Soul Unbound (Key to the Cursed Book 3) (8 page)

“You failed?”

Menthu gripped the hidden blade at his waist
tighter. The urge to slit the goddess Nebt’s throat to silence her was next to
unbearable. Much to his disappointment, Apep had given him strict orders to
wait until she was sufficiently turned. He did not have long to wait. “Shut up,
bitch.”

“We need Sekhmet,” Nebt said, slamming her fist onto
the wooden table.

“Only because you failed to overthrow Asar.
You
are in no place to make demands.” It had taken over three thousand years of
planning to get Kepi in Aaru. The scheme worked perfectly up until Kendra, the
youngest demi-god, got in the way, redeeming Asar’s son, Bakari. Menthu held
Nebt responsible for Kepi’s death. The loss of the goddess broke the reven
curse and ruined his plan of destroying the underworld from within. Nebt’s
failure required he realign his strategy with his daughter.

“I have sacrificed everything,” she hissed.
“Everything.”

Not quite everything. The goddess had a lot more
to offer, and he was going to show her just how much Apep could take from his
followers. He stalked forward, reveling in the fact the goddess shirked back.
Being of two realms, Menthu remained unaffected by the ancient curse. Nebt on
the other hand cowered in the building far from the sun. Her normally olive
skin was black and cold in the human realm, imprisoning her until the sun
dipped low on the horizon. Her repulsion for him only fed his arousal. He
wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed.

“I will deal with Sekhmet in my own way.” Nebt
reached up to grab his wrist. He slammed her against the wall. “Do not touch me
or I will rip your pretty little arm off your body.” Her talent for reading
souls had been a convenient source of information, but now it was just
annoying.

With teeth bared Nebt slammed her fists into
Menthu’s chest wound. Agony shot through his body. He staggered back, clutching
the gaping wound left by the Mevt dagger. Fate had spared him death, but the
gods’ death dagger had left an unhealing mark.

“Touch me again and I will rip your black heart
out of your chest and finish the job once and for all,” she hissed.

He chuckled darkly, covering his pain. “You have
committed yourself, goddess. Kill me and face the wrath of the Master. Kill
yourself and he will see to your suffering personally.”

A moan drew her gaze to the far corner of the
room. Her black eyes flicked back to meet his. “Your breakfast is ready. Clean
up after you are through.” She stormed to the adjacent room.

Menthu scanned the scantily clad woman lying on
the floor next to two other mutilated bodies. The stench of decay barely
registered in his nose. He scowled. Human females were so fragile. They barely
satisfied him before their bodies expired. The small drop of his daughter’s
blood had curbed his hunger longer than ten humans. Based on the floral taste,
Sekhmet had yet to find a mate. The thought satisfied him. Last thing he needed
was some half-cocked male interfering in her capture.

No one to miss her.

A blast of pain shot through his soul. He leaned
on the table, unable to breathe. Black blood dripped from the gaping wound in
his chest. His soul refused to let go of the last flicker of sanity, despite
all he had done to rid himself of it. He would destroy the weak emotion once he
offered his daughter to their Master. It mattered not if she was unwilling. He
exhaled labored breaths between his clenched teeth as the pain worsened.

The gelatinous blood spilled over the table’s edge
and snaked along the floor towards the corpse. The black substance entered the
mouth, blackening the dead human’s teeth. Menthu pushed off the table just as
the corpse began to twitch.

He stepped over the body and stared at the living
human sprawled in the most indecent pose on the floor. Not enough, he growled
silently.

His fury burned hotter as he trailed Nebt’s
energy. Tainted, but far more potent than the humans. He sneered. It was time
to introduce the Underworld goddess to the Chain of Command. She would service
him just as Kepi had before her death.

When he was done with her,
she
would be
begging to clean up the mess.

The wind whipped off the Hudson River across the
wooden dock. The coldness bit into Siya’s exposed skin unlike the warm breeze
of the black sand beach. Execution was more than content to remain on the
tropical isle. Conversely, her nerves bristled with uneasiness.

