Tinkling bells announced our entrance into Genevieve’s magic shop, earning a “Be right out!” from the back room. While we waited, Marcus followed me from shelf to shelf, from table to table, as I examined the many curiosities. He stood far too close behind me, making my hands shake with the anticipation of his touch.
“Jittery, Little Ivanov?” he whispered, his lips almost touching my hair. He seemed to savor the affect his proximity had on me.
Turning my head, I looked up into the black-rimmed gold of his eyes from inches away. “I must just be excited about our business,” I said pointedly. “Are you still excited?”
“When I’m around carmine-eyed temptresses,” he said, daring me to close the distance between our mouths, “I’m nearly overcome with excitement.”
Just as I was leaning into him, Genevieve’s husky voice intervened. “How can I help you?” she asked, pulling a dolly stacked high with boxes through the beaded curtain.
Marcus barely brushed his lips across mine before pulling away. “Ah, Gen, I thought we were closer than that,” he said warmly. “‘How can I help you?’ is a little impersonal, is it not?”
Genevieve immediately let go of the cart, standing noticeably straighter. “Marcus!” she exclaimed, facing us with a joyous smile. “And … I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name,” she added, letting the curve of her mouth turn faintly bitter as she addressed me.
“Lex,” I supplied.
She nodded. “Welcome back to the Goddess’s Blessing, Lex. I hope you found your answers. What brings you back so soon, Marcus? Why, it was just a few weeks ago that you were here!”
Eyes narrowed to slits, I studied Marcus. If he’d visited the shop a few weeks ago, that meant he’d been in town before he’d met up with me after the trial. How long had he been back? How long had he been avoiding me?
Marcus stared back, unblinking, though the corner of his mouth rose infinitesimally. Something about my reaction pleased him.
I took a deep, calming breath. “Are you going to explain what brings you back so soon, Marcus, or shall I?” I asked, only the tiniest edge of frustration apparent. If anything, the corner of his mouth rose further.
Genevieve, whose smile had returned to its original exuberance during our exchange, seemed to deflate when Marcus said, “No, my darling, I can take care of it.” She looked like she’d just sunk her teeth into a furry, rotten lemon.
After quickly locking the shop’s door, Marcus gave Genevieve a brief update on my entrance into and involvement with the Nejerets over the past few months. “It’s time, Gen, and we have to make sure Kat’s safe. She’s an easy target for Set,” he told her. What he didn’t say was that I needed to keep Kat close because Nuin had traveled through time to tell me so.
“But she’s only a teenager! It’s her senior year, she—” Genevieve started wringing her hands. “Why would he come after her? Why now?”
Marcus stepped closer to her and squeezed her upper arms. “Gen … he’s unpredictable. You know that as well as anyone. He’ll use any tool he can get his hands on, and he’ll see Kat as a valuable tool because he knows I care about her, and about you.”
She looked up at him with hope-filled eyes, and I had to turn away. Even though it was clear that she had feelings for Marcus, I didn’t like watching anyone’s hopes being dashed. I stared through the glass door at the outlines of the two bodyguards who’d positioned themselves outside, pitying Genevieve.
“Gather what things you both need from upstairs. There’s a van out front that will take you to pick up Kat from school and then bring you both to my compound. Do you understand me, Gen? You must do this!” Marcus urged, his voice vehement.
While Genevieve packed the bare necessities for her daughter and herself, Marcus and I waited in the shop, standing close to each other but not talking. I was feeling too pensive for casual conversation. Why didn’t he come back to the Heru compound as soon as he was back in town? Why did he visit Genevieve? Again, I wondered if there had ever been something more than friendship between Marcus and the sultry shop owner. Kat had denied it months ago, but a mother wouldn’t tell her daughter about her sex life. What if …
As Marcus escorted Genevieve to the waiting van, I stayed with the guards. Marcus swiftly returned and walked me to his car, again offering silence and letting me lose myself in thought. It wasn’t until we were on the ferry back to Bainbridge Island, standing on the starboard deck, that he broke the silence. He was behind me, his arms wrapped around me to insulate me from some of the chill carried by the brisk sea air. “Tell me your thoughts,” he said, and I could feel his jaw move against the side of my head.
