by Jackie Ivie
“Yeah. I mean, sure. Go ahead, Sir. I’ll man the search function. Just give me a word.”
“You were in Istanbul, Sokar?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. How did you know that, Sir?” Nigel asked.
“He got to Monaco somehow. Stanislaw happens to have landed an hour ago. His passenger came from Istanbul. I haven’t just been sitting here listening. What were you doing in Turkey, Sokar?”
“The tomb was found. Robbed.”
“Tomb? As in...ancient Egyptian pharaoh tomb? Oh man. How rad can this get?” Nigel asked.
“And she has one of my ushabtis,” Sokar explained.
“One of your what?” Nigel asked again.
“Excellent,” Akron responded. “Gives us a chance. Does she have any skills? Anything...odd?’
“Yes.” Sokar looked inward. Smiled. Shook his head to stop the recollection. “I would say she’s probably Hebrew. She possesses very good fighting skills. Said something about Krav-something.”
“I’ll just find stuff out myself over here. Okay? Ushabti. That is a personal servant statue. Good thing I can type fast and this thing auto spells. And...look. Krav-something is Krav Maga. It’s a fairly vicious form of martial arts,” Nigel inserted. “Wait another sec. Why would she tell you something like that?”
“I was going to kill her.”
“No way! Seriously? Sokar. We have to talk, man.”
Akron interrupted Nigel. “And she escaped you? Sokar. Do not move from your apartment. I’ll have a pack of cell phones delivered. Some new attire. This is going to take some searching. And we will have to be very lucky.”
“How so?” Sokar and Nigel asked it in concert.
“She might be a member of the Mossad. If so, it’s going to be difficult to identify and locate her.”
“Oh. We can locate anyone, Sir. You know that.”
“Start with the easiest bit of this. Search for Pharaoh Sesostris the Fourth. Middle Kingdom. Twelfth Dynasty.”
“Searching...and...no. Getting nothing. There wasn’t a Sesostris the Fourth, Sir. There’s a Sesostris the Third. Does that help?”
“Oh. Wait. That is the Greek translation. Try Senusret the Fourth.”
“On it....and still nothing.”
“Hmm. I guess I’ll just have to hope the ushabti had a cartouche on it.”
“Oh. Wait. I got a hit. Somebody is actively searching for the same Senusret the Fourth.”
“Aside from us, you mean?”
“Come on, Sir. Give me a break. Do I really look that naïve? And look—”
The man didn’t finish. The line went dead. Sokar slammed the phone into its wall niche, breaking plaster. And then he started pacing.
CHAPTER FOUR
Life had been colorless. Everything shaded in tones of gray. Figuratively. Almost literally. Nothing held much interest or value for any length of time. Geena had guessed why. There wasn’t much to enjoy once you breached the sanctity of human life. She’d accepted a gray-toned world years ago. She’d stood on the sidelines and watched humanity go about their existence. She was rarely seen. Never noticed. She was average height. 5 ft. 4. Average build. Not too slender. Not too curvy. Her hair was mid-back length. Dark brown. The same shade as her eyes. If she lined them, she was considered quite striking, although a bit on the exotic side. With the right wigs and prosthetics, she could blend in with most cultures. That’s what made her so good at this. She’d escaped death many times.
But this time had been was different. And she was especially leery of delving into why.
Geena savored another bite of lobster tail dipped in butter. Set her fork down with practiced precision atop the plate. She watched the silverware shimmer in the candlelight before looking away. She wondered for a moment if her handler should hear of this. She could tell him what had happened. And how she’d failed. Despite years of preparation and training. Despite everything.
She wasn’t an antiquity dealer, although she could be. She had a license. A bank account balance. She’d taken courses, passed exams. It was her cover and there weren’t any cracks. But it wasn’t her mission. She’d been searching for clues to a terrorist cell. The trail led to Armand. His many contacts. His wife. His three mistresses. His amazingly nondescript existence. He’d called her last week. He’d come into possession of an artifact. Was she interested? Well. When fate delivered something, Geena knew better than to turn it down. And then...this happened. Armand was now dead. His secrets unspoken. Any chance at finding the cell gone.
