A shudder passed through the gathered jackals. “Blessed Anubis,” someone whispered. “That power...it’s amazing.”
Tia agreed. She’d never felt power as pure and full and capable as this. This gloriousness must have been what had drawn Sekhanu and Asharet together, and had ultimately cost their lives. To always be able to feel this vital, this connected—who wouldn’t want it?
“I can see it now.” Markus’s voice cut through her thoughts. “It’s everywhere, just like that damned vine. Let’s uproot this crap.”
Pushing out negative thoughts, Tia combined their magics then reached out with both hands, grabbing fistfuls of the cursed strands that strangled Rashon’s life force. The jackal cried out as she pulled, but Markus reached out with his own power, lending the younger man his strength and force of will.
Extricating the curse was just like weeding, with the curse the invasive vine and the jackal’s body the fertile soil. Years of tending her own garden gave her the insight and plan of attack. Markus’s magic buttressed hers, giving her the energy she needed.
Still the curse was as tenacious as any weed, refusing to give up easily. It took even more effort to unravel the twisted magic into its separate parts. The undead energy took solid form as they pulled it free of Rashon’s weakened form. Several jackals shifted and attacked, shredding the undead mist into nothingness with claws and teeth. She drew the Isis magic into herself, using the golden glow of the goddess’s favor to purify it.
“I think it’s all gone,” Tia said after a while, lifting her hands free of the ill jackal. “You can force him into his jackal form now.”
Markus moved until they knelt hip to hip beside the cot. Tia rested a hand on his shoulder, lending some of her magic to him. Not that he needed it. Markus splayed his right hand across Rashon’s chest, covering his heart. He spoke to Rashon in the old tongue, command ringing in his voice. Soft golden light suffused the young jackal’s body, warming as his body magically changed shape. When the glow faded, an oversized dun-colored jackal lay on the cot.
Amarie gripped the bars. “Is he...?”
“Sleeping,” Markus answered. “He’s sleeping.”
Tia felt a minute tremor pass through Markus. “Rashon’s no longer contagious and could do well with a warm soak in a healing bath and rest in a comfortable bed,” she told him. “Is there a place here he could sleep?”
“Yes.” He gestured to the burly male jackal beside Amarie. The large man entered the cage and scooped up the sleeping jackal with surprising gentleness. “I’m coming with you,” the female jackal said, tears glistening in her eyes. She quickly followed the others out.
“Priestess!” Hector called from the other cell. “Come quick.”
Tia hurried over to the other cell. Alonso had apparently worsened, as well. Hector had his brother’s clawed hand in a death grip. “He’s fighting for every breath. I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last.” He looked up at them with red-rimmed eyes. “Please save him.”
* * *
Markus turned to Tia, hoping for a second miracle. They couldn’t afford the loss of another jackal. Their numbers had dwindled over the centuries, especially after separating into smaller groups in a clandestine diaspora. He wasn’t a man who begged, but he would demand. She had to save Alonso because nothing else was allowed.
They knelt beside the cot as they had beside Rashon’s. “The curse has burrowed deeper,” Tia told him. “It’s beginning to choke the life from his cells.”
“No.” He would not allow Alonso to die. “What do we do?”
“What we were born to do, Son of Anubis.” She covered his hands with her own. Magic drenched the room like a sudden summer shower, carried by the power of her Voice. “You protect the living from the Lost Ones. Alonso is one of the living. Death should not have command of him. Put death in its place and I will call on Isis to give him the energy of life.”
Trusting Tia, Markus shifted his hands into claws. The curse covered Alonso like a mass of black snakes, writhing and burrowing. Calling his power, Markus sunk his claws into the seething mass. Alonso howled, his misshapen body jerking.
Hector leaned over his brother, a growl rolling from deep in his chest. “You’re hurting him.”
“The curse has invaded every part of his body,” Tia explained, her voice equally soft and ringing with power. “It’s not going to give up without a fight, but neither will we. No fight can be won without pain, but when we win, his pain will cease. After all, we have the gods on our side.”
Her obvious faith overrode any doubts Hector had. He nodded at her, then pressed his forehead to his brother’s, closing his eyes in silent prayer. Tia began chanting a prayer of life, then nodded to Markus to continue.
Once again Markus reached for the curse coiling around every cell in Alonso’s body. The coils were tenacious, requiring all of his strength to pull free. Handful by handful, he dragged the curse out of the young jackal, cursing and praying under his breath. Reaching for his will and his magic, Markus shifted even more of his body, felt the deep, low thrum of Anubis magic, the magic of his clan. Felt Tia on the periphery, offering the gift of Isis.
Strand by strand Markus pulled the curse apart, sending the undead portion to his jackals to shred and the corrupted Isis witch magic to Tia to purify. He didn’t think about the ache in his shoulders, the headache blossoming between his eyes, or how much time had passed. All he could think of was ridding Alonso of the curse, of Tia bolstering him with her power. He wondered if Sekhanu and Asharet had faced a trial such as this while he’d been out fighting in other parts of the Two Lands. If they had, they’d never had the chance to share the details with him. Would they be proud of their descendant, of how they’d set aside their distrust to save the jackals? He had a feeling they would be.
