She raised her hand and he took it, his fingers clenching tightly. “I love you, Michael. You are my life as I am yours. I will always fight to live for you and our son. The Tamahaq gives you her word.”
13
London, 1588
* * *
“Give me my dagger, Siya,” Amina growled once her body temporarily recovered from a sharp birthing pain. “I want him to understand what he’s done to me.”
Asiya’s husky laughter exploded in the sunlit bedchamber. She squeezed her sister’s hand. “You can’t kill the father of your child, Mina.”
“I don’t intend to kill him, just geld him so he can never do this to me again.”
A torrent of curses, all reviling Drake’s ancestors, spewed from Amina’s throat in three different languages, English, Arabic, and Tahaggart. Mara, who attended her, chortled and brushed her fingers across Amina’s belly.
“Yes Tamahaq, do not hold your anger at the one responsible for your pains,” Mara encouraged. “The more you curse, the quicker time will pass.”
Amina glared at her. “Nothing will make this pass quickly except for him to share my pain and suffering for doing this to me.”
Even as she berated Drake, she did as Mara instructed to make the birthing easier. The shallow breaths, the walking, and her refusal to succumb to the behavior of white Englishwomen who took to their beds to give birth were the important lessons Mara had taught her. When a particularly strong contraction of her womb left her bent over, Amina knew to inhale deeply, to allow the aromatic herbs smoldering in small clay bowls scattered about the bedchamber to provide a soothing balm for her frazzled senses.
She flashed Mara a wan smile when the pain subsided. “I thank the ancestress Lilith for you, Mara. I doubt Asiya could have managed me as well.”
“You are important to the prophecy, Tamahaq. I couldn’t do otherwise.” The midwife’s expression became stern. “Do not stop. Your son is ready to enter this world. Breathe like a dog.”
When the first pain had struck, Mara had instructed her to pant like a dog. To Amina’s surprise, the strange behavior did ease her discomfort. Even so, with each jolt of pain, it seemed she’d been laboring to bring Drake’s son into the world for days. If he wanted another child, she swore he would bear the burden of bringing that life into existence.
She looked at her sister when Asiya’s laughter flooded the bedchamber. “I suppose the world heard that thought.”
“Probably. I can’t wait to see how you manage that miraculous feat.”
Amina shrugged. “I’ll find a way.” Another contraction hit her and she staggered. Asiya wrapped her arms around her.
Your son is ready, Mina. Talk to him.
Amina felt her son’s movement through the birth canal, fighting to push his way from his mother’s womb. “It is time, little dragon,” she murmured. “You need not wait any longer, and the Tamahaq wishes to see your beloved face.”
She’d no sooner finished the sentence when another spasm hit. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen had Mara and Asiya not caught her. Amina waited for the pain to diminish before she howled for her life mate’s appearance, demanding he show his face so she could carve out his dragon heart.
Drake paused in his nervous pacing and listened to Amina’s screams. He was thankful he was safely ensconced in the sitting room adjacent to their bedchamber. It would be the height of folly to approach his mate at the moment, despite the pleas interspersed with Amina’s threats.
Drake winced when her vow to geld him resonated beyond the door. He recalled the sight of a stallion being gelded and it wasn’t something he wanted to see enacted on his body, especially at the hands of his life mate. Amina was fully capable and bloodthirsty enough to carry out her threats. A coward’s path was definitely a prudent decision on his part.
Silence settled over the sitting room and Drake resumed his pacing. Childbirth was dangerous for both mother and child. Amina’s refusal to permit a physician to attend her hadn’t sat well with him. If something went wrong, if the birth was breeched or if she over-bled . . .
He couldn’t imagine his life if he lost Amina. She was his world, his heart, his soul. In the year since she claimed him—for claimed him she had—he had discovered what it meant to be a Tamahaq’s life mate. Tamahaq.
So much more than a mere name for the women of Amina’s race. With Amina, Tamahaq meant strength, fidelity, courage, and love. There was no woman like his Tamahaq.
