Mills & Boon : Seducing The Jackal (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Sensing that Tia hovered on the verge of regaining
consciousness, Markus shifted back to his human form. Dressing quickly and
quietly, he sat down on the far corner at the foot of the bed and waited for her
to wake up.

She stirred, stretching her limbs and rubbing the sleep from
her eyes. He watched her stiffen as she realized where she was. “Bastard could
have said goodbye!”

He chuffed out a laugh. “You mean me?”

Startled, she sat up, turning to face him. “You’re still
here—and here is my place.”

He nodded, taking in her sleep-tousled appearance. She looked
good, warm, perfect for tucking up next to on a cold night. Or a hot night. Or
any night, for that matter. “I thought you’d feel better getting back to your
own space. Since you haven’t had a chance to rebuild your wards, I decided to
watch over you until you woke up.”

“I appreciate that.” She smoothed a hand over her hair. “How
long was I down for?”

“Roughly three hours. How do you feel?”

“Like I need the bathroom.” She gave him a sidelong glance.
“Will you still be here when I come out?”

“Yeah.”

While waiting for her to reemerge, he perused her room again.
It was the exact opposite of his: Light and airy; the colors of sun, sand and
sea. Warm and modern, just like the woman who lived here.

He ran his hand across the spot Tia had occupied. Something had
tugged at him as he’d tucked her into her own bed and climbed in beside her, and
he was pretty sure it wasn’t the remnants of her wards. Snuggling up next to her
even in jackal form had been...soothing. He’d felt relaxed, at ease, and not
because his men were stationed outside. Waking next to her, breathing in her
scent and her life essence, had filled him with a peace he hadn’t felt in
centuries.

“Now I feel ordinary.” She reentered the room, spreading her
hands. “It was so amazing, feeling Isis so close, so loving. I could even feel
Anubis, through you. Now I’m back to plain old ordinary me.”

He stared at her, his gaze lingering on her lovely curves.
“You’ll never be ordinary, Tia.”

Sadness rimmed her smile. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m a
Daughter of Isis.” A sigh lifted her shoulders. “You brought me back home just
as stealthily as you took me. Guess that tells me all I need to know. Our truce
is over and I’m back to being the enemy.”

Regret settled like a lead weight in his gut. “Tia.” He bit
back the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. “You’re not our enemy, Tia. You
healed Rashon and Alonso. Both are doing fine and my clan has joy again. The
Sons of Anubis owe you a great debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Markus,” she said softly. “Despite
how we started, I’m glad I was able to help. Discovering something about my
history and my power in the process was pure bonus.”

Her gaze pierced him. “So what happens next?”

“I programmed my number into your phone. Call me when there’s
word from the Daughters or if you have a need.”

“I have a need now.”

“Oh, yeah. You expended a lot of magic yesterday. Of course you
need to replenish.”

She walked over to stand in front of him. “No. This isn’t about
replenishing my magic.”

Something in her tone made him pause. “What is it about then,
Tia?”

“It’s about you and me.” She met his gaze for a long moment
before looking away. “I need you.”

The soft words cut through him, sounding an echo. He’d done his
duty for thousands of years, growing and protecting his clan. Relaxing his
vigilance, being selfish, for even a moment, could have deadly consequences.
Here now, with this woman, with this Isis witch, he wanted to be selfish. He
wanted something for himself.

He wanted her.

Something inside him, something buried deep, stirred,
struggling to claw itself to the surface. Whatever it was, he would not set it
free. Not now. Not ever. He had a duty to his clan that superseded all else.

She stepped forward, cupped his cheek. “Markus. The magic we
made—I’ve never felt anything like that before. Ever. But besides all that, we
are good together. Forget about witches and jackals and the Lost Ones. Think
about you and me, a man and a woman. Let’s just pretend for a little while that
that’s all there is.”

“Don’t you think I want to?” He surged to his feet, curling his
hands into fists. “Thousands of years of doing my duty, of making sure my race
survives, that our clans thrive. Even sex was about increasing our numbers, not
about giving and receiving pleasure. If I relax my guard, if I focus on anything
other than my duty to my people, I put my people in danger.”

“So what—that’s it? You spend so much of your time making sure
your people stay alive that you don’t have time to get a life?” She settled her
hands on her hips. “Look, I know we didn’t have the best of beginnings. If
there’s anyone who should be saying ‘good riddance,’ it’s me.”

