Soul Reborn (Key to the Cursed Book 1) (29 page)

He looked down at
the exquisite goddess that would become his eternal wife and was struck by her
beauty. His mind flooded with memories of when he had first looked upon her at
the beach. Her golden hair glistened under the moonlight, and her green eyes
sparkled with energy. Her smile broadened as she looked at him.

That smile is
for me
.

He slowed his pace
at the entrance to the larger garden. On the other side waited the priest and
ceremonial party.

Lilly furrowed her
brow. Her gaze darted from him to the entrance and back again.

“Just follow my
lead, keep looking at me.” He waved his hand and the small curtain separating
them from the ceremony parted. Horns trumpeted. Her hand clamped down harder on
his, but otherwise she was steady as a rock.

He walked hand in
hand with his mate through the archway of swords, held by the dark warriors and
Nehebkau huntresses. His heart filled with warmth when awe flickered through her
eyes, and the smile grew brilliant on her face.

“I feel like a queen.”

He looked down at
her with all seriousness. “After tonight, you will be.”

She stiffened, but
pressed forward. She would have more surprises before the night was through. He
would ensure she had a lifetime of them.

“Anything else I should
know before I say, I do?”

“My sweet, Lilly.
You are in for the ride of your eternal life.”

Her emerald eyes
sparkled with mischief. “Ride, huh? What did you have in mind?”

The flush of heat
washed through her hand into his body, and his groin filled with blood.
Thankfully, it stopped short of a full erection. He did not think he could keep
a straight face with his penis standing at attention in front of everyone.
“Keep those thoughts to a minimum until the ceremony is over. I do not want to
embarrass myself.”

She glanced down.
“Whoops. It would certainly make things interesting.”

He snorted, but
tightened his expression as he approached the steps. Inpu waited at the top
dressed in a black ceremonial robe. Lilly loosened her grip and turned to hug
her sisters, and Nebt. Her eyes naturally gravitated back to him, and never
left through the entire ceremony when Inpu blessed the union between them. Asar
could hear the flutter of her heart and his as they were bound for eternity.
With her pale hand in his, Asar turned to the crowd below and raised their
joined hands in the air.

The crowd of gods
erupted into cheers that echoed across paradise. Her gleaming green eyes looked
up at him with elation. “You do realize we, Carrigan sisters, are nothing but
trouble?”

Asar glanced down
at her gorgeous face and took her into his arms. “That is what I am counting on.”

He sealed their
vows with the kiss of time without an end.

Please turn the page for
an exciting sneak peek

of the next novel in

Jean Murray’s

Key
to the Cursed Series

SOUL
AWAKENED

Spring 2015

Black armor glistened in
the moonlight. Perfect camouflage against the sand and stone of the night
desert. Poised to strike, its arms curled into large claws with back arched and
tail raised to the heavens. Patiently waiting. Patiently watching. An
opportunist ready to kill. The master assassin has nothing but time in the
darkness. One strike to paralyze its victim. The prey will not know its enemy
until it begins to savor and consume every morsel with savage glee.

A familiar refuge of
horror.

Black and desolate
like his soul, the darkness draped the landscape of Bakari’s world. His prison
for how long? He could gage only by his hunger, an unbearable pain burning
through his chest and eating away what little of his soul remained. The
darkness consumed everything, but his insanity.

Until now.

The onyx obscurity
wavered into shades of grey. Bright sunlight danced and flickered in the barren
corners of his mind beyond his reach. Bolts of lightning ripped across his skin
and mind and tore at the fine fabric of his consciousness. The sheets of
darkness fell like ash and scattered into the cold abyss.

His mind
retreated—fearful. He had been tricked before only to suffer at the sadistic
hands of his captor. The next arc struck harder and deeper. The white inferno
fried what tendrils of his coma remained. In the wake of his agony, the soft
caress of a human soul and the scent of sweet honeysuckle penetrated his skin.
The very element that fed his power—living energy.

Like water for a
dying man, the human’s energy trickled but did not satisfy his ravenous hunger.
His chest clenched into a ball of fire, ignited by the minuscule energy he
absorbed into his soul.

The vitality
extinguished as quickly as it came. Left barren and wanting, rage consumed him.
The goddess Kepi would pay for this new level of depravity. To have living
nourishment so close, but denied to feed his dark hunger, was a torture like no
other.

