Viking Ecstasy (28 page)

"
I
want to see him when he dies," Lysetta said, and the tremble in her voice was from excitement and anger, not fear.

Yasir looked at Lysetta, and at that moment, he realized he was employed by someone who was much deadlier than himself.

"If you want to see him die, it'll cost you more," Yasir said, but only because he could think of nothing else to say.

"I've given you enough already," Lysetta replied. Without a word, she reminded Yasir of their sexual encounters and that not all of them were completely without coercion. "In fact, I've given you more than you deserve."

He turned away from her then because he did not want her to see the fear in his eyes. She was lethal, like a cobra, and he sensed that she was ready to strike. He could only hope that she wouldn't strike at him, because he was certain that whomever she turned her venom on would never survive.

"It's got to begin now," Lysetta continued, her senses ready for violence. "Give me what I paid for . . . now!"

Yasir's inclination was to stall Lysetta, but the look in her eyes he had seen before in the eyes of savage young men. Men who had become soldiers because they wanted to kill for the joy of killing and because being a soldier was the only way to murder without suffering the wrath of the pharaoh.

They left then, Yasir following Lysetta through the palace to Tabor's quarters. He kept his eyes down, not wanting to meet anyone's gaze. He was following a woman, accepting a subservient role without complaint, and he realized then that he had at last met someone more evil than himself. When this night was over and the killing came to an end, he would run from the palace and never return.

Yasir was taken aback when they approached Tabor's quarters. Never before had there been a guard at the door, but there was one now. Did it mean that Tabor had been forewarned of the assassination?

"We cannot do this now," Yasir hissed beneath his breath.

Lysetta turned on him with a smile of pure blood-lust. "We cannot stop now. Kill the guard first, then we will go on to Tabor."

She turned then toward the tall blond man standing near the entrance to Tabor's room, and the smile that pulled at her mouth was genuine, since she was happy that she would get more death for her money. He watched her approach with wariness in his eyes. He did not remove the short, thick, deadly sword from the sheath at his hip, but he did grab the handle tightly, preparing himself for danger. He did not watch Lysetta as much as he watched Yasir, who followed her several steps behind.

"Is Tabor within?" Lysetta asked.

The foreigner looked at her uncomprehendingly. He did not speak her language, and she did not speak his. Lysetta then noticed the redness near the man's left eye and the puffiness of his jaw and realized that he was the man Kahlid's men had beaten. His powers of recuperation astonished her, and Lysetta's sultry smile slipped a fraction. She moved so that the muscular guard could not see both her and Yasir at the same time. She asked another question of the guard, studying his face carefully to see if he could understand her better than it appeared. His expression did not alter at all.

When Lysetta tried to slide over to peer into Tabor's quarters, the guard moved to block her path. She looked at him, smiling, and remembered then that someone had called him Carl. That he was one of the closest associates to Tabor pleased Lysetta. She remembered hearing how Tabor had insisted that this man and another enjoy nothing less than the finest accommodations in the palace.

"You can't understand me, can you?" Lysetta asked, inching closer to Carl. She ran the tip of her finger up his forearm, which was thick with muscle. In a face-to-face fight, she knew that Yasir wouldn't stand a chance against him —but that wasn't the way Yasir killed his victims.

"You're Tabor's friend," she said, the tip of her tongue playing lightly around her lips.

"Tabor?" Carl said, understanding that one word, his eyes darting back and forth from Lysetta to Yasir.

"His good friend. That's important. You see, he was given the opportunity to be with me, and instead he . . . chose not to. That was a mistake. I don't offer myself to just anyone, so when I do make the offer, I become offended when I am refused. And since he hurt me by his refusal, I'm going to hurt him." As she spoke, she was moving subtly, her eyes boring into Carl's, her voice a universal caress that bridged the gulf between their languages. "I'm going to hurt him in a special way. I'm going to hurt him by killing you."

It was at exactly that moment, when Lysetta had manipulated Carl so that his back was to Yasir, that the sharp dagger was thrust between his ribs. Even Carl's great Viking heart could not continue, and he had departed his body and was lifted toward Valhalla before his corpse hit the granite floor.

A shudder went through Lysetta as she stood over the corpse. This wasn't exactly as she had imagined, but it was good enough to have been worth the effort. It had also proven to Lysetta that Yasir could do the job.