“Markus.” Tia’s soft voice broke into his thoughts. “The curse is gone. Shift Alonso to his jackal form to heal.”
A healthy glow limned the young jackal’s features, his breathing deep and even. As before, Markus splayed his hand across Alonso’s chest and spoke the ancient command Sekhanu had taught him to send subordinate jackals into their animal forms. His shift took longer than Rashon’s, but soon enough, a sable-colored jackal lay on the cot.
Markus sat back on his haunches, hope, exhaustion and euphoria spinning in his gut. “It’s gone, right? I don’t sense any traces of the curse nearby.”
She tilted her head, the swirls of power in her eyes fading. “It should be completely gone. If you and your clan anoint yourself with the potions we used yesterday—was it yesterday?—before your fights with the Lost Ones, and use the ritual cleansing afterward, you should have no more troubles.”
Using his shoulder for leverage, she pushed herself to her feet. “I can write down everything you need, but since you’ll need blessings from a Daughter of Isis, it’ll just be easier for me to make batches of it at my house.”
Her words punched a hole in his euphoria. Right. She’d healed the jackals as she’d promised, and now it was time for him to live up to his end of the bargain.
“Of course.” He rose to his feet, irked when she grabbed his elbow to help him. He pulled away. “I’m fine.”
“You expended a lot of energy,” she reminded him. “You probably should shift to recuperate, too.”
He brushed her concern aside. “As alpha, I’ve got larger reserves than that. I suppose you need to recuperate the usual way?”
The glow left her eye
s. “No. I don’t have any large magical works on my plate after this. A few days’ rest and I should be fine....”
She swayed, and he scooped her up in his arms, holding her high against his chest. If the limpness of her body was any indication, breaking the curse for Rashon and Alonso had taken more power than she’d let on. Brave, foolish witch.
“How’s Alonso?” Markus asked Hector.
Hector ran his hand over his brother’s fur. “Sleeping peacefully for the first time in days, thank the gods.”
“Good. Get him out of here and into a real bed, okay? The last thing he should see when he wakes up are these damned bars.”
“You bet.” Hector looked up, eyes shining. “How’s our healer?”
Markus dropped his gaze to Tia, barely refraining from lowering his head to brush his lips across her temples. “She’s not our healer,” he retorted, his voice harsher than called for. “In fact, I’m going to honor our agreement and take her back home today.”
“Take her back?” Hector repeated. “Why?”
Markus didn’t feel like explaining something that wouldn’t sound rational, so he ignored Hector’s question. “Any activity around her house?”
Hector bared his teeth. “The men report that no one’s been there in the two days that she’s been with us. If that’s the concern the Daughters of Isis show to one of their own, one who happens to be the granddaughter of their high priestess, then Tia would be better off with us!”
Markus gritted his teeth to keep from agreeing with his second. “She’s not staying here.”
“Why not? We need her more than they do.”
Just like Markus needed her more than his fellow jackals did. He didn’t share that with Hector, however. “I made a deal with her, and I’m going to keep it. I swore on the gods that she’d go home after she healed our people. She’s done that, and now it’s time to send her back to her life. We are the Sons of Anubis. We hold to our duty and our honor when all else falls to dust.”
Honor and duty were all that had kept him alive—kept them all alive—through the centuries. It wouldn’t fill the emptiness in his bed or his soul, but it was all that he had. He would hold on to it with all his might.
Chapter Seven
Sensing that Tia hovered on the verge of regaining consciousness, Markus shifted back to his human form. Dressing quickly and quietly, he sat down on the far corner at the foot of the bed and waited for her to wake up.
She stirred, stretching her limbs and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. He watched her stiffen as she realized where she was. “Bastard could have said goodbye!”
He chuffed out a laugh. “You mean me?”
Startled, she sat up, turning to face him. “You’re still here—and here is my place.”
He nodded, taking in her sleep-tousled appearance. She looked good, warm, perfect for tucking up next to on a cold night. Or a hot night. Or any night, for that matter. “I thought you’d feel better getting back to your own space. Since you haven’t had a chance to rebuild your wards, I decided to watch over you until you woke up.”
“I appreciate that.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “How long was I down for?”
“Roughly three hours. How do you feel?”
“Like I need the bathroom.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Will you still be here when I come out?”
“Yeah.”
While waiting for her to reemerge, he perused her room again. It was the exact opposite of his: Light and airy; the colors of sun, sand and sea. Warm and modern, just like the woman who lived here.
He ran his hand across the spot Tia had occupied. Something had tugged at him as he’d tucked her into her own bed and climbed in beside her, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t the remnants of her wards. Snuggling up next to her even in jackal form had been...soothing. He’d felt relaxed, at ease, and not because his men were stationed outside. Waking next to her, breathing in her scent and her life essence, had filled him with a peace he hadn’t felt in centuries.
