The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

Helen Scott Taylor The Sons of Ra

Chateau Montgatine gleamed in the sun like a spun-sugar palace. Colourful flower borders laid out in the pattern of Egyptian symbols trimmed either side of the long gravel driveway. Tricia knew about the mystical floral design even though it was only visible from above. Twenty-two years ago, Christian Lefevre, the Comte de Montgatine, had taken her up in his private plane to show her.

The years telescoped, taking her back to the first time she’d set eyes on the chateau as a naive eighteen-year-old. She’d felt like a fairytale princess, dreamed of romance and happy endings. She’d grown from a girl to a woman during her month in France and learned that happy endings were strictly for fairytales.

She pushed the button on the intercom by the gate.

“Bonjour.” A man’s voice gabbled a few incomprehensible sentences through the crackly speaker.

“Bonjour, monsieur. I have an appointment with the Comte.”

“Ah, oui, oui. Welcome back to Chateau Montgatine, Mademoiselle Tricia.”

Tricia’s heart skipped as she recognized the voice of Christian’s butler. “Monsieur Benoit, is that you?”

“Oui, oui. Still here, mademoiselle, still here. We talk in a moment.”

The latch on the gate clicked open and the wrought-iron sections swung inward. Tricia jumped back into her rental car and started the engine. Her pulse sprinted as she drove to the chateau. She might be forty now, a different person to the teenager who’d given her heart away, but the prospect of facing her first love left her breathless with nerves. If only there had been someone else she could have turned to for advice.

The front door opened as Tricia grabbed her briefcase and climbed out of the car. Monsieur Benoit stood on the top step beaming a welcoming smile. “You have not changed at all, mademoiselle.” She intended to tell him that he should call her madame, but before she could speak, he hugged her, pressing the customary three kisses to her cheeks.

“You’re too kind, Monsieur Benoit. You haven’t changed either.” He must have been forty when she’d stayed in a cottage near the chateau over two decades ago, but he certainly didn’t look sixty now. He barely had a grey hair.

A strange little flutter of unease passed through her as she glanced around the chateau grounds. Two gardeners were busy weeding, lizards sunbathed on the limestone walls and swallows swooped and circled over the garden, snatching insects from the sun-drenched, fragrant air. If it hadn’t been for the briefcase clutched tightly in her damp hand and the small Citroën rental car, she could almost believe she’d been transported back in time.

Tricia shook herself and followed Monsieur Benoit into the cool interior of the chateau. Her sense of déjà vu continued. The intricate coloured patterns on the walls and ceiling were unchanged, the furniture exactly as she remembered. Tricia laughed, mainly to relieve some of the tension clogging her throat. “You haven’t redecorated I see.”

“Oh no, no. The Comte, he does not like change.”

He’d been quick enough to change his feelings for her. Tricia pressed her lips together. Now was not the time to dredge up old hurts. She couldn’t change the past. She could only make the most of the present and her present involved her passion for her job at the Bristol Institute of Art. This meeting was business, not pleasure. She’d best remember that.

She smiled at the butler. “May I see the Comte now?” The name “Christian” whispered in her mind, but she had no right to call him by his given name. Twenty-two years apart had made them strangers again.

“Oh, of course, of course. He waits for you in the library.”

Tricia’s breath eased out in relief. She and Christian had never spent time together in the library, so she would not be haunted by memories. Maybe that was why he’d chosen to meet with her in that room.

After following Monsieur Benoit to the library door, she passed through with a smile when he opened it for her. She breathed slowly, evenly, stared at the rows of old leather-bound books. Calm and professional, she repeated in her head. The click of the door closing made her heart trip; then she heard a rustle of clothing.

“Madame Cole. Tricia.”

The sound of her name spoken in the deep, achingly familiar voice from her memories drew her gaze inexorably to the man on the far side of the room.

She froze. Shock pounded in her chest, echoed in her temples, beat a drum of startled panic through her body. The briefcase dropped from her nerveless fingers to the floor.

Framed by the elegant marble fireplace, Christian stared back at her wearing his familiar linen suit, his hair neatly trimmed, his eyes green as emeralds, his skin supple, bronzed, smooth.

He hadn’t aged at all.

Lines formed between his eyebrows. He moved towards her. “Are you all right, Madame?”

Tricia’s hand pressed over the frantic beat of her heart. “You’re so. . young,” she breathed in a strangled voice.

Understanding flashed across his face, followed by pain. “No one has told you. I’m sorry. My father passed away ten years ago.”

Tricia blinked, his words skating around her brain, making no sense. She grabbed for a chair back. He hurried over to support her elbow, help her into the chair. Then he pulled another seat up and sat facing her.

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Although Christian had sent her away, knowing he was living out his life in the same world as she had given her some kind of comfort. Too late, she realized that deep inside she had still dreamed he might want her back.

