horns jutted from the oddly shaped head and four-inch serrated claws dug into the ground. Although the animated features were frozen in stone, something about the monstrosity prickled her skin.
Cyrus would never read the spell to awaken the glodems. House Herut abhorred the use of heka under any circumstances.
The repulsive hunks of concrete were a stark contrast to the necklace the immortal had given her. She stroked the charm hanging from the gold chain around her neck. The amulet of the goddess Aset’s heart bordered by colorful wings was stunning but had done nothing to protect her from an attack by battle-guard of Sekhem.
As she veered away from the grotesque statue, dread slithered through her energy stream, raking her insides. She fiddled with her wedding ring of overlapping eternity bands and diverted her thoughts to the honeymoon.
The courtyard hummed with activity. The vadeletori under Cyrus’s command had changed from their white linen wedding attire back into navy fatigues, strapped to the hilt with weapons. Despite their immense expertise as warriors, they all pitched in with the menial task of clean up.
Near the table with the remaining wedding cake, Abbadon and Spero huddled like conspirators deep in conversation too low to be overheard.
She had no idea who was now second-in-command. Their whole world had been flipped upside down, fracturing a bond that exceeded brotherhood. Abbadon, a bedrock of support for her new husband for more than two hundred years had been relegated to…something else.
A twinge of guilt pained her at being the source of their division. To help heal the wound she would do the one thing within her power.
Prove her love for Cyrus by not taking him from House Herut.
The particulars on exactly how to accomplish that feat were still fuzzy, but she’d do anything to spare her husband the agony of being torn from his House.
The pull of her energy stream guided her footsteps to Cyrus before she spotted him.
He rested languidly in a chair, long legs extended with ankles crossed, and sipped a glass of red wine. Lush dark waves of hair brushed his chiseled cheeks. He was the perfect picture of tranquility, except for the stone-hard expression on his face. Brow furrowed, lips tight, eyes cold.
The shadow looming had spread over her husband.
As she sauntered up behind Cyrus, the pulsating waves of their energy streams melded into one. Smiling, she curled an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek.
Insatiable need pumped in her blood and fluttered through her pores. The hunger for him had been there from the start, right along with the inexorable connection that drew her to him. She’d swear it was only growing, deepening, if that were even possible.
Her fingers glided through his silken hair. The front had grown a couple of inches and would hit his chin in another month or two.
“I was thinking of trimming it,” he said in a distant whisper, as if only part of him were with her.
“Don’t. I like it long.” She bit his earlobe, demanding full attention.
He leaned his head back onto her shoulder, turning his face up. Her heart stilled and for a second she was breathless. No human would ever have such ferocious beauty. She stroked his strong jawline as their mouths met. A slow burn ignited in her veins, heating her all the way to the sweet spot between her thighs. She couldn’t wait to be in Morocco, stargazing in his arms, delighting in his sublime body until ecstasy so excruciating effaced everything else.
Warmth pooled in her belly, the ache of desire rippled down her spine.
He was a dangerous pleasure, a delicious addiction, the greatest love she’d ever know. And she couldn’t get enough of him. Even though being with him could cost her life.
That was the price of being kabashem , literal halves of one soul. Or at least the price of being Blessed soul mates.
With a groan he broke the kiss, and then she sensed it.
Someone approached. She knew the vibrations of the
Cyrus would never read the spell to awaken the glodems. House Herut abhorred the use of heka under any circumstances.
The repulsive hunks of concrete were a stark contrast to the necklace the immortal had given her. She stroked the charm hanging from the gold chain around her neck. The amulet of the goddess Aset’s heart bordered by colorful wings was stunning but had done nothing to protect her from an attack by battle-guard of Sekhem.
As she veered away from the grotesque statue, dread slithered through her energy stream, raking her insides. She fiddled with her wedding ring of overlapping eternity bands and diverted her thoughts to the honeymoon.
The courtyard hummed with activity. The vadeletori under Cyrus’s command had changed from their white linen wedding attire back into navy fatigues, strapped to the hilt with weapons. Despite their immense expertise as warriors, they all pitched in with the menial task of clean up.
Near the table with the remaining wedding cake, Abbadon and Spero huddled like conspirators deep in conversation too low to be overheard.
She had no idea who was now second-in-command. Their whole world had been flipped upside down, fracturing a bond that exceeded brotherhood. Abbadon, a bedrock of support for her new husband for more than two hundred years had been relegated to…something else.
A twinge of guilt pained her at being the source of their division. To help heal the wound she would do the one thing within her power.
Prove her love for Cyrus by not taking him from House Herut.
The particulars on exactly how to accomplish that feat were still fuzzy, but she’d do anything to spare her husband the agony of being torn from his House.
The pull of her energy stream guided her footsteps to Cyrus before she spotted him.
He rested languidly in a chair, long legs extended with ankles crossed, and sipped a glass of red wine. Lush dark waves of hair brushed his chiseled cheeks. He was the perfect picture of tranquility, except for the stone-hard expression on his face. Brow furrowed, lips tight, eyes cold.
The shadow looming had spread over her husband.
As she sauntered up behind Cyrus, the pulsating waves of their energy streams melded into one. Smiling, she curled an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek.
Insatiable need pumped in her blood and fluttered through her pores. The hunger for him had been there from the start, right along with the inexorable connection that drew her to him. She’d swear it was only growing, deepening, if that were even possible.
Her fingers glided through his silken hair. The front had grown a couple of inches and would hit his chin in another month or two.
“I was thinking of trimming it,” he said in a distant whisper, as if only part of him were with her.
“Don’t. I like it long.” She bit his earlobe, demanding full attention.
He leaned his head back onto her shoulder, turning his face up. Her heart stilled and for a second she was breathless. No human would ever have such ferocious beauty. She stroked his strong jawline as their mouths met. A slow burn ignited in her veins, heating her all the way to the sweet spot between her thighs. She couldn’t wait to be in Morocco, stargazing in his arms, delighting in his sublime body until ecstasy so excruciating effaced everything else.
Warmth pooled in her belly, the ache of desire rippled down her spine.
He was a dangerous pleasure, a delicious addiction, the greatest love she’d ever know. And she couldn’t get enough of him. Even though being with him could cost her life.
That was the price of being kabashem , literal halves of one soul. Or at least the price of being Blessed soul mates.
With a groan he broke the kiss, and then she sensed it.
Someone approached. She knew the vibrations of the
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