Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) (21 page)

She fingered the shower curtain, and a soft smile stole over her lips. He’d been so shocked at the fire she’d created. Yet so understanding. In all her life, no one, not even family, had taken her talent in such stride.

She turned the corner toward her bed and slammed straight into a hard body. Bouncing back, she stared into the black eyes of Amunkha. She caught the soft scream before it got past her lips and stiffened her spine. She couldn’t help remembering Ramose’s words as they’d stared into the terrified eyes of a very dead man.

“What are you doing here?” she asked icily.

“I have come for you, my dear.”

His silky voice sent shivers down her spine. Evil personified, his dark eyes swirled with deadly malice. Whatever he wanted would not be good.

She swung her bag at him, striking him in the shoulder, the contents spilling out onto the floor. He snarled, swatting at her bag, knocking it from her hand, then spinning her about by her shoulders.

Strong arms grabbed her about the waist as she pushed away to run. Like steel bands, his arms held her in place, pinning her flat against his body.

Her senses reeled as the cold icy claw of his presence washed over her. Her body refused to obey, unable to react. Even her fire smoldered too deep for her to reach it. A cloth slammed over her face, and the sickly smell of drugs shoved into her lungs, the sweet taste playing across her tongue. She tried to hold her breath, fought for release, but he was too strong. She shook her head, her fingers clawing at his hand, fighting to dislodge the cloth over her mouth and nose. Pinpricks of light burst behind her eyes. Pain shot through her lungs, like a band tightening in her chest, demanding she give in and breathe.

She slammed her head backward, her skull contacting Amunkha’s nose. He growled in fury, though his fingers only tightened on her body. Black spots flitted behind her eyes. Darkness settled, and her muscles, despite everything her mind screamed, relaxed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ramose slammed his fist against Tamara’s hotel room door. He already knew the answer. Where the spark of her soul seemed to reside inside him was now empty. The darkness echoed as clearly as the long empty hotel hall.

A maid exited a room at the far end of the hallway, and he caught her attention. “Open this door,” he demanded.

“But, sir—”

“I’ll take full responsibility.” He yanked a card from his shirt pocket and tossed it at her. “Something’s wrong. I need to get in there. Now.”

The card did what it always did: It brought action. Through the years, he and his people had made sure their presence held the right weight, to ensure they could protect themselves. This was one of those times.

The maid blanched as she glanced down at the card then back to his face. The president’s seal. Her eyes were large, and her skin turned as pale as the white trim on her black dress. She dragged a key from the pocket of her crisp white apron and unlocked the door.

Ramose shoved past her, barreling into the room without another word.

The television was on, the sounds of music filling the otherwise empty space. A quick scan showed Tamara’s luggage, open on the bed, clothes piled inside. The closet was open, and, beside it, on the floor was her makeup bag, its contents spilled over the carpet. There was no sign of his
Kha-Ib
.

He laid a hand on the closet door. Energy. A dark, evil presence had stood behind its doors. Perhaps hiding, waiting for her arrival. A presence he couldn’t ignore. Amunkha.

Anger and fear punched in his gut, like one huge fist, they slammed the breath from his body. His hand scrambled in his pocket for his cell. This wasn’t happening. She was right here. Yet she was gone.

At last, his fingers closed over his phone. Ramose left the room at a jog, pressing speed dial while he charged toward the stairs. He bounded through emergency doors and down the steps, two at a time, already half way to the ground floor before the other end picked up.

“Mereruka, Amunkha’s taken her.”

“
Taken who
?”

“Tamara,” Ramose bit back the frustration curling in his gut. If Amunkha hurt her... He couldn’t say the words. He wouldn’t believe she would be hurt. Not because of him.

“
How do you know
?”

“How the hell do you think I know? I felt him. His presence is everywhere in her room,” he snapped. “He’s been dogging my steps since the first night I met her.”

“
Where are you
?”

“At her hotel. Her bags are there, but she’s gone, and there’s signs of a struggle.”

“
I’ll be right there
.”

“No, damn it. She’s gone. Stock up on weapons and be ready. I’ll find her.”

“
How do you plan to do that?”

