Blood of the Nile (2 page)

Maliyah squared
her shoulders and plastered a fake smile on her face before she waved her hand
in the air to get their attention. Her mind swam with heartfelt reminders of her
long-forgotten childhood trip to Cairo, and the countless hours spent aimlessly
roaming the desert hills with her cousins.
Yet coming home to
the land of her father’s people left a metallic taste in her mouth.
It also
let other bittersweet memories of her childhood rise to the surface. Reopened
like a fresh wound.

“Maliyah!”
Salma shouted. Her bright eyes and caramel complexion beamed from
across the expansive airport. She ran to Maliyah and wrapped her slender arms
around her shoulders in a tight squeeze. “It seems like an eternity since I’ve
seen you.”

“I know. I’ve
missed you so much. I’m sorry I stayed away for so long.” The unsteady cadence
of Maliyah’s voice as she whispered the words revealed her unbridled emotion. She’d
somehow been able to keep it together until that moment.

In her peripheral
vision, she noted
Husani’s
sympathetic gaze. He came
up from behind to comfort both women in his warm embrace. Maliyah turned to
look at him and she lost it. Her eyes flooded with tears, too many to hold
back. It was the first time she’d cried since hearing the news of her father’s
death.

“It’s okay, honey.
Let it out.” Husani breathed the words into Maliyah’s hair. “You’re home now.”
For the first time in years, she felt like it, too.
Safe.
Familiar.
Accepted unconditionally.

Maliyah didn’t
know why she’d waited until that instant to fall apart. Maybe it was because
her cousins understood a thing or two about loss. After all, her father’s
brother, Shahad, had abandoned them as mere infants. He’d left their young,
destitute mother to fend for herself with two small children. If it hadn’t been
for the kind generosity of Maliyah’s father, who knew
what
would have befallen them? Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of their suffering.
Years later their mother Aunt Fatima drowned, a casualty of the floods that
devastated the Nile River Valley in the late nineties.

“Let’s get you
back to the house. You must be famished.” Salma grabbed her by the hand and led
them to the limousine stationed outside. That’s another thing she’d missed. Her
father’s family had plenty of money to go around. Still, they weren’t flashy
about it unless it was absolutely necessary. After battling her nerves the
entire flight from Italy, Maliyah needed the comfort and luxury their wealth
afforded her. She sank back into the seat and let its cushion encase her in soft,
pliable fabric.

“I’m just going to
close my eyes for a few minutes. I don’t know why, but I’m totally exhausted,” Maliyah
said, not wanting to appear rude. Jet lag began to sink in. But more than that,
she wasn’t ready to talk about father’s death.

After a while, Husani
nudged Maliyah awake. The limousine skidded to a halt in front of a modern
stucco-clad home on a tree-lined street in the Cairo suburbs. She turned and
leaned into the seat, still drowsy.

“Salma, bring
Maliyah inside and show her to her room. I think she needs to rest a bit longer.
I’ll have her bags brought up momentarily.” Her cousin obliged and helped her
out of the car. As she stepped out, the fierce desert heat hit her. The sand
swirled around as she lifted a hand to cover her face from its harsh
abrasiveness. In the distance, there was a building. It looked like an
apartment complex. Funny, she hadn’t remembered seeing it during her last trip,
but then again, a lot could change in twenty years. She could have sworn she
saw a man peering down at her from the balcony of the three-story structure. Nonetheless,
Maliyah shrugged off the feeling of uneasiness that crept up inside her and
turned toward the house.

Her father’s home
remained exactly as it had been the last time she’d visited. Rarely one to
flaunt his wealth, the simple elegance of its muted stucco exterior made
Maliyah smile. Her dad was a modest man from humble beginnings. He’d had never
forgotten that fact. As Maliyah passed the iron gates and crossed the threshold
of the house, she was inundated with the familiar aromas of her homeland. The
spread waiting for them on the dining table looked like a feast fit for a king.
Savory lamb kabobs garnished with baba
ghannoug
made
her mouth water. The smell of fresh baked
eish
masri
, or pita bread as it was called back
in the States, wafted through the air. An array of ripe figs and dates were
laid out on the table in a festive
arrangement, too.

