Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri)

by Teresa D'Amario

  She gave a sharp laugh. “Didn’t you just say what happened to Julie wasn’t my fault? You didn’t even know me then, Ramose, how could it be your fault?”

  “I just think—”

  “She’s going to be okay!” Jeff’s voice shouted from the doorway. “She’s out of surgery, and we should be able to see her soon.”

  “Thank God,” said Tamara. Relief washed over her in waves.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ramose sat on the small couch and watched Tamara sleep. None of this made any sense. How could he be in the same room with his Kha-Ib thousands of light years from his home world? He scrubbed a hand over his face. And one born of fire?

  The image of her dancing before him, all those thousands of years ago fluttered into his mind. He should have understood something was different then. Her hairstyle and the color of the costume she’d worn should have told him something. He struggled to remember if she’d been wearing the Naphsua in his vision, but it wasn’t clear. The image was old. A memory of a time when he’d had no hope.

  Instead of building his strength to wait, her vision had backfired, convincing him his mate was never to be found on this godforsaken world. Nothing anyone said diverted him from his goal. To be happy. He was sure he’d be forever alone on this planet unless he chose to move away from tradition. So he’d rushed out and married the first human who’d have him.

  Ramose sighed. What a mess that had turned out to be. His wife’s death was a stain on his soul that would never mend.

  Tamara groaned in her sleep and rolled over.

  “Mandisa,” she murmured.

  The blood drained from Ramose’s face. By the gods, this couldn’t be happening. Tamara was dreaming. But not just any dream. Ramose dropped to his knees beside her, fighting the urge to wake her before she learned more. Tamara was dreaming in Erosewyt. The dreams that both told and foretold the lives of their Kha-Ib’s. And now, she was learning his darkest moment.

  Ramose moved with a jaunt to his step, striding into the small brick hut he’d made for his home. Greeting him were the scents of musk and spices. He inhaled. Scent was one of his favorite sciences, and he was pleased his new wife found solace in simple oils.

  His home was clean and spacious, for mud. He wished he could give his wife the best of his world, but that was not to be. Somehow, he didn’t think a power driven home with automatic cooking was something she would understand. He deposited his soiled outer clothes near the wall, along with his belt and weapons.

  When he’d told her of his origins the night before, she’d been wary, but accepting, but not so accepting as to be ready for such advances in her daily life. He’d had to work to convince her he was not a Najak, or demon.

  “Mandisa?” he called.

  There was no answer. He moved into the sleeping chamber, surprised to see her circled by her brothers. She turned to him, tears and horror filling her dark brown eyes.

  “There he is,” she hissed. “Bajn!” Evil.

  Her brothers drew their swords, advancing toward him.

  “What is this?” he demanded.

  “You defile our sister,” said Haru, the oldest and most deadly of the pair, as he stalked forward, sword at the ready, “Najak.”

  “I am no demon,” said Ramose, struggling to remain calm. He glanced toward his new wife. Terror stared back at him. Not fear for her brothers, and not fear for him. It was terror of him. The knowledge sunk into his soul. With his need to be happy, he had destroyed this beautiful woman.

  The men charged, their swords glittering in the muted candlelight.

  Ramose dodged then held out his hand. With a thought, he called the sword he’d dropped in the living space. It flew through the air, slamming its grip into his palm. The instant his fingers closed about the grip, he swung, spinning to avoid his youngest new brother’s first strike.

  The finely hewn steel did its job, slicing through flesh and bone as if it were no more than camel fat. A fine line of blood formed across the young man’s throat. Weakened fingers clawed at the deadly necklace, and the boy’s knees collapsed. Ramose wanted to catch him, to save him. Anything but this.

  Mandisa screamed, the sound echoing through the small room and ripping through Ramose’s heart.

  “Stop,” he shouted, but still Haru charged.