“Now I feel ordinary.” She reentered the room, spreading her hands. “It was so amazing, feeling Isis so close, so loving. I could even feel Anubis, through you. Now I’m back to plain old ordinary me.”
He stared at her, his gaze lingering on her lovely curves. “You’ll never be ordinary, Tia.”
Sadness rimmed her smile. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m a Daughter of Isis.” A sigh lifted her shoulders. “You brought me back home just as stealthily as you took me. Guess that tells me all I need to know. Our truce is over and I’m back to being the enemy.”
Regret settled like a lead weight in his gut. “Tia.” He bit back the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. “You’re not our enemy, Tia. You healed Rashon and Alonso. Both are doing fine and my clan has joy again. The Sons of Anubis owe you a great debt.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Markus,” she said softly. “Despite how we started, I’m glad I was able to help. Discovering something about my history and my power in the process was pure bonus.”
Her gaze pierced him. “So what happens next?”
“I programmed my number into your phone. Call me when there’s word from the Daughters or if you have a need.”
“I have a need now.”
“Oh, yeah. You expended a lot of magic yesterday. Of course you need to replenish.”
She walked over to stand in front of him. “No. This isn’t about replenishing my magic.”
Something in her tone made him pause. “What is it about then, Tia?”
“It’s about you and me.” She met his gaze for a long moment before looking away. “I need you.”
The soft words cut through him, sounding an echo. He’d done his duty for thousands of years, growing and protecting his clan. Relaxing his vigilance, being selfish, for even a moment, could have deadly consequences. Here now, with this woman, with this Isis witch, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted something for himself.
He wanted her.
Something inside him, something buried deep, stirred, struggling to claw itself to the surface. Whatever it was, he would not set it free. Not now. Not ever. He had a duty to his clan that superseded all else.
She stepped forward, cupped his cheek. “Markus. The magic we made—I’ve never felt anything like that before. Ever. But besides all that, we are good together. Forget about witches and jackals and the Lost Ones. Think about you and me, a man and a woman. Let’s just pretend for a little while that that’s all there is.”
“Don’t you think I want to?” He surged to his feet, curling his hands into fists. “Thousands of years of doing my duty, of making sure my race survives, that our clans thrive. Even sex was about increasing our numbers, not about giving and receiving pleasure. If I relax my guard, if I focus on anything other than my duty to my people, I put my people in danger.”
“So what—that’s it? You spend so much of your time making sure your people stay alive that you don’t have time to get a life?” She settled her hands on her hips. “Look, I know we didn’t have the best of beginnings. If there’s anyone who should be saying ‘good riddance,’ it’s me.”
She thrust a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve got some sort of Stockholm syndrome or something. Or maybe I’m just addicted to your magic cock. Don’t know, don’t care. What I do know is that I want more of you, whatever I can get for as long as I can get it. I want to feel you on me, in me, wrapped around me. I want—”
<
br /> Markus snatched her up against him, crushing her tight in a bruising kiss. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back with hungry intent. Growling, he grabbed her skirt, hiking it up her thighs so he could cup her ass. She responded by locking her gorgeous legs around his waist. Tongues dueled, breathing harshened, need rose as she pulled his shirt off over his head.
With lengthening claws, he grabbed two handfuls of her dress and ripped. “Tell me that wasn’t a ritual robe,” he muttered against her lips.
“No. Just a dress.” She nipped at the tendons along his neck.
“Good gods, woman.” Without ceremony, he tossed her back on the bed. Keeping his gaze locked to hers, he quickly shed the rest of his clothing. Careful not to scratch her, he wrapped his fingers around her white cotton panties and jerked. The material shredded around his claws. He tossed them over his shoulder, then dropped atop her, bracing his weight on his forearms.
He nipped his way down her throat, lingering over her collarbone before dipping into the hollow between her breasts. Her scent rose to infiltrate his senses, as sweet and spicy as the finest incense. His mouth watered as he dragged his tongue along her skin, feasting on her breasts. Every day, every hour, every gods-damned minute, he could spend tasting her, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
“Open for me, beautiful one,” he urged, kissing and nipping his way down the soft curve of her belly. “Let me have more of you.”
Her legs fell apart for him, revealing the dark rose pink of her core. He dipped his tongue inside her, a long, slow lick that had her mewling. He swirled his tongue through her folds, circling her clit, needing her taste, needing her pleasure with a bone-deep hunger. More.
* * *
Tia thrust her hands into Markus’s hair as he raided her senses with lips and teeth and tongue. Wanting him as she did, needing him as she did, it wasn’t long before she felt the sweet tidal wave of pleasure sweeping through her blood. It smashed through her pitiful defenses and swept her into a maelstrom of orgasm.
Mills & Boon : Seducing The Jackal Page 6