"Tabor is next," Lysetta said, unable to look away from the corpse.

She had fantasized what it would be like to look into a man's eyes as he died, and her expectations had been fulfilled. But then, as she looked down at the corpse, a crimson pool formed beneath the body, bright red against the white marble. The smell of fresh blood filled Lysetta's nostrils, but the gory reality of murder was not what she had hoped.

"I ... I think you can handle it from here," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "When you're finished with Tabor, come see me. I'll be in my quarters."

There was a ringing in her ears, and her stomach churned. Lysetta forced herself to walk, not run, away from Yasir and the dead foreigner. Not even her great hatred for Tabor could make her stay to watch him die.

❧

It was at that moment, in a section of the palace far from Carl's lifeless body, that Kahlid grit his teeth in impotent rage. He stood outside the pharaoh's quarters, summarily dismissed. He had offered to do a tarot reading for the pharaoh, who had said that that important service would be handled by Tanaka alone. From the way Moamin spoke, Kahlid knew that even if Tanaka died, the pharaoh would not appoint him high priest. Moamin did not trust him, and that meant that Moamin, too, had to be disposed of.

With long, angry strides, Kahlid returned to his quarters, where Abdul awaited him.

"It's time," Kahlid said. "I want you to go immediately to the high priestess and kill her. When you're done, kill the pharaoh. He won't be heavily guarded."

"The high priestess first?" Abdul asked quietly.

"Then the pharaoh."

"Where is she now?" He was clearly more interested in Tanaka than in Moamin.

"In her quarters. Hurry now," Kahlid said, picking up a jeweled goblet. "There'll never be a better moment." He grabbed the front of Abdul's robe, balling the cloth in his fist. "Don't fail me," he said with chilling menace. "I'll lure Moamin away from his guards, and then it is up to you to kill him. Just don't fail. When the new day dawns, either we will both be successful or we will both be dead. Our destiny is tied together."

Abdul did not look away even though he was surprised at the vehemence of Kahlid's words. Surprised, but not afraid. When he had finished the killing, he would be the friend of a powerful man. Such a friendship had its benefits. All he had to do was kill and stay alive until Kahlid could consolidate his power. Life would be easy from then on for the foot soldier whose life and military career had thus far been undistinguished.

He left Kahlid's quarters imagining the advantages of being the personal assassin of a high priest.

Abdul could tell that something was different as he approached the high priestess's quarters, but he could not say what had changed. He reached inside his robe, curling his fingers around the haft of his slim dagger. It was a reassuring feel, one that let him know he was in control and that all who opposed him would die. But he did not draw the dagger, not wanting to alert any guards to his evil intentions. . . . and that's when he realized what was different.

There were no guards. And there were no servants. No retinue of women surround the high priestess and her living quarters.

Abdul stopped walking and withdrew the gleaming dagger from his robes. He held his breath and listened. There wasn't a sound to be heard, although there were over a hundred people in the palace.

The archway that led into Tanaka's wing was the last place for a man to stand guard. Again, no one. Abdul passed through the archway, stepping into an area where no men were allowed. Being a man in an entirely female world appealed to him. Inhaling deeply, he thought even the air itself smelled different—fresher, as though the women who breathed it were distinctly superior to the soldiers that were his usual companions.

Which doorway led to the high priestess? There were a half-dozen doors. Abdul had not been told which room was Tanaka's, and he had not thought to ask.

He glanced through the nearest doorway. The room was empty. He moved inside, driven by curiosity and the perverse pleasure he took in being in a woman's room while she wasn't there. The room belonged to Tanaka's servants, and there were clothes of fine linen present. Abdul took a garment and held it to his face, sniffing. The fabric was soft —much softer than anything he had ever owned —and it had the aroma of a woman's body in its soft folds.

Abdul dropped the garment. To smell the scent of woman on the cloth reminded him that he had a job to do. He felt the tingling rush of adrenaline through him. In a nearby room, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen was waiting with no guards to protect her.

His heart was pounding, his palm sweaty as he gripped his dagger. Abdul realized that if he were truly alone with the high priestess, there would be no one to tell Kahlid what he did with Tanaka before he killed her.

