Exquisite Captive (42 page)

Then there was pain.

Nalia gritted her teeth and looked down at the source. She couldn’t see the extent of the damage from her fight with Haran because a mountain of blankets covered her body, but everything below her neck throbbed and when she tried to move, a searing pain shot through her, as though her stomach were ripping apart. Nalia closed her eyes and rode out the wave of agony. When it was only a soft, ever-flowing current, she opened her eyes again. She didn’t want to return to the darkness she’d fought so hard to escape.

Nalia looked at her hands, small and pale, with dried blood under the fingernails.

Not my blood,
she thought.
Haran’s.

She stared at the Ghan Aisouri tattoos that swirled over her fingers. Her hands clenched at the memory of the ghoul’s body on top of hers, those excruciating, magicless moments. The feel of the knife cutting into his heart. The seawater, drowning them both.

Nalia’s eyes blurred and spilled over, two overflowing violet pools. There was no joy in this victory, no peace. Leilan was dead, Calar would soon be sending more assassins after Nalia—if she hadn’t already. And Malek still had her bottle.

Malek.

A jolt of panic surged through her, but when she tried to sit up, all she felt was that lacerating pain in her stomach and along her left side. The bullet wound. Haran’s poisoned fire. The clock on her bed said it was early afternoon. How long did a flight to Beirut last? He’d left at six thirty the night before—he was most certainly there now. Which meant she had missed his call. He’d be furious.

She had to get out of bed, had to call Malek before it got any later or he tried to summon her. In her condition, she might not survive the summons turning her body into scraps of atoms that flew across the earth.

She heard a small sigh and then a soft puff of breath blew across her cheek. Nalia turned her head: Raif lay beside her, sleeping, his body curled toward her. She took in the dark circles under his eyes, the cuts from the
vashtu
that covered his arms and hands. He smelled like the ocean and blood and the journey she’d taken into that other, shadowy realm. She knew now that she’d traveled through death in his arms, so familiar was the scent of him. Seeing Raif there, a vague memory surfaced of his voice leading her away from the mists and ghosts that had filled the past several hours.

As if he could sense Nalia watching him, Raif opened his eyes. They’d been the last thing she saw before the nothingness.

So green.

A smile spread across his face.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hey.” He reached out his hand and tucked Nalia’s hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek as he gently wiped away her tears.

“You stayed here all night.” It wasn’t a question. Every fiber of her being remembered his presence calling her home.

“It was the least I could do, after you killed the most evil jinni that ever existed.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She smiled. “I might have had a little help, though.”

Raif shook his head. “Not really. Haran was dead the minute he landed on the beach.” His eyes roamed over her face, as though he were memorizing her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I could feel you. Even though I was so far away, you brought me back.”

Raif scooted closer, as though by touching her he could somehow make those hours between life and death cease to exist. Nalia turned slightly toward him, but just that simple movement caused her right side to explode in pain, where Haran’s bullet had entered just a few hours ago. She gasped, clutching at the blankets until the pain dimmed. She pulled back the blanket and saw a pristine bandage wound around her stomach. There wasn’t any blood soaking through, though it had felt like she’d torn open the wound. Then she noticed that the only thing she wore was a bra and a pair of underwear. Her face warmed and she hurriedly put the blankets down.

“The healer gave us some medicine,” Raif said, looking away, his face just as red. “She said the wounds look healed, but inside you’re still torn up.”

He got out of the bed and crossed to the table full of medicine. “I have to remember which one is—”

Somewhere outside her bedroom, Nalia heard a phone ring.

“Zanari’s here,” Raif said, with a nod toward the door. “She brought the healer—you were unconscious by then, but she knew this was your room. You know, with all her . . .” He made a whirling motion around his head to indicate Zanari’s psychic abilities. Nalia remembered that Zanari had seen her bedroom in one of her visions; Malek sitting on her bed, kissing her cheek.

She was about to ask one of the dozen questions waiting on her lips when the bedroom door flew open and Zanari held a ringing phone out to Nalia.

“It’s Malek. I know you need your rest, but this is the tenth time this phone has rung.”