How close could she get to Bomani without
endangering the younglings? She rubbed her fingers against the freshly
laundered wool fabric of Bomani’s coat and the replacement shirt for the one
she destroyed. Sandwiches wrapped in brown paper were tucked into her coat
pocket.

She scanned the buildings down the road. Darkness
had yet to fall, so he should be hunkered into one of the buildings. Or, it was
possible she scared him off. She stared into the distance at her base. Theris’
reaction had been severe to the news of them staying. His patience for her
appeared to be slipping. Their argument escalated to the point she had been
forced to give him a direct order.

Something she had not done since the war.

It would be very easy for them to leave and not
look back, but her father’s presence here was unacceptable. Apep was using her
father’s hatred of the Creation Pantheon, but even she knew the Dark Lord would
not stop there. She thought of Fay, Earl and the little diner, a small beacon
of hope inside humanity’s corruption. She considered sending Theris and the
younglings ahead of her, but despite Theris’ loyalty, his motivations lay elsewhere,
a place her soul could not commit to him.

Blowing out a breath of frustration, she walked
down the street. When she first brought the younglings to this area, they had
thoroughly surveyed the buildings. There were several uninhabitable.

The crunch of the pavement beneath her feet chased
her down one street to the next. This block housed a condemned building. The
outside walls were intact, but the internal supports had buckled in on the
lower levels. The collapsed walls and steel girders would create voids, a
perfect place to hide from the sun. She paused at the entryway and inhaled. The
scent of old grease and rusted iron filled her lungs. The chains rustled overhead.
Crumbled concrete covered the floor of the open warehouse. She frowned, knowing
it would be impossible to enter without causing noise.

Her shadow stretched across the floor as the sun
dipped lower on the horizon. She stepped into the building but paused to scan
the shadows. Warriors were almost undetectable, one of their many talents to
include no scent, no heat signature and the ability to shift form.

Her eyes adjusted to the dimming light. The vision
of the world changed to various colors depending on the heat signature of the
object. The metal lit by the sun, glowed a bright red. Other areas faded to
orange, green and then blue. She maneuvered around the broken metal and chains.

She closed her eyes and listened. In the other
buildings rodents scurried about the floor and birds nested in the rafters.
Silence greeted her ears. Nothing moved but the links in the pulleys. She
tucked the clothes under her arm. Her fingers traced the outline of her saber,
just in case he did not take kindly to her invasion.

A large empty elevator shaft with a chain link
fence dominated the far wall. On the right sat an entrance to a stairwell, its
door hanging from the hinges. She stared down the freight shaft into a black
void below. Two levels down rubble littered the lowest point.

She dropped into the darkness and landed on the
thickest piece of concrete. Crouching, she surveyed the cramped space, which
was a collage of dark blues and greens. The wind whistled down the shaft and
blew loose pieces of her hair forward. A wave rippled back and washed over her
skin. Cold and statically charged, goose bumps rose along her arms and sent a
shiver down her spine.

In one corner of the room, the wall had blackened
in color. Siya’s heart pounded harder. He was nothing more than shadows and
mist. Adrenaline flooded her muscles with power, a reaction she could not
repress.

She stood and planted a foot behind her. Defying
her own warrior instincts, she forced her arms out to her sides with palms
forward.

The blackness consolidated into a large figure. An
eddy of frigid air caressed her face. The dark energy prickled her skin and
sent tiny shocks through her chest to her fingertips and toes. An odd
sensation, since he was only a warrior. No god elicited that sensation. Not
even her father.

A warning, perhaps.

The room’s temperature plummeted enough the cold
seeped through her coat. Clouds of white mist formed with each of her exhaled
breaths. The intensity absent on the beach revealed itself in the space between
them. A warrior on the defensive—volatile and dangerous. The shadows thickened
further into the outline of an enormous male. Warriors came in various large
sizes, but this Commander was massive. The light from above dimmed further and
darkness enclosed the shaft.

