Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri)

by Teresa D'Amario

  “And a fine mother she was, too,” said the shopkeeper.

  She glanced toward him, noting the hungry gaze in his eyes. She knew exactly what he saw. American. Money. Too bad. She fingered the chain, her eyes narrowed on the vendor, sizing him up.

  He was older, his skin dark and leathery from the hot desert sun. He’d been at this job for a long time. But she wouldn’t give. She’d learned from her brother, years before, the art of negotiating.

  “How much will you give me for this?” he prompted.

  Tamara bit back her grin. This was going to be fun. “You tell me,” she said. She caught the warning glance from Ramose and almost laughed aloud.

  “For you, two hundred American dollars.”

  Tamara arched a brow in surprise. “So much?” She placed the piece back on the soft velvet. “Not for me, then. That would take all my funds for this trip.”

  “No,” he said, motioning for her to look again. He lifted the necklace and shoved it back into her hand. “You are with a fine fellow here. Surely, he can afford to buy this for you? I will give it to you for half price. One hundred American dollars.”

  Ramose opened his mouth, but Tamara stepped in. “Oh, no, I can’t let him buy something for me. That would be rude.” Tamara made a play at looking in her wallet, sighing and shaking her head. “Nope. Can’t do it. Still too much.” She made as though to put the piece down again.

  “I give you for fifty dollars. My lowest offer. But,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “don’t tell anyone, or I’ll be ruined. You are too pretty a lady, though, to not have Mother Isis as your protector.”

  Tamara glanced at Ramose. He had a smirk on his face. Good. She hoped she’d impressed him. “Deal,” she said at last.

  The shopkeeper’s face gleamed his satisfaction, and he wrapped the piece in tissue paper before placing it in her hand. “I have a gift for you,” he said as he turned to rummage through a small case behind his table. When he turned back around, he handed her a small marble egg. “For luck, for the beautiful lady.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  They walked away, and Tamara smiled, beaming her satisfaction. “I did it,” she whispered, more to herself than to Ramose.

  “You did an excellent job,” Ramose admitted.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

  The soft chuckle he emitted traveled down her spine, reminding her of the heat earlier, when they were in the car. She bit the inside of her mouth again. At this rate, she was going to have a nasty callous from all these little nips to keep herself in line.

  “I did not expect quite the powerhouse,” he said. “Most come to Egypt and spend way too much.”

  For the first time since they arrived, Tamara was comfortable. She grabbed Ramose by the sleeve, dragging him to the next shop. “Let’s go in here. It looks like they have clothes.”

  * * * *

  Ramose let her drag him inside the shop, its lights dimmed, the better to hide prices and quality. He’d been here before, many years ago. He hoped the shopkeeper didn’t recognize him, since he hadn’t aged in the forty years since his last visit.

  Rack after rack of cheap T-shirts and Egyptian wear filled the darkened interior. Carpets hung on the walls, tempting the uninformed. The problem with the market was its touristy nature. But Ramose knew the entire country relied upon the funds brought in by tourists, so he merely nodded to the shopkeeper and waited while Tamara darted from one rack to another. She flipped quickly through the hangers, a frown on her face. T-shirts. In less than five seconds, she bypassed the rack. No matter how colorful they were, they didn’t seem to capture her attention. He couldn’t help smiling. Most Americans ate up the T-shirts, which was amusing, as most were made in China and the print was from Japan.

  It was then he saw where she headed. In the center of the room stood racks of dresses. Some were simple Arabic garb; others were flashier. Dance costumes with bright, shiny designs and even brighter colors. With a quick, practiced wrist, she flicked through the hangers, glancing at each item in turn.

  Then she flashed him a smile. Not a “Come hither.” Not even an “I like you” smile. It was more an “I haven’t forgotten you’re there” look, and, yet, his breath caught in his throat.

