Soul Unbound (Key to the Cursed Book 3) (10 page)

Siya crouched in the dark alcove. The knife she
flipped between her fingers picked up speed along with the uptick of her pulse.
As she suspected, Bomani was not here of his own accord.

She should have known Bast would have her claws in
him. She was not sure whether to feel sorry for Bomani or hate him. A glint of
jealousy and betrayal burned deep. Why she felt either of those, she had no
idea.

Bomani was not Khalfani, she reminded herself.

She ripped the saber from her holster and stalked
towards the condemned building. She dropped down into the cold damp basement,
anger fueling her decision. Bomani sat slumped against the wall.

She tightened her grip on the hilt. He did not
move, but stared at her. Despite him owing her nothing, his betrayal pained
her. Not to mention, she despised traitors. “Get up.”

He shifted to his feet. Three hundred and fifty pounds
of muscle wavered on two legs.

“I said I wanted no trouble.” She pointed the
saber at his chest.

He did not even flinch but stared at her with
those brooding eyes. She had seen the expression before, the moment when a
warrior accepted his death. His resignation infuriated her. Not that she needed
justification to kill him. His association with Bast was enough in her mind. The
demon within her craved the scent of blood, just as it had so long ago in the
war. Killing had given her great pleasure then.

She flexed her grip on her weapon. Moments ticked
by without action. No matter how much she craved it, she could not execute the
task. Pity, sympathy, empathy, whatever you call it, slithered its way into her
soul.

“Damn you.” She snagged his arm and shifted their
energies. When they reappeared she lifted his weight to her shoulder and guided
him back onto the dingy old mattress. His body sagged into the bed.

He grasped her wrist, but she jerked it back and
stalked to the bathroom. She cranked the faucet and ran water over a towel.
Gods, she was going to regret this decision. This orphan could come back to
bite her in the ass and bring the whole Creation Pantheon down upon her. And,
at least one pissed off Cat goddess.

She squeezed out the excess water and moved back
into the room. Pathetic did not cover the incapacitated warrior in her bed. His
hand was clamped onto his forehead. Pain contorted his face. Beads of sweat
covered his dark skin.

Since the law was written, Underworlders had not
stayed for extended periods in the human realm. The side effects would sicken
even the strongest god. Still, Bomani’s withdrawal was more severe than she
would have expected from a warrior.

She fisted the towel in her hands and sat down on
the bed next to him. “What am I going to do with you?”

* * *

Sekhmet grabbed Bomani’s wrist and pulled his hand
away from his forehead. Sitting close, his arm fell just at her waist and
rested on her thighs. She dabbed his forehead with a cool rag and brushed her
fingertips between his bunched eyebrows and up to his hairline. The repetitive
motion distracted him briefly, enough he opened his eyes.

She would not meet his gaze, but her soft fingers
caressed his face.

“Why are you doing this?” Bomani could not fathom
why she had shown him mercy. He had seen the fury and conviction in her eyes,
yet she spared him—again.

“Consider it a paid debt.” She wiped his face
again.

An hourglass tattoo on the inside of her wrist
flashed in his field of view. He grasped her arm with a shaky hand. “Where did
you get this?” He traced his thumb against the warrior tattoo carved into her soft
skin. He had seen the same symbol on her saber.

She pulled her hand away and rubbed the small
mark. “It is nothing.”

“It is not
nothing
.” Weakened, he dropped
his hand away. Her name flitted in the back of his mind, just out of his reach.
In its place, sharp daggers ricocheted inside his skull.

“You need to rest.” Her concerned gaze met his.

“It is not nothing,” he mumbled, his body shutting
down. Her face blurred.

“You are safe here, Bomani,” she whispered.

He believed her. Sadly, the same was not true for
her.

The pattering of rain on a metal roof woke Bomani
from a deep sleep. He blinked, momentarily thinking he was in his quarters in
Aaru. Nothing had changed and his regular workday awaited him.