She thrust a hand through her hair with a sigh. “Maybe I’m
crazy. Maybe I’ve got some sort of Stockholm syndrome or something. Or maybe I’m
just addicted to your magic cock. Don’t know, don’t care. What I do know is that
I want more of you, whatever I can get for as long as I can get it. I want to
feel you on me, in me, wrapped around me. I want—”

Markus snatched her up against him, crushing her tight in a
bruising kiss. She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back with hungry
intent. Growling, he grabbed her skirt, hiking it up her thighs so he could cup
her ass. She responded by locking her gorgeous legs around his waist. Tongues
dueled, breathing harshened, need rose as she pulled his shirt off over his
head.

With lengthening claws, he grabbed two handfuls of her dress
and ripped. “Tell me that wasn’t a ritual robe,” he muttered against her
lips.

“No. Just a dress.” She nipped at the tendons along his
neck.

“Good gods, woman.” Without ceremony, he tossed her back on the
bed. Keeping his gaze locked to hers, he quickly shed the rest of his clothing.
Careful not to scratch her, he wrapped his fingers around her white cotton
panties and jerked. The material shredded around his claws. He tossed them over
his shoulder, then dropped atop her, bracing his weight on his forearms.

He nipped his way down her throat, lingering over her
collarbone before dipping into the hollow between her breasts. Her scent rose to
infiltrate his senses, as sweet and spicy as the finest incense. His mouth
watered as he dragged his tongue along her skin, feasting on her breasts. Every
day, every hour, every gods-damned minute, he could spend tasting her, and it
still wouldn’t be enough.

“Open for me, beautiful one,” he urged, kissing and nipping his
way down the soft curve of her belly. “Let me have more of you.”

Her legs fell apart for him, revealing the dark rose pink of
her core. He dipped his tongue inside her, a long, slow lick that had her
mewling. He swirled his tongue through her folds, circling her clit, needing her
taste, needing her pleasure with a bone-deep hunger.
More
.

* * *

Tia thrust her hands into Markus’s hair as he raided her
senses with lips and teeth and tongue. Wanting him as she did, needing him as
she did, it wasn’t long before she felt the sweet tidal wave of pleasure
sweeping through her blood. It smashed through her pitiful defenses and swept
her into a maelstrom of orgasm.

She cried out, then cried out again as he surged up her body
and lanced into her in one thick thrust. She saw the wide golden glow of his
eyes just before he lowered his head and kissed her into oblivion. This was all
about wild, primitive, sweat and sex and sensation.

She wanted to claim him. The urge burned within her as she
clutched his shoulders, as he powered into her over and over again. Each thrust,
each retreat seemed to say
mine
,
mine
,
mine
, and she echoed
the sentiment. She wanted to give him everything, even without knowing if he
would accept it.

Her teeth dug into his shoulder as passion broke her apart yet
again. He shuddered, groaning, then pulled out of her. Still reeling from her
second orgasm, Tia barely registered Markus turning her, pushing her to her
knees.

He skimmed a shaky hand down her back. “Tia,” he whispered, her
name rough and broken-sounding on his lips. “Tia.”

“I’m here.” She scrunched her eyes shut against an unexpected
flood of tears that surged over her bared emotions. “Take it,” she demanded,
pushing back against him. “Take it now.”

He fit his still-hard cock against her swollen labia, then
slowly glided inside her. Her name, a mixture of prayer and plea, fell from his
lips again. Slowly he withdrew and just as slowly returned, as if wanting to
commit every minute sensation of penetration to memory.

The frenzied coupling had broken her apart; this slow, intent
glide of flesh in flesh threatened to completely undo her. She knew that this
time was for him, him to savor and enjoy and commit to memory. Arms and legs
shook as her nerve endings sang, as body, magic, mind and heart reached for
him.

“Markus.” She called his name on a sob as she fell off the
precipice again, her muscles tightening around him. Only then did he increase
his pace to a steady rhythmic thumping, burying himself to the root each time he
rocked into her. His fingers dug into her hips as he stiffened against her, a
deep, guttural moan escaping him as he finally came.

Her legs buckled. He tightened an arm around her waist, guiding
her down with his chest pressed to her back. Holding her close, he pressed his
forehead against her back, chest heaving as he struggled to regain his breath.
She wondered if he was as shaken as she was. She’d changed—he’d changed her, and
she wasn’t sure how she’d manage if she couldn’t see him again.