The walls of his
wooden crypt pressed in upon him. He struggled to move an arm or leg, but the
spell of his paralysis was unyielding. He screamed but not a word past his
lips. In his mind he thrashed against the invisible bonds, willing himself to
break free.

He had not reacted
this way since the fateful day of his confinement to his tomb. During his
imprisonment he had withdrawn into himself. Numb to the world. His only
safeguard against the goddess and the oppressive confines of his prison. Those
thoughts of Kepi worsened his agony and current insanity.

Silently screaming,
cold tears slipped out of the corners of his closed eyes and trickled down into
his hair. He called out to the merciful gods to save him, but in all this time
none were answered. His despair suffocated whatever hope he may have left.

Bakari,
a soft melody of a voice broke through the chaos in
his mind
. Ease your pain.
She will come to you again. Hold your will,
young god. She will set you free.

The dark mouth of stone and steel exhaled a damp
breath that set coldness in Kendra Carrigan’s bones. The heavy footfalls of the
large security group echoed down the sandstone hall to the enormous prison
entrance. She pressed herself against the wall, afraid she would be crushed by
the pall bearers’ powerful strides. With the three heavy tombs upon their
shoulders, the procession passed through a large iron gate that loomed ahead.
Not much of a welcome home for the Underworld god’s lost son after years of
captivity in a wooden box.

She swallowed against her tight throat and took a few
steps closer to the opening.

Dang, if it wasn’t pitch black in there
. Asar,
the Egyptian God of the Underworld, assured her the confinement of the
sarcophaguses to the dungeon was a necessary security precaution. He failed to
mention the lack of electricity and lighting.

Large iron bars surrounded the opening like fangs,
ready to swallow her the minute she stepped through. Her heart sped up to a
quick drum. She nervously fingered the flashlight in her sweatshirt front
pocket, along with the spare batteries she always kept with her.

She much preferred the harsh florescent lighting
in the museum basement over this. But, she had a job to do. Despite her resolve,
the tips of her Uggs remained glued to the lower edge of the iron gate. Worse,
her clothes clung against the clamminess of her skin and tightened her shirt
down like a corset. She tugged at her collar.

Don’t be a sissy
, she chastised herself for
fretting over the dark. It wasn’t like she was a stranger to dark and cramp
spaces. She had been crawling through Egyptian tombs since she was a child, but
the fact remained— nyctophobia. Whoever said, repeated exposure to your fear
would dampen the physical effect, was full of it.

“Kendra?”

She yelped and threw the flashlight into the air.
The metal Maglite hit the ground with a
clink
and rolled across the
sandstone.

“Sorry, I did not mean to surprise you.”

She leaned forward with her hand over her heart
willing it to slow. “No. I’m a little jumpy.” Kendra shifted her gaze up the
Underworld Legion Commander’s enormous seven foot body that packed
extraordinary amount of muscle under his beautiful ebony skin. Scarification
tattoos on his arms and shoulders rippled with the shift of muscles underneath.

Her eyes wandered to the firm round curve of his
buttocks when he bent over to pick up her flashlight. His black linen shirt
pulled up in the back to reveal the intricate markings that disappeared under a
waist band of weathered leather pants. From what she had heard the scroll work
extended to his ankles—a status symbol of Bomani’s rank and superiority among
the dark warriors. She jerked her gaze to the floor.

Bomani’s large hand engulfed the mini-light, which
was about the same thickness of his pinky finger. He stood to his formidable
height and smiled. Brilliantly beautiful for such a fierce looking man. Well,
not really a man, but Egyptian god-like warrior. To hide her flushed cheeks,
she warily glanced into the dark mouth of the dungeon.

“I was heading downstairs myself. May I join you?”
he asked.

He asked for her company? She looked at her hands
that danced with tremors. It was no secret that she hated the dark. “Well, if
you think you need my protection,” she replied.

The edge of his mouth twitched and his gold eyes
sparkled. “I would appreciate it.” He held out the flashlight for her to take.

She wiped her sweaty palms against her jeans. The
tips of her fingers grazed his callused palm before plucking her security
blanket away. He clenched his now empty hand.

“These hallways are always so dark.” He waved his
hand and the torches on the walls ignited. The warm flames cast a yellow glow
along the walls and ceilings.

