Altar of Anubis (2 page)

He touched her shoulder. Her body’s response was immediate, a warm flush spreading out from where his hand rested to heat her breasts and dampen her thighs. “You have had millennia to forget yourself, your family… me.”

She looked at him, forced herself not to linger on the curve of his jaw or the promise of his mouth. No way in hell would she forget this man. Already his voice and touch were embedded in her memory forever. If she lived, if she woke up from whatever sleep or coma she was in, his image would haunt every wet dream she had for the next five years.

Minimum.

He just needed a name she could carry into her waking world.

“And you are?” she asked, risking a second glance.

“Imeut.”

“Of course.” Turning away, she laughed at herself. At least the name her sleeping mind had given him was easier than “Anubis” to scream out in the throes of future orgasms.

“So you do recognize me?” The hand that had been lightly resting against her shoulder cupped her chin and coaxed her into looking at him. Stroking her chin with his thumb, he repeated his question.

She wondered at the anxiety, the intense need clearly written across his features.

“Fool! Your Reynar will not come again. Why do you waste your time on a human who does not even look like her?”

From the sound of the voice, it was the woman who had been arguing in the next room. She stood in the open arch, a pale silhouette with long black hair and blacker eyes. A linen shift covered her, the fabric’s loose weave failing to hide the pink tint of her nipples or the hairless V tucked between her thighs.

“It is my time to waste, Selesma.” Imeut flicked his hand in the woman’s direction, his gaze still locked on Rene. “And you are wrong.”

“If she was Reynar,
he
would not have left.”

Rene remained mute, immobilized by the hate blazing in the woman’s eyes and the icy venom that laced her words.

“Lord Reymas is afraid of disappointment after all this time. His fear does not negate reality.” He turned to the woman, his face hardening. “Now go.”

Selesma raised her arm, drawing it back as if she were preparing to pitch a baseball. Her cold smile reminded Rene of Tajnoor and his knife. “There is one sure way to tell if she is Reynar.”

“I do not care
who
she is!” Imeut jumped to his feet, his body partially blocking Rene’s view of the other woman. “You will not undo my work.”

“Oh, you care.” Selesma dropped her hand to her side. “Fool that you are you would still die for her.” She turned, calling over her shoulder as she went, “But it is not
your
death I seek.”

* * * *

“You must go out.” Imeut reached across her, his hand closing around a shift that lay folded on the opposite side of the bed. “People must see you, make up their own minds before she can spread her lies.”

Rene looked at the piece of cloth in his hand. It had the same loose weave as Selesma’s dress but there were threads of gold mixed in with the pale cream-colored linen.

“You’re kidding, right?” She looked at him, saw the stubborn set of his mouth and tried to mimic it. “I’m not putting that on.”

“Why not?”

“Look, you saw what I was wearing…” She stopped, reminded herself that she was talking to a dream no matter how real he seemed. She settled back against the mattress and closed her eyes.

“You were naked when you came through the portal.”

Rene’s eyes popped open. Naked? Portal?

“If you wish to go naked, that is acceptable.” He dropped the shift and reached for the sheet covering her.

She threw her hands up, blocking him. This was going too far, it had to stop. “Wake up. Wake up, Rene!” One hand clutching the blanket to her chest, she slapped herself.

“Is that what you think, that you are sleeping?” He chuckled and ripped the sheet from her grasp. “Ah, sweet gods, how shall I convince you otherwise?” He put a knee on the bed, his intent unmistakable as he reached for her leg. “As I used to?”

She scrambled to find an edge of the sheet, but he tossed it onto the floor. She pulled the shift on, glaring at him. “You won’t convince me because you’re not real.”

“Then why hide yourself?” He moved closer, an arm on either side of her.

“Who are you kidding? This dress isn’t hiding jack shit.” She pushed at his chest, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

“There is no time for this. You have passed beyond the memory of many. They will not recognize you as I do. Selesma will make sure --”

Imeut stopped and placed a fingertip against Rene’s cheek. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Imeut lowered his head, his lips just touching her face. His hands dropped possessively to her hips, pulled her closer as he groaned. “I had forgotten the taste of your tears, my love.”

She blinked and he groaned again, his tongue darting out to catch another drop of her fear and frustration. He carried the tear to her lips, then deeper into her mouth as she opened to him. He cupped her breast, gently squeezing it as he pushed his erection against her stomach. Guiding her hand down to press against its rigid length, he broke the kiss.

“Does this feel like a dream to you, Reynar?”

She shook her head, as much against the name he used as the question. He felt solid, deliciously so. Reaching lower, she traced the outline of heavy balls beneath the fabric. Her nipples, thinly covered by the shift, brushed against his chest. She shivered, no longer caring what he called her as she gave in to the dream’s seduction. Rene turned toward the bed but he pulled her toward the open arch and the next room.

