Blood of the Nile (4 page)

“Maliyah, are you
awake?” she heard Salma’s voice call to her from the other side of the door. “
Husani’s
chomping at the bit. Hurry and get dressed.
Anat
has breakfast ready for you in the kitchen.”

“Be down in ten
minutes,” Maliyah said as she jumped to her feet. She stumbled across the room,
nearly falling into the shower stall.
Its
hot jets beat
down on her muscles as she closed her eyes and let the warm steam seep into her
bones. The sensual heat of the spray was so
soothing,
she could feel her body waver, on the verge of surrendering itself to sleep
once again. But with little time for personal hygiene as it was, Maliyah grabbed
a
loofah
and got to work lathering her body into a
thin sheen of suds. The pliant fibers of the sponge made her skin tingle.

Maliyah reached
between her legs and glided the
loofah
over her sex,
reveling in the feel of her sudden arousal. Her nipples beaded into tight, achy
peaks as images of the previous night bombarded her.
Thoughts
of Ramses
Shakir
.
His clean, earthy scent
wafted past her nose, while she relived the memory of his cock massaging her
through her form-fitting clothes. Leaning against the cool, vibrant tiles of
the shower, Maliyah’s head began to swim. An unexpected bout of dizziness came
over her as she dropped to her knees, rendered almost completely immobile at
the notion of having had such a strong, virile man in close proximity.

She turned off the
faucet and sat with her back against the colorful blue and gold mosaics; her
breath came out in short, erratic huffs. Still wet from the shower, a trickle
of moisture drizzled down the ridges of her sex; its thick consistency pooled
at the junction of her hip and thigh. Maliyah groaned as she reached down to
gather up its slickness, rolling it between her thumb and index finger.

What is it about Ramses that has me so bewitched?

Maliyah had never
been one to fawn over men. Yet, this particular specimen had her panties in a pile.
Too bad she couldn’t trust him.

After her heart
rate slowed, Maliyah dried off and got dressed, sweeping her damp hair into a
messy ponytail. She hurled open the door to her suite, and rushed down the
stairs as the heavenly aroma of food assailed her. She was hungry.
Utterly famished, in fact.
Lucky for her,
Anat
had prepared a delicious assortment of roasted quail
eggs and fresh-picked pomegranates and set them out on the breakfast nook.

“Sleeping beauty
finally awakes,” Husani said, chuckling loudly in his cousin’s ear. “Eat up. We
need to get a move on. Uncle Anwar’s attorney called this morning. He wants to
meet for dinner tonight. If we plan on being back in time, we need to go.”

Maliyah gave him a
sarcastic salute, then picked up her fork and got to work devouring the meal. Once
she’d filled her belly, the three of them piled into a rugged, army-green jeep
with industrial grade tires. It was the perfect vehicle for a trek across the
desert.

With Husani in the
driver’s seat and Salma sprawled out in back, Maliyah took shotgun. “
Here.
Put this on,” Salma said, handing her a white linen
headdress, or
shayla
, as the locals often referred to
it. “It will keep your sensitive skin from burning.”

They drove for
more than an hour, until finally Maliyah saw what appeared to be an oasis in
the distance. A pristine watering hole nuzzled between a handful of stone and
marble monoliths. As the jeep got closer, she realized that the structures were
tombs,
each one adorned with an elaborate statue of
Anubis perched at its threshold. No surprise, considering that many in the
Egyptian culture credited the jackal-faced deity with the invention of
mummification techniques. Leader of the funerary cult, Anubis was often charged
with accompanying the dead to the afterlife.

As the vehicle
came to a halt behind the shade of one of the giant statues, Maliyah felt her
stomach lurch, ready to expel the remnants of her undigested breakfast. Her
palms were drenched with sweat. This was the one moment she had been dreading.
Her father’s final farewell.

