Mills & Boon : Seducing The Jackal (7 page)

Chapter Nine

A twisting, reality-bending scream of a ride later, and
the portal spit Tia back onto solid ground. She scrambled across low grass on
her hands and knees to put some distance between herself and the Lost Ones, her
mind grappling with the knowledge that she’d just been transported through a
slice of the Underworld. Her body struggled to shake off the effects of
inter-dimensional travel. More nauseating than the most extreme amusement park
ride, the journey was one she never wanted to repeat.

She wiped her mouth with the edge of her shirt then climbed to
her feet. Lost Ones crowded around her, hemming her in and blocking her view,
her escape. Bile rose again as she fought down her terror. Though she’d been
trained to defend against them her entire life, she’d never seen a Lost One in
person. The reality was far worse than anything she could have imagined, worse
than the fascinating yet macabre beauty of mummies she’d seen in museums.

These...things stank of death and decay and evil, their
movements like the bare
skritch
-
skritch
of insects moving through dead leaves. They were dried-out
imitations of people, leatherlike skin pulled back from pointed teeth and
fingernails, rotted fabric hanging by threads.

She turned away from the horrifying sight, only to notice the
familiar surroundings. Shock raced through her as she took in the ring of hardy
palm trees ranged around a large circle of golden sand with a large golden ankh
embedded in the center. This was the sacred space of the Daughters of Isis. This
was home.

“No,” she whispered, her vision blurring. “Please, Mother Isis,
no.”

“Do you really think she’ll help you now, when I can smell the
stink of jackal all over you?” a harsh female voice asked. “Never did I think
I’d live to see the day when a Daughter of Isis again became a jackal’s chew
toy.”

Tia turned with a gasp. Dread gave way to small relief as she
realized the woman was not her grandmother. The woman was stunning in a cruelly
pretty way, her dark hair falling in a straight sheet. She dressed in the
ancient attire of an Isis priestess, the long white gown belted and collared
with gold. Where the Daughters of Isis wore the symbol of life the proper way,
this pseudo priestess wore the ankh inverted.

Relief gave way to anger. Tia balled her fists, furious that
this witch had made her think, even for a moment, that Aya had betrayed the
Daughters of Isis. “Look who’s talking, whoever you are,” she said, lifting her
chin in defiance. “You smell like the undead and you look like a low-rent
version of a Daughter of Isis. You profane your calling by siding with these
undead, and for what? Did the high priestess throw you out of the temple?”

Anger contorted the woman’s features. “I should have been the
most high priestess of Isis instead of Asharet! I should have led the alliance
with Sekhanu. That power and glory should have been mine!”

“So pitting the Sons and Daughters against each other for four
thousand years was all because you were jealous?” Tia asked, incredulous. “That
seems so...small.”

“You dare?” the woman screeched.

“You damn right I dare!” Tia shot back, ignoring the way the
Lost Ones rustled like dried leaves around her. “You killed my grandmother’s
parents out of spite for what they had!”

“Enough! Grab her!”

Lost Ones reached out with their bony hands, holding Tia fast
with superhuman strength. The witch gripped Tia’s jaw, fingernails digging deep
into her skin. “Behold the seventh Daughter of a seventh Daughter, descended
from the great Asharet. So full of promise at your birth, so fully a
disappointment now. I had thought to break Aya’s spirit by leaving your broken
body in her precious circle, but I doubt you will be worth the effort. You are
far too weak to matter.”

Tia’s anger erupted into white-hot fury. “I am not weak!”

Growling her rage, Tia head-butted the rebel witch, forehead
connecting with nose. The pain that erupted was matched by the satisfaction of
hearing the other woman scream and stumble back. She struggled against the
undead holding her fast, managing to wrench her right arm free. “Let go of
me!”

Fury gave way to surprise as the Lost Ones immediately released
her. The rebel witch shrieked through blood-drenched fingers cupping her broken
nose. Her free hand reached for a wicked-looking dagger at her waist. “I will
not let you take control of my Lost Ones! You’re going to pay for this!”

The undead advanced on her. Tia backed away, frantically
looking for a weapon. Her gaze fell onto the circle, the shimmering haze of
power there. “Mother Isis, live in me!”