Because she’d been outmaneuvered by a vampire.
Oh no!
No.
Where had that thought come from? He wasn’t a vampire. He was just a man claiming to be one...and for some reason, he’d seemed to have the strength and ethos to back it up. Come on, Geena. Vampires don’t exist. But then, how could she explain it? He’d had fangs. He’d bitten her. She had two sore spots on her neck that got there somehow. It wasn’t possible...but what other explanation was there? How could she tell anyone? There wasn’t any way to explain what happened.
That was the bottom line. And once she’d reached that conclusion, the rest of her decisions came easier. It was best to remain silent. She wouldn’t alert anyone. To anything.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Besides, she still had the statue to deal with. It seemed to be reaching for her, despite how she’d wrapped it in layers of soft cotton, followed by several yards of shrink wrap, and then secured it in her hotel safe. Secured. Far from sight. Out of mind.
It hadn’t worked.
She knew why. She’d translated the inscription, including those along the base. Armand had been right. There was a curse. Anyone touching an item from the tomb of the Pharaoh Senusret the Fourth would die. Horribly. Gruesomely. Painfully. The curse couldn’t be stopped. It would always be there. Coming.
For as long as it took.
If any of this was true, the vampire man would be back. It was inescapable. Immutable. Inexorable. The only thing she didn’t know was when. That’s the reason she’d booked this suite. Purchased a floor-length, white-satin evening gown with matching heels. Taken a lengthy bath in scented oil. She couldn’t remember the brand, something expensive and exotic. Dressed with particular care. She’d pinned her hair up. Highlighted her eyes with liquid liner. Applied ruby-shaded lipstick. That was also why she’d ordered the most expensive thing on the room service menu.
Lobster tail. Delivered in a silver bucket. Still steaming as it arrived.
The remnants of her selection rested on fine bone china, alongside silver utensils, accompanied by a crystal goblet filled with champagne. All atop a pristine white tablecloth. Complete with a set of tall candles. It had been delivered by a fellow in a white suit. He’d assembled her dinner, lit the tapers, dimmed the room lights, and then he’d wished her a good evening before he’d gone.
She’d followed him. Set the dead bolt. Wedged a triangular doorstop into place beneath the door. She was alone. Still. Again.
Geena sucked on the succulent morsel for some time, pondering the blend of flavor and how it caressed her tongue. The butter-covered lobster bombarded her taste buds with flavor. She hadn’t given much thought to why some people could be gourmets. Take such time and care over food. But now, she knew. Food could be absolute heaven. She couldn’t remember her senses being so aware. Taste was just one of them. Every sense had heightened. Nothing was in muted gray tones anymore. All around her was color. Brightness. Life.
All of it infinitely precious.
She swallowed her lobster, pressed the linen napkin to her lips before setting it atop her plate, lifted her champagne flute and rose from the chair. The sunset from her balcony window called to her. She watched reds and yellows mesh into oranges as they transformed the sky into a vista of beauty against a wash of encroaching darkness.
She inhaled a deep breath of sun-baked air. Even that was vivid, the smell tempered by some sort of spice aroma. It felt as
if someone had turned on a switch deep within her somehow. And she didn’t know how to turn it off. Or even, where to find it. All because of him.
That vampire.
She lifted her chin. Drained the glass. And barely kept a gasp from sounding when she’d finished, although she lurched back a half-step. There was a man on the balcony with her. Just inside the drape edge at one side. A large one. Familiar. As expected as it had been, it was still surprising.
And eternally scary.
~ ~ ~
“Greetings.”
Sokar kept his voice soft as he addressed her. He took a step away from the drapery. Watched her fingers tighten on the stem of her glass. Aside from her stumble when she’d seen him, she looked completely unaffected. It was an act, however. Her heart was pounding in rapid bursts through her chest. Sokar knew, because his matched. Each heartbeat came on the heels of the last, carrying a slightly painful twinge. It wasn’t entirely pleasant. But he gloried in every single one.