  In all his years, no female caught his attention the way this one did. When she looked at him like that, he felt as though he was the only person in her world, and he was important to her. That, coupled with the drug he’d come to know as her scent, very nearly sent him across the store to pull her into his arms. Even now, he leaned back against the front counter, his arms folded, his hands fisted to fight the urge to join her, to bask in the heat her body generated. With each passing moment, the ice he’d held under such firm control seemed to melt. That was a disconcerting thought. His ice was his most important weapon against their enemies, such as Amunkha. If being near her thawed it to the point of no return, would he be able to call upon it when needed?

  The premonition from the night before still hammered at his brain. It was hard to believe it was just last evening.

  He was missing something, and that made him nervous. The scientist in him tried to examine her with minute precision, but she didn’t fit into a neat and organized box. Or, if she did, it was a box he couldn’t close because of the way her eyes laughed at him, or the way her scent destroyed his control.

  The door tinkled, and another couple entered. They passed him, blocking his view of Tamara. Flexing his jaw, he forced himself to stay still, to not jog his head to the side so he could keep his gaze fixed on her. She was human, not Petiri, and there was no reason to be so possessive, yet he was.

  When at last the couple moved from his line of vision, he relaxed some. Tamara had moved to the rack of silk dance costumes. Her eyes were lit with excitement, and her motions slowed, examining each piece in turn.

  Ramose groaned. Images flew through his mind.

  Ramose collapsed into the pile of pillows scattered about the dais. A slave passed by, her tray laden with drinks. Ramose grabbed one and tossed it back, then grabbed another before the girl could run to the man across the room, waving for her attention. Grinding his teeth, he watched the dancers move onto the floor of the palace. How could his sister enjoy this? Slaves performing for their masters like dogs?

  “You need to relax.”

  Ramose curled a lip and shot back, “I think you do enough of that for both of us.”

  “No,” said Darius, a grin on his face. “I do enough of that for myself. You, on the other hand, don’t do enough.”

  The sounds of earthy, subtle music blended with heavy drums. Half naked women swayed, their hips a hypnotic blend of the sensual and the vulgar. The beads on their costumes shimmered in the torchlight. “I can’t bear the thought of all these people as slaves,” he said, nodding toward the spectacle.

  “I agree. And, given time, this world will mature, changing their beliefs.”

  Ramose scoffed. “Perhaps. But I foresee a long time before we go home, Darius, and, right now, I wonder if this world shall ever develop to the level of maturity we need. I do not wish to remain among peoples who force others to serve them.”

  “But you aren’t above having a cup of their wine,” said Darius, nodding to the drink in Ramose’s hand.

  “A drink to sooth a thirst that no female,” he said scathingly, nodding toward the women, “will ever quench.” He drained his cup, the bitter taste blending with the anger already settled hard in his belly. He shouldn’t drink. These human wines had a tendency to make him lose control of his powers. Disgusted, he set the cup on the table beside him, his head already swimming.

  The music rose in volume, and Ramose glanced in the direction of the dancers. One of the women stepped toward him.

  He tried to ignore her. Slaves, forced to dance and give their bodies to men in order to have food in their bellies did not interest him. But she moved closer, her eyes calling to him, her beauty draw
ing him in ways the others couldn’t touch. Ramose tried to look away, but like the insects drawn to the flicker of light amidst an otherwise dark night, he couldn’t turn away. She was different. Her hair brown, tinged with honey gold. Her skin was milky fair and her eyes were blue, ringed with flashes of gold. Had they kidnapped a woman from another land?

  Head swimming and pulse pounding, he stared as she moved closer. Her body swayed with a sensuous, yet inexperienced grace. Her motions were different, more enticing than the others. Full hips, filled with soft feminine curves, begged for the touch of his hand.

  Even her costume was different. Whoever had purchased her had seen to it she was well-dressed. For hers was more refined, the silks softer, lighter than those dancing and spinning around her. As light as the air lifting them as she moved. The color was vibrant. Fire red. It sent burning waves of desire coursing through his blood.

  Ramose listened for the telltale sound of her beads clinking. Nothing. Ramose’s eyes narrowed. Her costume made no sound, even when her hips shimmied, the attached beads flying in the night.