He was about to say he didn’t know when it struck him. The man who’d bumped into them at the museum had been familiar. He should have recognized him, but he’d been too enamored with Tamara to notice. The man had been with Amunkha the first night Ramose had met Tamara. “I saw a familiar face downstairs.”

Ramose snapped the phone shut and hit the door at the bottom of the stairs at a full run. Heart in his throat, he stormed toward the bar. Amunkha was a dead man walking. Nothing would save him now. Already, his fingers itched to choke the life out of the man.

He’d known Amunkha was out there, dogging his steps, but had thought, no, he’d foolishly hoped, it was him the man was stalking. He should have known better. He’d seen the dark eyes light with evil the instant Amunkha had looked at Tamara, had felt the way she’d trembled when he’d touched her hand.

Ramose halted near the entrance, his eyes narrowed. He scanned the patrons, taking in each man, one at a time. He found his prey, dressed in touristy clothes, ball cap on his head pulled low. The man sat alone, eyeing a pretty girl from a nearby table.

Muscles moved before Ramose could even think, his long strides taking him across the room in seconds. Closing his fingers around the man’s collar, he yanked him upward with one clean jerk.

“Where is he?” he snarled. Deep in his mind, he knew he needed to calm down, but the sight of the spilled cosmetics twisted inside him, ripping away the long-studied control he’d so prized.

“Where’s who?”

“Amunkha,” he demanded with a shake at the back of the man’s neck.

The man paled, his dark hair and eyes the only color in his otherwise bland, frightened face. The rat licked his lips. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me,” snarled Ramose, his face just inches away. “Or I promise, you will not live to cross me again.”

The man’s mouth moved, like a fish gasping for breath, but no words made it past his lips.

“Where?” roared Ramose. Chairs crashed all around him as people charged for the exits, but no one intervened. They probably thought he was about to pull a gun. He didn’t need to fire a shot to kill this human.

“He’s… He’s at the mastaba an hour out of town.”

“Good,” said Ramose, pretending to relax. He shoved the scum toward the door. “You’ll get the privilege of showing me.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“My dear, time to wake up.”

The whisper sent tremors through Tamara’s body. The cold edge of sharpened steel chilled her throat an instant before the blindfold whisked away from her eyes.

Bright light pierced her eyes. She squinted past the pain, her gaze locking on the blurred movement of a hand. The curved edge of the blade slid down her throat, teasing at the buttons of her blouse, before returning to her throat, pricking her skin. Amunkha’s hot, rancid breath fanned over her face, and she coughed.

Her stomach wretched in response, the nausea from whatever drug he’d given her was swirling and twisting inside her belly. The blurry vision before her cleared, and she realized she was staring at the cold hard curve of a dagger, gripped in a pale, white hand.

The light flashed as the dagger moved, and the sharp edge slit through the leather straps at her wrists. When had he tied her up? Why had he tied her up?

“Where am I?” she muttered. Her tongue felt cottony, and the words came out more a croak than a question.

“In your tomb, my dear.”

Tamara’s heart lurched. The cold chill of the room made sense. She was laying on someone’s coffin.
Not her coffin
! She jerked to roll away, but his icy grip stilled her.

“Make no attempt to escape. I would hate to have to kill you before I have time to enjoy your… charms.”

The roll in her stomach intensified, and, with it, a trickle of fear down her spine.

“Get up,” he ordered.

Glassy black eyes watched her every move, his darkened aura swirled like greasy smoke around his body, so easy to see she could almost reach out and touch it. She ignored the shiver the thought brought. Maybe touching it wasn’t such a good idea.

“That’s going to be a bit hard to do,” she said, motioning toward her feet.

He took a step back, waiting.

Tamara glared at him while she loosened the remaining straps. “You’re insane. Ramose will kill you for this.” It wasn’t that she had confidence in his feelings for her, but she’d seen the look in Ramose’s eyes when it came to this man.

“Shut up,” he snapped, motioning to the door. “Stand.”

Resolutely, she pulled herself up and dropped her legs over the side of the cold stone. She slid off, trying to keep her body close to the stone, and as far away from Amunkha as she could. Her legs wouldn’t hold her weight, and her knees buckled. There was no doubting he’d used something strong on that cloth. Chloroform perhaps? Geez, none of the movies she’d ever watched told her it made people this sick.