But now. . “Dead?” she whispered, daring to look this doppelganger in the face. He was the spitting image of his father. His eyes were the exact same shade of green; his hair the same light brown with sun-kissed streaks. Could a son resemble his father to such an extent? Even identical twins had some differences, didn’t they?

“I’m so sorry, Tricia. Remy must have forgotten to tell you.”

“How old are you?” she whispered. Even as the words passed her lips, she realized it was rude to ask such a direct question. Especially of a comte she’d only just met. But every cell in her body was shocked into confusion. Instinct told her she knew this man. Everything about him was familiar.

“I believe I was born the same year you visited France.”

A shaft of pain caught her breath. So there had been another woman in Christian’s life even as he romanced her. A woman carrying his child. He must have married the other woman, or her son would not have inherited the title.

“How do you know which year I visited?” she asked, hoping he had made a mistake.

The Comte rose and fetched something from a desk under the window. He held out a small wooden frame containing a photograph of her sitting on the edge of the fountain in the secret garden, smiling at the camera. An exquisite butterfly hair clip decorated with diamonds and rubies glinted against her dark hair. She’d almost forgotten the romantic afternoon when Christian had taken her along the maze of tiny paths overhung with roses and given her the gift. She’d treasured that precious butterfly for the grand total of three days. When he sent her away, she’d thrown it back in his face.

The Comte pointed to the date written in the corner. “My father kept this photograph on his desk.”

Why would he keep a photo of her? Christian had been the one to end their relationship, claiming she was too young for him. Even though he had only been in his early twenties. Although at times he’d seemed much older than his years, just as the young man before her did. Christian’s son could only be twenty-one, yet his assured manner belonged to a man twice his age.

The Comte rose and filled a tumbler with amber liquid from a decanter. He returned and held out the glass. “You’ve had a shock. Cognac will steady your nerves.”

Tricia barked a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Christian gave me cognac when I was stung by a bee once and. .” Her words choked off with emotion as the memory rose from the deep recesses of her mind. After a long moment staring at his lean fingers holding the cut crystal, she accepted the glass. The smooth liquid burned a path down her throat.

“A predilection for Cognac is in the Lefevre genes,” he said wryly.

By the time she’d downed the contents of the glass, a warm fuzzy sense of unreality filled her head. “You look so much like your father. I’m finding it difficult to. .” She rubbed her temples. “Maybe if you tell me your name it’ll help.”

He rose, placed her glass on a silver tray, then stared out the window for a few seconds, his shoulders tense. “It’s Christian, I’m afraid. . after my father.”

Tricia’s sense of unease flared again as this young Christian, who could have stepped out of her dreams, turned to look at her. For long moments, his emerald gaze perused her face, her body, as if he wanted to memorize her. “Still so beautiful,” he said softly.

Her breath escaped on a tiny gasp. “What?”

He curved an elegant hand towards the photo. “Compared to your picture, Madame, you’ve aged well, like a fine wine.”

Her heart tripped, flickers of awareness racing through her in response to his appreciative gaze. She stared at her hands gripped tightly in her lap. Being attracted to this man was wrong. He was little more than a teenager; the son of the man she’d loved.

He picked up her briefcase and placed it beside her chair, then sat before her again, suddenly all business. “If you’re recovered from your shock, perhaps you’d like to tell me why you came all this way to see me.”

“I came to see your father.”

His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I might be able to help you.”

He must have inherited his father’s possessions. Perhaps he would recognize the objet d’art about which she wanted information.

A sense of purpose infused Tricia as she unfastened her briefcase. She took out the photograph of the strange transparent pyramid that had been bequeathed to the Institute. “We can’t find anyone who knows what this is.” She handed the photo to Christian. “The base of the object is twenty-four inches square and the thing’s very heavy. There appear to be flames inside it, but it must be a clever special effect. I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me what it is because I saw something similar here years ago.”

“When?” The young Comte’s gaze snapped up from the image and pinned her in place. His eyes flickered like green fire. For the first time in years, Tricia’s cheeks grew hot. This young man hadn’t even been born on the day she’d crept into the chateau uninvited, hoping to beg Christian to take her back. She had found no sign of the man she loved, but the memory of the mysterious pyramid full of green fire that she’d found in his bedroom was seared into her mind.

“Years ago.” She pushed away her sense of embarrassment and tapped a finger on the photograph. “The pyramid the Institute has contains blue fire rather than green, apart from that, it’s the same as the object I saw here. The transparent material is definitely not glass, it’s crystalline.”

The Comte’s gaze had fallen to the image again. Now his eyes rose to interrogate her with an authority that looked strange for one so young. “Has anyone touched it?”