  He’d seen her before! Recognition sparked, setting his body and soul afire. Images of a woman from his dreams, burned in his soul forever more, wavered alongside her. Heat coiled low in his gut, dropping even further. His body grew hard and hungry at the sight of her.

  It was her. The woman he’d left on Petiri. The heart of his very soul. His Kha-Ib.

  She moved toward him, a soft smile curving her luscious red lips. Yet her eyes were haunted, piercing his soul, searching for his heart. Two souls now lost, thousands of light years apart.

  The vision faded, leaving the darkened center of the shop.

  It couldn’t be. Yet it was. Even before his mind understood, his feet drew him closer, to where Tamara stood, beside the stand filled with Raks Sharki costumes. Dance costumes.

  Ramose swallowed the sudden lump in his dry throat and fought to slow his sudden racing heart. Instincts he didn’t have the strength to fight rode him, driving him forward. This was what he’d been missing. For thousands of years, he’d believed light years separated him and his Kha-Ib. He’d been wrong. He hadn’t been separated by distance. He’d been separated by years. Thousands of years. Years that had come to an end.

  In her fingers, she held the fiery red costume from his vision. Ramose stopped inches before her. His heart pounded, his pulse spiked. Need unlike anything he’d ever experienced rushed through him.

  As though sensing the change in the room’s energy, the beauty he’d waited for all his life looked up, her eyes widening.

  The scent of her lilies rushed through his blood like a cleansing breeze. Like the hot desert sun, his body burned, instinct combusting. Only the powerful urge to take, to possess, to taste sizzled in his mind. One word pounded through his mind as he grasped the delicate fabric, drawing it from her fingers.

  Mine.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tamara pulled out the costume with a grin. It was red. Fire red. Small bits of orange peeked beneath the folds, enhancing the image. This would be perfect for her youngest sister who always teased her about the fire she herself wielded. She held the costume before her, judging its size. A spark of energy caught her attention, and she raised her eyes to Ramose. He was moving toward her, his muscles tight, his face pale in the darkened light. But his eyes, they burned with unfettered need.

  Tamara swallowed. Hard. Never in her life had she expected to see any man, much less Ramose, look at her the way he did now. What had she done to trigger such a response? Maybe he thought shopping was sexy. Hell, it didn’t matter. He had the look of a man ready to cross to the next level in their relationship. No, not the next level. He looked ready to leap all the way past and into a new relationship. His eyes were filled with need, but other emotions glimmered beneath the surface. Possession. Relief. Stark, irreversible hunger.

  Before she could utter a word, he was there, pulling the dress from her fingers, handing it to the shopkeeper still standing beside her.

  He spoke in rapid Arabic, handing the man cash. The store owner protested loudly, probably hoping for a good bartering session.

  Ramose totally ignored him, his focus glued only on her. Never had he seemed so tall. Powerful. And even imposing. Tamara stepped back. Just moments before, he’d stood across the room, silent, watching. Now his scent whispered over her, dark and sensuous. Her blood rushed through her veins, heating her body in response. She bit her lip at the sudden onslaught of emotions and need building inside her. Inside, her heart fluttered in panic, while the rest of her body yearned for him. She was part rabbit, part tigress. She was terrified. She was starved.

  “I can…” She could what? Pay for it herself?

  Ramose leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ears, his breath feathering across her neck.

  “Nanik,” he whispered fiercely.

  Mine, her mind translated.

  Tamara’s heartbeat spiked, and her knees weakened. She grabbed the clothing rack and struggled to breath, yet it was impossible. Not with him so close. So hungry. Did he suddenly recognize her as his soul mate? Did he have that skill as well? She tipped her face to meet his gaze. Heat coiled low in her belly. His scent stripped her of her desire for control. The fear fluttered inside her, yet she ached for more, to feel his lips against her flesh.

  The hard lines of his jaw, shadowed by the late afternoon beard, combined with the power surging from his being, gave him the look of a warrior of old. Demanding. Powerful. And sexy as hell.