A faint cry intruded on his musings. He stopped pacing, wondering how long his mind had wandered. Drake tilted his head towards the bedchamber, listening for a sound, any sound to reassure him all was well. Nothing.
He started for the door and hesitated, cocking his head toward the portal. It was far too quiet in the bedchamber. His heart skipped a beat and panic squeezed the air from his chest. He fought for calm as he forced his suddenly weighted feet toward the door connecting the two rooms. Though he owed no allegiance to any god, his lips moved in silent prayer as he reached for the door’s handle. His fingers closed around the metal.
The explosive wail of an infant’s cry suspended his motion. It was the cry of his son.
Drake thanked Fate, inhaled deeply, and twisted the handle. The door swung open, the scent of roses and frangipani mixed with healing herbs greeting him. His gaze immediately went to the bed. Amina sat upright, her back against the bed’s thick linen-covered bolsters. His son lay naked against her bare breasts, his hungry mouth greedily suckling.
He took in the vision before him. Though she was minutes from giving birth, Amina’s beauty stole the air from his lungs. Even after her travail, she radiated a sensual heat that blinded him to all else.
Their eyes met and an exhausted smile formed on her lips. She inclined her head and his gaze followed. His son. Their son.
The noises floating from the bed incited a flash of jealousy. It was a foolish emotion but Drake owned he envied his son making free with what he considered his private property. He glanced up at Amina’s laugh. Her amusement told him he hadn’t concealed his thoughts.
He shrugged. I made first claim.
Her laughter faded as she wagged a finger at him. “There is one for each of you.” She patted the space next to her. “Come greet your son, dragon.”
Drake crossed over to the bed and sat on its edge. He stared down at their son. The babe’s pale tawny hand clenched the darker skin of his mother’s breast. A soft piece of linen draped his tiny body. “Shouldn’t he be swaddled?”
Amina frowned. “The Tamahaq’s children are not swaddled. Their arms and legs must move freely if they are to grow strong and tall.”
Drake continued to study his son. Where Amina’s skin was the color of honey, his son was near to him in hue. He would be more English than Imohag. Drake wondered what color his son’s eyes might be. Would he have his mother’s golden amber orbs? As if he heard his father’s thoughts, the child turn his head toward him. The eyes peering back at him out were dark. Drake prayed he would have his mother’s expressive eyes.
Love poured from his heart as he gazed into his son’s face. His son. His hand caressed the babe’s head, the silky black hair luxurious against his palm.
Drake leaned over to kiss Amina and their tongues tangled until the need to breathe forced them apart. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her breast, his son not the least bit disturbed by the rhythmic motion.
“Thank you for my son, Tamahaq. What name shall we give him?”
Amina nibbled her lip for a few seconds. “I would give him Raphael’s name, dragon.”
“Raphael is not a common English name.”
“Our son will not always live in England,” she retorted. “He is Imohag and may return to his mother’s land. Raphael will serve him well among his people.”
Drake grinned at her ferocity. “Raphael it is. I would like his second name to be Francis, for my uncle.”
Amina nodded. “If you wish.”
Drake clos
ed his eyes. “Archangel?”
Michael is a better choice, but it is no insult for your son to wear my brother’s name.
Jealous, Michael?
Not in the least, Raphael. Your name is a perfectly fine, if somewhat ordinary, one. He will most likely go by Francis.
Drake and Amina laughed as the two archangels engaged in a heated exchange over their son’s name. Amina shook her head and called truce between the fractious archangels. “It is only fitting our son wears Raphael’s name, since my sister laid claim to Michael for her son.”
“Our next son will bear your name, archangel,” Drake promised.
“There will not be another child for two years. The Tamahaq is not a brood mare. And she will not be a son,” Amina insisted. “Your son will require the wisdom and calm of the Tamahaq.”
Michael and Raphael’s laughter blanketed the chamber while Drake silenced her protest with a deep, drugging kiss. He lifted his mouth from hers, his expression suddenly serious.
Amina peered at him. “What is wrong, dragon?”
