Claiming the Jackal Page 6

  He nodded. “I understand. But, Rana, you need to understand that continuing to withhold this from Hector doesn’t do you or him any good.”

  “You’re right.” After hearing Hector’s outburst, she knew she couldn’t hold off the truth any longer. It was going to come out sooner or later, and it was better for the revelation to be on her terms. “I... There’s something else I need to talk to you about, but I know you have more important things to do right now. It can wait until morning.”

  “Are you sure? Everyone under my protection is important to me.”

  She closed her eyes, fighting to retain control of her emotions. When she was certain she could speak without screaming, she opened her eyes again. “Thank you sir, but it can wait.” It would have to. They needed to take care of their dead, and she needed to take care of her rioting emotions. “If you could have Tia and Hector there, I’d appreciate it.”

  Markus stood. “Then we’ll meet here at ten.”

  She nodded, then retreated to her room as quickly as she could. Stripping off her clothes, she showered, getting the water as hot as she could stand. She could wash away blood and sweat but she couldn’t rinse the pain away.

  Hector...his pain and rage were so much a part of him she didn’t think they’d ever be removed. Even though in the past couple of weeks he’d smiled and laughed more than he had in the first month she’d known him, all it had taken was one skirmish with the Lost Ones, one of his comrades losing his life, to bring all the fury roaring back to the surface, changing how he viewed her and the other priestesses. If he could be so angry now, knowing she hadn’t done anything wrong, what would he do when he learned the truth?

  She was going to lose him.

  A sob broke free as her control crumbled. She sank to the tiled floor of the shower, giving in to the need for an emotional release. She wanted...so many things, things it didn’t seem she was destined to have. It made her angry even as it tore her up inside. It hurt her to her soul that loving Hector wasn’t enough.

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. Yes, she loved Hector. As she’d told Markus, care was too mild a word for what she felt for him. She wanted to heal Hector. Wanted to ease his burden and lighten his soul. But once she told him the truth of her bloodline, she knew he wouldn’t let her.

  Hector had to heal himself, had to want to heal himself. If he didn’t want her, so be it. Falling in love wasn’t part of her plan when she’d moved to the jackal compound. Finding a way to stop Amansuanan was. Now that she had the means, she would finish the task she’d set herself. What happened after that was in the gods’ hands.

  Chapter Seven

  He shouldn’t have come.

  Hector stood outside the door to Rana’s chamber, torn. The windowless chamber had belonged to Markus before he met the Anput Tia, the Daughter of Isis who was now represented the female incarnation of Anubis for the clan, who had stood beside their leader and grieved with the people as they performed the funerary rites for Peter. Rana could have chosen one of the suites of rooms on the community house’s upper level, but had chosen to stay close to the infirmary in case someone needed her.

  Like he needed her.

  Hector closed his eyes, pressing his palm against the door. He’d been harsh to her earlier, harsher than he had a need to be. His jackal had felt vulnerable and had needed to strike out. Rana, being an Isis witch, made for an easy target. He needed her and he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to feel the hunger that gnawed at him whenever he saw her. Didn’t want to experience the ache that ground into his bones when he had to leave her. Didn’t want to feel the soul-deep satisfaction when he claimed her.

  Yet he couldn’t avoid her. Couldn’t stay away from her sweet smiles, her soft skin, her healing touch. When he ached, she alone was the balm that soothed him. When he burned with rage, she met him with the fire of her passion. He couldn’t avoid her. Not when he needed her so desperately.

  That was the reason why he shouldn’t have come. But he couldn’t stay away.

  He put his hand to the doorknob, surprised when it turned beneath his hand. She hadn’t locked the door. Instead, it swung inward, and he silently stepped into the bedchamber.

  A soft lamp glowed on the nightstand beside the massive bed. Rana lay sprawled on her belly, naked except for the sheet, her cheek resting on a pillow clutched in both hands. Streaks marred her cheek, and he realized that she’d cried herself to sleep.

  Guilt kicked him solidly in the gut. Her tears were his fault, he knew. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Rage had been a part of him for so long, he didn’t know how to feel anything else. Not until he’d met Rana. At first, it had been curiosity. She was different from the other priestesses, different from Tia. Different in a good way, a way that made it difficult to ignore her. When he’d kissed her, he’d felt hunger. Now, after spending every available moment in her bed and her arms, he felt a need that had blown right past desperation and wallowed in full-blown obsession.

  He needed her, and it scared him. Fear wasn’t a familiar sensation, but this soft woman made him afraid. Most of his two thousand years had been spent defending and avenging his clan, and his anger provided the fuel to complete his mission. Being with her dulled that anger, soothed it to sleep. Without that anger, what would he be? What would he do?

  “Rana.”

  She stirred, then sat up, the sheet slipping from her breasts to pool at her waist. “Hector,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. Her tone pulled at him, made him hard. Before he could act on it, awareness darkened her eyes. “Are you going to be my guard when I relieve Inari?”

  “No.”

  Pain dulled the golden-brown flecks in her dark eyes, sleep doing little to ease the effect of her tears. “Then why are you here?”

