearing, Marco obeyed, bringing their speed down enough to slam on the brakes. The truck fishtailed but came to a stop on all four wheels.

  “Out, now.” Seshua threw his door open and didn’t wait for the others, ditching his guns and clothing for the strength of the beast. It was a sacrifice, but the guns were no good to him and his lieutenants if they were dead — and neither were any good to Emma and Seshua’s jaguars.

  Marco killed the Jee
p’s engine and the hollow, growing roar of the other vehicle filled the silence. Leah leapt out and began to strip, her tawny hair and skin shining pale in the moonlight.

  “There’s no way to hide the light,” she said breathlessly, meeting Seshua’s eyes as he dropped the last of his robes. He looked sculpted of darkness and moonlight himself, his massive body alive with the electrical hum of imminent change, cobalt skin gleaming.

  He shook his head and beads glittered in the thick black mane of his hair. His thick-set, arrogant face was already bleeding to his beast, nose flattening out, eyes deepening, lips parting to admit lengthening teeth. When his voice came it was thunder shaped into words.

  “Doesn’t matter.” His teeth grew thicker still. White light started to seep out of his skin, clinging to it like mist, an unconscious demonstration of ancient power. Neither Leah nor Marco could affect the change in such a way.

  Their king’s dark eyes searched the horizon to the north-east; the jackal’s truck grew closer, engine growling, moonlight illuminating a plume of dust in its wake.

  “Change as I do. No need to let them know our number. Just follow me.” He met the eyes of his guards once more before the light erupted from his body and they followed, the blinding flare lighting the truck like a beacon, and then their paws hit the ground running. Seshua, velvet-black, streaked away as though made of the night, huge legs pumping like pistons of pure muscle. Marco and Leah, spotted and tawny, laid their ears flat and sprinted after their king.

  Mere yards behind them, the other truck — white light strobing out its windows — screeched to a stop, and jackals poured out of it in pursuit.

  32

  The rooms Emma and her entourage were shown to were sumptuously furnished, lit by what had to be at least two dozen torches set in sconces on the walls and filled with the heavy, cloying smoke of resin incense. Silken cushions and spotted furs were scattered across couches and raised stone pallets — it looked like a room for a harem, not for sleeping. Personally, Emma didn’t like the furs. She knew too many people who were spotty and four-footed on a regular basis and called them friends. You wouldn’t leave human hides lying around like that — not unless you were fucking psychotic.

  It took Telly the better half of a minute to find the secret exit. The other door had four jackal guards manning it, but the secret one did not — either Khai was stupid, or he was just that confident that his secrets guarded themselves. Emma preferred the former, because the latter was not comforting.

  Heart in her throat, she waited with the others by the curtain-draped far wall while Telly made an experimental foray down the passageway beyond. Too many minutes later the curtains rustled and he slipped through. His face was grave. He motioned to Red Sun, and the big man moved up beside him, dwarfing him.

  “You can feel the shielding.” Telly made it a statement, but Red nodded.

  “Yeah, I can feel it. Ancient magic. Older than shit.”

  “Does it stand in your way?”

  Red took a deep breath, barrel chest expanding like a bellows, and exhaled it with a growl. “I’m afraid it does, my friend. Like Kahotep said, the roof is our best bet.” He glanced at Emma, then met Telly’s eyes again. “If things go ass-up, we have to get to that roof.”

  Telly nodded. His face was a smooth, determined mask. He turned and looked every single one of them in the eye until he had their undivided attention.

  “The layout from here is as Kahotep said it would be. If he’s right about where they might be holding the serpent priest, then we have two main avenues we need to search first — they’re shorter and we can split up. Once we’ve searched them, we meet here and send out a bigger party to check out our third option. In any case, we’re relying on what little power we can use, when we can use it — these passageways are a labyrinth of magical shielding and it’s hard to tell which areas are dead, and which ones we can open the call freely within.” He paused, gaze lingering on Alexi. Then he moved away to pace the length of the room, light from the torches turning his skin to burnished gold, his hair to sandy fire. He was barefoot and shirtless. If it weren’t for the jeans, he would have looked like something from another world.

  “I don’t think we have much chance of finding the serpent priest.” Telly turned, met Alexi’s eyes again. “We’re going to try, but unless we’re very lucky in the next couple of hours, our best shot lies in seizing him when we meet with Khai for the pledge ceremony.”

  Alexi just nodded, his face harsh and pale with his dark hair swept away from it, hands fisting and flexing by his sides. Emma got the distinct impression that he was used to having a sword at his hip, and missed it.

  She moved away from the shelter of Fern’s frame. “What is this ceremony going to involve?”