The third room that Abdul looked into was more luxurious than the others, and there could be no doubt that it was the high priestess's room. Abdul stepped in cautiously, respect making him question whether the gods would intervene and prevent him from doing the foul deeds he planned.

The room itself was dark, without so much as a lamp or torch for light. But from a side room Abdul saw a pale yellow glow. He froze, unable even to breathe. Very, very faintly he heard the lilting sound of a woman humming. He waited several seconds, forcing himself to relax, to remember that if he were discovered in the high priestess's quarters, Pharaoh Moamin Abbakka would have him summarily executed, his corpse dragged through the streets.

Abdul pressed his back to the wall, waited for his nerves to calm, then peered around the ornately carved doorway into the area enclosing High Priestess Tanaka's bed. The breath caught in his throat.

She was reclining against a mound of pillows, wearing a sheer gown of royal purple only loosely knotted at the waist. Her long, ebony hair was neatly brushed over her shoulders to follow the parted lapels of the robe. From his vantage point, Abdul was able to see the full, smooth inner swells of her breasts and the large gold ankh suspended from a gold chain resting in the valley of her breasts. Reclining on the bed, one knee raised, her thigh exposed, her body relaxed and voluptuous, she was fiercely arousing. He stepped slowly into the room, a cruel smile twitching on his lips and a sharp dagger in his hand.

❧

What's taking him so long?
Tanaka thought with the petulance of a child forced to wait for a gift.

Almost immediately, she chastised herself for her impatience. After all, hadn't she been the one to insist that Tabor wait until the candle burned down before he come to her?

She felt totally different, powerfully alive, and terribly naughty. Tonight would bring an end to all the arguing. She was certain of it. Tonight, she would prove to him, to herself, and to whatever and whichever gods were watching that the love they shared was too powerful to be denied.

She opened her eyes briefly and looked at the ceiling overhead, where the finest artists in the village had depicted the scene of her ascension into the heavens. Her smile broadened.
Yes,
she thought,
tonight I will indeed ascend to the heavens . . . and I'll make the voyage in Tabor's arms!

It was terribly wicked of her to arrange this tryst with Tabor in her own quarters, in a place where no man —not even the pharaoh himself—was allowed to enter. But she wanted Tabor to know exactly what he meant to her, what his presence in her life truly meant. By inviting him in to her sanctuary, Tanaka was refuting her past. She was not ignoring or pretending those hideous days she'd been Ingmar the Savage's captive had never happened, but she was putting those days and those experiences behind her. She could not control that which had already happened—she could not rewrite her own personal history—but she could influence her future. . . . and more than anything or anyone else, she wanted Tabor in her future.

Tanaka hoped that Thoth would understand and accept her actions.

She heard the heavy sound of a footstep. It surprised her. Despite Tabor's great size and strength, he was extraordinarily lightfooted. She felt disquieting fear pool in her stomach, fear that demanded action. Her first impulse was to heed it, to run from some approaching danger. But even as her muscles tensed in preparation, she smiled, willing herself to relax into the comfort of the pillows, firmly dismissing her fear. She was as paranoid as Tabor, who saw peril lurking everywhere. She could not remember a time when she'd heard his step, but she dismissed this as simply the result of his impatience to see her.

"I wondered how long it would take that candle to burn out," she said, keeping her eyes closed, wondering what was going through Tabor's mind as she lay in a sensual sprawl upon her bed, her robe opened just enough to give him a glimpse of what waited for him beneath. "Have the guards all gone? Did anyone see you? Oh, Tabor, I'm such a wanton woman where you're concerned."

"No one saw me."

The fear exploded in her soul. That was not Tabor's voice!

She sprang off the bed, pulling her robe more tightly around her, tugging at the sash to secure it. Only vaguely did she recognize the man who had entered her private quarters, and it was only her own impropriety and the desire to keep it a secret that kept her from screaming for guards to take the intruder away in chains. Only moments earlier she'd dismissed everyone, sending them to the far sections of the palace, thereby insuring that her passion with Tabor could be vocal, if desire so dictated, and yet still remain secret and private. There was no one to hear her screams, whether passionate or fearful.

"The pharaoh will have you killed for this!"

Abdul smiled, twisting the dagger in his hand. "The pharaoh would have me killed for being here? What makes you think the pharaoh is going to be alive tomorrow? Besides, what do you think the pharaoh would think about the Viking being invited here? A wanton woman and the high priestess? I don't think the pharaoh would like you being both."