  He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His hands fisted with the effort, but all he could say was her name, part prayer, part plea.

  Unable to bear the distance between them, he crossed to the bed, scooped her up, then sat down. She stiffened in his arms. Panic flared in his chest. What if she rejected him? What if he couldn’t say the words she needed? What if—

  She threaded her arms around his waist. He shuddered as he felt her hands stroking his back, her healing touch stealing through him. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he reveled in the feel of her in his arms even as he searched for something only she could provide.

  His heartbeat slowed, his breathing deepened to match her deliberate rhythm. The shudders racking his frame eased to stillness. Finally, finally the panic subsided as he realized he’d found what he was looking for.

  Solace.

  For the longest time, he was content to just hold her, to feel the reality of her in his arms, the sweetness of her curves, the gentleness of her magic. Content to just breathe her in, letting the wonder that was Rana ease him.

  But Rana did more than ease him. She always had. Once the anger slid away and the panic receded, the hunger was free to grow. And it was voracious.

  He nuzzled her throat with his nose, then licked her from collarbone to chin. He felt more than heard her breath catch, just before she gently pushed him away. “Hector, we need to talk.”

  He wasn’t human, but he knew enough to know that when a woman used those words, it never boded well for the male. “I don’t want to talk.”

  “I do.” She slid off his lap, tugging at the sheet to clutch it to her curves. She didn’t look at him. “I heard you talking to Markus in his office. I heard what you said.”

  His heart sank. It had been a faint hope at best, that she hadn’t heard him raging against all things Daughter of Isis.

  “Wait. I want to explain—”

  “There’s nothing to explain. Your hatred of the Daughters of Isis is very, very clear.” She stopped, gulping down a steadying breath. “I don’t understand how you can hate us so much
and still be with me.”

  He caught her, arms sliding around her waist, caging her against the wall of his chest. “You’re not like that. Rana, please.”

  “I’m a daughter of Isis, Hector.” She did look at him then, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. “I’m going to always be a priestess of Isis. Tia is your Anput and as much of a jackal as she can be, but she’s also a priestess. Even when I’m gone Tia will still be here, and others will come as long as the alliance continues. Not all of us are your enemies. You have to let go your rage. You have to let it go before it destroys you.”

  Gone? The thought of Rana leaving filled him with an icy dread that doused any lingering fury. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But all I’ve ever known about the Daughters of Isis is that they killed our clan founder. They hunted my brethren and skinned them alive for sport. They killed my father. They cursed my brother and nearly killed him. They attacked us in our home. Tonight they killed Peter and stole one of us away. That’s what I know of Daughters of Isis.”

  “But you know Tia.” Her soft voice wrapped around him. “Tia helped to save your brother and is now a member of your clan and wife to Markus. She cares for all of you. And you know me. You know what I’ve done since I’ve been here. I give you my solemn oath that I will do everything I can to help your clan. Because I care, too.”

  “About the clan?” The question escaped before he could stop it.

  “Yes, I care about the clan.” Dark eyes stared at him, full of the sadness and resignation he always saw, and some new emotion he couldn’t name. “More than that, I care about you.”

  “Rana.” Shaking, he slid his hands down her arms to her hands, lifting them to press kisses to her palms. “Help me, Rana,” he whispered through a throat gone tight and dry. “I need...”

  She pulled away, and he nearly howled with disappointment. Then she reached up, framing his cheeks with her kind, healing hands. A small smile eased some of the pain in her eyes. “If you have a need, I will provide.”

  His eyes slid closed. Blessed Anubis, he didn’t deserve her. It didn’t stop him from wanting her. He doubted that anything could.

  As gently as he could, he lay her back against the pillows, then quickly undressed. Her beautiful face still bore the evidence of her tears. His first mission was to remove all traces of her sorrow, sorrow he’d caused her.

  “I’m sorry for your tears,” he whispered, placing soft kisses on her eyelids. “I’m sorry I made you cry.” He kissed her lips from the outside in, as soft and gentle as he could. She’d always given him softness—the least he could do was try to return the favor. “I’m sorry I don’t know how to be anything other than I am. But I want to try. For you.”

  “Hector.” A sob caught in her throat as she opened for him, inviting him in.

  “You tie me in knots,” he continued, his hips moving, seeking all the ways to give her pleasure. “You consume my thoughts and invade my dreams. Your scent fills my lungs and soothes my soul. And this.”

  He thrust against her, causing them both to groan. A slow glide out and a slower glide back left them shivering with want. “This proves to me that paradise is real.”

  “Oh, Hector.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she wrapped her legs around his waist, clutching at his shoulders while meeting his thrusts with frenzied movements. All his attempts at gentility vanished in the face of her ferocity. Lifting her ankles to his shoulders, he drove into her with the same wild desperation she gave to him. All the while she sobbed his name, part plea, part apology. When they came it was together, an outpouring that broke him apart and took everything he had.

  Until she slid down his body moments later, taking him into the hot depths of her mouth and demanding another offering. He gave it to her, shuddering, her name a hoarse gasp on his lips.