The day had been a measure of anxiety and slowness. The pilot had received instructions from Akron. He took Sokar to a tailor. Then a men’s salon, although whatever they’d done with his grooming wouldn’t last. He had no reflection, so he couldn’t tell, but Stanislaw told him he looked good. He should. He wore a suit that had way too many zeroes in the price tag in his opinion. It must be worth it, however, for his appearance gained even more glances than normal, and more than one interruption when he’d gone back to the lobby. All of it added up to more time wasted. He chafed at every second that ticked by. Then, he’d had to suffer another plane ride, although he’d muted it somewhat by absorbing information from the laptop computer Stanislaw brought out. Then, he’d had to endure more attention when they landed. Good thing Stanislaw handled everything. Sokar hadn’t paid any attention. He’d been dwelling in a realm of anxiety he hadn’t known existed. And...finally!
Now!
He’d found her again!
He gave a silent word of thanks to the god, Osiris; the wife and consort, Isis; and especially to the god, Amun, before stepping closer. He reached arms-length of his mate before stopping, suddenly leery of contact. He had to physically tighten muscles to prevent further closeness. He didn’t remember her as quite so tiny. Nor as feminine. And nowhere near as lovely. She took his breath away, and he’d but recently gained the ability.
That’s when he realized why. He matched her. She was holding her breath as she looked up at him, her back straight. Her chin high. Immobile. And then he spotted something. She was trembling. She exhaled slowly only to gain another quick breath that she also held. Sokar matched it as well, and then wondered if she kept this up, how he could prevent light-headedness.
“Have you come for the statue?” she asked.
“No.”
Was that his voice? Gruff. Almost growled? Threatening-sounding?
It appeared she interpreted it that way, too. Her eyes widened a fraction before she glanced away. It took a mere second before she returned to lock gazes with him. It wasn’t attraction or interest he saw in her eyes, however.
It was fear.
“No?” she asked.
I have come for you.
He didn’t say it. He didn’t trust his voice. He settled with a head shake. She looked so small. So vulnerable. So frightened. As incredible as it was, he felt a sting behind each eyelid. He blinked rapidly against the emotion. Was it possible? He could experience tears?
“Then...why?”
Sokar had to look away. He moved his gaze over her head, out at the incredible vastness of light and humanity that was Cairo nowadays. It didn’t remotely resemble the city he’d seen built. It barely resembled the one from fifty years ago. He was overwhelmed with the urge to snatch her up. Hold her tight. Never let her go. But, he suspected that would be as easy as hugging a scorpion. A venomous, angered one. He looked back down. She hadn’t moved. She wasn’t taking her eyes off him. And she had incredible eyes. Brown. A beautiful shade. Warm. Deep. She bent to place her glass on the floor beside her foot. She didn’t move her eyes from his. The move placed her neck in a graceful arch. Tempting him. She was truly beautiful. He cleared his throat.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Her eyebrows rose. She clasped her hands to her upper arms and started rubbing. And then she lied.
“Valerie.”
“Hmm. My name is Sokar.”
She licked her lower lip. A rush of sensation smacked into him. It grabbed him from behind. Reached around his buttocks and put a heated grip on his loins. From there, it sent all kinds of shockwaves throbbing through the area. Without one hint of warning. Sokar glanced down in surprise. And then stunned amazement.
Amun be praised! It was all true! He was even regaining his ability to—
“You’re named for a god of dead?”
He looked back up, and swiftly moved his gaze. To anything else. The lights of Cairo meshed into a blur as he pretended to study them, struggling for composure. This was worse than being spelled by Heka, the goddess of magic. He had to conceal what was happening. Prevent anything from showing. It shouldn’t be difficult. He’d been known for stoicism while he’d lived. The statues in his tomb portrayed it perfectly. He didn’t show emotion. He was a credit to his real namesake: Amun. The hidden one.
And...
Oh. This was terrible.
And wonderful.
He felt a flush rise into his face, spreading more warmth as it moved. He could hear a distinct buzzing, too. As if the yearly pestilence had come early and he’d failed to protect his ears while he slept. What had she asked again? Oh. Yes. His name.
“It is actually...Sokarhotep.”