Tricia nodded. “Of course. It’s been uncrated and examined.”

“Did you touch it?”

A tremor of apprehension passed through her at the alarm in his voice.

“Why shouldn’t I touch it? It’s fascinating. The flame inside looks real, but the pyramid appears to be sealed. Real fire can’t burn without oxygen.”

The Comte banged his fist on the arm of his chair, making her jump. “Ça alors! After all I gave up to protect you.”

“What are you talking about?” Christian’s son hadn’t done anything to protect her. She hadn’t met him until today.

“Where is the ben ben?” At her frown, he gestured impatiently at the photograph. “I mean the pyramid, Tricia, where is it?”

“In the secure area beneath the gallery at the Bristol Institute of Art.”

“I need to see it.”

Tricia found herself shaking her head in confusion. “Can’t you just explain what this ben ben is? Once I know, the Institute can value it and decide whether or not to put it on display.”

“The ben ben must be kept hidden.” The Comte surged to his feet, paced to the door and wrenched it open. “Remy!” When Monsieur Benoit hurried up, Christian issued rapid instructions in French. Then he returned to her and stared intently at the pyramid’s photograph. “We depart for England immediately. You will not leave my sight, Tricia. We’re lucky you have not already been claimed.”

Tricia rose to her feet unsteadily. Irritation stirred across her shocked thoughts. The emotional meeting and his strange reaction had left her shaken, but she did not intend to let this young upstart take over and treat her like an idiot. “You’re welcome to come and view the pyramid, my lord, but I can look after myself. There’s no reason why I should be in danger.”

“Non?” His breath hissed out between his teeth. He closed his eyes for a second and flexed his shoulders, making a visible effort to relax. When his eyes opened again, he surprised her by reaching for her hand. He raised her knuckles to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to them.

Streamers of tickly heat fluttered through her belly, leaving her breathless with mortification at her response. She must not react to him like this. She was old enough to be his mother.

His glittering green gaze caressed her face and a tiny smile caught at the corners of his mouth. “My noble intentions are undone, mon amour. I gave you up to protect you from danger, but danger has found you anyway. I should be sorry, but my heart sings now fate has given you back to me.”

Christian piloted the helicopter from France to Bristol Airport in the UK. The emotional roller coaster of the last few hours had left Tricia lightheaded. Was it only this morning that she’d set out from her hotel in the pretty French market town of Montgatine?

Could this young Comte really be the man she’d lost her heart to twenty-two years ago?

Dusk had fallen by the time they landed. After their passports had been checked, Christian guided her to a black limousine and they headed off to the Institute of Art.

Tricia huddled in a corner of the back seat, staring at Christian, confusion unravelling her thoughts. The highlights in his hair shone guinea gold in contrast to the black trousers and black leather jacket he’d donned for their night foray. He smiled, his green eyes glittering with gold flecks. Instead of taking the far seat, he slid up beside her as the car moved off. “I’m sorry to have upset you. Do you forgive me?”

A tight little laugh burst from her throat. “No! You lied to me.” She’d thought she knew the man she loved but she hadn’t known him at all.

He gave a small resigned nod of understanding. “I did not break up with you because you were immature as I alleged but because I wanted to protect you from the dangers in my life.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not immature now. I’m old enough to be your mother.”

He took one of her hands and gripped it tightly in his warm palm. “Believe me, looks can be deceiving.”

“I’m forty. You were masquerading as twenty-one a few hours ago. That makes me old enough to be your mother.”

“You’d have been a very young mother,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Stop splitting hairs.” She yanked her hand away from him. Despite her protestations, she felt more like an ignorant child. “Why haven’t you aged?”

He angled his head, searching her face for her reaction as he answered. “I do age. My secret is that I can renew myself.”

“Huh? So you’ve discovered an elixir of eternal youth?” Sarcasm edged her words.

“I renew myself with fire, Tricia. The fire inside the crystal pyramid you have at the Institute of Art is the life essence of a man like me. My race was at its most powerful in ancient Egypt. We’re the Sons of Ra.”

His words zapped her befuddled brain to full alert. Her job had taught her a lot about Egyptian history. Ra the sun god was supposed to die every evening when the sun went down only to be reborn when the sun rose again in the morning. His followers had worshipped him in a temple called the Mansion of the Phoenix.

Sun, fire, rebirth.

Her breath trembled. Was Christian telling the truth?

If she believed him, then that meant the transparent pyramid in the Institute’s basement contained the essence of a man. It also meant that the green fire she’d seen in the pyramid in Christian’s room all those years ago had been his life essence. The idea was impossible to comprehend.

Full dark had fallen by the time the limousine drew up outside the Institute. Tricia stepped out into the pool of illumination beneath a street light. Panic caught in her throat as she mounted the steps to the impressive entrance of the Victorian building. She retrieved her keycard from her purse and swiped it before tapping in the access code.