  With the last of his strength, he pulled her against his chest, wiping her remaining tears away. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Hector,” she whispered as sleep beckoned. “I hope you forgive me one day.”

  “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured on a yawn. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  In the morning he discovered how wrong he was.

  Chapter Eight

  At precisely ten the next morning, Rana joined Markus, Tia and Hector in the jackal leader’s office. Too keyed up to sit, Rana stood beside the upholstered guest chair, a twin to the one Hector sat in. Markus and Tia sat together on the oxblood leather couch, both their expressions full of calm expectation. Then again, they thought they knew what this conversation would be about. Hector didn’t. She could feel his gaze fixed on her. Concern filled his eyes, concern and something she didn’t dare name and claim.

  She remembered the beautiful words he’d given her last night, the attempted healing she’d given him. A precious moment she would always cherish, because she’d never have another with Hector again.

  Rana smoothed her hands down her skirt. She’d donned her ceremonial robes for this meeting, deliberately positioning herself as other. She needed the physical reminder of who she truly was, what she had come here to do. “Won’t you sit, Rana?” Tia asked, her voice so kind it almost cracked Rana’s resolve. Tia looked tired. So did Markus, and she wondered if they’d expended too much magic trying to save Peter. She didn’t know what the jackals did with their dead. She only knew from Inari that Markus, Tia and two other jackals had come for the body and taken it away. With Anubis as their patron she assumed they didn’t cremate their dead, just as the Daughters didn’t. Obviously there were some things that the visiting Daughters of Isis were not meant to be privy to, weren’t meant to be part of.

  “No, thank you, Anput. I would prefer to stand.”

  “Rana?” Hector’s voice, confused but protective. “What is this about?”

  “It’s about me,” she managed to say. “About why I’m here in the jackal community.”

  She turned back to Markus and Tia. “I asked to stay here because you needed a healer, and I knew I could provide that service. It was my hope that seeing to their general care would show the clan that not all Daughters of Isis are like Amansuanan and her daughter Cassandra.”

  “We know this,” Markus said. “That’s why you’ve been allowed to be here. You saved three of my people on our wedding night, and you’ve saved more since. You stepped in immediately without thought to yourself and what it might cost you. You are a healer first, an Isis witch second, and tending to those in need is a sacred calling to you.”

  “It is, and I thank you for seeing that, Anapa.” She inclined her head, then continued. “But I am who I am, and I can’t change that, no matter how I wish things were different. Which brings me to my second reason for being here.”

  She sensed Hector tensing beside her, but didn’t look at him. From here on out, she couldn’t look at him. “Actually, it’s my first reason. I came here to find a way to stop Amansuanan permanently. And I think I’ve found an answer.”

  Tension surged into the air, thick and cloying. Markus leaned forward, spoke one word. “How?”

  “I think I’ll be able to track her, but I’ll need to go on the missions when the guards patrol for Lost Ones.”

  “No!” Hector shot to his feet. “It’s too dangerous!”

  “You need someone with emergency medical training to go into the field anyway,” she replied. “Until you have jackals with emergency medical training that will have to be me.”

  Markus stepped in before Hector could respond. “Do you have combat training?”

  “I’ve practiced medicine in war zones in different places around the world, mostly in South America and Africa,” she told him. “I’ve had self-defense training, and all Daughters of Isis know defensive spells in case we’re attacked by—” She broke off, but the word jackals hung in the air between them.

  The clan leader raised an intimidating eyebrow, but o
therwise didn’t acknowledge her wayward comment. “You say you can track Amansuanan and the Lost Ones. That your mission is to stop her. Why does this risk fall to you?”

  It was the perfect opening, and all of them, except for Hector, knew it. She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve cast some experimental spells on patients in the infirmary. I can track the Lost Ones—well, I think I can track them—because Amansuanan uses her magic to control them.”

  “And that is important because...”

  She took a deep breath. Here it was, the moment of truth. “It’s important because I can track Amansuanan through our blood connection.”

  Hector stared at her, all color draining from his features. “Blood connection?” he whispered.

  She nodded, then braced herself. “Amansuanan is my grandmother.”

  “You’re related to that witch?” His voice had flattened, and fury contorted his features. His hands lengthened into claws. “You’re related to the witch who has tried to destroy my clan for the past four thousand years?”

  Fear scraped along her nerves, tensing her shoulders. She had a general protection charm attached to the ankh she always wore, but she wouldn’t activate it. It would only solidify any guilt in his mind. “I didn’t know Amansuanan was my grandmother until she attacked Tia in our circle. I’ve never met the woman.”

  “Liar. For all we know, you’re working for her right now!”

  “Hector.” Markus’s voice was soft, but it cracked like a whip. “Stand down.”

  He did, crouching in front of Markus and Tia, ready and waiting for an order from his commander to spring into action. Fury burned in his eyes, fury and betrayal. Rana had no doubt that one word from Markus and Hector would go for her throat.

  “This is a dangerous mission you’re asking to undertake,” Markus told her, his voice calm, controlled. “If she discovers you’re working with us she could kill you, relative or no.”