It was a long while later before she turned over to face him.
Shadows lurked in his amber eyes, shadows she hadn’t seen before. Her fingers
brushed along his jaw. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

His lips twisted in a rueful take on a smile. “Impossible
things.”

“Please tell me.”

He focused on her. “Why?”

“Because I hope it’s what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling. I
don’t want to be alone in this.”

The sigh he released seemed to take all his strength with it.
He pressed his forehead against hers and sighed again. “I’m losing my mind. Or
you’ve bespelled me. There’s no way I should be thinking of wanting to take you
back with me.”

Her heart leaped, then sank as his words registered. “Because
I’m a witch.”

“Because you’re an Isis witch.” He rubbed his cheek against
hers. “We’ve been enemies for millennia.”

“Before that we were allies,” she reminded him. “And I did heal
your clan brothers. I’d like to think that you and I, at least, can bury our
differences.”

“Yes.” He nuzzled her throat. “I know. But whoever stands
beside me will lead the jackals with me. Can you align yourself with the Sons of
Anubis, Tia? Can you give up the Daughters to be with me?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged. “I don’t know if I’m talking about
forever or a year or a week. All I know is I want to try. Surely that’s
something.”

He didn’t budge, damn him. “Will they let you be with me, Tia?
What if they refuse to condone us? Can you turn away from the Daughters of
Isis?”

“They’re my family, Markus,” she whispered past a tight
throat.

“A family that cast you out.”

“I know.” Tears pricked her eyes. “But they’re still my family.
I can’t turn my back on them. My grandmother is still there, and I—I want to go
back someday.”

He quit her bed to get dressed, and she dug her fingers into
the sheet to keep from reaching for him. She’d made her case; she wouldn’t
beg.

Once dressed, he turned to face her. “I’ve got to go.”

“I know. Jackals to drill, Lost Ones to hunt, all that.” She
slid from the bed, reaching for her gold silk robe draped over the nearby chair.
She followed him through the kitchen to the back door. Obviously he didn’t want
anyone to witness a jackal leave an Isis witch’s house.

Bitter regret rose in her throat, harsh and acidic. Trying for
nonchalance, she shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. Maybe the one good thing
that comes out of this is peace between jackals and witches. If so, I’ll count
that as a win.”

“So will I.”

“Yeah, well.” She wrapped her arms across her belly. “Once
there’s some distance between us, I’m sure we’ll both get back to normal pretty
quickly.”

“Normal. Yeah.” He turned to her, golden eyes dark. “Tia—”

“Don’t. Just don’t, okay?” She took a deep breath, then kissed
him on the cheek. “Have a good life, Markus, Son of Anubis.”

With a hand to his chest, she gently pushed him out the door,
then closed it.

Chapter Eight

After a long hot shower and an equally long hot cry,
Tia dressed and braced herself to check her phone. A handful of messages from
her grandmother, and two texts from a client greeted her as she reset the
Smartphone. She deleted them, thankful that she’d only missed one appointment in
the time she’d spent with the jackals. Promising her client a free session as an
apology would work. She hoped. At that moment though, she couldn’t think about
work. She could only think about jackals and witches.

She wasn’t going to give up. Markus would come around to her
point of view, realize that what they had together was way better than being
apart. If she could get the Daughters to agree to a truce, one huge obstacle
would be gone. She didn’t know if being with Markus would fail or fly, but she
was certain failing would be better than not trying at all.

Her hand trembled as she placed the call to her grandmother.
“Tia! Where have you been? I could sense you expending a great amount of magical
energy, but couldn’t pinpoint where you were.”

“I had an emergency.” She paused, taking a steadying breath.
“With the Sons of Anubis.”

“Oh.” Silence on the other end.

“Oh?” She’d never known her grandmother to be at a loss for
words, not once in all the time she’d known her. “Is that all you can say?
You’ve taught me all of our spells, all of our rituals and prayers, but you’ve
never once told me the story of Asharet and Sekhanu. Your parents.”

“I know.” A sigh crossed the line. “Believe it or not, I had my
reasons, Tia. Now, I think, it’s finally time you know them. We need to
talk.”

“Yes, we do.” Tia cleared her throat. “Grandmother, do you
remember who told you about Asharet’s death?”

