“Heavy-handed or soft?” Hathor asked.
“Keep it light but firm. Osiris wouldn’t have gone to Nour if he didn’t think the rock dragon was involved in his attack, which means the other former execs may know something. If they do, I want to know what.”
Hathor slammed the car door shut, which earned her another glower from Serqet. “What if they’re guilty of planning the murder of the two of you?”
“If that’s the case, bring the guilty to me.”
The Tyets were her warriors and bodyguards, not her personal squad of assassins. Punishment was her responsibility and burden, no one else’s.
With Osiris across her shoulders and back, Isis left her friends outside. She needed to get him upstairs and into bed. What had he learned from Nour that set off another migraine? Had more memories from the night of his death resurfaced? Did Osiris now know who killed him?
Osiris awoke to a soft bed and a dark room, which was better than finding himself on the hard ground in front of his grave. Memories of the last three days came back to him, bringing with them a sharp stab of pain in the back of his head.
He’d died, was resurrected, and his heart no longer beat. He had a mother, brother, and mate.
Mate. Osiris reached for Isis. His hand scanned the opposite side of the bed and came away cold. She had to be the one to bring him in there. He couldn’t imagine anyone else, except for a hybrid Nephthys, strong enough to carry Osiris from the car, up twenty steps, down a long hall, and into bed.
His head hurt like it had been placed in an unforgiving vice. Steeling himself against the pain, Osiris sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head hurt as much as he expected it would, so he didn’t press his luck by getting to his feet.
He wanted to call out for Isis but doubted she’d hear him. At least he knew the time, half past nine, according to the clock on the nightstand. Knowing his mate, she was with her sister, Nut, and the Tyets.
Plotting.
Osiris smiled, when he saw two aspirin on a napkin and a bottle of water on the nightstand. He grabbed both and used the water to wash down the coated pills. After thirty minutes of sitting and thinking, Osiris pushed to his feet. The pain had lessened, and he didn’t fall on his face.
He left the guest room. Instead of turning right and toward the stairs, he made a left and walked, slowly and with the aid of a hand on the wall, to the last room on that side of the floor. Except for this room, all the doors to the others were open. He wasn’t surprised to neither see nor hear anyone on this level, which confirmed his suspicions. The women of the household were somewhere together. He wondered what Merit, Aset, and Nephthys had found.
Osiris opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. He flipped the light switch on the wall to his right and closed the door behind him. The suite was large and spotless with sturdy armoires and dressers, women and men’s clothing in the walk-in closets, dust-free bookshelves, and a French provincial four-piece vanity set, with a decorative crystal tufted bench. Beautiful and classy, like Isis.
This room, quiet and empty, pulsed with personality, a pleasant vibration of awareness across his skin and senses.
The four-poster bed, the centerpiece of the room, had Osiris blinking. This wasn’t right. The bed didn’t fit, not because it didn’t match the rest of the décor. It did. Not because it wasn’t as expensive and tasteful as everything else in the room. It was. The bed was wrong because Osiris had never laid eyes on it before, and he damn sure had never slept in it.
Had Isis? He didn’t think so, not with her staying in the guest room.
The need to get away from the bed had Osiris shuffling to the right side of the room and the open door that adjoined the bedroom to the room next door. The nightlight and the light from the suite made it easy for Osiris to see three sleeping forms in the bed.
Fairies. He’d wondered what Isis had done with the children. He had no idea she’d brought them in there. The sight of the small, winged creatures in a crib put together by a happy father-to-be, Osiris fell against the wall, and then down it.
Childbirth classes. Prenatal massages. Car seat installation. Late night craving runs. Nursery set-up. Toys and clothing sprees.
Osiris remembered. Nine months of preparation. Nine months of anticipation. Nine months of marveling at the changes to Isis’s body as their child grew safe inside of her.
Tenth month. Their baby should’ve been born during the tenth month. The fairies slept in his child’s bed. Isis wasn’t pregnant. Where in the hell was their baby?