“Gods, that I could have you alone this first time after so many years.” He stroked her arms and breasts, massaged her thighs as he lured her further from the bed. “But it is a holy day -- it is a time for giving over.”

Rene hesitated, sensing the odd implication of his words.

“Do not falter, my love.” Imeut knotted his hands in her hair, turning her until he had her pushed against the wall. He kissed her hard, his whole torso pressing into her. “You want me?”

It was a ridiculous question. He only had to look at her, to watch and listen to the pace of her breathing, or see the warm flush spreading across her skin. Her body’s reaction should be answer enough. She arched against him, her mound sliding up the jut of his erection, her tongue flicking out to lick his upper lip.

“Then you know how it must be for us.”

“No. I don’t.” Rene broke contact and banged her head lightly against the wall. Since when did dreams have such complicated rules?

His gaze narrowed. “I am real.”

She felt her own gaze narrowing. “I didn’t say --”

He cut her short. “It was in your expression.” His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“It’s just that I don’t remember.” She put her hands on his chest, wished he would touch her again.

His hands shot out and she flinched but he only cupped the sides of her face. “I told you it would be like this. To live and die as a mortal, a hundred times over, each life overwriting the other until you forgot yourself.” He gave her head a little shake. “And me.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, ran his hands down her breasts. Cupping and lifting them, he teased the nipples with hard pinches, as if he wanted to punish her. “All these years I have carried your memory with me, surviving on the promise you would return.”

Too real, the pain in his voice. She could taste his anger, feel his anguish twisting in her chest. What dream did that?

“Im-e-ut.” She choked on his name, trying not to cry. “Who am I supposed to be?”

“My wife, my love.” Voice flat, he dropped his hands to his side. “No other immortal could have passed through that portal. I built them all for you and no one else.”

* * * *

Immortal? The word bounced around inside Rene’s head as Imeut pressed a cold wet cloth against her forehead.

“This falling to the ground as if you were sleeping…” He let the question trail off and chewed at his bottom lip.

“It happens.” She cracked a nervous smile at the idea that her healer -- her husband if she were to believe him -- no longer had a word to describe fainting. How could a man who had conjured the wet cloth out of thin air forget what fainting was?

“It does not happen here.” He held her face still, forcing Rene to look at him or drop her gaze. “Not here,” he repeated.

“Then maybe I’m not the person you think I am.” The words came hard. The hurt that welled up as she spoke them surprised her like a sharp slap across the face. Did she want this to be real? Hadn’t she been living in the shadow of this dream world since childhood? She remembered the Sphinx costume she’d demanded at the tender age of four and other Halloweens spent as Cleopatra or Nefertiti before all the hours in the library had taken their toll on her body. She thought of the hot summers in Egypt interning for no money and prostituting out her expertise to film companies to fund more trips.

Imeut tossed the cloth behind him, the material vanishing before it could hit the chair. “I told you, I built the portals for you.”

His tone was prideful, almost arrogant. He was proud of his skills, but did he have the right to be? Or maybe he held the same fear as Reymas, Reynar’s father. “Maybe you just won’t allow yourself to be disappointed?”

“No, if I thought you were not Reynar…” He folded his arms across his chest, his stance weary but stubborn. “Well, I would wait another four millennia and four more after that. As long as it took.” He leaned forward, as if his sheer will could convince her. “But you
are
Reynar.”

She stood, walked around the bedroom and into the sitting room. Light filled the rooms but from no discernible source. Furniture was minimal, and the accessories of modern life were nonexistent -- nothing equivalent to books, music players, TVs, no small pieces of art or paintings. Did they summon what they wanted when they needed it?

“What bothers you?” He stood behind her, the heat of his body warming her back.

Rene twisted enough to look at him over her shoulder, and she responded with a frown and a snort. From what he had told her, she had an enemy who could shape matter and wanted nothing more than her death. She had a would-be lover who had to share her on holy days -- the men outnumbered the women by more than ten to one -- and just about every goddamn day in this “Plane of Immortals,” as Imeut called it, was a holy day.

He cleared his throat, some of the intensity smoothing from his face. “I meant what occupies your mind right now?”

She gestured around the room. “It’s so barren, no music --”

He ran his lips along the outer ridge of her ear. “Make love to me and you will hear music.”

Giving over
. He had described the concept to her as he dabbed at her forehead with the wet cloth. Every symphony that would ever be created, every statue or painting, every epic written, it was all there waiting for her when she became one with the group. That was, if she opened her mind and heart and offered her flesh.

She looked to the bed. Dream or no dream, she wanted him.

“No, not there. Will you run from it as Selesma has?”

“Selesma doesn’t… But you said she can shape matter?”

“Yes, these are separate things --”

She cut him off, tried to distance herself from his warmth, from the way it curled around her body and seduced her. But he was blocking the archway, preventing her from retreating back into the bedroom. Her only option was to move closer to the corridor beyond the sitting room. “This is all so wrong, so preposterous.”