Panther's Prey
Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
PANTHER’S PREY
Doreen Owens Malek
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Published by
Gypsy Autumn Publications
P.O. Box 383 • Yardley, PA 19067
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Copyright 1996 and 2012
By Doreen Owens Malek
The author asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.
First printing April 1987
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
With a note of thanks to
Vito W. Caporale,
my Professor of Ancient History
at William Paterson College,
who made the past come alive for
me and stimulated an interest in it
which remains to this day
BE SURE TO READ
THE PANTHER AND THE
PEARL, THE PREQUEL
TO PANTHER’S PREY,
an Amazon Best Selling Historical
Romance in the United States and
the United Kingdom.
“In the Ottoman Empire of 1885,
the Pasha of Bursa could have
anything he wanted…except her”
The American Beauty:
When an innocent excursion to Constantinople took an unexpected twist, Sarah Woolcott found herself a prisoner in the harem of young and virile Kalid Shah. Headstrong and courageous, Sarah was determined to resist the handsome foreigner whose arrogance outraged her—even as his tantalizing touch promised exotic nights of fiery sensuality.
The Turkish Prince:
Never had he encountered a woman who inflamed his desire like the blonde Westerner with the independent spirit. Although she spurned his passionate overtures, Kalid vowed to tempt her with his masterful skills until she became a willing companion on their journey of exquisite ecstasy!
“Ms. Malek’s marvelous storytelling gifts
keep us deliciously entertained!”
—
Romantic Times
The Hunter and the Hunted
“What are you going to do with me?” Amy demanded, tugging on the ropes that held her bound to the pole.
Malik Bey said nothing, merely walked in a circle around her, surveying her as if she were the blue ribbon heifer at the county fair. The scrutiny made Amy intensely uncomfortable and she was finally able to look away from him. At that moment he stepped forward and lifted her chin with his finger.
He studied her face, and at such close range Amy was able to study his. He had the longest eyelashes she had even seen, so thick and dense that they made his eyes seem huge in his olive-skinned face, and when his lips parted, she had a glimpse of strong white teeth. He stroked her chin absently with his thumb, looking her over, and she shivered at the touch, mesmerized by his stare. Then she realized that she was submitting to this humiliating examination without a struggle and she jerked back from his angrily. He smiled slightly, which infuriated her even more.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she hissed.
Table of Contents
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Chapter 1
Constantinople, Ottoman Empire
July,1895
Malik Bey crouched behind an outcropping of rock and watched the plume of smoke from the train coming closer. Below him the open, sandy plain spread away to the horizon, narrowing on the right to the depot he could just see in the distance, its tin roof reflecting the sunlight. He had chosen the station well; it was isolated, and the train stopped long enough to take on new passengers and to refuel. His men could surround and board it before the conductor or any of the travelers knew what was happening.
One of the horses neighed and Malik looked behind him, shaking his head. Anyone might be in the hills above them; silence was essential. The offending handler controlled his mount and Malik glanced back at the train, now coming around the bend and looming larger. He looked up at the sun, which would be in the conductor’s eyes and aid the bandits in their task. The train should be loaded with business people, embassy aides and tourists, all on their way to Constantinople and all in possession of jewelry and money.
Gain was the goal, after all.
Malik had no ethical qualms about robbing the train, no more than he would have about strangling the Sultan, if he could get his hands on him. Malik would do whatever was necessary to free the Turkish people from the oppressive grip of Abdul Hammid IV, the absolute dictator of the Ottoman Empire, which included Turkey and all of its dependent territories. If stealing was required, Malik would become the best thief in the Empire, and if killing was required, he would become the best assassin. Liberty was the objective, and nothing else mattered.
The train began to slow down and its whistle blew loudly. Malik raised his hand, signaling his band to get ready. He grabbed his horse’s bridle and mounted in one smooth motion, raising the scarf around his neck to cover the lower part of his face. Only his large, dark brown eyes showed above the printed cotton, eyes marked by glossy black brows and lashes the same shade as his anthracite hair. Malik was remarkably handsome, which he could have used to better advantage if romantic pursuits were important to him, but he lived for his quest of a free country.
Revolution was his constant occupation.
The train let off steam, hissing as it glided closer to the station. Malik cantered into position at the head of the group of mounted men, his hand still raised, watching the scene below. When the moment was right be lowered his hand abruptly, and the bandits thundered down the slope, horses’ hooves kicking up showers of dust as they rode.
The passengers on the train looked up in alarm as the horsemen materialized from the hills, seemingly by magic, swarming around the train as it inched toward its destination. The conductor pulled the emergency cord but the Turks boarded before the train had even come to a standstill, leaping from the well trained horses which trotted away a few paces and then waited for their masters to return.
Malik waited until he saw the two men who had been designated to handle the conductor land on the train, then he burst into the caboose through its rear door. He ignored the screams of the female passengers and drew his pistol on the first man who stood to face him. The hero subsided, sitting back down slowly, his eyes as wide as his plump wife clutched his arm fearfully.
Malik grabbed the empty sack tied to his waist and shoved it in the face of his would be attacker. “Give me all your money and valuables and no one will be hurt,” he said in English, for the couple looked Western. They scrambled to obey, dumping everything in the cloth bag, and Malik moved carefully down the aisle, stopping frequently as the travelers stripped themselves of their belongings and cash. His men did the same in the other cars, and Malik was not forced to repeat himself, not even for the Turkish passengers, who already had the idea and knew more about the local bandits than the tourists. As he came to the end of the car he saw an old man who looked far less prosperous than the rest extracting a few coins from his frayed pocket with trembling fingers. As he extended the money to Malik the younger man pushed his hand away.
“Keep it, grandfather,” Malik said gruffly in Turkish. “It is for you that I fight.”
He turned to face the full car and scanned the faces quickly again, looking for women young and pretty enough to bring a good price on the slave market. There were none. He was strapping the sack, now heavy with booty, to his belt once more when his lieutenant, Anwar Talit, dragged a struggling teenage girl through the door from the next car and said, “What do you think?”
Malik looked at the young woman, who was small and plain, with wispy brown hair tucked into a chip bonnet. She stared back at him in terror.
Malik shook his head, glancing through the train’s grimy window for his horse.
“She’s young enough,” Anwar protested.
“Not worth the trouble,” Malik said decisively, and Anwar released the girl, who almost fainted with relief. One of the other passengers caught her as she sagged to the floor.
“Are the others finished?” Malik asked Anwar.
Anwar nodded.
“Any women worth taking?”
“No, that one was the best of the bunch.”
“Let’s go.”
Both bandits leaped from the train and dashed for their horses. The passengers reacted in various ways to having survived the incident with their hides intact. The men blustered and coughed, avoiding each other’s eyes, and some of the women whimpered or sobbed, but it was clear that the outcome could have been much worse. Grandfather’s pocket watch or a ruby ring was nothing to give up in exchange for a steadily beating heart.
Malik vaulted onto his horse and trotted in a circle around the stopped train, marshaling his men and making sure they were all mounted and ready to go. Then he shouted for them to head for the hills and they streamed after him at a gallop, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.
* * *
Amelia Ryder glanced out at the roiling water through eyes that were misted with tears. She was about to dock in Paris, and then take the Orient Express south to Constantinople. She had never been out of Boston, and this trip to Turkey should have been the biggest adventure of her life. But the reason for the journey was her parents’ death, and their will specified that she be relocated half way around the world to live with an aunt she barely remembered.