“I’m sorry about the baby. I really am. I swear on the goddesses that Hanif never mentioned anything about harming Isis and the baby. I can’t believe he would even do something so horrible.”
Osiris collapsed fully to the floor, his knees raised and his head back in the vice. He roared, a heartrending bellow that had the fairies fluttering awake, their frightened screams and cries no match for his wail.
Reading to the baby. Touching Isis’s stomach to feel their baby kick. Helping his mate pack her hospital overnight bag. Devouring every book he found on fatherhood. Attending Isis’s baby shower.
The wellspring of memories threatened to drown him, as Osiris gulped them in and cried them out.
Isis’s pregnancy glow. He’d never seen a more stunning woman than his wife heavy with their hatchling.
“Osiris.” Warm, familiar hands joined his. “Osiris, love. What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? Everything.
“I’m sorry about the baby.”
Isis curled her body around him and hugged a sobbing Osiris to her. Her hand came up to stroke his head, and she kissed his damp cheeks, all the while saying nothing and letting him cry it out.
Their first date, first kiss, first time making love, and their first argument, Osiris recalled each one. Isis’s favorite perfume, flower, book, and play. He knew them. Her wedding dress, white, form-fitting, sheath skirt, drop waist, and a red sash that matched his cummerbund. Her pet peeves: people who talked during movies, rude drivers, when he leaves the toilet seat up.
Osiris knew her. His wife and mate. The woman who no longer carried their child.
His hand sought out her flat stomach and pressed the palm against it. “Tell me what happened to you and our baby. Please, Isis.”
Her lips found his, a sad, passionless kiss that had her pulling back almost as soon as their mouths touched. She shifted away from him and onto her back. Her eyes went to the silver star ceiling decals Osiris had put up when he felt inspired after a midnight flight.
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“I know.” His hand stretched across the short distance between them and found hers. Like his, it trembled. “You were attacked, weren’t you? On the same night I was killed?”
“Yes. A demon came looking for the scepters. I had nothing to give him.”
He waited for her to continue. When she went silent, he squeezed her hand for support and encouragement.
“He shot me. I think he would’ve regardless of whether I had scepters to give him.”
Isis didn’t say the rest. She didn’t have to.
He rolled onto his side. Propping up on an elbow, he reached for her blouse. When he touched the hem of her shirt, his eyes lifted to her face. She watched him, tears in her eyes, but she didn’t shove his hand away or tell Osiris to stop.
He pushed the blue shirt up to below Isis’s breasts, then let his eyes fall to her stomach. Thanks to Yumboe magic, the slashes from the demon’s claws were gone but not three sunken and drawn wounds on her stomach.
Isis began to cry, hard sobs that shook her body.
He kissed the bullet wounds, his lips where their child had once been.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep her safe. I’m so very sorry.”
Her. Their hatchling had been a girl, and some fucking demon had shot Isis and killed their daughter. No wonder she’d kept this from him. He needed to know, but damn if he wanted to know. Other than being t
he Scepter of Wadjet and sheer stubbornness, Isis should’ve died as well.
Three bullets to the stomach. Who in the hell survived something like that?
Osiris kissed the wounds again, having no words for their loss and what Isis had endured. He’d died, but she’d survived. He hadn’t wanted to know, so he’d forgotten. By forgetting, he’d left Isis to deal with her attack and the death of their daughter on her own.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her stomach and the child no longer there. “I’m sorry,” he said again when he shifted to lay beside her, his face over hers. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone that night. I’m sorry for not being here to protect you and our daughter. I’m sorry for dying and coming back less than the dragon I was.”
“You’re all the dragon I’ve ever wanted and needed. You came back. I was a pitiful mess without you. It hurt so much to go on. There were times, too many, when I didn’t want to.”
His mind flashed to the knife and gun he’d found under her pillows. For protection, he’d assumed, but maybe not.
Isis curled in on herself, a tight ball of grief and self-protection.