Anwar wanted his
death to be carried out in much the same fashion in which he’d lived his humble
human existence, without any pomp or circumstance. According to Husani, he’d
left strict instructions that no one, other than his daughter and niece and
nephew, be allowed to view his lifeless corpse. While a few close friends and
business associates had already called, complaining about their lack of
invitation, Husani stuck to his guns.

Good thing he had. I’m not sure I’m ready to place my confidence in
anyone other than family.

Soon, a stout man
with a warm, genuine smile approached the jeep. “Good day. My name is Hamid. You
must be the Aziz family. I’m sorry for your loss. Please, follow me and I will escort
you to your ancestral burial chamber.”

Maliyah and her
cousins trailed after their guide until they reached one of the stone
structures; its wide, arched entryway was embellished with primitive Egyptian
hieroglyphics. As they descended the steep stairwell of the catacombs, Hamid
lit a kerosene lamp. He led them through the winding passageways until they
came upon a small room tucked into the corner of the underground cave. The
words
Makhaut
al Aziz
were etched across
the entrance to the tomb. Clearly, this underground chamber had been reserved
for members of her father’s family.

Inside
were more than a dozen sarcophagi laid end to end along the walls of the cave,
all topped with heavy, intricately decorated rectangular stones used to conceal
their contents.
Except one.
Her
father’s.

Maliyah
rushed to the encasement, draping her arms over its wide expanse. Anwar’s body
lay enshrouded in a swath of fine Egyptian cotton, the same cotton material he’d
cultivated and used to build his fortune. A picture of him - his proud,
handsome features – sat propped up against the side of the stone box.

Soon
Maliyah’s legs gave out, and she toppled to the ground. Tears streamed down her
cheeks as she let out a sorrowful wail. It was the first time she’d allowed
herself to release the pain and anguish she’d kept bottled up inside her—not only
from her father’s passing, but from all the years she’d lost, and all the
memories she’d forfeited by staying away for so long. Maliyah was grateful for
her American upbringing. She relished her independence and the life she led in
Italy. Nonetheless, Egypt was where her heart resided, nestled in the sand of
the Sahara and along the peaceful shores of the Nile River. Originally, she’d
only planned to stay in Cairo for a few days, long enough to see her father’s
body put to rest. But sometimes plans changed. Maliyah owed it to him to remain
in his homeland, get reacquainted with the people, and find the scumbag
responsible for his death.

Chapter Five

The Business Dinner

Ramses crept along
the narrow, dim-lit alleys of Cairo. His Italian loafers made virtually no
sound as he slipped in and out of the shadows, searching for prey. He’d risen
at the first hint of sundown with an insatiable pang in the pit of his stomach.
Not long after he began the hunt, he came upon a woman of the night.
A prostitute.
She stood on the corner, her hip cocked provocatively
to one side, flaunting her curves in a form-fitting, red mini-skirt and
matching bustier. Thick eye makeup and pasty, red lipstick were smeared across
her haggard features.

Not my ideal source of sustenance. But with only fifteen minutes to
spare, beggars can’t be choosers
, Ramses told
himself. He approached the voluptuous redhead, a wicked-as-sin grin etched into
the grooves of his cheeks.

“Hey
there, handsome.
Lookin
’
for a date?” she asked. Her bosom sat on wanton display as the words spilled
off her tongue.

Ramses took no time
at all to consider her proposition. He bit down on his bottom lip and groaned
as he leaned in. He stared into her dull, ashen gaze long enough to ensure
total submission.
“No time for a date, sweetheart.
Just a tiny taste, if you’d be so kind?”

The fiery redhead
moaned as she tilted her head, offering herself up to Ramses as a sacrifice.
Saliva formed in the corners of his mouth as he made contact with the skin of
her throat. The soft flesh was warm to the touch. He felt his fangs protrude
and without hesitation, he sank both canines into his victim’s pulsating vein.

Ramses’ cock
hardened involuntarily as he took in her hot, delicious blood. He lifted her
skirt and grabbed hold of her round derrière. Then, he jerked forward, his
rigid shaft thrust against her distended clitoris.