I didn’t want to ask the one thing that kept dancing through my mind. I’d never been a jealous person, and I didn’t like that my relationship with Marcus was bringing the ugly emotion out. But I also wasn’t interested in a relationship based on lies or half-truths, so I asked, “Were you ever involved with her?”
“Jealous?”
What do you think? “Should I be?”
Marcus sighed and held me more tightly. “Gen and I have been involved since she discovered she was pregnant with Kat and Set left her. I looked out for them, assuring they had everything they needed. I told you all of this earlier,” he reminded me.
“So … ?” Was that a ‘no’?
“If I said yes? If I told you that Gen and I had shared a bed many years ago … or merely months ago, would it matter?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry over something as mundane as past lovers, because Marcus sure as hell had plenty of those.
Marcus seemed to read my mind, and though his words stung, his voice was soft. “And what about the hundreds—thousands—of women I’ve had over my long life? Do they matter? Do they change anything?”
Thousands? How can I possibly compete against thousands of women? Throat parched, I said, “No. I just …”
“Just what?” he persisted.
“I hate them,” I said, feeling pathetic.
“And there it is.” He sighed. “You are no virgin, correct?”
Discomfited, I replied, “Um … yeah. I mean, no … I’m not …”
“I don’t care how many men you’ve … been with” —Four … and not one was worth it—“I’d gladly cut the balls off of each and every one,” Marcus proclaimed with more vicious chill than I’d ever heard in his voice. “But no,” he added, “I’ve never been intimate with Gen.”
I felt like a thousand-pound dumbbell had been lifted off my chest. I hated thinking that Marcus had slept with her, and then brought me to her shop and flirted with me in front of her. It would have been remarkably cruel. He was serious and severe and very lethal, but I didn’t think he was cruel.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said into the wind. Below, the choppy gray-blue water of the Puget Sound undulated and foamed, and a little ways off, a seagull flapped and coasted, flapped and coasted, almost keeping up with the ferry. “Have you looked after all of Set’s abandoned women and children so well?” I asked with genuine curiosity. How many half-siblings do I have?
“No,” Marcus said, and the single word rang with finality. “We’re getting close.”
I let him take my hand and lead me back down a narrow staircase to our car. I didn’t know why, but I’d just banged on a closed, dead-bolted, and padlocked door. Marcus really didn’t want to tell me something, and I was getting the feeling it was extremely important. It was deal-breaker important. I needed to break through that door. I needed to find a battering ram.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Struggle & Survive
“You have to decide,” Neffe told her father in her haughtiest voice. “Cancel the field school, or don’t, but I need to know ASAP. I mean, we leaving in the morning!”
Along with Marcus, Neffe, and me, Dominic, Vali, and Alexander had spent the past three hours in one of two conference rooms on the ground floor of the main house, discussing the varying details of the excavat
ion. Undergrad field school students weren’t scheduled to arrive until late May, and since it was too late to rearrange their course schedules with their various universities, Neffe and Dominic had arranged for several dozen Nejerets to join in their stead until they arrived. Now we just had to decide whether the field school students, who were humans, would be joining the excavation at all. Would they still be necessary? Would it be too risky to mix such a large group of Nejerets with humans? Having the small horde of Nejerets accompany me to the courthouse during the trial was one thing, but actually living together for months—the humans were bound to notice, and talk, and possibly do something unwise like try to expose the apparently superhuman humanoids living among them to the rest of the world.
“Cancel it,” Marcus said. “The humans are no longer necessary. They’ll just get in the way.”
“Or,” I interjected, “We could have them arrive as scheduled in May, but keep them in a separate ‘field school camp,’ away from the Nejerets.” I snorted softly. “We all know Deir el-Bahri is plenty large enough for two camps, and it’s not fair to the students to cancel the field school … they’re counting on this.”
Under the table, Marcus’s fingers cinched on my thigh. “Do as the Meswett wishes,” he told Neffe.