The problem with being in charge and as self-possessed as Isis, one didn’t know how to ask for and accept help. It had taken Osiris a year to penetrate Isis’s wall of self-sufficiency. Since his death, she’d rebuilt her old wall.
He grabbed Isis off the floor and tucked her against his chest. Standing, he walked out of the nursery and down the hall to their guest room. When he closed the door and sat on the bed, she climbed off his lap and started for the bathroom.
“Let’s go flying.”
She stopped. “What?”
“Flying. You and me.”
Isis turned. “We never fly together.” She smiled, a mirthless lifting of lips. “I know you don’t remember, but we’ve had this conversation before. No one’s ready to see my sun dragon take to the sky. Although, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I did tell Mother that I would no longer hide my true self.”
Wait, Isis thought he was still suppressing his memories. No wonder her wall had come back up.
“Isis, sweetheart, my head may still be full of dark clouds I can’t see through, like my murder, but other parts are as clear as a sunny day.”
“What does that mean?”
Osiris stepped closer to Isis. His hand found hers and placed it on his chest and over his heart. “It still doesn’t beat, but my heart overflows with love for my wife and mate. I remember us having the fastest quickie ever in a DIG elevator, falling on my ass at Rockefeller Center on our first date, swimming buck naked in your pool and getting caught by Nephthys and the Tyets when you left to get drinks and snacks.” Hands wrapped around waist and pulled her flush against him. “It took me a while, but I realized you have terrible friends and an awful sister who enjoyed hazing your mate.”
Isis all but collapsed against him, her tight arms bands around his shoulders. Her body shook for the second time tonight. This time, thankfully, not from tears and grief.
Laughter and joy.
“They were awful to you.”
“A boulder in my office where my desk should be with a Rock Dragon nameplate. A love doll delivered to me, on Mother’s Day, to Mom’s house, when I was having dinner with her. Toilet mugs given to DIG employees with a note that read: Have a shitty New Year, Love Osiris Constipation.”
Isis leaped into his arms, laughing. “You’re back. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve been here, but I know what you mean.”
Happy, wet kisses, all over his face, had him stumbling back and onto the bed. When he fell, Isis tumbled with him, still laughing.
“I can’t believe you’re back. Was it your talk with Nour?”
“Yeah, by the way, you had me followed.”
“Of course, I did.”
“That’s kind of mob boss behavior.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Do you want to tell me about your visit with Nour?”
“Not now. Do you want to tell me what happened today with the Tyets’s missions?”
“Later. You mentioned something about flying together.”
Osiris sat up. “You in your hybrid form.”
“Not full dragon mode?”
“Baby steps. Let’s keep your flaming girl under wraps until we get to Nebty. For tonight, I’ll be your obedient rock dragon, and you can be my sexy dragon rider. How does that sound?”
“Like I’m going to mount you tonight. Twice.”
He laughed, then kissed her. Hard and with a promise of his total submission later. But first, he wanted to take his mate flying.
Chapter 12
There were no words, which explained why Isis stared at her mate with her mouth open. What happened to him? Was it his death or Osiris’s resurrection that had done this to him?
What? Why are you looking at me like that?
Isis flew around her rock dragon, taking in every unbelievable inch of him. “You’re, ah, well…” She stopped, her lean body in front of his mouth. A mouth, even when closed, like it was now, shown with a row of razor-sharp teeth. “You’re breathtaking.” Isis flew closer, Osiris’s glowing red eyes tracking her. “Huge, powerful, and scary-looking.” White-and-red wings grazed the top of his nose, as the palm of her hand pressed to the image at the crown of his head. “Incredibly masculine and sexy. Your big body makes me want to shift into my dragon form and have sex with you right here.”
After Isis changed into a backless red dress and shifted into her hybrid form, she and Osiris had made their way out the house and to the backyard. Isis made sure to not go too far. The last thing either of them needed tonight was to visit the grave of their child. In his confusion, after being resurrected, Osiris hadn’t noticed Asim’s gravesite. The shock of learning of Isis’s attack, the death of their daughter, and the return of his memories, she wouldn’t add one more thing to an emotionally overwhelming day.