He closed his eyes and opened them again. His
heart grew cold as the dim room came in focus. It was only a dream.

He surveyed Sekhmet’s quarters, not unlike his
own. It was bare of anything personal, just the necessities. A weapons rack on
the far wall and a table with cleaning supplies stacked with military
precision. Suddenly struck by emptiness, he sighed and scrubbed his head.

Although it still throbbed, it was significantly
more tolerable. His exile in the human realm had caught up with him at the most
inconvenient moment. Besides the rain, the warehouse remained quiet. Very
little light penetrated the half-slit blinds. How long had he slept?

His gaze came to rest on the table next to the bed
where he found a towel and a stack of clothes, along with a large bowl of stew.
Boots sat next to the bed. By the steam that rose from the center of the stew
bowl, a few minutes had passed since it was placed there. The scent of cooked
beef and spices beckoned his stomach.

He gulped the glass of water, cooling the burn of
his gut. His stomach growled loudly, commanding him to grab the bowl. He
savored the meat with slow purpose, despite his overwhelming hunger. A wave of
contentment washed over him.

The lessening pain in his head brought his
attention to the hollow ache in his chest. He grasped his legion brand and
squeezed, but the counter pressure only gave him brief respite.

Running his hand over the pillow and blanket, he
was tempted to lie back down. The erotic scent of lilacs and vanilla haunted
his sleep and settled an ache in his groin. His libido had taken a hiatus since
Kendra. The fact that it suddenly reappeared was irritating. Not to mention it
brought back memories he’d rather forget.

He stumbled to the bathroom, eager to wash away
weeks’ worth of grime. The warm water soothed his sore muscles but did nothing to
erase the pictures of Kendra and his brother from his mind. What had Bomani
done wrong anyway? He was there for Kendra. Took care of her when she needed
him, yet his efforts failed to win her heart.

Willing the memory of the happy couple out of his
mind, he stepped out of the shower and threw his towel over the mirror, not
wanting to see the darkness consuming him. He had all but marinated in the hatred
and bitterness since the moment Kendra chose Bakari over him.

He fingered through his wet tangled mop, not
caring if he tore it from his scalp. For the first time in his life his hair
passed his ears. He stared at the blade on the wall rack, tempted to take it to
the skin. Ignoring the urge, he hit the lights and shucked on the new set of
clothes. The thick material hugged his body, much tighter than the warrior
uniforms.

He arched his back and stretched his tight
muscles. With nothing to eat and no exercise he had wasted away.

The distant sound of a closing door drew his
attention. Muffled voices sounded in the outer office. The hairs on Bomani’s
neck bristled. Sekhmet and a Creation.

“We discussed this before. My decision is final.”

“Damn it, we can leave in an hour before this
explodes.”

“Where does it end?”

“You were set to leave. Now, you want to stay?”

“I will not run. Not now.”

“Is it because of him?”

The silence drew Bomani closer to the door
separating the office from the sleeping quarters. Through the small crack he
could see the Creation male on the other side of the desk and Sekhmet’s long
braid trailing down her back.

The god advanced to the desk. “He is here
illegally. You know this, and yet you invite him to stay here? Bast will come
down on us for harboring him.”

“He has no place to go.”

“He can go
back
to the fucking underworld.”

“I am not budging on this.”

“Another gods' damn mouth we cannot feed.”

“I will not ask you to cut your portion,” she
snapped.

“How can we trust him?”

“The same way we always have—we earn his trust
first. And as far as Bast is concerned, I will deal with her, personally.” Her
voice was low and icy. She turned slightly, enough that Bomani could see her
profile.

He followed the curve of her arm to her wrist. The
scarification tattoo had not been a figment of his delirium. Few warriors were
skilled at carving the marks to ensure the tattoo remained raised before the
skin healed. A warrior’s tattoo was sacred.

An oath of honor and brotherhood.

The male stepped forward mere inches from Sekhmet.
Far too intimate for even a long standing friendship and brazenly inappropriate
between Commander and a Second. A shot of jealousy rocketed through Bomani.
Overcome by it, he snatched the handle and yanked open the door.