  The man slammed into Ramose. They crashed into the mud brick wall. Ramose’s breath whooshed from his lungs, and clumps of debris showered over them. He shoved his attacker aside and leapt to his feet. He had to find a way to stop this, but the man before him was determined as ever to take his life.

  “Halt.” Ramose tried again. He should let them kill him. This was his fault. Yet try as he might, his natural instincts would not let him stand and be executed.

  “Never,” shouted Haru. “Not until you are dead. My sister must now die for the crime of sleeping with a Najak, but she will have the pleasure of seeing your evil destroyed before she is punished.”

  Horror burned through Ramose. Mandisa was to be put to death for being with him? Gods, he hadn’t expected this. “She’s your sister, Haru. You can’t punish her. If you must punish someone, then, yes, let it be me, but Mandisa is innocent.”

  “Not anymore,” the man shouted, spittle running from his lips. “You destroyed her innocence. She may carry demon-spawn. She will die. But, first, I will have the pleasure of destroying the cause of her destruction.”

  Haru tossed down his sword, pulling a dagger from his waist. “Fight me like a human, Najak,” he spat. “Fight me without fear. Let me send you back to join Anubis in the paths of hell.”

  The man charged, not waiting to see his response, aiming the sharp point of his blade straight for Ramose’s chest.

  Ramose shifted, the sword still in his own hand, moving almost on its own. The sharp edge pierced Haru through the belly, then reached upward, the curve and the man’s momentum driving it straight through his heart.

  The life faded from his brother-in-law’s face. Ramose pulled the sword from the body, and the man collapsed. The coppery scent of blood filled the air. With a clatter, Ramose dropped his sword. He dropped to the man’s body

  But it was too late. Life snuffed from the man’s eyes as Ramose struggled to force it back in. Why couldn’t his gift be healing? Why couldn’t he have learned all he needed to save a man’s life? His mind screamed over and over. Your fault. Your fault.

  Struggling to gather his wits, he lifted the dagger Haru had dropped, holding it to the candlelight. The dark ruby tip was dipped in the blood of animals. Animals used for sacrifice. A poisoned ritualistic blade blessed by Set, God of Chaos.

  “Najak,” screamed Mandisa. Her body slammed into him, her own blade sinking into his shoulders.

  Ramose winced, then jerked around, grabbing for his wife, but she wouldn’t still. She stabbed him, again and again, blood seeping from the shallow wounds. He struggled, grabbing her wrists, and, in the process, the edge of the poisoned dagger found the inside of her thigh, drawing blood.

  “Gods, no,” he shouted, spinning to catch her in his arms. Already her body convulsed, the poison working through her blood stream. “Mandisa, why?” he croaked.

  “Ramose,” she whispered.

  He moved closer. “Please, Mandisa, stay with me. Care for me.”

  “Never,” she groaned. “Never with a Najak.”

  Her eyes fluttered then closed. Her last breath whispered into the night, condemning him. Killing his heart. Najak. Demon.

  Ramose fisted his hand in her long, dark hair. The same hair he’d combed the night before, as he’d told her his life story. He should never have left her alone, never given her the chance to be with her brothers until she understood and accepted. They could have kept his life secret, living happily. Instead, she’d shared the secret, and her brothers had sentenced her to death.

  “Najak” she’d called him. Demon. Vile. Devil.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Najak!” Tamara shot straight up in the be
d, the horrifying word fresh on her lips. Her heart pounded, and her pulse raced. A chill ran down her spine. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, and the dream’s terror turned into true panic. Then, a memory surfaced, blurring the images of the dream. She was at the hospital, in the elite waiting suites, waiting for her cousin to wake after surgery.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and slowed her thumping heart. She slid her focus to the couch. Ramose. Her breath caught. He sat, his green eyes filled with pain. The nightmare’s images rose in her mind, making it difficult to separate the man on the couch from the man in her dreams. Past life. Another past life dream where he’d lived through the unexpected.

  He’d been married. Jealousy twisted inside her, but she tried to ignore it, sorting through the wild memories and pain. That was another time, and another place. He’d shared a secret with his wife, and that secret had killed her. And her brothers. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away.

