His eyes flashed in approval, and he pushed his hips against hers in a wicked way that made her downright crazy. “I’m yours. Anything you want. Everything. You only have to ask.”
She smiled. Lifted to kiss him again. But as her lips met his, something changed. She felt it in the way he pulled back. Saw it in the surprise in his eyes. Smoke spiraled in the room. He looked down as it whipped in a tornado around his body.
“Tariq?” She pushed up from the mattress as he was lifted off her.
“It’s all right, hayaati,” he said in a calm voice. A too calm voice. “I’m being called back.”
Called back? No, that wasn’t part of her wish. “Tariq—”
“I will return, hayaati.”
She reached out to him, but the smoke rose over his head, covering him from view before her fingers could reach his. And then it spun so fast, the force of the wind blew her hair back from her face.
In seconds, he was gone. Nothing to show he’d ever been there except for the thin blue T-shirt she was now wearing.
That and the ache between her legs. The one that only left her wanting more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Several. Since being back in his cell, Tariq had finally managed to relax. Hours had passed with no visit, no explanation as to why he’d been called back. But he could guess.
He lifted his head just as the cell door swung open and Zoraida swept into the room, her royal blue gown swishing in the air behind her. Fury coated her features, her eyes blazing with a rage he’d never seen before. No sooner had he climbed to his feet than her arm connected with his jawbone in a blow that sent him staggering into the wall.
Pain shot through the left side of his face. His hands hit the stones behind him. Her magic had grown these last few years—thanks to him—and with it her strength as well. Pushing away from the wall, Tariq refused to rub at the pain, instead leveled his narrowed gaze on her, then the three guards close at her back.
He could take her, he didn’t doubt that. But they had swords, and without his magic, he’d never get by all three without losing his life.
“You will not defy me,” Zoraida growled. “I am your sayyeda. You are my slave. And you will do my bidding. Guard?” she called over shoulder.
A guard outside dragged a bloodied and beaten Nasir into the room. “Yes, mistress.”
“Send him to Jahannam.”
“No!” Tariq jerked forward. The Pits of Jahannam were fighting rings set up for the entertainment of Ghuls. Few condemned there survived its horrors, and those who did came out forever changed.
Zoraida’s fist jammed into his jaw, sending him crashing into the rock wall again. “Stand down, djinni, or I will send your other brother there as well.”
Blood ran across Tariq’s tongue, trickled down his chin. Frantic, he looked for Nasir behind Zoraida as guards rushed in and grasped Tariq’s arms so he couldn’t lurch at her. They’d beaten his brother severely. Nasir’s face was black and blue, and he was barely able to stand on his own two feet. “Nasir—!”
“Don’t fight her,” Nasir said in a weak voice as the guard dragged him out. “I’ll be okay. Save Ashur. Find a way to save Ashur, Tariq. He won’t last much longer.”
Nasir’s empty voice echoed from the passageway until he was gone. Rage whipped through Tariq as he turned his glare on Zoraida.
“You will not defy me, djinni. I am your sayyeda,” she said again, as if saying it would make him submit.
But he wouldn’t. Never willingly again. Fury and disbelief swirled through him, but he didn’t answer. He was too busy plotting all the ways he would turn his vengeance on her when the time was right.
“The whip,” she called over her shoulder, her icy gaze never leaving Tariq’s face. As a guard handed her the weapon, she barked, “Secure him!”
The guards shoved Tariq face-first toward the stones, chained his wrists to the hooks mounted high in the wall.
He knew not to fight, knew it was useless. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.
“You will do my bidding,” Zoraida repeated as she snapped the whip back, then brought the tip forward to slice into his skin.
Fire erupted across his back, pain so intense it stole his breath. His body jerked, and he slumped forward against the wall, gritting his teeth. To keep from crying out, he thought of Nasir. Of Ashur. Of his father and their kingdom. And of the retribution he would rain down on Zoraida and her Ghuls when he was free.
“No one controls my will except me,” Zoraida said through clenched teeth, snapping the whip back again. “Do you understand?”
The whip cracked. Leather bit into his flesh. A red burn exploded all along his spine. He sagged against the cuffs as she pulled the whip back again and again, as the leather sliced open his skin and darkness beckoned from the shadows.
He lost track of the number of times he was hit. But as the leather bit into his skin, reality spread out before him like the river of blood pooling at his feet. She could make him feel pain as he’d never experienced, but she wouldn’t kill him. She still needed him to corrupt Mira’s soul. For whatever reason, her Ghuls couldn’t do it. Which meant Mira was safe. At least for now.
His hazy mind drifted back to all the souls he’d corrupted for Zoraida. Most of the time, he’d succeeded in fulfilling his targets’ wishes, but there were a few times he hadn’t. When even he hadn’t been enough for the women who’d summoned him. Those souls hadn’t mattered to Zoraida. Yes, she’d punished him, but she’d just sent Tariq out on another mission when he’d failed. But something was different this time. Mira’s soul was vitally important to Zoraida. And he was the key to getting it.
Who was she? Why was she so important? And was it possible she could somehow be instrumental to Zoraida’s downfall?
His eyes drifted closed. He tried to push the pain to the back of his mind. Tried to think clearly. But the bite of leather, the burn of each lash was too much to ignore. And before long, darkness threatened.
You can’t save them all. Nasir, Ashur…Mira. You’ll have to choose. Them or her.
Sound drifted away. Darkness closed in. And then there was nothing but silence. Not even a choice.
Mira hadn’t seen or heard from Tariq in three days. She’d tried to call him back with the opal, but he either wasn’t listening or whoever controlled the stone wasn’t letting him through.
The last thought circled loudly in her mind as she sat at her computer and skimmed her e-mail, searching for one from a professor she’d located online who supposedly knew all there was to know about djinn. She hadn’t been able to focus on anything but Tariq this week, so she’d finally cashed in some vacation time. With nothing else to do but worry and stress over the way he’d left, she’d gone looking for more information on his race and had finally found Dr. Claire Sampson, a professor of folklore and history at the University of Florida.
They’d e-mailed back and forth several times. The woman had heard stories of djinn being trapped or bound by certain objects, and in her last e-mail had said she’d do some more research to see where historical records showed those objects turning up. Just the fact she hadn’t thought Mira was a complete kook when she’d started peppering the woman with questions was a major plus as far as Mira could see.