“Nothing is wrong, hawk. We do need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Our son.”
Amina’s body stiffened. “What about our son?”
Drake did not miss the dangerous edge to her voice. “Raphael is the first of his kind, Amina. In his blood are all our gifts: yours, mine, Asiya’s, and Willoughby’s. While he will not be the one to wield these powers, he will carry and pass them on.”
Amina’s arm tightened about her sleeping son and he mewled softly. She kissed his forehead, murmuring to him until he quieted. Her worried gaze searched Drake’s eyes. “They will come for him. The Fallen.”
He nodded. “When his gifts become sensed or felt among angels and demon kind, Satan will send his followers to capture or kill our son.”
Amina flinched at the harsh words and Drake took her hand. “No one will take our son from us. Raphael and Michael stand as his guardians. We will shield his mind until his cousins reach the age to protect him as well. We will see to our son, hawk. Michael encourages us to leave London. To settle elsewhere.”
“Where would we go, dragon? Where can we find safety from Satan’s creatures?”
Drake stroked her cheek. “There is nowhere truly safe, but what say you we move nearer to Willoughby and your sister? When I am at sea, you will have Asiya to distract you from foolishly antagonizing the Fallen.”
Amina pinched his side.
“Ouch.”
He fisted her hair and tugged her mouth to his. When he had thoroughly explored her mouth, he drew back and grinned. “Next time you strike me, witch, I shall warm your arse with my palm.”
“Hmm,” she murmured huskily. “Will you promise to kiss away the pain?”
“Maybe.”
She laughed softly before her eyes became worried. “When do you leave?”
Drake glimpsed the fear and sadness in her thoughts. He rose from the bed and walked over to the window. He stared out over the small courtyard belonging to the house.
“Soon. Philip of Spain ordered the invasion of England. The ships sailed in May, but were turned back because of storms. The armada languishes in La Coruna for repairs. I must join Uncle Francis in Plymouth in a fortnight.”
He returned to the bed. “I need to know you and my son are safe, Amina. Will you go to your sister’s?”
She closed her eyes. Her vow not to grow anxious each time he left her side pressing against her tongue. Yet every time he boarded the Phoenix and sailed from England, her heart fractured.
“Hawk?”
She heard the anxiety invested in the utterance and swallowed her fears. Dragons cannot be caged.
“Yes, I will go to my sister’s. Your son should be there to welcome his cousins into the world.”
“I wish it were otherwise, Amina,” he said, taking her hand. “England needs my aid in the fight against Spain.”
She felt the wetness on her cheeks and brushed it away. “The Spaniards will be aided by Satan’s Fallen.”
“It is why I am needed, hawk. English ships cannot defeat Philip’s armada without my gifts.” Drake leaned over to kiss her lips. “I also need to protect you and my son. The fewer demons there are, the safer my family is.”
Amina inhaled. “I will be with you, dragon. Do not be reckless. Just come home to your son and the Tamahaq.”
“Always.” His mouth claimed hers. When he finally ended the kiss, Drake touched his forehead to hers. “You are my life as I am yours.”
Epilogue
Ahaggar Mountains, Algeria, 1588
* * *
Lilith closed her eyes the moment she heard the outraged squall of her descendant in her awareness. Raphael Francis Drake lived.
From his line, Fate would enter the world as Analise Saria and Lucifer would become her Consort. A smile formed on Lilith’s mouth. Fate had given Raphael custody of the gifts Analise and Lucifer would need to bring an end to Satan’s rebellion. With each generation of Tamahaq, those gifts would flourish until Analise Saria claimed them.
Weariness suddenly weighed on Lilith. A sigh floated from her chest to her lips and escaped, the sound a combination of desire and sadness. She had sacrificed a life with Satan because Fate demanded it. Exhausted by the struggle to keep separate both halves of herself, she was tempted to give it all up for a single moment of pleasure in Satan’s arms, in his bed. Would the sacrifice be worth the sensation of loving him as she wanted for nearly a thousand years? A path she avoided for a millennium?