Sekhmet slipped away and turned towards Bomani.
Her cool green eyes looked him up and down. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” Bomani snarled and glared at the god.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked with her
eyebrows arched in mocking disapproval.

Bomani fisted his hands to prevent himself from
yanking her away from the Creation god. His reaction was woefully unfitting but
burned through his veins just the same.

“Theris, this is Bomani,” Siya said, appearing unfazed
by his intrusion but positioning herself between him and her Second.

“You cannot be serious. For all we know Bast has
sent him to spy on us,” Theris said with a scowl. “You are not welcome here.”

Bomani bared his sharp teeth, and a guttural growl
rumbled in his throat. Centuries old hatred boiled to the surface.

“Enough!” Sekhmet widened her stance between them.
Her shrewd gaze, sharp as daggers, bore into Bomani. “Any relationship with
Bast would put the younglings at risk.”

Younglings? Bomani jerked his gaze to meet hers.
Is that who she was searching for last night? How did the dark being fit into
all of this?

One thing was clear, she knew the answer.

“This applies to everyone under my care,” she
said, still staring at Bomani.

Bomani nodded, although he was not sure to what he
was agreeing.

“Theris?” she asked without looking back.

“We need to get out of here.” Theris moved just
behind her, again too close for Bomani’s liking. “His presence will bring the
Pantheon to our doorstep.”

“Inventory our supplies. I want to know how far we
can stretch them. Restock in anticipation of the senior younglings’
transitions. We are staying for now. If the situation changes, I will reassess
our position. Is that clear?” She broke her eye contact with Bomani and turned
to accept Theris’ acknowledgement. He hesitated.

Her voice softened. “Do what I ask, Theris.”

“Get rid of him.” Theris’ scathing glare settled on
Bomani. The fair headed god turned and walked out the door, and the glass rattled
with a slam.

Sekhmet sat back on the desk and folded her arms
across her chest. “Well, that went well.” She stared at him with one eyebrow
raised and a mischievous smile as if she knew something he did not.

“Do I amuse you?” he growled.

“On the contrary, I find you quite intriguing. A
mystery, actually.”

Her pale green eyes watched him. He could see the
calculations tabulating in her mind. Did she sense how much different he was
from other warriors? As smart as she was, she would have him dissected in very
little time, if she had not already.

She pushed off the desk and prowled towards him.
Her hand came to rest on his chest over his legion brand. “I will let you in on
a secret. Bast likes to play with her food before she eats it.”

“Your Second is right. I should leave,” he said
with his last thread of decency.

She leaned into his chest, her eyes bright. “Just
when we are starting to get to know each other?”

Isis
. Heat rushed through his veins,
followed by the delicious scent of lilacs and vanilla. The living energy
penetrated his soul, lessening the ache in his chest. She grabbed his hand and
tugged him back into her quarters. “You look like shit and we need to talk.”

Exhausted and pissed off, he capitulated by
sitting on the edge of her bed. The dull ache in his head was regaining
strength.

“You are different,” she said.

“I suppose I am.” Unsettled, he rose to his feet
again. “Who is the Creation?” Bomani’s tone was nothing short of a growl.

“Theris is my Second.”

“I do not like him.” Bomani moved between her and
the door.

“He is not for you to like or dislike. Theris has
been with me for three millenniums.”

Point taken.

She analyzed him with a mix of intrigue and
suspicion. “Can I trust you, Bomani?”

“No.” If there was one thing she could count on,
warriors were brutally honest and held nothing back, even if it was the wrong answer.
He could not lie to her.

“You
are
a warrior,” she said with a
chuckle. “So, what to do with you?”

“I would prefer to keep my head, if that is what
you mean.”

“Can we agree that trust is earned, then?”

He scanned her face. Gods, who was this female?
Menthu’s daughter? The enemy’s blood might run through her veins, but he saw
none of the darkness in her eyes. “You are not what I expected,” he said
instead of answering.