“I think my nap
can wait. The food smells wonderful.” Maliyah’s stomach growled in
anticipation. She hadn’t had a home-cooked Egyptian meal since her father
visited her in Italy last spring.

Salma called to
Anat
, the nanny who had been a constant presence in the
Aziz household for years. The short, stout woman with the sun-weathered
countenance came into the room carrying a handful of plates and cutlery. She
saw Maliyah and quickly set the items down on the dining table.

“Maliyah,
my sweet child.
You look exactly as I envisioned.”
The old woman smiled as she caressed Maliyah’s cheek with her wrinkled hand. Then,
her expression changed. Her soft brown eyes appeared sad as she lowered her voice
so only Maliyah could hear. “Your father loved you with all his heart and soul.
He was so very proud of you.”
Her father.
She still
couldn’t believe he was gone. Maliyah gave
Anat
a
firm hug and shook off her melancholy thoughts before she sat down to eat.

The three cousins
enjoyed the delicious home-cooked meal in mere minutes and before long, Maliyah
had no choice but to acknowledge the elephant in the room. She peered up into
Husani’s
eyes and waited for him to break the silence.

He swallowed the
last bite of food and cleared his throat. “I know you only just arrived. But we
need to discuss the details of your father’s burial.” Maliyah nodded, gesturing
for him to proceed. “Tomorrow we travel by car to the sacred pool of
Amun
. There Uncle Anwar’s body will be washed and prepared
for entombment in the family crypt.”

“Thank you for
taking care of the details, cousin. I’m not sure I could handle it all by
myself. Even though I attended his mother, our
teta’s
funeral when I was a child, I’m certainly no expert on Egyptian burial
practices.”

Out of the corner
of her eye, she saw Salma’s lips move. She seemed to silently mouth words to
her brother from her spot at the table. Maliyah stared back and forth between
them. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as a peculiar sensation washed
over her. There was something they weren’t telling her. They held back vital
information.

“What are you
keeping from me?” Maliyah asked. She loved and trusted her cousins without
question. So why did she suddenly feel like an outsider looking in?

Salma pressed her
mouth closed and let her gaze fall to the floor. Husani cocked his head and
shot Maliyah a half-hearted grin. “I don’t want you to worry. It’s probably
nothing.”

“What is it,
Husani? Is it about my father’s death?”

Salma, who was
seated between the two of them at the kitchen table, took hold of Maliyah’s
hand and squeezed it in reassurance. After a terse moment of silence, she
turned her attention back to her brother.

“She has a right
to know.”

Using two fingers,
he massaged his temples and let out an audible sigh. Then he stood and moved
around to Maliyah’s other side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Before
he spoke, he glanced around the corner, making sure the maid had disappeared
out of sight.

“Maliyah, don’t be
alarmed. But as a precaution, I ordered an autopsy on your father’s body.”

“But
why?
He had a heart attack. End of story.” She
wanted to believe that was the case, although deep down her subconscious didn’t
fully comprehend the possibility. Bile rose up in her throat and she tasted the
bitter flavor of death and betrayal regurgitate in her mouth.

“Yes, that’s what
Salma and I
were
told as well. However, we have to be
sure. Uncle Anwar was a wealthy and powerful man. He had quite a few enemies in
the business world.
Men that would have profited from his
death.”
Husani’s
voice remained slow and
steady, his posture unchanged as if he was trying not to show any undue emotion.

“So you’re saying
that someone might have murdered my father?”