We’ve only had sex as dragons once.
“Yes, a real tragedy. Osiris, you're magnificent, and I want to devour you.”
Where’s a mirror, when a dragon needs one? I feel different.
“You look different, larger at eighty feet, but still very much my rock dragon.” This time, when she flew around her mate, Isis touched his scales, marveling at the subtle and not so subtle changes to his dragon’s body. “You’re more green than black. Your scales are smoother in form but tougher to the touch…thicker.” She flew to the top of his head, her hands gliding from one horn to the other. “Your head and side horns remind me of a hedjet-conical crown and ostrich feathers.”
I don’t understand.
Neither did she, but the physical modifications, noticeable but not enough whereas Osiris didn’t still look like his rock dragon self, wasn’t what made Isis’s mouth water and sex quiver. On his head, as well as his wings, were two ancient dragon symbols. One was the djed, a pillar that represented the link between dragons, the gods, and the preternatural realm they were intended to rule and the human realm they were to protect. The djed was symbolic of a dragon’s unyielding spine, and only one other dragon had been graced with the symbol.
King Geb.
Between the two djeds was the image of a tyet, circular head, arms curved down and a straight body. Isis wasn’t a deity, but the tyet was her symbol. When she’d taken Merit, Aset, Hathor, and Serqet as her sacred warriors, anointing them with her blood, the symbol appeared on their palm before disappearing under their skin. When together, the women could perform powerful dragon magic, each female representing a part of the tyet body.
Osiris, unlike the Tyets, wore her symbol on his dragon form without the anointment of her blood. But she had resurrected him, using the magic of goddess Wadjet.
Being mate to the Queen of Nebty did not, by default, make Osiris Dragon King. He’d never aspired to that position, even after Nut turned over rule to Isis. For all intents and purposes, dragons had t
wo queens in Isis and Nephthys, even though Nephthys was even less inclined than Osiris to step into a leadership role.
“King Osiris.” Isis kissed the djeds on his forehead.
What do you mean, King Osiris?
Nut would mourn Geb anew when she saw the pillars on the rock dragon. For years, they’d known King Geb was most likely dead. But now they had confirmation. As Geb’s daughter, Isis could claim a king, but only if the former king relinquished his position or the role was open for claiming.
Isis, when she’d resurrected Osiris, had also inadvertently elevated the rock dragon to the status of Dragon King, which, as she kissed his head again, made sense. Osiris was king of her heart, as she was queen of his soul.
She life and queen. He death and king.
“You’re king now, and we’re partners in every way possible. Nebty and the preternatural realm are ours to reclaim. We’ll do it as one. Life and death.”
Death? You mean I’ll remain like this? No beating heart but strangely alive?
“I’m not sure, but I believe so. You’re my Osiris, no matter how afraid I was to believe it at first.” Isis landed on the rock dragon’s left shoulder, her right hand wrapped around a horn and her wings at rest. “Where would you like to fly to?”
He’d told her he still didn’t remember the details of his death, although he recalled everything else from the last fourteen years. The fact that he still had suppressed memories, aligned, too perfectly, with what Isis learned this evening. Hathor, Serqet, and Osiris hadn’t yet flown to the barrier between the realms to locate the entry point. After today’s news, there was no doubt in her mind that there had been one for at least a half year.
They’d had their share of revelations today. Tomorrow they would have no choice but to be queen and king. Tonight, however, she needed them to be Isis and Osiris.
Myanmar.
“Show off. Our honeymoon destination. I guess you do remember everything.”
With a swift take-off, Osiris lifted into the sky. Isis relished the sensation of the cool air meeting heated body. With Osiris doing all the work, she opened her wings to enhance the glorious effect of this rare moment. Keeping her secret had denied Isis what every other dragon, except for Nephthys, took for granted.
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