Tales of the Djinn: The Double (8 page)

In Arab countries, humans who were afflicted by their djinn twins were called
majnun
or crazy.

What the book didn’t tell him was how to fix split duos who wouldn’t reunite. Truth be told, Joseph couldn’t remember precisely how he’d doubled himself and the others in the first place. He knew he’d put the spell into a design: twin overlapping suns their artist friend Philip had tattooed inside their right ankles. Joseph’s current body no longer had ink there. Possibly reapplying the tattoo would help, but he couldn’t say for sure—nor did it matter since Philip’s whereabouts in the human world were unknown.

The question of why their souls had reacted the way they did to being split was another mystery. Cade’s double, which had the smaller fraction of his spirit, seemed equally a person. But souls were special—ineffable even. If Joseph had to copy himself again, to breathe life into a replication of his body, he didn’t think he could have done it.

His original, the him who was locked in stone, was the sole possessor of the secret.

That shamed him as deeply as his reaction to the priestess. Though he was whole in his sexual parts, in power he was less than he’d been before. His city was counting on him to solve this problem, and he seemed doomed to fail.

Overcome by despair, he leaned across the book with his hands covering his eyes.

A tiny
mrrp
jerked him up again.

It was the bloody cat from the garden, the one who’d yowled at him like an ifrit. Its silver eyes blinked at him from the shadows.

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

The cat ran to him and jumped into his lap.

“Stop that,” he scolded, because the creature seemed likely to tear the valuable tome. He shoved the feline off, then closed the book and rose. Its footing swiftly recovered, the cat looked up at him from the floor as if he’d insulted it.

“Fine,” he said, picking it up and draping it over his shoulder. Though small, the cat was heavy. As he petted its ruffled fur, it went limp and began to purr.

This was more endearing than he was prepared for.

“You should be chasing mice,” he said, distrusting the appeal of the animal’s languid warmth. Dumping the cat in the corridor, he shut his door again.

If only he could have shut the door on his other problems as easily.

Thunder rumbled outside his windows, a late spring storm rolling in. The electricity in the air tingled across his skin. Was the naked priestess gazing out her window too? Had she brought herself to climax? Was she, perhaps, interested in doing so again?

Joseph pulled the doors to the courtyard open, willing the cool damp air to buffet his body. Despite the drop in temperature, his erection didn’t subside. Maybe it wouldn’t until he saw to it. He pushed his hand down into his trousers, gripping his hardness within his palm and fingers. It seemed natural to pull his tight hold upward. Hadn’t he done that as a boy?

Fuck,
he thought, pleasure coursing through him even more strongly than before.

His penis was larger than when it was relaxed. It responded to his slow drag by hardening more. The head was pulsing, the veins engorged.

What he wouldn’t give to thrust this stiff ache into a soft woman . . .

He reached the crest and pushed his thumb around on the silky skin. The slit at the center was leaking wetness, the hormones that stimulated its creation produced by his restored testicles. He was fully alive now: feeling, throbbing, capable of the act every djinni enjoyed. He bit his lip and let his head tip back.

Stop,
he thought, but his thumb just kept going round and round.

It was like rubbing an itch that got worse as you saw to it.

He craved release more than his next breath.

Realizing the danger, he pulled his hand from his pants, fisting it hard enough to prick his palm with his fingernails. Surely he had the self-control to refrain from doing this.

He breathed in and out, his chest going up and down, his pulsing cock strafing its coverings with each movement. The air around his hips seemed hot, as if an invisible fire were wrapped around him. The fire licked at him like smoke, teasing his overexcited nerves. He started to rock his pelvis, the subtle motion instinctive. His scrotum ached, beginning to draw up with arousal. Within the sac, his testicles felt swollen. A little more sensation would bring him off. The tip of his penis tingled, moisture welling faster from the hole, sticking him to his light trousers. He could almost swear he felt a woman’s mouth closing around him there . . .

Air hissed between his teeth as his scrotum jerked. The bliss of imminent orgasm—or what he assumed that was—tried to streak up his nerves.

