But when Tricia woke the following day, Christian hadn’t returned.
She had warm croissants and hot chocolate for breakfast in the kitchen but didn’t ask Remy about Christian’s fire. She’d realized that men like Christian and the duke were unlikely to harm the rare women who carried their magic gene. She was more bothered about being tagged like a dog and losing her independence. Christian had spoken about the claiming as if the process was romantic, but the Duke of Buckland, for all his arrogance, might have been more honest. Once one of them claimed her, she would effectively become their property.
After breakfast, Tricia wandered the familiar path through the garden to the vineyards, meandering along the dusty trail between the neat rows of grape vines to the edge of the River Loire. Memories tumbled back of strolling hand-in-hand with Christian. Years ago, she’d thought love was the answer to everything.
She sat on a wooden bench under the trailing branches of a weeping willow where she had spent blissful afternoons with Christian and stared at the rippling water.
Two days ago, her main concern had been the cost of her mortgage. Now her home was probably a burnt-out shell containing the debris of her worldly possessions. Tears glazed her eyes and she blinked them away. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. When she returned to the chateau, she would make a list of everyone she needed to call to sort out the disaster her life had become.
A blast of chilly wind stirred goose bumps on her skin. Ten feet away a dark rent opened in the air and a man stepped out. She recoiled, then slithered off the side of the bench and crawled behind it.
The man’s intimidating blue gaze fixed on her, but she took a moment to identify him as the Duke of Buckland. Gone were the trappings of modern man; instead, he paced towards her clothed like an ancient warrior out of a fantasy film. Wide bands of gold bearing Egyptian symbols enclosed the bulging muscles of his biceps and his forearms. Gleaming plates of armour protected his torso, the breastplate decorated with a blue, jewel-studded image of the eye of Horus. His powerful thighs flexed beneath a short armoured skirt. In one hand, he held a wicked curved blade dripping blue fire, while in the other he held the sceptre that he’d used to melt the ben ben at the Institute of Art.
“Where’s Lefevre?” he demanded.
She cowered behind the bench, staring at him with a stunned sense of unreality.
He halted when he reached her. “The bloody fool hasn’t claimed you yet. He’s had his chance. Now you’re mine.”
He tossed the curved blade aside. A small rip parted in the air and swallowed the weapon. While she was staring at the spot where the blade had disappeared, his hand closed around her wrist and he pulled her to her feet.
Sense rushed back in a panicked burst of adrenaline. She yanked against his grip. “No. It’s my fault. I didn’t let him.”
“You shouldn’t have a choice.”
“I love him.”
The duke paused and his jaw tightened. His blue eyes narrowed on her face. For the first time she had the sense that he saw her rather than simply a woman with the right genes. His breath hissed out in a frustrated rush and he released her. “Love is not enough in our world. You’re in danger because he hasn’t done his duty by you.”
He stepped back and raised his arm. The curved blade reappeared in his hand.
“Tricia!” Christian’s worried shout came from between the rows of vines. A moment later, he ran up and pulled her into his arms.
“Claim her now, Lefevre. Then next time you’ll be able to find your woman before I can.”
“I didn’t want the claiming to be hurried like this,” Christian framed her face in his hands.
A blast of arctic air whistled around them, dragging at her skirt and hair.
“Merde.” Christian pivoted to face the direction of the wind, pushing her behind him.
“Too late, you bloody fool,” the duke bit out with a scathing sideways glance.
Christian’s trousers and shirt melted to be replaced by garb similar to the duke’s. His biceps bunched beneath thick golden bands as he raised his arms. A curved blade and sceptre appeared in his hands.
Twenty feet away, a hole opened in the air sending the temperature plummeting. With a terrifying howl, a sinewy dog-shaped beast the size of a horse bounded out of the ether. The creature crouched, muscles tensed, claws raking the dirt. Saliva dripped from wickedly sharp canines as its lips drew back on a growl. Tricia’s teeth chattered and she stumbled back against the trunk of the willow tree.
“Anubis,” Christian whispered, his tone thick with disbelief.
Tricia pressed a hand over her mouth. She recognized the black jackal form of the Egyptian god from ancient drawings. But it couldn’t be real; it couldn’t be hunting her.
“Take her to safety and claim her now,” the duke barked.
“You won’t be able to tackle Anubis alone. Call the others,” Christian replied.
“One of them will take your woman.”
“No they bloody well won’t.”
The duke cut Christian an oblique look. “Your call, Lefevre. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The duke sketched a string of Egyptian hieroglyphs with the top of his sceptre, leaving a pattern of blue fire hanging in the air. He spoke a couple of sentences she didn’t understand and the symbols melted away.
Anubis sprang at her with a blood-curdling growl. Christian and the duke pointed their sceptres at the beast and streams of green and blue fire poured over its head. But the creature kept coming. Christian stepped back, shielding her with his body while the duke charged forwards and hacked at Anubis’ neck with his blade. An arc of dark blood splattered across the sunbaked earth between the rows of grapevines. The animal pulled back, flickers of blue fire sizzling in the wound.
Tricia huddled between the tree and Christian, wishing she was anywhere on Earth but there. Cold blasted her and other men appeared, four, five; she lost count. She retreated behind the tree and watched from behind the trunk while the riverbank became a battleground. Anubis was bloodied and weakened but he kept trying to reach her. The Sons of Ra surrounded the beast, striking it with their blades and blasting it with fire from their sceptres. Mingled with Christian’s green fire and the duke’s blue were flaming streams of gold, turquoise, red and purple.
Angry words ricocheted back and forth between the men as they fought. Although she couldn’t understand everything the men said, they were obviously angry with Christian.
She was wondering if she should make a dash for the chateau when she sensed the air behind become heavy and still. Warily, she turned her head and gasped.
A tall Egyptian man stood a few yards away. His long black hair was tied back, framing the classic perfection of his bronzed features. Deep brown eyes outlined with black and turquoise narrowed on her. Gold glittered at his ears and jewels sparkled on every finger. A heavy gold torque set with turquoise and rubies glinted at his throat. He wasn’t dressed like the Sons of Ra, instead a midnight blue robe decorated with gold hieroglyphs hung from his broad shoulders, fastened with a sash around his narrow hips.
She rose, keeping her back to the tree trunk, acutely aware of the sounds of battle from the other side of the tree.
The weight of his gaze pressed against her like a physical force. Some primeval instinct warned her that this man was as dangerous as the slavering monster Christian and the other men were fighting.
The man’s nostrils flared. Deep, commanding words fell from his lips like the rumble of distant thunder. Her pulse raced and her breath shortened. But she couldn’t answer. She had no idea what he’d said.