Nalia stared at her cell phone. Zanari must have found it in the pocket of her jeans—how it had survived her fight with Haran, she’d never know. Technology was human magic she couldn’t begin to understand.

She’d have to pretend that she hadn’t almost died or killed a ghoul or shared her bed with the leader of the Arjinnan revolution. She took the phone and answered it.

“Malek?”

“Hayati,”
he breathed—shocked. Relieved.

Then he started yelling at her in rapid-fire Arabic.

Nalia pulled the phone back from her ear. Raif tensed beside her, but she put a hand on his arm.

“I’ve been trying to call you for hours. Where the hell have you been?” Malek was shouting.

“I—”

“Are you hurt, bleeding, where
are
you—”

“
Malek.
I’m fine. Stop yelling.
Gods.
”

“Stop yelling?
Stop yelling?
” Now he was back to English. “I called Delson from the plane a few hours after we took off. Couldn’t find my phone anywhere. He said everyone had been evacuated because of the fire, but that you were protecting the house. Then he told me there’d also been a goddam
earthquake
, then a
tidal wave
in Malibu and that he’d tried to call you, but hadn’t been able to get through. The police wouldn’t let him or anyone else up the hill, but they sent an ambulance and you weren’t there. I tried to summon you and when nothing happened—”

Nalia gripped Raif’s arm. “You tried to summon me? When?”

Raif stared.
What?
he mouthed, eyes wide.

She heard the faint
clink
of ice cubes going into a glass on Malek’s end and wondered how many drinks he’d had since his phone call with Delson. “Right after Delson told me about the fire. It would have been the middle of the night for you.”

Nalia knew she’d been on the razor’s edge, that somehow the choice to live or die had been her own. Malek hadn’t been able to summon her because she’d gone beyond his reach.
Maybe,
she thought,
that is the only way to be free of him.
But she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to that dark landscape full of ghosts.

Malek took a breath and even through the terrible phone connection she could hear how hard it was for him to control his emotion. His cleared his throat before he spoke again.

“I thought you were dead,” he said, more quietly, “under a pile of rubble, burned to a—god
dammit,
Nalia, I’ve been losing my mind over here.”

She felt a tug in her stomach and gasped. Raif pulled her to him, as though he could somehow hold her in that room.

“Malek,
no
,” she said. “I’m hurt, you can’t—”

Immediately, she felt his summons stop. The room went in and out of focus and she leaned her head against Raif’s chest as the pain swelled.

“How hurt?” She heard the panic in Malek’s voice, the fear.

She didn’t answer—how could she explain?

“
Nalia.
How hurt?”

“I got trapped under something heavy after the earthquake. I’ll be all right. It just took me a while to . . . get free.”

Not even a lie—her body remembered the weight of Haran, crushing her under the waves. Beads of sweat broke out over her body and she trembled. Raif motioned for Zanari and she hurried over and poured the contents of one of the bottles into a small glass.

Malek was saying something, but she couldn’t concentrate. Raif propped up some pillows and she took the glass, downing the vile liquid in one swig. She choked and held the phone away.

“Just tell him you have to go,” Raif whispered.

Malek’s voice shouted through the phone. “Nalia, what’s happening? Are you—”

“It’s okay,” she said, putting the phone back to her ear. “I just had to take some medicine, that’s all.”

“I’ll have Delson send for help—”

“Malek, I’m a jinni, remember? A healer already came, I’ll be fine. I’m just too weak to evanesce right now, is all.”

“I’m coming home,” he said. She could hear him begin moving around the hotel room, zippers opening, wardrobe doors slamming.

“Didn’t you just get there?”

“I’ll video conference the rest of my meetings,” he said. “I had the important one already. The rest of it can wait. I need to see you.”

She felt Raif’s fury before she saw the look on his face. She couldn’t have this conversation with Raif sitting beside her. She had to be a different person with her master, and it shamed Nalia to have Raif see her play that part.

“Can you hold on a minute? I—just got out of the shower.”

“All right.”

Nalia covered the phone with the palm of her hand and motioned for Raif and Zanari to leave.