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the complete
darkness. Although dim, she could see him completely now. Her eyes were drawn
downward, beckoned by the elaborate scarification tattoos trailing down his
abdomen and disappearing underneath his waistband. Despite the lines of scars,
they did not restrict his movement, like elaborate armor or a second skin.

She froze, waiting and watching while he stared at
her with fierce black eyes. His feet made no sound as he stepped forward, slow
and deliberate.

“Raise your arms,” he commanded.

Without hesitation she complied. She would do the
same with an intruder, short of slicing off his neck. To gain his trust, she
allowed him to be in control. His hand skimmed her waist and removed her saber.
He pulled off her cape and removed the sword at her back. She exhaled a long
low breath when he set them aside. Relieved she lowered her arms.

He moved to her back, leaving a fresh trail of
goose bumps. “We are not finished.”

Gods, he was disarming her completely. She had to
respect him for knowing she would have more weapons hidden. His large hands
glided down her back to her butt and legs. He relieved her of two daggers from
her ankle straps. The clothes she had bundled under her arm were cast aside.

He shifted around and stood in front of her, towering
over her by several inches. She tipped her head back and met his hard
calculating eyes. His energy never lessened, and her nose stung from the
coldness he gave off. His hard palms glided down her arms and squeezed at
strategic locations. He pulled back her sleeves and unsnapped the small knives
from her forearms. The pile of weapons on the floor grew with each sweep. His
hands dropped down her chest and cupped her breasts and continued their journey
south. She fought the heat building from the simple pat-down.

Did he know how lucky he was to be the first and
only?

She inhaled sharply when he grazed her inner
thighs and gratuitously cupped her sex. His cold energy burned against the
warmth of her sensitive skin. She was good, but to hide a weapon there was just
obnoxious. He went through her coat pockets and threw the wrapped food to the
floor. Irritated, Siya glared when he stood and faced her.

“Satisfied.”

“Not really. Why are you here?”

“I brought your coat. Felt it was only neighborly
to replace your shirt and bring some food.”

“And you expect what in return?”

His bitterness hit like a slap in the face. He was
right. She had come with an ulterior motive. “A truce.”
An alliance
, but
she dare not speak of it.

He frowned and stepped back. She stooped and
picked up the bundle of fabric. “Listen, I have interests to protect, just as I
am sure you do. I want no trouble.” She held it out for him to take.

He ignored her offer and crossed his arms over his
bare chest. Damn if he was as stubborn as Khalfani. Possibly more so. This
whole situation intrigued her. “Take it or leave it, I care not.” She leaned
against the broken rock and gripped the clothing in her lap. Haru always said
her obstinate nature rivaled anyone he knew.

After a ten minute staring contest, he stalked
forward and snatched the bundle from her hands. He pulled the gray sweatshirt
over his head. She admired the ripple of his muscles across the expanse of his
back and arms. Despite choosing the largest size, the material stretched snug
across his chest and broad shoulders. The length matched his long torso
perfectly. He ran a hand down the front, smoothing out the fabric. This
particular manmade material trapped in body heat and insulated from the cold.

A small amount of satisfaction flooded her soul
and fed the side most like her mother. Did they both have a weakness for rogue
males? Siya shifted her weight on the rock, suddenly uncomfortable with the
thought. Distracted, she did not notice his closeness.

Only when the chill lessened against her skin did
she look up. Black brows dipped low over his eyes. A mix of curiosity and
confusion infused those dark depths. She cleared her throat and grabbed the
brown package off the floor. “Here. It is not much.”

He unwrapped the paper and stared down at the
stacks of bread, meat and cheese. “They call them heroes.” When he narrowed his
eyes, she groaned. “Poisoning is not my style,” she said, and grabbing the top
sandwich, she bit into it. She placed it back on the stack and raised her arms
at her sides. “See.”