“Come on. Fuck me,
baby,” her lust-filled purr poured over him as he siphoned sustenance from her
vein. On the verge of surrendering to desire, Ramses yanked on his zipper and
took hold of his cock, eager to plunge into moist pussy.

Suddenly, he felt
her go limp in his arms. An underlying sense of doom nagged at Ramses, urging
him to relinquish his grip on the woman. He pulled away from the waning warmth
of her body; a four-inch, bloody gouge had ripped a hole into the entire length
of her neck from chin to collarbone. He picked her up, and set her listless
form on the curbside. Her breathing was shallow and labored, but she’d no doubt
survive.

With only minutes
to spare, Ramses wiped the blood from his jaw and increased the speed of his
pace. He left the woman to fend for herself, weak albeit alive. He crept
steadily along, passing a row of abandoned warehouses and decrepit brick industrial
buildings. An old-fashioned Irish pub that looked like a sight straight out of
Dublin was tucked into a corner on the end of the narrow street. As he strolled
by, Ramses’ mind filled with flashbacks, memories of the day Anwar al Aziz had stumbled
upon him, and inadvertently saved his life.

Centuries ago, a
vengeful paramour had turned Ramses into a vampire against his will. Over time,
he learned to forgive and forget. No use in holding grudges. He tried to make
the best of things. He’d spent eight hundred years in the trade and barter industry,
fleshing out a successful bounty via the various routes that encompassed the
Mediterranean and Baltic Seas. Later, the Industrial Revolution welcomed the
emergence of steam-powered engines and Ramses concentrated his efforts on
expanding his empire to the Americas. Unfortunately, he had made an
insufferably bad business decision along the way. Decades of wealth and
prosperity became permanently marred by the loss of a large portion of his
fortune. It was the result of a reckless investment scheme on the cusp of the American
stock market crash that occurred during the
mid nineteen
eighties.

Angry and
depressed one night shortly thereafter, he’d gotten rip-roaring drunk at a pub
similar to the one he’d just encountered. To Ramses, life simply wasn’t worth
living any longer and he’d decided to meet the dawn.
To end
his miserable existence once and for all.

With a dim
lamppost at his back, Ramses watched the sun begin to
rise
,
its scorching rays blistering his sensitive flesh. It was at that moment that
Anwar al Aziz happened to stagger by, wallowing in his own drunken self-pity.
Like a wounded tiger, Ramses lashed out at the man, and refused his offer of
help. Even as his eyes changed color, his face twisted into an ugly,
vampiric
abomination, the young Egyptian with the kind eyes
and genuine smile refused to let him die. Thinking him sick with rabies or
dysentery, he found a discarded burlap sack and threw it over Ramses’ head to
keep from being bitten. He carried him to a nearby warehouse he owned and tried
to nurse the rabid stranger back to health. However without sustenance, the
vampire grew weaker with each passing day. Finally, with Anwar’s help, he was
able to feed from the blood of the rats and mice that inhabited the walls and
crevices of the building. To Ramses’ surprise, Anwar wasn’t the least bit
fazed
by the fact that he was a bloodsucker.

Thirty years had
passed since that fateful night when Ramses met the man who’d become both
friend and business partner. Now that gentle soul was gone, his selfless deeds
nothing more than a bittersweet collection of memories tucked away into the
corners of the vampire’s mind.

Ramses shook his
head, shedding the same melancholy feeling that came over him every time he thought
about Anwar. Nonetheless, he continued in the direction of the restaurant where
he planned to meet Maliyah and her family, and hear her father’s last will and
testament. Once he reached the shoreline, he walked about a hundred yards to
the north, finding the quaint riverfront cafe situated next to an antique mall
on one side and an upscale boutique on the other. He wrenched open the door of
the establishment, then took a deep breath, steadying his nerves before he came
face-to-face with Anwar’s daughter once again.