“Cool.” She stepped through the doorway. The
Commander’s proximity and the light that illuminated the darkness gave her the
courage to push down the long labyrinth of steps. Hieroglyphics spanned every
square inch of black stone. Spells from what she recollected from her training
in Egyptology. Never once did she believe she would actually meet the gods she
studied for so many years. No dream could be this exhilarating and painful at
the same time.

She dared to brush her palm along the walls.
Voices roared in her head, like the blast from a stereo volume set too high.
She snatched her hand away to break the connection. The ancient narration
ceased.
Thank God.
The story wasn’t a pretty one.

Dark and violent.

What did she expect? She descended into the halls
of the damned, those found unworthy to pass through the gates of the afterlife
or awaiting judgment for their crimes. A very fitting place for one of the
residents of the sarcophagi carried into the cell. She shivered knowing what
evil was held inside.

To keep her gift in check she stuffed her hands
inside her sweatshirt’s front pocket along with her flashlight and batteries.
She looked warily at the torches on the wall, waiting for that moment she would
be plunged into darkness. Her heart pounded harder.

With a heavy breath her heel hit the landing. Her
quadriceps burned from the long descent into the belly of the prison. She
looked up the staircase, but could see only darkness. Not even the light from
the opening cut the stairwell’s black throat. Heaviness weighed in on her chest
making it slightly harder to breath. If that wasn’t enough, the damp chill set
further into her bones.

The flames from the torches danced across the
stone labyrinth and beat back the evil that lurked in the darkness. The shadows
rolled and snapped, threatening to pull her in and never let go. The prickling
on her neck worsened with each step. She veered closer to Bomani. Their arms
brushed as they walked. Her contact with him grounded her fear. Maybe he could
grab her before the shadows took hold?

The fine current of pins and needles intensified
at an intersection. Morbid curiosity overrode her dread. She stopped at the
mouth of a long black corridor and peered into the eyes of the devil. She
didn’t have to be a god to sense the evil residing at the end of the long hall.

Bomani placed his body between her and the
darkness. She looked up into his face that was drawn with tight lines. He had
no love for the goddess Kepi either. He held out his bent arm. She stole one
last hateful glance down the hallway and then grasped onto the crook of his
arm. He smiled at her acceptance and guided her away from… death.

“This way.”

She continued beside him. The lighting of torches
timed perfectly with each step. He paused at another corridor. This one at
least was brightly lit. “I thought you would like to come here first.” His gaze
held a softness and understanding that was fitting for the moment.

She walked forward to the sarcophagus. With her
hand on its center, the history of its journey played in her mind up to the
point it was laid within this chamber. Sorrow filled her heart.

“Father.”

She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. “I’d like to be
here when Inpu prepares his body. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. You have my word.”

“Thank you.” She kissed the lid. “I’ll be back,”
she whispered against the cold stone. At the exit she stole one last glance at
her father’s tomb. He never deserved this death—this one nor the last. The
blame lay solely on one, the goddess locked tight in her sarcophagus. At least
he was finally at peace, or at least she hoped so. The sooner they prepared his
body for the afterlife the better.

Bitter thoughts chased her down the next damp
corridor. Spanning floor to ceiling, formidable iron bars thicker than the ones
at the entrance loomed ahead. The black stone at the edges swallowed the bars
into its core. From appearances she could only assume the metal stretched the
circumference of the cell, hidden beneath the breadth of impenetrable rock. Her
mind pondered what would require such enormity to contain. Why had Asar chosen
this cell for his son?

Three large guardians stood ridged against the
wall. Long bladed sabers decorated their chests. Based on the way the males
shifted on their feet and the weapons they brandished, there was a good reason
for the isolation of this sarcophagus. Even Bomani’s posture stiffened to the
point that her small hand was crushed between his bicep and forearm. She
wiggled her fingers free and shook them.

“Sorry.” He clasped her hand and caressed her
fingers gently with the rough pad of his thumb. His brows furrowed slightly
before he released her hand. He shifted his gaze to the large open crypt. His gold
eyes darkened almost to the color of his skin and a cold current of energy
filled the space around him.

Blanketed in Bomani’s cold embrace, Kendra
shivered. She had spent hours standing next to this sarcophagus in the human realm,
but never felt this level of anxiety. Upon her insistence the wooden
sarcophagus had been placed inside a stone vault before transporting it from Thebes,
Egypt. She wanted the evidence preserved for her inspection. Her gift would
help her release the god who slept inside.