“Damn it.” Panting, he gripped and wrenched his balls so hard the pressure couldn’t be anything but painful.

The sensation of being about to come ceased abruptly. His erection faded as well, subsiding into the quiescent state he was accustomed to. He closed his eyes with a mix of disappointment and relief.

I am Joseph the Eunuch
, he told himself.
I put my city first.

~

Yasmin felt like she’d been slapped twice over: first when Joseph dumped her cat form into the hall and then when he chose to hurt himself rather than let her pleasure him.

Not that he’d known she was doing that.

Mortally embarrassed and once again in her cat disguise, she streaked away down the corridor. If she’d been wearing her own face, she knew it would have blazed. She should have known better than to smoke back into the room after Joseph had thrown her out. She’d told herself she was worried for him, because he’d seemed disconsolate. That, however, was no excuse for her uninvited “help.”

Yes, she’d been shocked to discover he was physically capable of desire. Every whisper she’d heard about the sultan’s chief magician suggested the opposite. In her fascination with him, she’d collected quite a few stories. For that matter, she’d spied on him in smoke form before. Joseph was very handsome, but more than that, she found watching him peaceful. He was often up at night, studying his magic books or wandering the halls like her. He didn’t give the impression that
he
was snooping, more that he was on patrol. He stood guardian to the palace even when others slept. His example had inspired her to keep an ear tuned for trouble when she ventured beyond its walls. She’d wanted to be more than a harem girl, sitting with her hands obediently folded in the hope that the sultan might someday return and notice her.

Yasmin longed to be useful, even if no one but she was aware of it. She’d thought it would make her and Joseph more alike—a secret bond she could cherish by herself.

That didn’t justify forcing herself on him without permission. In the worst of his grief, Iksander hadn’t forced himself on partners who were considered his property. The least Yasmin could have done was offer Joseph a choice.

Given his reaction, she couldn’t doubt what the choice would have been.

Her claws scrabbled on the pipe as she squeezed back through the drain into the harem grounds. Per usual, no one noticed her. They didn’t notice when she smoked back into her room either. The sultan’s mother was a harridan, but Yasmin wasn’t on her list of girls to keep a close eye on. Maybe this was surprising for a girl as attractive as Yasmin, but she was no troublemaker. She did as she was told.

She hadn’t ever found that as depressing as she did now.

Back in her normal form, she flung into her luxurious bed and pulled the soft covers up. She thought of the many people who would be grateful to have that much.

You
should be grateful
, she told herself.

She tried to be—and maybe she succeeded. She relaxed enough to fall asleep, where her dreams were filled with images of Joseph the Magician writhing in ecstasy.

Chapter Four

ARCADIUS
jerked awake at dawn and didn’t know where he was. The shadowed room was too large, the mattress beneath him too comfortable. His heart was racing, his cock hard enough to pound nails.

That, at least, was familiar.

“Mmph,” said a female voice. “Is it time to get up?”

Elyse pushed up on her elbow from the pillow next to him.

He gaped at her. What was Cade’s human doing in bed with him?

“What?” she said, shoveling back her curls. “Has my hair gone crazy?”

She thought he was Cade. Belatedly, he recognized his surroundings as Iksander’s grand bedchamber. Had his and Cade’s spirits recombined while they were asleep? Maybe Joseph had stumbled upon a cure. Arcadius tried to force his brain to work logically. He could remember what he’d done the day before but not a thing his double had experienced. That suggested their consciousnesses were separate. Something else must be happening.

“Your hair is fine,” he said cautiously to his accidental bed partner.

Elyse rolled her eyes and sighed. “You always think it’s fine.”

Was this cause for complaint? To him, it sounded like diplomacy.

Elyse shoved the covers down her body and sat up.

Arcadius’s heart did a funny flip. He was a man, and seeing a naked woman was rarely a bad thing. That aside, he didn’t expect to
like
Elyse without her clothes. She was lithe rather than lush, her breasts small but nicely shaped. Her nipples were relaxed, their color the same soft pink as her cushiony mouth. His morning erection pulsed, urging him to grab her and kiss them.