Tanaka crawled backward on the bed until she was against the cool granite wall. She had seen the look that was now in Abdul's eyes in a man's eyes before — in Ingmar's when he knew he had her captive and that she was helpless against him. It was her helplessness that had most excited Ingmar, and Tanaka sensed instantly that Abdul shared the same depravities. It was no mistake that he had come to her bedchambers, just as it was no mistake that he held a dagger in his hand. His eyes were darkly feral.

"Get out of here," Tanaka said, trying hard to sound authoritative. "I'm warning you . . ."

Abdul chortled. "You like the yellow-haired foreigners? That's not right. If you're going to give your body to a man, you should give it to an Egyptian!"

The sight of him sickened Tanaka. Looking at him reminded her that she had argued with Tabor about the inherent treachery of his people compared to her own. The foolishness and naivete of that position now seemed ludicrous.

"Who sent you here?" she asked, walking backward off her bed, keeping a distance from Abdul as he advanced. "Why are you here?"

Abdul was a powerfully-built, stupid man whose closest association to people of power and influence was to guard their doorways. Gazing at Tanaka, he knew that he would never again get so close to such a woman; and, deep in his soul, he sensed that he would never live through this night of planned carnage. Since he valued his life so little, nothing prevented him from behaving however he wanted. Right now, what he wanted more than anything else was to feel Tanaka writhing beneath him!

"Can't you talk? What's wrong with you?" Tanaka demanded, backing along the wall, moving deeper into the room as Abdul advanced at exactly the same speed.

"Kahlid sent me." It took a moment for Abdul to realize that he had actually spoken the words. But when he saw the shock in Tanaka's eyes, he was happy that he had told her. "He's tired of having you around, so he hired me to see that you have another accident."

"Another accident?"

"Do you really think it was just coincidence that you were kidnapped from that boat when everyone else upon it was killed? Don't you remember how Kahlid encouraged you to get on it, how he said it would be good for you to breathe in the fresh sea air?"

Tanaka froze. It all came back to her. Kahlid had said that she looked pale and needed to breathe the sea air. He had said he never felt so spiritually pure as when he was in a boat far out in the Mediterranean. He had said that going out to sea with the village fishermen would be an experience she would never forget. . . .

"But . . . but how?" she stammered, momentarily forgetting the threat that Abdul represented, her gentle heart finding it difficult to believe that even a man like Kahlid was capable of such mendacity and deception.

"He met up with the foreigner in Alexandria. They were trading, and Kahlid told him that a fortune was to be made if you were taken from the fishing boat and killed." Abdul chuckled softly, almost within arm's reach of the high priestess now. "But he didn't kill you, did he?"

"He tried to kill my spirit, but he failed . . . just as you will fail!" Tanaka hissed, angry and defiant.

She thought then that it should not surprise her that evil such as Kahlid and Ingmar should be in league. It didn't matter that they did not speak the same language or sail the same seas. What mattered was that they were evil —hideous and vile —and that they preyed on helpless victims. It was only natural that such men should seek each other out. . . . and it was only natural that such men should be blotted out of existence, banished from the face of the earth into exile in the underworld.

"If you leave now, I promise that nothing will happen to you," Tanaka whispered, her voice trembling as she resumed her slow retreat from the intruder's advance.

He laughed again. "If I don't leave, I promise that something will happen to you."

It could not happen to her all over again. Not when Tanaka had at last thought she had put the past behind her and that the scars seared into her soul by Ingmar the Savage had healed sufficiently so that she was able to open again to life and to love.

"I'll kill myself before I let you touch me," Tanaka whispered.

Abdul laughed openly then. He knew there was no way for the high priestess to kill herself before he had forced himself upon her. And once he had satisfied the savage fire in his soul, then he would be the one who would kill.

He held the dagger but kept it safely out of the way when he lunged for Tanaka. He did not want to cut her, to mar her extraordinary beauty in any way. Not until he had finished with her, and then he would make it a quick, painless kill.

She screamed a high-pitched cry of fear as she leapt away from the outstretched hand that grabbed for her robe. Her scream was ecstasy to his ears, and Abdul's laughter became a steady huffing sound, like a winded man forcing himself to continue running when his lungs ache for a rest.