“Finally!” Neffe exclaimed. “At least someone can make a reasonable decision. Thanks, Lex.”
Neffe, you’re so not helping me, I thought, momentarily squeezing my eyes shut. “So are we finished then?” I asked, and again, Marcus tightened his grip on my leg. Since I was the Meswett and Marcus was the head of his familial line and the leader of the excavation to locate the ankh-At—Nuin’s time-travel power—we both were consulted regarding all important decisions. Marcus, who was used to being the sole decision-maker, developed acute stick-up-ass every time I influenced said decisions, even by doing something as small as attempting to end a meeting. Apparently he didn’t like to share control.
“For the most part,” Neffe said. “We have our Nejeret workers, field school students, transportation and accommodation arrangements, permits, and bribes taken care of. We may have to do some last-minute rearranging of personnel, but don’t worry, I’m sure Dom and I can take care of that—like we’ve done with everything else,” she said pointedly.
“Which you’ve both done very well,” I said with a warm smile.
Before I could speak, Marcus said, “Yes. Now, I would appreciate it if you could all leave me with the Meswett to discuss a few final matters.”
Chairs rolled on hardwood, people mumbled, and in a matter of seconds, everyone had left.
“What?” I asked wearily. We hadn’t had much time alone since Marcus’s return, and I had the anxious feeling that we weren’t about to have a sweet little tête-à-tête followed by a kiss and cuddle.
“You undermined my command,” he said softly, dangerously. “Don’t do it again.”
I straightened, holding my head high. “These people swore their lives to me—at your direction, I might add. What’d you expect, Marcus? Would you prefer they didn’t respect me … didn’t listen to me? Now that you’ve returned, am I just supposed to step back like a good little Nejerette and let almighty Heru take charge?”
Marcus’s lips spread into a razor-sharp grin and he said, “Most women enjoy it when I take charge.”
Suddenly exhausted, I ran my fingers through my loose hair and sighed. “I can’t do this right now, Marcus. I just can’t.” There was too much on my mind—too much worry about Set and the Nothingness and ankh-At—to waste energy on a power struggle with Marcus.
I rose and left the room, not stopping until I reached my bedroom. Needing to be alone, I locked the doors and started pacing. I felt physically ill, and it infuriated me that an unresolved dispute with Marcus could affect me so. Is this what a relationship with him will be like, just one long power struggle? Why did I think I could handle him? We were too dissimilar, products of vastly different times. Could I live with being what he apparently wanted me to be—his possession?
Absolutely not.
Could I live without him?
Yeah, but I really don’t want to.
A heavy, domineering knock rattled the door from the sitting room, and I heard the handle jiggle. “Lex,” Marcus called through the door. “Let me in.”
I approached the door and rested my hand against its surface, as though I could feel Marcus’s frustration through the solid oak.
“Lex, I’m … damn it!” His final word was emphasized with hard slap against the door. After minutes of silence, I decided he’d left.
I retreated to the oversized bed and curled into a ball in the center … and cried. I was sick of crying, sick of feeling weak. How many tears had Marcus coaxed from my tired eyes? How had he taken control of my emotions so completely? Why had I let him? I didn’t want to give him up, but I couldn’t be with him if he didn’t accept me as his equal. I couldn’t change him—make him less—and I didn’t want to, but maybe I could change how he saw me.
Curled up on the bed, I resolved to show Marcus that I truly was his she-falcon, a woman worthy of his respect as well as his emotional and physical attentions. With my heart settled, my head was free to spiral out of control. I’d been wrong in thinking Marcus was the cause of my current distress. He was only the tip of the iceberg.
Who am I? Alice and Joe Larson’s little girl? Daughter of Set? Great-granddaughter of Ivan, leader of the Nejeret? Marcus’s … something? Meswett, prophesied girl-child and savior of two species, one of which is oblivious to my existence? Destroyer of the world?
Who am I? What happened to Lex, the archaeologist? I liked her. She didn’t date much, but she was content with her place in the world. She had friends who cared about her …
Did they really?