“Tia.” Centuries-old pain filled her grandmother’s voice. “Do
we really have to go into this now?”

“Please, Nana, it’s important. How did you get the news?”

“One of mother’s priestesses ran to our house, covered in dirt
and blood. Amansuanan, I think. She said that jackals attacked the temple,
killing my mother, our high priestess. I might have been twelve at the time,
about to enter service myself. I gathered the remaining priestesses and
fled.”

“What happened to Amansuanan? I don’t think I’ve ever met
her.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. We lost her centuries ago, shortly
after we crossed the sea. Why do you ask this?”

“Because Markus said he returned from a campaign to find
Asharet and Sekhanu dead together, as if defending each other and the temple of
Isis. He seemed to think witches were the cause. Just as he thinks the Daughters
are behind the curse afflicting his people.”

“Does he now?” Aya asked, acid creeping into her tone. “Can’t
say that I’m surprised.”

Belatedly Tia wondered if her grandmother had been involved
with Markus sometime during the last four thousand years. Ew. Surely he would
have said something. “He’s not the only one, Nana,” she said, keeping her voice
free of accusation. “When I examined the jackals, I could feel Isis magic. It
had been twisted, perverted by Lost Ones.”

“Lost Ones?” Aya’s voice sharpened. “Isis magic tainted with
the undead? Mother of Horus!”

“It’s something to be worried about, isn’t it?” Tia asked. “If
the Lost Ones have gained in strength and power, the Daughters of Isis could be
their next target. Markus asked me to ask you to agree to a meeting to discuss a
permanent truce and a new alliance against a common enemy, the Lost Ones.”

“This jackal presumes much.”

“What the jackals want makes sense,” Tia answered. The
Daughters, especially the Elders, were fixated on ritual and propriety. Tia
understood that following a strict path had kept them safe, but there had to be
some value in becoming friendly with the enemy of your enemy. “Don’t you think,
after four thousand years of hating each other, our two groups can learn to get
along? We have to be stronger together than we are alone. Wasn’t that the will
of the gods in the first place?”

“My, my. Look what happens when we send a Daughter out into the
world.”

Tia swore she could hear a smile in her grandmother’s tone.

“I’ll gather the Elder Sisters. Come visit me. We’ll go to
circle together.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I reset my wards. Will the Elders let
me speak?”

“You are the seventh Daughter of the seventh Daughter of the
High Priestess,” Aya reminded her with all the hauteur of one confident in her
own power. “Be here at sunset. It will be good to have you in ritual again.”

“Okay, Nana. Thank you.” Tia disconnected the call. She paused
before scrolling through her contacts and finding Markus’s number. The idea of
talking to him sent butterflies tap dancing in her belly. Would he reconsider
being with her? Would he want to go with her to the grove where the Daughters of
Isis gathered? What if he only grunted when she shared the news—or worse yet,
sent her to voice mail?

In the end, her courage failed her. She sent him a text about
meeting the Elder Sisters later that evening, pocketed the phone, then set about
restoring the wards on her home, extending the protective barrier several feet
beneath the house. Unfortunately she hadn’t started soon enough.

Unfamiliar magic raised goose-bumps on her arms as the air
before her wavered then ripped, revealing the swirling gray-black clouds of a
magic portal. Several desiccated creatures crawled through the opening.
Screaming, Tia threw handfuls of consecrated salts and incense at the undead.
Those hit imploded, but more came, swamping her. Despite kicking and hurling
curses, they managed to drag her to the portal, then beyond.

* * *

Gods. Markus gripped the steering wheel hard enough for
the material to whine in protest. He could still feel Tia pervading his senses
like that damned curse, still feel the imprint of her hand on his chest. How
long would he have to endure her essence stealing across his mind and his magic
without hungering for her? Somehow he didn’t think his immortal soul would last
that long.

He wanted her. She wanted him. It should have been easy from
there, but it wasn’t. Even in the time of Sekhanu and his Isis priestess, the
alliance between jackals and witches hadn’t been effortless. It was easy to look
into the past with a gold-dusted view. He’d put Sekhanu and Asharet on
impossibly high pedestals. Maybe the golden age of their people was more
tarnished than he cared to remember. If history had taught him anything, it was
that the pairing of a jackal and a witch would always be doomed.