“Now
that’s
a flattering look,” she said.

His gaze jerked to hers. Her crooked smile was seduction personified. She lifted one eyebrow.

“Want to join me in the hot tub?” she invited. “I’ll let you scrub my back.”

It was a lovely back, from what he’d seen of it. He wet his lips as he hesitated. What were the rules of engagement in situations of this sort? Was it possible for her to cheat on him with him?

She laughed at his slowness and started strolling toward the bathing room. The sway of her hips suggested she was aware he watched. He couldn’t stop watching, though he should have. His view of her ass and legs made his mouth go dry.

She had one deep dimple atop each cheek.

She tossed a tease over her bare shoulder. “Feel free to follow when you make up your mind.”

Had a woman ever taunted him with this much confidence? Many females had flirted, but never so surely. He realized he didn’t awe Elyse. For whatever reason, his arousal surged higher. His lust had been hot already. More than a little maddened, he threw off the covers before he could stop himself. Three bounding strides brought him close enough to catch her slender arm.

One quick tug spun her nakedness to him.

She made a startled noise, her hands bracing automatically on his chest as the tips of her breasts brushed him. She was where he wanted . . . or nearly. He slid his palms down the curvature of her spine to palm her bottom. The flesh there was so resilient he had to squeeze.

The pressure brought her satiny belly against his pounding prick.

“Well,” she said, breathless and amused as he pulled her onto her toes. “I can tell which part of you woke up first.”

She moved her hands, rubbing his back up and down before squeezing his butt like he was squeezing hers. Nerves jumped to life all over him, as if her touch turned his entire body into a sexual receptor.

The only thing more surprising was when her arms circled his torso. She pressed her cheek to his chest and hugged him.

“You are gorgeous,” she praised. “And wonderful to see first thing in the morning.”

She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. Hers were warm, fondness and something deeper shining up at him. Evidently, she couldn’t tell the difference between him and his copy. Arcadius’s chest constricted. What would it be like to have her look at him with that expression?

“Elyse,” he said, his hold shifting from her butt to her upper arms.

She laughed. “That’s your work voice. And your work face. I assume you’re going to tell me we don’t have time to play around.”

“I—” His vision flickered, disorienting him. For a split second, he felt her and simultaneously saw the sparse white walls of his dining room. Those walls weren’t usually empty. Joseph had shrunk his favorite Sindbad tapestry to take to Elyse’s world.

“Elyse,” he repeated, but he and she were no longer together.

He was back in his proper body, in the dining room of his own residence. He wore a brown silk robe he couldn’t remember pulling on. His very large, very stubborn hard-on made it impossible not to notice he wore nothing under it.

He wasn’t quite standing straight. His left hand braced his weight on the long table. His right held a quill with which he’d been scribbling a note.

You and I need to talk,
the angry letters said. The final word was underlined, not once but three times.

Maybe he shouldn’t have, but Arcadius smiled. It seemed his copy was a tad dramatic.

~

Elyse had figured out how to turn down the djinn-appropriate temperature in the soaking tub. She’d resigned herself to enjoying the jets alone when Arcadius slid into the seething water. His chalcedony eyes were lit from within by intensity, definitely not smiling. Covered to the waist by the churning waves, he stalked to her.

She wanted to ask if everything was okay, but her breath had caught in her throat. When he looked at her like that—so possessive and serious—she remembered he wasn’t the same kind of being as her.

He gripped her under the arms and heaved her dripping up his big torso.

“Cade,” she gasped. His hard-on pressed her right thigh. Her body went wet in a new way.

“That’s right,” he said, low and rough. “I’m the one you belong to.”

She didn’t know why he felt a need to say this but didn’t get a chance to ask. Her weight went backward, her back lowered carefully to the tub’s marble edge. Her thighs were already open around his legs. Sensing she’d better brace, she planted the sole of one foot on the side. Water droplets fell from him to her.

“Say my name again,” Cade ordered, his eyes boring into hers.