Chapter Two

The Stalker

Ramses
Shakir
stood on the balcony of the third-story apartment
overlooking the serenity of the Nile Delta. He could hear the gentle ebb and
flow of its rushing waters as he peered in through the window of the quaint,
tan-stucco home across the street. Luckily, he’d brought along a pair of
military-grade binoculars to make the task a bit easier. It was after sunset.
Still, a drop of sweat slid down his forehead and fell into his eyes, clouding
his vision even through the high-powered lenses. Perspiration formed between
the shoulder blades of his bare, muscular torso. Dark, wavy locks clung to his
scalp and hung in damp ringlets down his half-naked frame. In the scorching
heat of the Sahara desert, most days shirts were optional. Today proved no
exception.

Ever since Maliyah
Aziz stepped foot on the Cairo soil, the temperature seemed to have increased
dramatically. The minute he saw the limousine pull up in front of the house, he
felt it. Hot and bothered was an understatement. Besides the discomfort of Ramses’
sweat-soaked body, hunger gnawed a hole in his gut. An unquenchable thirst for
blood came over him.
But not just anyone’s blood.
Maliyah Aziz’s savory essence was the only elixir that would whet his voracious
appetite.

He dropped the
binoculars on a nearby table, and turned to the left, watching his shadow dance
along the walls of the room. A mirror was set in one corner and contrary to
traditional vampire
lore,
he could see his reflection
quite clearly. He watched his pupils dilate, as they often did when need
threatened to vanquish his control. He could see and feel his body’s
instantaneous reaction to Maliyah Aziz. His obsidian eyes rolled back in his
head then returned a split-second later, transformed into a deep, penetrating
crimson. Razor-sharp fangs distended over his frightful scowl. Rigid and rock
hard, Ramses’ cock stood at full attention, eager to welcome the daughter of
his former business associate with an enthusiastic salute.

His body’s wanton
demands felt like a betrayal. After all, Anwar al Aziz had been much more than
a colleague; he’d been a good friend. Having lived nearly a thousand years, Ramses
could attest to the fact that individuals worthy of one’s trust were hard to
come by. Yet Anwar had been exactly that. The two men had met thirty years
prior and before long, their friendship blossomed into an almost symbiotic relationship.
The owner of a successful international shipping fleet, Ramses’ company was the
perfect enterprise to propel Anwar’s import/export firm into success, thereby
creating a mutually lucrative business arrangement. While
Shakir
Shipping had already made millions delivering high quality goods and services
to ports across the globe, Aziz Import/Export Ltd
.
soon took off, skyrocketing the cotton and Egyptian textile
industry into a multi-billion dollar venture for both men.

Away on business
when his partner fell ill and died, Ramses automatically became suspicious. At
fifty-nine years old, Anwar had been the picture of health. An avid long-distance
swimmer and scuba diver, the man ate well and took excellent care of
himself
. There was no way in hell Ramses believed his friend
simply dropped dead – the result of an apparent heart attack.

Ramses owed it to
the Aziz family to find out what really happened. For the last few days, that
had been his focus, and all he could think about, until Anwar’s exquisite
daughter ripped the proverbial carpet out from under him. Ever since he spotted
her flowing brown tresses and green-gold eyes, her shapely curves clinging to
the yellow sundress she wore, Ramses knew he was in trouble.

He watched her
share a meal with her family, then walk up the stairs to the second floor of
the abode. Soon, a dim light illuminated one of the bedroom windows. A sheer
curtain covered it, shrouding the room in a veil of transparent shadows. Ramses
became transfixed, mesmerized by Maliyah’s sensual movements in the moonlight.
Her hips swayed provocatively as two fingers delved below the waistband of her
panties, rolling the scant material over her pelvic bone and down her thighs.
Then she reached behind her to unlatch her bra. Her nipples puckered into tiny
rosebuds as a gust of desert heat whipped through the room, blowing the curtain
aside to reveal a glimpse of her curvaceous backside. It was like peeking
through the window of a sex shop situated smack dab in the middle of a Red
Light District. Ramses groaned as he grabbed hold of his erection and readjusted
the tight jeans he wore.