  Telly blinked at her. “We don’t know. There’s no precedent. Feasting, probably, dancing, a bunch of nobles selected from the camp outside the gates.” He shrugged, mouth twitching. “Hopefully there will be enough people to provide a distraction and make our job easy, if it comes to that.”

  He was talking about killing Khai-Khaldun so they could steal the serpent priest back. It was the part of the plan he hadn’t shared with Kahotep — and hadn’t shared with Emma until it was too late for her to argue.

  But the others hadn’t talked to Kahotep the way she had — they didn’t believe he’d go against his uncle, not if it involved murder. Since Emma didn’t know for sure that he would either, her protests had seemed a little pointless. And even though they were leaving Kahotep in the dark about the palace coup they had planned, they were still counting on him to be able to get them to safety when the shit hit the fan, which was something else Emma wasn’t thrilled with. Didn’t seem wise to deceive the person who was supposed to bail you out.

  But she had already told them what she thought — and since she was merely human, with only as much experience as could be scrounged from a scant twenty-four years of life, she had to concede to them. To Telly, whose motivations weren’t always geared for the greater good.

  He looked at her as though he would say something, as though he could read her thoughts right off her face — but he said nothing. Maybe he finally had no defense, nothing comforting to tell her, no words to make it right. And she had no words to tell him how wrong she thought this was all going. Panic was blossoming in her gut, felt like it was filling up her lungs with cold, cold water, and she had to just shut up and follow everyone else’s lead.

  Telly straightened and seemed to close himself off. “Stealth is preferable to size, people. Rish, Tarissa — change, you’re coming with Guillermo and I.” The maidens moved off and stripped away their saris, disappearing in flashes of light. Telly pinned Felani with a hard stare. “You’re taking Mata, Manny and Ichtaca.” He looked to the two jaguar guards, and they nodded, moving away as the maidens had. “The rest of you,” Telly continued as Manny and Ichtaca stripped and changed. “You’re staying here with Emma and Fern. No arguments. We would all be fools to leave her unprotected when Khai might still suspect us of doing what we’re doing.”

  Like Telly, Emma expected protests, especially from Alexi, but there were none. Telly nodded. “Good. We go a ways together, and then spread out. Let’s not waste any more time.”

  As Felani led Mata, Manny and Ichtaca past, Telly put a hand on the maiden’s slim shoulder. Felani turned huge, blazing eyes the color of hot coals to him; she was already glowing with the dark excitement of the hunt.

  “Go fast, and be careful,” Telly told her quietly. “I don’t like sending you away from her for long.”

  She glanced at Emma, face unreadable. “I don’t like it either.” She blinked once at Telly and then was gone, Mata slipping like a ghost behind her, Manny and Ichtaca bringing up the rear in a sinuous, spotted wall of jaguar muscle. Emma’s heart sped involuntarily; the cats were sheer magic. She recognized the smaller one as Ichtaca, though both were near identical with their buff golden coats and black rosettes. They opened their massive jaws as
they passed, scenting the air, and then padded out of sight through the secret entrance.

  Telly left without another word, Guillermo shadowing, sleek ocelots flowing like water around their heels. Then they were all gone, and Emma was left with Horne and Andres, Fern, Red Sun, and Alexi.

  Horne drew the curtain over the secret entranceway and turned to Emma. His black brows softened in a frown.

  “I know it sucks, chica.” He brushed her arm briefly with his knuckles and moved away, pacing the perimeter with a critical eye, steering clear of Alexi who stood like a statue carved of cold marble at the other entrance to the chamber. Andres had positioned himself there too; Andres, with his arrogant smirk, didn’t seem fussed by Alexi. Red Sun paced as Horne did, and Emma couldn’t help but feel that Telly had made a mistake in leaving so many of them here with her. She would have preferred the maidens to the slow-boil of testosterone of this many alpha males all squished into the same confines.

  Emma paced. The entire chamber was too hot. Fern sensed her mood and didn’t try to say anything to her. She involuntarily caught Alexi’s eye, and he glared at her with sulfurous yellow eyes, flared nostrils, and an upper lip that looked set to curl at any moment. Emma felt like cursing Telly — Alexi should have been sent to search for his priest. Stuck here, he probably resented the very air that she was breathing.

  Don’t do it, Fern blurted. He’d been skimming the surface of her thoughts — he was getting way too good at doing that without her noticing.

  Do what? Emma flicked a glance at him and then started toward Alexi.

  You know what. Telly told us to stay with you, all of us. He’ll kill you if you go against his orders.

  Emma held back a grim laugh. Killing me would sort of defeat the purpose of the exercise, wouldn’t it?

  Fern sighed his frustration and slipped into her mind, shielding it. If she was going to insist on poking the big, bad boa constrictor, there was little he could do but try to cover her ass.