Good. His voice worked. It wasn’t a soft sound, however. He heard what sounded like window glass flexing before it decided to stay intact. And then the reverberation of his voice returned to him.
“Your name means ‘a god of the dead is pleased’? Is that supposed to be better?”
Sokar groaned and lost more ground as he stepped closer, hovering above her. Despite the risk and what might ensue. Her perfume assaulted him, toying with his newly awakened sense of smell. Each inhalation carried another dose of her particular scent. Warmed fragrant sandalwood. A hint of blended spices. The wafting smoke of incense. He couldn’t place it. He ceased trying. The combination wreaked more havoc on his control. His feet in the expensive new dress shoes slid an inch closer to her. Without one bit of conscious volition. Sokar pulled every muscle in his upper body into knots. Wrenched his abdomen muscles taut. Yanked thigh and buttocks as tightly as possible, and that barely worked at containing his urge to reach out. Grab her. Hold her close. Consume her.
She didn’t know. And he hadn’t been schooled properly. Nor prepared enough. This mating thing was an incredible force. Unmanageable. Impossible to deny. Unbelievably difficult to control.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
Sokar narrowed his eyes. He felt like thanking her sharp tongue even as he guessed her game. She was trying to anger him. Rile his temper. Perhaps use it to spark hers. It was a ploy he’d used on the battlefield more than once. Angered soldiers fought harder. With more determination. Bloodlust.
Or...
It occurred to him that since she didn’t know why he was here, she could be attempting to anger him for another reason. If she’d translated the curse and believed it, a quick death might be preferred.
Or...
Why did he bother pondering? It could be a mix of reasons, all of them variable. She didn’t appear to be trembling any longer, though. He now had that issue. He swallowed before answering, hoping to hide any shakiness in his voice.
“You...know the deities?”
“Oh. That’s right. I forgot. You’re a misogynist.”
“A what?”
“Woman hater.”
Oh! If only that were true! He wouldn’t be standing inches from the most desirable woman in the universe, ready to go to his knees and beg. That’s what came of f
ighting against a whorl of primal need, his body coiled tight and ready to spring. Snatch her to him. Rip the pristine white gown from her body...
And discover heaven.
His knees quivered. Grew weak at the instant visual his mind conjured and his self-restraint couldn’t seem to banish. Perhaps anger was a viable option.
“Your name is not Valerie,” he informed her.
He surprised her. A slight pause betrayed it before she answered. “How do you know?”
“Your name is Geena. Geena...Bauman.”
She turned from him and walked into her room. He followed. He guessed she did it to hide any reaction. His movement was involuntary and impossible to control. Despite any effort he made to stay locked in place. He grimaced in displeasure at such failure but incredibly, didn’t make a sound.
“Well. If you found out that much, you probably know more.”
She stopped in the center of the large room. Sokar sent his glance to anything except how the white satin caressed her buttocks. She was so unlike those women from the elevator. His mate’s allure had a bit of mystery to it. A heady dose of sensuality that needed to be discovered. Unlocked. Savored.
No...
It needed to be grabbed up. Displayed. Tongued. Plundered.
By the god, Set!
Sokar tightened his hands into fists before crossing his arms. And then he pushed them into his chest. He had an answer to one thing. Anger was the last thing he needed. Not when facing such temptation. He could barely force his mind to function. Sokar focused on the room. Flickers of candlelight sent his attention to her table. The remains of her feast. Beyond that was a long sofa. It faced a large black rectangular flat screen monitor. To his left was a door. Ajar. Giving him a glimpse of her bed platform. His knees wavered. He caught the stumble, but didn’t know how.
“So. Why are you here...So-kar?”
She emphasized the last part of his name. His heart reacted with a flutter. She turned, her expression looking as if she’d felt it, too. But then her eyes narrowed. She pulled her cheeks in, pursing her lips into a kissable pout. That look sent sparks shooting through his chest. They rocketed off muscle and sinew and bone before narrowing in on the real target. His groin. Sokar sucked in as something hit. Something massive. Pleasurable. Yet mixed with pain. And it was centered by raw, unwavering need. He didn’t even hear the first part of her next words.
