Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) (16 page)

She noticed he didn’t mention when she’d made a fool of herself by running like a rabbit chased by a wolf. “Not then,” she whispered. “Not until in the car.”

Ramose drew to his feet and moved toward her again. This time, when she shrugged him away, he held tight. “The future is always changing. You know that, Tamara. Your being there might not have helped at all.”

“And it might have saved her legs. Her legs are broken. Both of them. I felt her pain. Heard them crack.” Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t get the images out of my head, Ramose.” She rubbed her arms, and he stepped closer, replacing her hands with his own, soothing her once again with his touch. “I will always remember the sounds, and the feel of the car slamming into her. I have to get her home.”

He shook his head. “She’s not fit to travel, and you know it. Once she’s out of surgery, I’ll have the best specialists take a look at her.”

She met his gaze, her eyes widening. “You know someone, don’t you? Someone who can help her?” If he had special talents, maybe some of his people did, too, and maybe one was healing.

“Not the way you mean. But we have to see what damage was done first. It may be all she needs is the bones set until they knit together. If so...”

She wondered how Jeff was taking this. He’d ignored her attempts to comfort him, pushing her away. Maybe he blamed her as much as she blamed herself.

“Good,” she said, nodding. She twisted again from his arms, and, while he allowed it, he went with her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Neither spoke, though she drew comfort in his touch. Funny how much difference an hour made. Then, again, what had happened in the alley was an aberration. At least, she hoped it was. They stared out over the parking lot for a long time.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked, his voice a light whisper behind her ear.

A tremor ran down her spine at the sensation of his hot breath feathering over her neck. She let out a sigh and nodded. Her muscles ached from the sudden waves of stress. Needing to stretch them, she stepped away from him and paced the room, ignoring the pang of disappointment at the loss of his touch. When he moved to stop her, she motioned for him to stay where he was. Ramose leaned back against the window, his fingers gripping the sill.

“Why were you so afraid of me?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t afraid of you, Ramose. Not really. I was…I was afraid…of the place,” she finally finished.

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand. Egypt?”

“No.” She bit her lip. “The alley.”

He cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed. “Explain.”

“I have problems being in certain places. Alleys especially. The wall, the smells, the darkness. Let’s just say I don’t have good memories there.”

Everything inside her urged her to shut up. To turn and leave the room and go check on Julie. But she knew it was her own fear talking. Ramose was special. She could feel it in her bones. And not just because of her dreams. When she looked into his eyes, she felt safe. Safer than she had in all her life.

It was now or never, and, if she wanted what he seemed to have been offering in the market, she had to get this out. “I was once attacked in an alley.”

His body stiffened. “When?”

“A long time ago,” she said. Tamara took a deep breath, searching for the strength she needed to think about that horrid night so long ago. “I’m fine. It’s just I wasn’t paying attention to where we were. I was so damned focused on you, and, suddenly, we were—”

“In an alley?”

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah. It was an instinctive reaction, and it wouldn’t have mattered who was with me, be it you, my brother, or even Julie. I probably woulda freaked no matter what. The instant I hit the brick wall behind me,” she fisted her hands and took a deep breath, “it was like I was back there again. Reliving it. I’m sorry.”

Anger burned in his eyes, and he stood, taking her in his arms. “My fault,” he murmured under his breath.

“No, I just told you, it wasn’t you.”

“I should have been there. Should have protected you.”

She gave a sharp laugh. “Didn’t you just say what happened to Julie wasn’t my fault? You didn’t even know me then, Ramose, how could it be your fault?”

“I just think—”

“She’s going to be okay!” Jeff’s voice shouted from the doorway. “She’s out of surgery, and we should be able to see her soon.”

“Thank God,” said Tamara. Relief washed over her in waves.

Chapter Seventeen

Ramose sat on the small couch and watched Tamara sleep. None of this made any sense. How could he be in the same room with his
Kha-Ib
thousands of light years from his home world? He scrubbed a hand over his face. And one born of fire?