“That makes two of us.” Her gaze ran down the
front of him.

Trust was a fragile thing, especially in his case.
Few earned it and right now, they were running on borrowed time.

Sekhmet grabbed the flask off her dresser. “I am
not going to fight you, Bomani, unless you put
them
at risk,” she said,
gesturing towards the windows.

His gaze ran over her before glancing at the
windows overlooking the lower warehouse. There were multiple energies floating
in the air, most muted, others full strength. “The younglings, who are they?”

“Orphans.”

* * *

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned
against the dresser. “Living on the street, uncared for, discarded.”

His stare came to rest on her face. The intensity
in those caramel eyes flustered her. To distract herself from his attention, she
opened the flask. “Please do not bother to hide your shock.”

“Sorry, it is just unexpected. I thought maybe
they were yours,” he said with a smirk.

“Mine?” Siya snorted. If he was on the beach then
he saw her naked. “I think we both know I do not carry any male’s mark.” His
inability to maintain eye contact validated her hunch.

He cleared his throat. “I have no ill will against
them.”

“And me?”

“That has yet to be determined.” His eyes raked
over her.

“Glad we understand each other.” She smiled and
held out the metal flask. “Khalfani would have headaches on occasion. He said
this worked the best.”

His eyes brightened. “You knew him.”

“Yeah, I knew him. Fought with him.” Loved him.

Bomani rubbed his forehead, seemingly pained by
her admission.

“Food, clothing and liquor. Are you trying to
seduce me?” he asked and grasped the container. He tipped back his head and
took a deep swallow. An audible sigh passed his liquor coated lips.

“I am a little more direct than that, warrior. If
I wanted to seduce you, you would know it.” Despite her will to keep her heart
closed to him, more of the darkness bled away from her soul. In spite of being
disheveled with long unkempt hair, he was ruggedly handsome, comparable to any
god. His features were sharper and more polished than most warriors with a firm
square jaw, sharp cheekbones and full lips. The intensity in his eyes was both
wild and dangerous. She assessed the tattoos climbing the thickness of his
neck. This male had paid his dues.

“I do not doubt that,” he said with his brows
arched over his bright gold eyes, if only for a moment before they tarnished
black again. She imagined this was his baseline, relaxed and confident in his
station. So, what made him leave?

He held out the flask.

The almost flirtatious banter thrilled her on a
level she forgot existed between a male and female. She had a hard time drawing
breath when he stood this close. Closer than any other male dared without
invitation. The room felt smaller with him in it.

She pulled the flask from his hands, careful not
to touch him. Hoping to squelch the quickening in her belly, she took a long
hard drink. She exhaled and let the alcohol evaporate from her tongue. He tracked
her movements with a light of curiosity and maybe even a little confusion. Was
he expecting a monster?

She rubbed the base of her neck. The proof lied
beneath her fingertips. The scarab mark was a stark reminder—she had no second
chances.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

She shrugged and looked away, both shocked and
angry. No one had ever asked her that question. After so many years, the pain
was just background noise. Only when her thoughts strayed to her former life
and those she lost did it burn with a coldness that would bring her to her
knees.

Wanting room to breathe, she stepped back but
knocked into the dresser. The lamp rocked on its base. She held out her hand.
“It is fine.”

He frowned and his eyes deepened to the darkest
black.

She should have known better than to lie to an
Underworlder. As Commander, he would have overseen Horem prison, a place for
those marked for death. A place she would see in time. “Nothing I cannot
handle,” she added, hating the scrutiny in his eyes. She was a master at hiding
her emotions, but in his presence she felt exposed and out of control.

He broke eye contact and stared at the flask she
was crushing in her hands. She forced herself to relax and handed him the
liquor. He returned to sit on the bed, giving her the space she desperately
needed. She took a deep breath and exhaled away the sense of suffocation. After
he swallowed, he eyed her. “The orphans. Where do they come from?”