She nodded to the sentry and the black bars slid
open. With her heart pounding in her ears she stepped over the threshold. She
maneuvered around the crypt’s lid that had been laid upon the floor. The wooden
tomb sat upon pillars that elevated it above the stone base. A loud click drew
her attention to the gate. The heavy door sealed her in the room.

Turning to the sarcophagus, she rubbed the goose
bumps on her arms. With her focus on the tomb, the darkness and the warriors
standing on the other side of the bars retreated from her consciousness.

She circled around the burial chamber. The
hieroglyphics carved into the wood spanned the entire circumference, even the
underside. It saddened her to think Bakari had to be confined to the dungeon
after all he had been through, but Asar insisted it was for everyone’s safety.
After five years of torture at the hands of the malevolent goddess Kepi, the
god who lay inside would be forever changed. For good or bad, Kendra didn’t
know, but hoped for the best.

“Hello, Bakari. How are you doing today?” she
asked, retracing her steps. “If you don’t already know, my name is Kendra. I’m
going to help you out of this box.” She glanced through the iron bars at Bomani
and the guards, who had taken position along the wall. Their eyes reflected a
strange trepidation.

The tension in the air gave her pause. Asar
assured her she would be safe, as long as the lid was closed. His reassurances
did little to control the curling anxiety in her belly. She shook off the uneasiness
and refocused on the task.

Not unlike archeological excavations, she
approached the sarcophagus in a logical and methodical manner: broad view
working in small increments down to the miniscule. This was another unearthed
tomb, kind of. The only difference, this one contained the God of Death and was
sealed with a spell no one should have to endure.

Scientifically driven, she looked for any clues
that might be apparent. The crypt should have preserved the evidence, if there
was any. Specimen bags sat on a workbench against the wall along with
collection tools. She picked up gloves, tweezers, and a clear bag. The surface
of the wooden tomb was surprisingly smooth, even within the hand carved symbols.
A few areas were scuffed, allowing small slivers of wood to poke out. On five
separate locations she found long hairs.

Red, blonde, black, and brown. Brown?

She could account for all the other colors based
on the various bodies Kepi had possessed, but brown was not one of them. She
ruled out her own hair, as hers was reddish brown. The warriors had short
military cuts. This one had a course wave to it. From a reven, perhaps? Kepi’s
undead army of soulless humans was nothing more than decaying flesh. It was
reasonable to think a reven could be the source.

She took pictures prior to plucking them away from
the surface and tucking the hair strands into separate bags. With her marker
she wrote the locations on the labels. She dusted the fine black power over the
entire surface of the sarcophagus. Surprisingly, there was only one set of
fingerprints, which were hers—left when she touched it in the human realm.

Finally, she took off her nitrile gloves and
walked to the head of the tomb. “So are you going to talk to me?” She paused,
waiting for his answer. “I need to understand how they did this to you.”

Her fingertips traced the outline of glyphs—too
chicken to actually touch her palm to it. She hesitated, fearful of what she
might hear or see. The torture he must have endured made her chest ache. The
spell would have relegated him to a death-like sleep, but sleep it was not. No,
the incantation assured Bakari would be fully aware, locked inside a body that
would never awaken from the nightmare.

She closed her eyes and imagined brushing her
fingertips across his forehead to comfort him in some way. “It’s going to be
okay,” she whispered. Her heart clenched. None of this was okay. How could he
be?

The urgency to release him weighed heavy on her
shoulders. She inhaled deeply and held it. With muscles clenched she readied
herself for the punch to her head. Her palms hit the wood and…

Absolute silence.

“Huh.” She ran her hands across every inch of wood
and came up empty, except for several small slivers. No residual history
existed anywhere on the tomb. An impossibility, since Bakari was entombed by Kepi
over five years ago. She locked her hands on her hips and turned to Bomani.
“He’s in there, right?” she asked, pointing to the sarcophagus.

Bomani entered the cell. His severe brown eyes
targeted the etchings on the tomb’s surface. “Yes.”

She laid her palm against the lid and drummed her
fingers on its surface. This had never happened before. Undeterred, she marched
over to the wall of the cell and slapped her hand on the cold stone. Offending
sights and sounds seared a white flame to her skull. She snatched away her hand
and turned to the sarcophagus. Her gift worked perfectly on everything
but
the tomb.