"Don't fight me," Abdul said, moving closer. He reached again for the high priestess's sleeve, but she skipped out of reach to the side. "I won't make it painful for you if you don't fight me."

He watched the way her breasts moved beneath the sheer robe she wore, the way her ebony hair fluttered against her cheeks, the way her slender thighs scissored as she rushed from him, moving deeper into the room and farther away from the one door that offered her only chance for escape. Everything about her, from the glittering of fear in her eyes to the way her moist lips trembled softly, excited Abdul. Whether he lived to see another day no longer mattered to him, not if he was able to know the power, the thrill of mastery, over this woman.

"You are mine," Abdul said softly, like the hiss of a cobra before it strikes. "There's nothing you can do to stop me."

A deep voice, thickly-accented, deadly serious, replied, "She may not be able to stop you, but I can."

Abdul wheeled to see Tabor bearing down on him. His hands were empty, and Abdul felt only momentary relief, since he was certain that in a fair fight with daggers or swords he would have no chance against the big Viking.

"Stay out of this or die, foreigner!" Abdul hissed with far greater courage than he felt. "Do not die for something that does not concern you!"

Tabor continued his approach, but now he moved slowly, his eyes icy blue, dancing back and forth between Abdul and Tanaka, assessing the situation, determining the best course of action.

For Tanaka, Tabor's presence had never brought greater relief, but his intrusion once again into her world was a two-edged sword: she was glad he had come to save her, but she was frightened for his safety. Even if she failed to defend herself against Abdul, if he did not kill her when he was finished, then she could once again try to put the hideous event behind her and get on with her life with Tabor. But if Tabor should die defending her, then there would be nothing left for her. She would have her life, but she would have lost her life's greatest joy.

"Tabor, no!" she whispered, taking the opportunity to move away from the corner in which Abdul had trapped her. "He has a dagger!"

"Yes. And I've got my hands," Tabor replied, holding his large, powerful hands out for Abdul to see. His forearms bulged with thick muscles, blue veins scoring the pale surface of his skin.

It was the certainty in his tone more than anything else that unnerved Abdul. Even though Tabor did not have a weapon, Abdul would lose this battle. It was one thing to die from the blade of a dagger, quite another to feel the strength in a man's hands as his fingers squeezed the life from you.

Abdul blanched at the thought. He held the dagger out in front of him, close to his hip so that Tabor could not easily pull it from his grasp.

"You'll die," Abdul said.

"Someday . . . but not this day," Tabor replied, moving forward in a crouch, hands out in front —a stance he had used as a boy when he wrestled with other boys. He advanced stealthily, his body tensed and poised, ready to spring like a mighty lion upon his prey.

"You frightened my love," he whispered in guttural Egyptian through teeth clenched in rage. "You frightened her, and for that you will pay."

Abdul's nerve failed him. But he was a skilled fighter. He was confident of this. He had also felt his nerve slip before, and he knew that the surest way to recover faltering courage was to draw first blood. Whenever he'd done this, each time he had seen his enemy's blood flow, his courage and confidence had returned with renewed vigor.

He feinted to the left, and then stabbed straight forward with the dagger. For such a large man, Tabor moved with startling swiftness.

Abdul's hideous laughing-breath rattled again as he advanced. His dark eyes glittered menacingly.

"Yellow-haired swine," he hissed. It was the worst thing he could imagine calling anyone, and it was mildly disconcerting that the foreigner didn't seem to fully understand the meaning of the insult.

Abdul watched as the crisscrossed muscles just above Tabor's right knee swelled, the thigh bulging powerfully, and he knew the foreigner was going to make his attack. Rather than waiting to make his defense, Abdul made a half-hearted, straight-ahead stab at Tabor's face with the dagger, forcing his foe to lean backward. In the next instant, Abdul slashed sideways with the dagger, drawing the blade over the Viking's left forearm.

Blood spurted from the four-inch wound, and Abdul's cry of victory mingled in the huge, echoing room with Tanaka's scream of fear.

Abdul had drawn first blood. He knew he would be victorious. He could not lose to an infidel! He lunged forward, stabbing with the dagger, certain that the Viking would realize that his only chance for survival was to retreat, to run from the greater might of Abdul!