Lilith sensed him before he descended, her mind and soul attuned to Satan no matter where he was in the human’s world. He was her life mate.
The flurry of dust created by his powerful wings settled and she watched the slow, seductive approach of the Seraphim who owned her heart. She was unable to quell the rush of joy at the sight of him. Not even the cold burden of hatred could mar his gorgeous face and body.
When Satan stood a few feet from her, Lilith studied the harsh features of the angel she loved. Then he smiled and her heart raced.
“The Tamahaq believe I took your life. I allowed the rumor with the hope it would serve my purpose. Obviously, I was mistaken,” he intoned. “Are you prepared die for my brother?”
His words interrupted Lilith’s wayward thoughts and she almost replied, No, I die so Analise Saria will come into this world. I die to save you, life mate.
Instead, she shook her head. “It isn’t about dying for your brother, Satan. As a Guardian, my duties have always been clear. It is not yet time for you and Lucifer to find each other, so if I am to die, it is for Fate to live.”
Desert heat rubbed Lilith’s skin, the rough woolen robe an irritant. At times, it was a curse to be human. She ignored the discomfort. “I am willing to die for the ones I love. Are you, Satan? Willing to die for love?”
Satan’s body tensed, his right hand fisting. Broad shoulders flexed with aggravation as he closed the distance between them. Lilith shook her head. If he thought to intimidate her, he was mistaken. She held her ground, refusing to bow before his arrogance.
Sand funneled with his movement and faint swirls of fine grit clung to the trousers he wore. His naked chest rejected the clingy grains and its smoothness captured her gaze before an irritated sound drew her eyes to his face.
Lilith banked her amusement when annoyance flickered in Satan’s blue eyes, his wings twitching. He had ever been impatient.
“You were always stubborn, Lilith,” Satan’s deep voice intruded. “Where is my brother?”
Her irritation sharpened her voice when she spoke. “To you, I am the Tamahaq Saria.”
“Will you die for him, Tamahaq?” Satan mocked.
Her body jerked violently, punished by the psychic abrasion of his rage. She waited for the pain to subside before drawing air into her lungs slowly and evenly, her hand rubbing her chest. She knew this moment would come, expected it, and waited for it.
Irony was sometimes . . . j
ust ironic.
The archangel Lilith “died” to wear the human husk of the first Saria as Fate required. As the Tamahaq Saria, she had watched her daughters, only one wearing the name of Saria, die while she continued to live. The human, however, never loved as the angel did. The twin halves of Lilith had fulfilled prophecy, and now both would embrace death in Satan’s arms.
Bitterness and anger swamped her, tearing at the stoicism she’d practiced for a millennium. Despite the futility, Lilith cursed the day she was born, and cursed Fate’s interference. Why was she chosen? What had she done to become the cause of a bitter and deadly sibling rivalry?
Her gaze flickered over Satan’s beautiful face. Despite the pride, ambition, and jealousy coldly sitting on his features, she knew the answers. He was the reason she accepted Fate’s will as her own and her sigh bled resignation. “It appears so.”
* * *
Satan forced his body to relax. Finding Lilith had been a shock to his heart. A thousand years he had searched in vain, only to find her living in an angel-forsaken place the inhabitants called Algeria. He might have ignored the brown-skinned human and slain her along with the other primitives, had his brother’s mark not called to him.
A faint motion caught his eye. Lilith’s elegant fingers gently rubbed her aching chest. He had caused her that pain. Her hand fell to her side, setting in motion a subtle fragrance. He inhaled, his lungs absorbing the scent of her, sending it straight to his brain and then to all his senses. He tasted the soft delicate rose, breathed in the heady frangipani, and felt the caress of jasmine petals on his skin. Lilith.
“Yes, Seraphim?”
His startled gaze went to her face. Lilith had not lost all her gifts. Anger clouded his chiseled features. “I am waiting.”
“Will you punish me for my insolence? For stubbornness?” She chuckled. “I may wear the body of a human, but do not forget what I am.”
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