Magic flooded the circle, then shot upward in a shaft of gilded
light. Tia stretched out a hand as light coalesced into a golden staff. She
grabbed it, the weight of power almost knocking her to her knees. Grunting with
effort, she managed to spin it around in time to block the other witch’s
downward stab.

The collision of power knocked them both back several steps.
Calling on her flag corps training, Tia spun the staff overhead then swept it
down in a wide circle. Every undead creature she made contact with
disintegrated. They backed off, and she whirled to face the other woman, ready
to pummel her into the ground.

“Hold.”

Power rolled over them, immobilizing the Lost Ones in midstep.
The rebel witch froze in midstrike, her face a mask of fury. Tia, still brimming
with the sacred circle’s magic, lowered her staff and turned to see her
grandmother leading a column of Daughters and Elder Sisters down the stone path
from the compound to the circle’s sacred space. Aya, carrying the gilded staff
of leadership and resplendent in her ceremonial robes and headdress as the
embodiment of Isis, fairly crackled with power as she took in the scene.

“Daughters to the circle,” Aya ordered. “Defend our sacred
space!”

The priestesses quickly moved onto the circular patch of
consecrated sand. Power rose as they joined hands and began to chant.

“She’s the one, grandmother,” Tia called out, pointing one end
of the staff at the renegade witch. “She’s the one responsible for Asharet and
Sekhanu’s deaths. She’s controlling the Lost Ones!”

“Amansuanan. Behold our sister, long-thought dead to us.” Aya
stepped between them. “How far you have fallen.”

“Don’t condescend to me, girl,” the priestess spat blood as she
regained control of herself. The remaining undead stirred like dust disturbed by
a stagnant breeze. “I should have been high priestess after Asharet. Instead,
the Daughters chose a child barely out of swaddling to lead them. That spot
belongs to me.”

“Leading the Daughters was never your path, Amansuanan,” Aya
told her. “My mother knew you had neither the heart nor the mind for it. And
your betrayal proved her right.”

Hatred contorted the other woman’s features. “If I cannot lead
the Daughters, I will destroy them!”

Tiny hairs stood up along Tia’s arms as Amansuanan threw her
hand out. Reality tore again, and more of the undead skittered into existence.
Dozens headed for the Daughters in the circle, the remainder turning to defend
Amansuanan.

“Grandmother!” Tia swung her staff, driving back the Lost Ones
who would have attacked Aya, clearing a swath of ground.

“Deal with the Lost Ones. I will attend to our lost
sister.”

“By myself?” Tia asked, surprised.

“You were doing fine before I got here,” her grandmother said,
her power making her staff glow. “Start swinging, head or heart. I’ll deal with
the traitor.”

Tia started swinging. Undead burst like dried piñatas as the
staff contacted their desiccated flesh, blows to the heart or severing the head.
Bile rose in her throat, but she tamped it down and twirled the staff, ignoring
the lactic acid burn in her biceps. The more undead she felled, more took their
place. In the midst of fighting for her life, she wished for Markus and the Sons
of Anubis. The Daughters hadn’t been in a battle like this in decades at least.
The Sons had probably fought Lost Ones before breakfast.

Fatigue or carelessness, she wasn’t sure, but somehow she
tripped over a severed limb. She fell hard, the luminous staff vanishing as it
left her hand. Lost Ones swarmed closer. Fear hammered in her chest as she
realized her odds of survival had dropped into single digits.

Howling split the air. A massive dark shadow blotted the light
above her then landed beside her, causing the ground to tremble. A scream boiled
up her throat before she realized that it wasn’t a shadow at all, but a
half-man, half-jackal giant holding a wickedly curved sword in one claw. “Holy
Anubis.”

No, not Anubis. Markus, resplendent and awe inspiring in his
glossy black Anubis form, had brought his jackals to the fight. Snarling, he
swung his sword in a deadly dance, dusting more than a dozen Lost Ones with an
economy of swings.

He was absolutely magnificent, standing protectively between
her and the undead. Seeing his raw masculine energy in action caused the
primitive feminine part of her mind to send a bolt of lust shooting through her.
Gods, how she wanted him!