The image of her dancing before him, all those thousands of years ago fluttered into his mind. He should have understood something was different then. Her hairstyle and the color of the costume she’d worn should have told him something. He struggled to remember if she’d been wearing the
Naphsua
in his vision, but it wasn’t clear. The image was old. A memory of a time when he’d had no hope.

Instead of building his strength to wait, her vision had backfired, convincing him his mate was never to be found on this godforsaken world. Nothing anyone said diverted him from his goal. To be happy. He was sure he’d be forever alone on this planet unless he chose to move away from tradition. So he’d rushed out and married the first human who’d have him.

Ramose sighed. What a mess that had turned out to be. His wife’s death was a stain on his soul that would never mend.

Tamara groaned in her sleep and rolled over.

“Mandisa,” she murmured.

The blood drained from Ramose’s face. By the gods, this couldn’t be happening. Tamara was dreaming. But not just any dream. Ramose dropped to his knees beside her, fighting the urge to wake her before she learned more. Tamara was dreaming in
Erosewyt
. The dreams that both told and foretold the lives of their
Kha-Ib’s
. And now, she was learning his darkest moment.

Ramose moved with a jaunt to his step, striding into the small brick hut he’d made for his home. Greeting him were the scents of musk and spices. He inhaled. Scent was one of his favorite sciences, and he was pleased his new wife found solace in simple oils.

His home was clean and spacious, for mud. He wished he could give his wife the best of his world, but that was not to be. Somehow, he didn’t think a power driven home with automatic cooking was something she would understand. He deposited his soiled outer clothes near the wall, along with his belt and weapons.

When he’d told her of his origins the night before, she’d been wary, but accepting, but not so accepting as to be ready for such advances in her daily life. He’d had to work to convince her he was not a
Najak
, or demon.

“Mandisa?” he called.

There was no answer. He moved into the sleeping chamber, surprised to see her circled by her brothers. She turned to him, tears and horror filling her dark brown eyes.

“There he is,” she hissed. “
Bajn
!” Evil.

Her brothers drew their swords, advancing toward him.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“You defile our sister,” said Haru, the oldest and most deadly of the pair, as he stalked forward, sword at the ready, “
Najak
.”

“I am no demon,” said Ramose, struggling to remain calm. He glanced toward his new wife. Terror stared back at him. Not fear for her brothers, and not fear for him. It was terror of him. The knowledge sunk into his soul. With his need to be happy, he had destroyed this beautiful woman.

The men charged, their swords glittering in the muted candlelight.

Ramose dodged then held out his hand. With a thought, he called the sword he’d dropped in the living space. It flew through the air, slamming its grip into his palm. The instant his fingers closed about the grip, he swung, spinning to avoid his youngest new brother’s first strike.

The finely hewn steel did its job, slicing through flesh and bone as if it were no more than camel fat. A fine line of blood formed across the young man’s throat. Weakened fingers clawed at the deadly necklace, and the boy’s knees collapsed. Ramose wanted to catch him, to save him. Anything but this.

Mandisa screamed, the sound echoing through the small room and ripping through Ramose’s heart.

“Stop,” he shouted, but still Haru charged.

The man slammed into Ramose. They crashed into the mud brick wall. Ramose’s breath whooshed from his lungs, and clumps of debris showered over them. He shoved his attacker aside and leapt to his feet. He had to find a way to stop this, but the man before him was determined as ever to take his life.

“Halt.” Ramose tried again. He should let them kill him. This was his fault. Yet try as he might, his natural instincts would not let him stand and be executed.

“Never,” shouted Haru. “Not until you are dead. My sister must now die for the crime of sleeping with a
Najak
, but she will have the pleasure of seeing your evil destroyed before she is punished.”

Horror burned through Ramose. Mandisa was to be put to death for being with him? Gods, he hadn’t expected this. “She’s your sister, Haru. You can’t punish her. If you must punish someone, then, yes, let it be me, but Mandisa is innocent.”