  “You dream the Erosewyt,” he said.

  “What?” She’d heard stories of couples waking and one being angry at the other for what they did in their dreams. She’d never thought that would be her, but, right this moment, she couldn’t decide if she was angry at him, sorry for him, or jealous. Maybe a little of all three.

  He didn’t speak again, but watched her, his eyes unreadable, his emotions held in check. So different from the man who’d fought for his life then inadvertently killed his own wife.

  “You killed her.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He didn’t change. Not his expression, not his eyes. Yet she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about. “In your past life. You killed your wife.”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  She kept seeing the woman, dead in his arms. Cold. The room was so cold. She rubbed her arms. What kind of man kills his wife? But it was an accident, wasn’t it? Did he know the knife held poison?

  “So, you’ve had the dreams, too? Of your past life?”

  “I know what happened to the woman, yes.”

  Tamara scooted off the edge of the bed. Sadness seeped into every pore. Such loss. Such pain. Such violence. “Your wife, in that other time, she…”

  “Was frightened of me.” He finished for her.

  That hadn’t been what she’d planned to say, but something about the way he spoke bothered her. She was missing something. Hell, she was probably missing a great deal, because in her head she kept seeing the woman spitting at him, calling him Najak. Demon. She’d sensed his pain at the word, and the anger when her brothers attacked. Now, she received no emotions from him. As though he’d slammed a door between them. Not like the man who’d kissed her on the streets of Cairo.

  “Maybe. Maybe she didn’t understand you.”

  “No, she understood. Yet still she feared me.” He stepped to the window and stared out. Alone. “And you fear me, too. I saw your terror in that alley. Do you believe I’m a demon as well?”

  The subtle difference in his voice finally clicked. He thought she would assume the man in the dream was him, and, if she did, she would also believe him to be evil. Talk about a stretch. “Ramose, you can’t possibly think…” But he did. “Look, you aren’t a demon. You aren’t an ordinary man, by any means, but that doesn’t make you a demon.”

  He trailed a finger over the glass, frosting the window with his power. “But you were terrified, and, when you awoke…”

  Tamara cocked her head. This was the first time she’d seen him refuse to look at her. Maybe she had problems separating her dream from reality, but she hadn’t seen anything like this before. None of her nightmares had shown him with a wife. The edge of jealousy pushed again.

  She stepped to the window and blew on the frosted glass, watching it melt. “I told you, I was afraid because of the place, not because of you.” They stood so close, almost touching. Both so alone. She’d been alone all her life, despite her sisters and brother. She could understand the pain inside, but she didn’t understand what was really happening between them.

  No color circled his body to tell her of his thoughts. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. For the first time in her life, she had to deal with a man like any other woman. No color circled his body to help. How did normal women do this? Panic rose in her throat. Had he found a way to hide it? Or had the dream somehow stolen her powers? She’d read before how past lives affected the present life. If he’d killed once, would he kill again?

  “You’re afraid now.” He spun away from her paced the floor.

  “No. I’m not. Yes, I was for a second there, but not of you.” She cocked her head to one side, struggling to judge his mood by his stiff body language. This is tough. Being normal sucks. “I just noticed something different, that’s all.”

  He gave a smirk. “Something so different your heart would speed up? Something so different fear would cause you to step back and stare at me? Tamara, let’s be honest. The dream frightened you, and now you wonder if Mandisa had it right.”

  Anger rose, and she stormed up to him. “Let’s get something straight, Ramose. I don’t lie, and, as much as I’m sorry that woman died, she was a wimp. She attacked the man she supposedly loved out of fear. A man who had no intention of hurting her, only loving her. You really want to know why I was afraid just now?” He moved as though to respond, but she didn’t give him a chance, waving off when he opened his mouth. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Since the moment we met, I have been able to see your aura.”