… and a loving family. Her life wasn’t full of secrets …
Wasn’t it? Who am I kidding? This is how it’s always been … I just didn’t know. Which was the real problem, what was really bothering me—if I could return to my happy life, to my ignorant state of mind, would I?
No way in hell.
So who am I?
Lex.
Some time later, I heard the click of a lock, the opening of a door, and familiar, stealthy footsteps approaching the bed. Dominic.
“You didn’t give him the key?” I asked quietly.
Dominic sat behind me on the edge of the bed. “He didn’t ask. But had he, I would have refused.”
I rolled onto my back and reached out. Dominic grasped my hand and stretched out beside me. On the fluffy white comforter, we looked like a couple of oversized kids preparing to make a conjoined snow angel.
“Everything’s going to change tomorrow,” I said.
“Hasn’t it already?”
A soft laugh escaped from me. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you forever, Dom. I wish I had.”
“My forever, or yours?” he asked, notes of pain evident in his voice.
Turning my head, I examined his profile for evidence of whatever troubled him. Like all Nejerets, his features had been honed to perfection when he’d manifested. His pale skin and midnight hair stood in stark contrast around sharp, elfin bone structure. He and I shared the same high cheekbones and slightly pointy chin, but it was our father—Set—who he really resembled. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the semblance when we first met in Denny Hall.
“Both,” I said. “Will you tell me what Set did to you?”
Dominic’s facial muscles tensed. “I don’t … it’s not pleasant.”
Squeezing his hand, I said, “I’m not sure what our dear father will do to make me obey him, but I’m pretty damn sure it’ll be worse than anything I can think of. Why should I hate him? Why should I want to destroy him at all costs? I need to know, Dom. I need ammo. Please, tell me.”
Dominic shut his eyes tightly, like he was trying to hide from something, except whatever he was trying to hide from was already inside his head. After a few seconds, his eyelids snappe
d open, and he stared at the molded plaster ceiling.
Finally, he said, “I was born in a small village in the Loire Valley in the late sixteenth century. My mother had been a great beauty at court, and like most of her peers, had been enamored with a handsome Russian diplomat—Set’s cover at the time. He wooed his way into her bed, but unlike the rest of the courtiers, she was cunning, and mistrustful by nature. While their affair proceeded, she spied on him and discovered she was one of dozens. You see, Set wanted to build an army, so he spent hundreds of years bouncing from court to court, impregnating as many high-born women as possible. Carriers of the Nejeret genes are more prevalent in the upper class—probably because we naturally seek positions of power and our human offspring tend to benefit from that in both status and means.
“After several months, my mother learned she was pregnant and fled to a small village, where she hid and I was eventually born. Set didn’t try to follow her, but I’ve often wondered if he knew where we were the whole time, because when I manifested, he came after us immediately. He imprisoned my mother in one of his fortresses and cared for her only for the sake of keeping her alive, because alive, she could be used as leverage against me. He threatened to hurt her if I didn’t follow his wishes. On multiple occasions, he did hurt her, until I finally learned to obey.
“He made me into his hunter—his assassin—and set me on the track of Ivan’s line. At that time, he’d only been focused on preventing his prophesied destruction, and to do that, he planned to wipe out Ivan and his descendants completely. It was the same reason he forced Senenmut to build the hidden temple in the first place—to lock the ankh-At away forever. It wasn’t until the nineteenth century that he realized the girl-child would be his key to ruling the world.” Dominic shook his head, messing up his usually smooth hair. “I did horrible things at his command … but I managed to do some good, too. I helped some of your brethren escape and go into hiding.” Dominic paused and looked at me with a sad smile.
“On the night my mother died from an impromptu, excessive beating, I vowed to kill Set. As I made my way to his bedchamber, I was accosted by a man who’d been hidden in the shadows. In my time serving as Set’s personal assassin, I’d become highly skilled in the darker arts—lock-picking, breaking and entering, hand-to-hand combat, and of course, killing. But even I was no match for this man. I held my own against him for a few seconds, but he quickly had me weaponless and pinned on the ground.
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