That’s right. Concentrate on movies and how people survive those. That’ll be sure to help.
Then, again, sarcasm and keeping her thoughts light and distracted kept her from being so scared. A shame it didn’t keep her legs working. She stumbled again, grabbing at the granite slab he’d had her tied to.

Definitely someone’s tomb.

“Move,” he sneered. “I want you ready when Ramose gets here.”

Tamara tried to still the spike in her heartbeat. “If Ramose comes here, it won’t be for me. It will be to kill you.” Maybe not, but, hey, a girl can hope. The image of Ramose killing his two brothers-in-law in his past life flashed in her mind. Quick and deadly. God, she hoped he was as good in this life.

“Oh, he’ll come for you. No doubt. And I can’t wait to see his face when he watches you die.”

He grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the door. His touch was cold and clammy, evil to his core. But something… Something she couldn’t quite understand hid beneath the surface, waiting. Hope?

She stumbled again as she neared the doorway to the next room.

Impatient, Amunkha wrenched her arm, shoving her back up against the cold block wall. She gasped when the sharp edge of the dagger pressed lightly at the base of her throat. Her mind whirled, and she processed possibilities of escape, until his hand grabbed her throat, the knife lowering to her blouse.

“Oh, yes.” His words were an icy whisper. His evil eyes raked possessively down her body. Fear clutched her heart, immobilizing her. His preternatural strength pressed her against the wall with ease, lifting her so she was on her toes. His fingers squeezed her throat. She gasped for breath, her nails clawed at his hand, desperate for air, but he was too strong. Amunkha leaned forward and inhaled loudly.

“At last,” he said approvingly. “I was beginning to think I would never be able to smell your fear. It took more than I expected.” His fingers slowly loosened his hold. “You are a strong woman. Ramose doesn’t deserve you.” He leaned toward her, relishing her scent as if it were a prized wine, his eyes half closed.

The blade moved to the top button of her blouse. With one flick, it hit the floor, bouncing sharply against the stone slabs. Tamara swallowed convulsively.

“You see, I like fear,” Amunkha explained, his hips pressed into hers to prove his point, his arousal thrust hard against her hip. “I don’t even need this blade to destroy you, but I love how it intensifies your terror. The smell of a woman’s horror as I drive myself into her is more intoxicating than the finest of wines. And that last moment when she realizes she’s about to die, when her heart races…”

He shuddered in apparent pleasure.

“I live for that brief instant.”

She whimpered and struggled to hide the mounting terror growing inside when the next button hit the floor, echoing through the chamber. Her heart pounded painfully within her chest, her breath coming in short gasps. His hand stayed at her throat, still cold and deadly. Dread washed through her body. She was paralyzed with it, terrified of what was to happen next. Afraid to fight, yet afraid not to fight, her hands dropped to her sides. She held her breath when the sharp edge traced down her skin, separating the blouse, leaving her open for his view.

She blanched, and her eyes rolled out of focus as his head moved closer and trembled when his tongue licked her cheek. Revulsion and terror ripped through her body. No! Not again, she thought. Horrifying memories pounded in her mind. She tried to grasp the tendrils of sanity; afraid it was a losing battle. She forced herself to remember Ramose was coming to save her, but she wondered if he would be in time. She heard another whimper of fear escape unbidden from her throat when his hot breath brushed her face, when his tongue slithered like a snake down her neck toward her breasts. Evil darkness closed in.

He was a big man, easily twice her age, in his thirties maybe. He stepped toward her. She was no match for someone like him.

“Need a lift?”

Tamara shivered and stepped back. If those three had been so terrified of one man, something must be different about him. Something she could now feel in the pit of her stomach. Evil. “I’m fine. Really. Thanks for scaring those guys off. I gotta go now. My aunt’s just around the corner waiting.”

She turned and ran. A hand snaked out and grabbed her hair, yanking her back.

“I don’t think so, little lady,” he said in her ear as he dragged her between the two buildings and slammed her against the wall. “I’d bet there’s nobody out there waitin’ for ya, and, even if there is, they can’t hear you from there.”