  “And now?” Answering anger built in his eyes. Shit, if they got out of control again, they’d set the damned hospital on fire.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, forcing the calm she didn’t feel. What was it about him that drove her to anger so quickly? “Well, I can’t see it anymore, okay? It’s gone. Poof.” She snapped her fingers. “I can’t read your emotions anymore.” She couldn’t believe she was sharing this. All her life, she’d hidden her talents, yet after only a few days with Ramose, he now knew all her secrets.

  “And this frightens you? That you cannot see my aura?” The anger softened on his face.

  “Well, I could before now, but, apparently,” she threw an arm outward in frustration, “now, nothing. So, tell me, Mr. Don’t Be Afraid of Me, what does that mean?” She really should quit taunting him like this, but she couldn’t help herself. The nightmare mixed with the fear over her cousin, the fear of her overwhelming desire for him, stealing all common sense. But instead of growing angrier, as she expected, he smiled.

  “Maybe you can read other’s auras and just not mine.”

  “Are you saying you did something to keep me from seeing yours?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Not on purpose.”

  “Great. Just great.” She threw herself onto the sofa. Not on purpose my ass. “So, tell me about these dreams, Ramose. I’m tired of them. They haunt me every single night. Dreams of you in your past lives, mostly here in Egypt. Nightmares. And you didn’t seem surprised with them, only upset over my dreaming about Mandisa.”

  He sat on the edge of the sofa, dwarfing the small piece of furniture. It was moments like this she realized just how big he really was, and how much power he held in his body.

  “Trust me, I was surprised. Very surprised.”

  Her anger drained out, and she ached for some kind of contact.

  “We call them the Erosewyt.”

  “Eros Sweet?” He nodded at her weak attempt at pronunciation. “Who’s we?”

  “My people. From the desert.”

  “And so you dream about other people’s past lives? Why? You must dream of your own, but I only dream about yours. I don’t understand—”

  She turned to the sharp knock at the door. Jeff poked his head in. “I just wanted to let you know she’s awake.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tamara sat beside Julie in her hospital room, fingers wrapped around her cousin’s hand. Jeff stood opposite her, his own hand gripping J
ulie’s, his stress evident despite his wife’s attitude. Julie was all smiles. I’d be all smiles too on the drugs she’s taking.

  “I’m telling you I’m fine. Really! They’ve taken great care of me.” A machine stood beside the bed, attached to an IV filled with pain medication.

  “I know. I just like to make sure. Ramose is going to find a good place to take you, so you don’t have to stay cooped up in this hospital until you’re able to travel home.”

  “And when that time comes,” interrupted Julie, “Jeff and I will go. There’s no reason for you to shorten your stay.”

  “Shorten my stay?” Tamara gasped in horror. “Julie, it’s going to be weeks before you’re able to go home. You can’t even ride an airplane until they’ll let you bend your knees again. Those braces have to come off for the trip.”

  Julie rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m telling the truth.”

  “It won’t be weeks.”

  “Oh, right. I’m sure those drugs you are on are telling you how fast you’ll heal, but they lie.”

  “You know better than that. If anyone understands her talents, it’s you.” Jeff’s voice edged sharp, like the dagger Tamara had seen thrust into Ramose’s back by his own wife. Pain tugged at her heart. Would she ever get over that dream?

  Meeting Jeff’s glare, Tamara stood, her hand still gripping Julie’s fingers in hers. “Yes, I understand, but I also understand her limitations. She’s drugged, Jeff.”

  “And just because I’m drugged doesn’t mean I can’t see flashes of the future. You know that. Relax. Let’s talk about that man of yours.”

  “What?” Tamara almost choked on the word. She couldn’t call him hers. Not yet, anyway. Maybe never, after her cowardice.

  Julie laughed. “Don’t you act like that. I know exactly what’s happening.”

  “You’re trippin’ on those drugs, cuz. You’ve gotta stop that.”

  Julie sobered and met Tamara’s eyes. “And you have to stop hiding behind your fear.”