“Not anymore,” the man shouted, spittle running from his lips. “You destroyed her innocence. She may carry demon-spawn. She will die. But, first, I will have the pleasure of destroying the cause of her destruction.”

Haru tossed down his sword, pulling a dagger from his waist. “Fight me like a human,
Najak
,” he spat. “Fight me without fear. Let me send you back to join Anubis in the paths of hell.”

The man charged, not waiting to see his response, aiming the sharp point of his blade straight for Ramose’s chest.

Ramose shifted, the sword still in his own hand, moving almost on its own. The sharp edge pierced Haru through the belly, then reached upward, the curve and the man’s momentum driving it straight through his heart.

The life faded from his brother-in-law’s face. Ramose pulled the sword from the body, and the man collapsed. The coppery scent of blood filled the air. With a clatter, Ramose dropped his sword. He dropped to the man’s body

But it was too late. Life snuffed from the man’s eyes as Ramose struggled to force it back in. Why couldn’t his gift be healing? Why couldn’t he have learned all he needed to save a man’s life? His mind screamed over and over. Your fault. Your fault.

Struggling to gather his wits, he lifted the dagger Haru had dropped, holding it to the candlelight. The dark ruby tip was dipped in the blood of animals. Animals used for sacrifice. A poisoned ritualistic blade blessed by Set, God of Chaos.

“
Najak
,” screamed Mandisa. Her body slammed into him, her own blade sinking into his shoulders.

Ramose winced, then jerked around, grabbing for his wife, but she wouldn’t still. She stabbed him, again and again, blood seeping from the shallow wounds. He struggled, grabbing her wrists, and, in the process, the edge of the poisoned dagger found the inside of her thigh, drawing blood.

“Gods, no,” he shouted, spinning to catch her in his arms. Already her body convulsed, the poison working through her blood stream. “Mandisa, why?” he croaked.

“Ramose,” she whispered.

He moved closer. “Please, Mandisa, stay with me. Care for me.”

“Never,” she groaned. “Never with a
Najak
.”

Her eyes fluttered then closed. Her last breath whispered into the night, condemning him. Killing his heart.
Najak
. Demon.

Ramose fisted his hand in her long, dark hair. The same hair he’d combed the night before, as he’d told her his life story. He should never have left her alone, never given her the chance to be with her brothers until she understood and accepted. They could have kept his life secret, living happily. Instead, she’d shared the secret, and her brothers had sentenced her to death.

“Najak” she’d called him. Demon. Vile. Devil.

Chapter Eighteen

“
Najak
!” Tamara shot straight up in the bed, the horrifying word fresh on her lips. Her heart pounded, and her pulse raced. A chill ran down her spine. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, and the dream’s terror turned into true panic. Then, a memory surfaced, blurring the images of the dream. She was at the hospital, in the elite waiting suites, waiting for her cousin to wake after surgery.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to relax and slowed her thumping heart. She slid her focus to the couch. Ramose. Her breath caught. He sat, his green eyes filled with pain. The nightmare’s images rose in her mind, making it difficult to separate the man on the couch from the man in her dreams. Past life. Another past life dream where he’d lived through the unexpected.

He’d been married. Jealousy twisted inside her, but she tried to ignore it, sorting through the wild memories and pain. That was another time, and another place. He’d shared a secret with his wife, and that secret had killed her. And her brothers. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“You dream the
Erosewyt
,” he said.

“What?” She’d heard stories of couples waking and one being angry at the other for what they did in their dreams. She’d never thought that would be her, but, right this moment, she couldn’t decide if she was angry at him, sorry for him, or jealous. Maybe a little of all three.

He didn’t speak again, but watched her, his eyes unreadable, his emotions held in check. So different from the man who’d fought for his life then inadvertently killed his own wife.

“You killed her.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He didn’t change. Not his expression, not his eyes. Yet she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was talking about. “In your past life. You killed your wife.”