Gods, she loved these sloppy but delicious human sandwiches.
She savored the flavor before swallowing. Licking the corners of her mouth, she
caught the small drops of mustard and froze, realizing he was watching her
intently. “Sorry,” she shrugged. “I never did have great table manners.”

Sitting across from her, he lifted the sandwich to
his lips and took a large bite. He paused mid-chew and looked at her.

“Good?” she asked with a half-smile. Maybe the
human saying was true.
The way to a man was through his stomach.

He gulped the five foot-long sandwiches, then
folded the wrapper and placed it next to him. Placing his hand across his
stomach, he leaned back against the wall and sighed.

She surveyed the room. Did he sleep here? She
frowned, looking at the damp cold cement. Debris and rodent excrement littered
the ground. She walked over to an opening and peered inside. Much of the same.
No bed or fire.

Memories of the first years of her exile assaulted
her. Back then she had abided by the laws of no interaction with humans. She
had starved for weeks before resorting to stealing and plundering crops. Rumors
had spread in her wake of plagues and curses.

Idle and without purpose, she spiraled in a series
of self-destructive behaviors over the centuries. No one had been there to stop
or redirect her. Despite the rare interaction with Haru, she had no contact
with the Pantheon.

Drunk on human wine, she had passed out in a villager’s
barn. It had been the humans who saved her after all she had done to them. A family
with little more than the clothes on their backs, a rickety barn and a one room
farmhouse changed her life.

* * *

Bomani stared at the goddess’ profile, which was
outlined in glowing white. The scarab mark at the base of her neck burned
bright green against the red warmth of her body. Oddly, her heat did not burn
him, like every other Creation god. Her soul’s flame burned a luminescent
white, untainted. His eyes gravitated to the scarab mark. A perplexing
contradiction.

She appeared out of sorts in the drab grey utility
clothing. Her high cheekbones, soft brow and full lips were of regal dissent.
Soft wisps of hair caressed the perfect skin of her cheek. The straps of her
sword’s harness hugged the tight curves of her body. He fisted his hands
remembering the softer areas.

Sekhmet did not appear rushed or paranoid, like
most exilers he hunted. Her posture was alert, yet relaxed in her surroundings.
She was still in possession of Creation weapons.

He reminded himself to heed at least one of Bast’s
directives—not to underestimate the Goddess of War. An undeniable danger
saturated the air around this female. An exiler of extraordinary power and
strength demanded respect and distance.

“I do not want any trouble. We understand each
other?” Her fair green eyes targeted him.

Her tone had him guessing whether she was flirting
or threatening him. He had felt the tension in her body when he disarmed her.
The fine contraction in her muscles when he ran his hands over her body. To see
her in action must be extraordinary.

She cocked her hip and crossed her arms over her
chest. “So you lost your soul
and
your voice?”

He jerked himself out of his trance and stood on
his feet. “Yeah, no trouble.”

“Glad we understand each other,” she said and bent
over to pick up her weapons.

Bomani stared at the fine curve of her hips and
ass. Hunger burned in his veins, despite the fullness of his stomach. He buried
the sensation. He had to remain unattached and aloof to avoid any more
complications.

She was an exiler. His mark.

“Watch yourself.” Sekhmet met his gaze one last
time, and then leapt to the upper level.

Bomani stared at the elevator shaft, the space now
empty. Bast would lengthen his sentence if she ever discovered he had made
contact with the exiler. Finding the answers about his predecessor was not
worth the risk.

He rubbed the pain in his temple and paced the
small expanse of concrete. “Leave it alone
,
” he growled at himself, but
the pull on his chest worsened with each passing second.

Damn it.
Unable to resist the urge to follow
her, he dematerialized and reappeared on the first floor. Sekhmet stood in the
doorway staring up into the night sky. The moonlight wrapped her in an earthly
glow.

Did she wait for him?

He banished the question from his mind. The answer
did not matter. He needed to obtain Sekhmet’s trust and with it intel he could
use for Bast.