Even if he and Tia weren’t doomed, being together wouldn’t
work. He had a good four thousand years of experience over her. Though he’d
adapted to survive, he remained old-fashioned in many ways. He’d want to bond
with her, live together, love and fight together. He’d want children with her,
but had no idea if she wanted kids. Hell, he had no idea what her favorite color
was.

They’d had an intense couple of days together. A magical
connection. Incredible sex. What would happen when they tried to go back to
normal? Even their normal wasn’t like anyone else’s—she was a Daughter of Isis,
newly come into her power, destined to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps as
high priestess. He was the leader of the Sons of Anubis, warriors sworn to fight
the undead. One day he would lose, one night he wouldn’t come home. He wouldn’t
want to wish that on Tia.

Still he wanted her. Wanted her with a soul-deep need.
Imagining her being with another, rejuvenating her magic using someone else’s
body, made him want to kill.

Markus rolled his shoulders in the too-small van. He needed
sky. He needed to hop his bike, open the throttle and ride full-tilt into a
fight, the more targets the better. Maybe if he got bloodied and bruised from
taking out twenty or thirty Lost Ones would he finally be able to ignore the
pain in his chest.

“Sir.” The jackal beside him cleared his throat, then tried
again. “Sir, I have to ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Did the priestess bewitch you?”

The steering wheel groaned beneath his grip. “No. Tia didn’t
use her Voice on me. Why?”

Again, the jackal looked behind him, as if getting
encouragement from his clan mates in the back of the van. “You’ve been growling
nonstop since we left.”

Markus slammed on the brakes, causing the van to skid to the
roadside. Throwing the vehicle into Park, he turned in his seat and pierced the
others with a baleful stare. “And just what do you think that means?”

“We think that means that you want to keep the priestess.”

“She’s a Daughter of Isis.”

“She doesn’t act like one,” the young jackal pointed out. “She
didn’t have to be nice to us while she healed Rashon and Alonso, but she was.
She told us everything would be all right, and we believed her. And it came to
pass. Our brothers are back with us.”

The young jackal shook his head. “I have never questioned my
faith or my duty. I am what I am, and that’s proof enough. Seeing you and the
priestess joined in magic, I actually felt as if Anubis and Isis were with us in
that room. I want to feel that again. We all want to feel that again.”

Markus snarled. Tia was his! Not for a month, or a year. He
would have her by side side as his mate for the rest of his life. Even if that
meant sharing her with the witches.

His phone beeped. He checked the display, his heart thumping as
he saw the text from Tia. “She’s already spoken with the High Priestess Aya of
the Daughters of Isis,” he told his men. “She’s meeting with them later
tonight.”

The men didn’t cheer, but he could feel their cautious hope.
Acid churned in his gut. He wanted to believe that the Daughters were receptive
to a truce, but it would take a gargantuan effort to convince some of the Elders
that the jackals weren’t to blame.

A sudden urgency gripped him as his chest began to burn. Tia.
He’d left men near her place, wanting to ensure her protection until she could
reestablish her wards. Now, every instinct screamed at him to turn the van
around, return to her and see for himself that she was safe.

On cue, his phone beeped. He tapped his earpiece. “Go.”

“Lost Ones,” the jackal on the other end replied. “Coming from
the priestess’s house. She’s not answering the door.”

“Break the damn thing in!”

For the first time in centuries, true fear blossomed in his
gut. The Lost Ones had targeted Tia because she’d helped the Sons of Anubis. She
could not pay for that assistance with her life. He had to save her, had to get
her back—even if that meant laying waste to the entire city.

“She’s not here,” the jackal finally answered. “She took out
several of the undead, but they must have dragged her through a portal. I’m
sorry, sir.”

Throwing the van into gear, Markus spun the wheel, turning the
bulky vehicle around. “Return to base.”

The jackals beside him held up another phone. “I’ve got base on
the line, sir. It’s Hector.”

He snatched the phone. “Hector.”

“I heard. Mobilizing now.”

“I want all jackals on the ground in ten. Any whiff of portal
activity, any scent of Duat, send it to me. Track Tia’s phone in case she has it
with her. Send me the coordinates as soon as you have them locked.”

“Yes, sir.”

Markus disconnected, then howled in rage. If the Lost Ones hurt
Tia, he wouldn’t rest until he’d destroyed every last one, even if he had to go
into Duat itself to finish the job.