Why?
Raif mouthed. He stared at the phone, his eyes flashing.

Nalia looked to Zanari, her eyes wide with exasperation. The other girl understood, and she grabbed Raif’s arm and dragged him from the room, softly shutting the door behind her.

“Okay,” she said into the phone. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Sometime tomorrow evening. How’s the house?”

“Fine,” she lied.

“All right. Just stay in bed. The fire department said Delson could return after six o’clock.”

Nalia looked at the clock beside her bed. It was already noon. Zanari and Raif would have to repair the damage her earthquake had caused, since she still had Haran’s trace on her. She had to get the bottle as soon as possible, and if the house was in shambles, Malek would be too distracted for her sweet words and poisoned wine.

“I . . . I miss you,” she said.

There was a long pause, heavy with unspoken words. Nalia felt uneasy, as though Malek could somehow see the lie on her face all the way from Beirut.

“Do you?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m glad.” She could hear the longing in his voice. “I’ll see you soon,
hayati
.”

The connection died and she lay back down on the pillow, closing her eyes. The pain clawed at her insides, a trapped prisoner, and she looked longingly at the mysterious medicines beside her bed.

There was a soft tap on the door, and Zanari poked her head through. “All clear?”

Nalia nodded.

Zanari came in and shut the door behind her. “We need to talk, sister.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

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ZANARI CROSSED THE ROOM AND STOOD OVER NALIA’S
bed.

“I sent my brother away so you could take a bath. Think you’re up for it?”

Dirt and blood caked her body, and the sheets smelled of sweat and sickness. “Absolutely.” Nalia pointed to the bottles on her bedside table. “But I need a serious dose of that stuff first.”

“We’ll do the tonics and then I’ll help you rewrap the wounds after your bath,” Zanari said. She handed Nalia a bundle wrapped in cloth.

“I thought you might want this.”

Nalia pulled back the cloth; it was her dagger, the hilt and blade still brown with Haran’s blood. She looked at it for a long moment.

“It’s the only thing that’s mine,” she whispered.

Zanari picked up a bottle and read the small handwritten label pasted to its front. “What do you mean?”

“I brought it with me from Arjinna. Everything else—
everyone
else—is gone.” She hugged the blade to her chest. “I would have died without it. Thank you.”

“Well, it was no fun taking it out of a ghoul’s heart, but I had a feeling you’d miss it.” Zanari handed her a bottle. “Plug your nose and just knock it back, sister.”

Nalia drank from the bottles Zanari handed her—each one tasted just as disgusting as the one administered to Nalia during her half-remembered haze of death. When she was finished, Zanari helped her up.

“Remember the trace—no magic. Let me do whatever you need, okay?”

Nalia grimaced but let Zanari guide her to the door that led to her private bathroom. She lifted her hand, unthinking, to direct her
chiaan
to the faucet, but Zanari slapped it away.

“The trace!” she said, lifting her own hand. Steaming water began to pour from the faucet.

Nalia leaned against the doorway, already exhausted. “Fire and blood,” she muttered. “You might need to handcuff me.” How would she remember not to use
magic
?

“I’m not sure how you would explain
that
to your master.” Zanari bit her lip. “But this trace does present a huge problem. After Raif unbinds you from Malek, how are you going to get inside the cave—or,
gods
, evanesce to it? That trace will have the Ifrit on your heels every step of the way.”

“I’m not going with you,” Nalia said. “Raif has the map and my blood, and I don’t care what he says, you don’t have time to wait—”

“Nalia. My brother just risked his life so that he could save yours. Do you really think he’s going anywhere near that cave without you?”

“But—”

Zanari’s eyes flashed. “Raif has made up his mind and, trust me, neither of us are going to change it. I’ve been keeping an eye on the portal and, so far, I don’t think the Ifrit know Haran is dead. We have some time. So. The trace. What do we do about that?”

Nalia sighed. She’d try to win the argument later, when her body didn’t feel like it had been through a war. “My mother told me there’s an
azfahan
at the entrance to the cave. It’ll wash off any concealing or tracing magic, including glamours. We had one at the entrance to the throne room.”