A flood of sleek dark shapes spilled down the steep incline,
leaping onto the Lost Ones. Markus helped her to her feet, careful of his
strength. Sounds of battle faded as she looked up into his fathomless amber
eyes. “Markus, I—”

“Who hurt you?”

“What?”

His voice rumbled low like two massive stones grinding
together. “You’re bleeding. Who did this?”

She touched her forehead, looked at the blood on her
fingertips. “Oh. I head-butted the wicked witch.”

Pointed ears twitched, and she wondered if he wanted to smile.
It was hard to tell with the muzzle and the bared teeth.

One of the Daughters screamed. “Jackals!”

Crap. Buoyed by the presence of the jackals, Tia cut a swath
through the mass of Lost Ones to the circle of witches. Power rose over them
like a dome, sending out bolts of magical energy that pierced the undead in
puffs of dust. Jackals darted through the remaining creatures, making short work
of the enemy. Now, however, the Daughters in the circle focused on the jackals,
fear evident on their faces.

“Attack the jackals!” One of the witches, Cassandra, pointed
her staff toward a small knot of jackals that had placed themselves between the
Daughters and the undead.

“Don’t you dare throw a spell at the jackals,” Tia yelled at
them, spreading her arms as she stood between the Daughters and the Sons.
“They’re here to help!”

“You expect us to believe that?”

“You see a former Daughter at the head of an undead army and
you still want to doubt the jackals? Are you really that blinded by hatred?”

“Maybe you’re working with them,” the witch said. “Who knows
what happened over the past two days you’ve been with them?”

Tia froze. “Aya is the only one who knows that. Did you listen
to my conversation with my grandmother? Is that how Amansuanan knew to abduct me
from my house?”

The circle of power wavered as the Daughters close to Cassandra
dropped their hands. “So what if I did?” Cassandra asked, defiant and accusing.
“Aya’s faith in you is misplaced, but she wouldn’t listen to me. And now you
consort with jackals. Look at how they flock to you!”

Tia knew the jackals stood at her back. She felt Markus just
behind her, the comforting wall of his magical and physical strength wrapping
about her. “Yes, take a good long look, all of you. Look at how the jackals came
to our aid, not knowing how they’d be received. Look at how they placed
themselves between you and the undead. Look at their actions, though a Daughter
of Isis cursed a number of their people. Look, and know how honorable they have
been. I’m proud to stand with them.”

The rest of the Daughters stepped away from Cassandra. Markus
strode forward until he stood at Tia’s shoulder. In his Anubis form, Markus was
beyond impressive, well over eight feet tall, the black of his hide gleaming in
the dim light. His pointed ears flattened as he roared a challenge.

Realizing she no longer had support, Cassandra turned tail and
ran, heading toward Amansuanan. The renegade witch, scraped and bloodied from
her bout with Aya, opened a portal to escape and ran through, Cassandra and the
last few Lost Ones following.

The portal slammed closed. Silence fell, thick and immediate.
Whether by accident or design, Daughters stood on one side of the circle while
the Sons ranged along the other. Each camp stared at the other with equal
expressions of mistrust.

Tia turned to Markus, still in his Anubis form. “You came for
me.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“How did you find me? How did you even know to look?”

“I left two of my men to watch over you. When they reported
that you’d been taken, we used the GPS in your phone to find you.”

Of course he’d hacked her phone. She wouldn’t have expected
less. “Thank you. Thank you for showing up when you did.”

Aya took that moment to join Tia and Markus in the center of
the two camps. Though she was a grandmother and four millennia old, bathed in
power she seemed no more than forty. “Tonight we have seen the true face of our
enemy,” she said, her voice ringing in the quiet. “There is no doubt that the
threat is very real and very personal for all of us.”

She looked at each one of the Daughters. “We have lost
Cassandra, just as we lost Amansuanan centuries ago. I would not have us lose
another of our sisters because of our misplaced distrust of the Sons of Anubis.
It is time for us to set aside centuries of animosity and discord and return to
our heritage, our calling, of working together.”

A murmur rose over the throng. Markus folded his arms across
his chest. “The Sons of Anubis will hold to our heritage and to our calling. We
will work with the Daughters of Isis—through Tia.”