  Her body moved of its own accord, leaning forward, blending his heat with her own. Muscles inside her softened, melting, while others drew taut, hungry for his touch. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes heavy, her mind and body drugged by this man’s desire.

  “Ramose—”

  But he wanted none of her words. His eyes silenced her, as though he were afraid she’d reject him. Long, warm fingers closed over hers. It was the first touch of what she hoped was soon to be more. The pulse in her throat beat a rapid staccato message.

  Need. Fear. She wasn’t even sure which held more power.

  When the shopkeeper returned, Ramose held out his hand, not even looking at the man. His fingers closed around the plastic bag, and, without a word, he turned, escorting her out the door.

  Once outside, they moved past the small shop, pressed inward by the throngs of people surrounding them. He didn’t seem to care. He stopped, right in the middle of crowd, tugging her hand until she turned to face him. His eyes raked over her, searching. With calloused fingers, he brushed away the wisp of hair now falling in her face. The heat from his fingers burned her flesh, regardless of his gift of ice.

  “Kha-Ib.”

  The word was so soft, so worshipful, she had to strain to hear it. Tamara shook her head. “What, Ramose, what is it?”

  “Nanik,” he whispered again, his gaze softening, offering her a smile of wonder.

  Oblivious to the crowd surrounding them, Tamara’s knees wobbled. She should be running, racing to her hotel to block away the world. This was too fast. Too dangerous. And, yet, the sudden possessiveness in his response only built the hunger inside her. Her gaze moved to his lips.

  She wanted to feel him. Against her mouth. Hungry. God, what was wrong with her? His arm hooked about her waist, and, as his head lowered, she tipped her face to meet him. Wanting. Breathless.

  His gaze held hers, even as his face inched closer.

  When at long last their lips met, her heart, the one she was sure had quit beating, exploded in her chest, pounding as though to crack her ribs. The exquisite heat of his lips burned against hers. Oh, God. Please. Please what?

  He groaned when she wrapped her arms about his neck, drawing even closer to him. He swept his tongue over her lips. She needed no further encouragement. For the first time in her life, she didn’t hesitate when a man touched her. She opened. And, when their tongues met, it was divine.

  The inside of his mouth was hot and hungry, his taste an ex
plosion of wild masculine heat, and, yet, he swept in slowly, as though in wonder, tasting her. The chill of his mouth drew her, cooling the overwhelming heat burning inside her. The combination of need and gentleness sent a shudder of hunger through her body, and she wanted more, needed to crawl even closer.

  Someone from the crowd slammed into them. Tamara didn’t care. He pressed her body backward, out of the way of the oncoming people. Good. So good.

  His kiss deepened, his mouth no longer gentle and worshipful. Her response to his kiss sparked a raw, hungry reaction, his mouth now possessive and demanding. Tamara moaned, her mind spinning, and she couldn’t grasp hold of any one thought. Just him. Here. Now. Kissing her with an abandon she never thought possible.

  Her back collided with a wall, sharp-edged bricks scratching against her shoulders. The cloth caught and scraped against the stone. The sound so familiar.

  So terrifying.

  Desperate emotions ran through her, stealing every sensual thought.

  Trapped!

  The rabbit returned.

  Danger.

  Her lids flew open, and panic seized her insides, twisting her heart until it hurt, throwing her back to a time years past. A dark night filled with terror and pain.

  Tamara turned a corner, not paying attention to where she went. Nor for how long she moved. She just let the motion work to soothe her aching heart. She was tired of being the only one in her family who remembered what they were.

  Orphans.

  The Carolina night was warm and humid. If she walked much further, she’d have to explain why she came in wet with sweat because she still wore her school clothes.

  A sound caught her attention, and she looked up. Three boys stood in front of her. No, not boys. They were older than that. Maybe college age. But they didn’t dress like they were in college.

  “Lookie what we got here,” said one. He licked greasy lips and glared at her with hungry eyes.