Christian glanced over his shoulder then followed her into the building. The security lights blinked on when they sensed movement. “Make sure you lock this door behind us,” he instructed.

The serious tone of his voice made her pause to stare at him. “Are you expecting some kind of trouble?”

“Let us say it pays to be careful.”

Christian prowled around, his gaze darting down the shadowy side corridors. How had she ever fallen for the story that he was only twenty-one? Everything about him screamed experience and power. He returned to her and placed a hand on her back. “Take me to the ben ben.”

“I need to check in with security first.”

Christian gave a single nod. “I’ll come with you.”

Even the hollow sound of Christian’s footsteps behind her held the ring of authority.

Once the guard had deactivated the alarm system on the basement level, Tricia led Christian down the narrow stairs that had originally been used by domestic staff back in the days when the building had been a private mansion.

“The ben ben didn’t come down these stairs. Is there another way in?” Christian asked.

“The old servant’s entrance gives access at basement level. The doorway’s been enlarged to allow crates to be delivered that way.”

“How are the objects in the basement moved up to the gallery?”

“There’s a service elevator.”

Christian paused at the foot of the stairs to glance around. “Any other exits? Maybe doors that aren’t normally used.”

“There’s a fire door on every floor, leading to the fire escape at the back of the building. Except on this level.”

He gave another of his quick nods. “Show me the ben ben, please.”

Tricia stared at him while his gaze tracked around the space. His eyes glowed an inhuman golden green in the muted light. That did more to convince her he had told the truth about the Sons of Ra than anything he’d said. “What will you do with the pyramid?”

“I’ll decide when I see it.”

Not the answer for which she’d hoped. She just wanted him to crate the thing up and take it away so she could be done with all this weirdness.

She led him into the assessment room where all new pieces of doubtful origin were checked before being logged on to the system. So far, the only official record of the pyramid was a delivery note.

Tricia snapped over ten switches on the lighting control panel. Spotlights beamed on to the transparent pyramid in the centre of the room.

Christian stilled beside her. For long seconds he didn’t even appear to breathe. The blue-tinged flames in the heart of the artifact danced and flickered, as real as any fire she’d ever seen. “Merde. That shade of blue belongs to Benedict Rothswell’s family.”

A jolt of shock rooted Tricia to the spot. She sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean. . “Are you talking about the Duke of Buckland?”

Christian wheeled around to face her. “You know him?”

“He’s the Institute’s patron. He owns this building.” She flung out an arm to indicate the mansion. “He owns half of Bristol actually.”

“And you touched the ben ben?” Christian’s gaze narrowed. “We have a serious problem.”

“I have to concur, Lefevre,” a deep masculine voice said. “I take a very dim view of your entering my territory without invitation, or even permission.”

The smooth, deep baritone of The Duke of Buckland made Tricia turn, her heart thumping. “Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She winced inwardly at the stupid comment. He’d obviously arrived unannounced in the middle of the night to avoid discovery.

The duke’s flaring blue gaze made her step back. She’d met him five times as part of the management team welcoming him to an event at the Institute, and they had never exchanged more than a polite greeting. Tall, with hair the colour of polished ebony, and a cut-glass British accent, he exuded breeding and authority from every inch of his powerful frame. He had the compelling attraction of a large predator. He strode purposefully towards her.

Christian was suddenly in front of her, blocking her view of the duke, yet she hadn’t even seen him move. “She’s mine, Rothswell.”

“You haven’t claimed her yet, Lefevre and she’s in my domain. Ergo, she is mine.”

“I discovered her twenty years ago.”

The duke laughed, a dark chuckle edged with primeval hostility that did not belong to a civilized man. “Negligent of you, Lefevre, not to trap the pretty butterfly before now. I have males in my family who would fight for her. Why should I let you walk away with something so rare?”

“As the price for my help.”

An electric tension hummed in the room as the two men faced each other down. Tricia stepped back and pressed herself to the wall, mute with disbelief at what she’d just heard. They sounded positively medieval. The duke glanced at the pyramid spotlighted in the centre of the room and annoyance flashed across his face.

“I’m guessing that your son rests inside that ben ben,” Christian said softly. “You’ll need help if you plan to force him to renew. Let me take the butterfly back to France and I’ll lend you my power.”

Tricia’s pulse beat so fast the blood vibrated in her temples. It wasn’t difficult to understand that she was the butterfly they were discussing like a couple of Neanderthals vying for the right to drag her away by her hair. She could just about understand why Christian might want her now, after all, he had desired her twenty years ago. But the concept that the Duke of Buckland knew men who would fight over her was absurd.

A coppery flush painted the duke’s cheekbones. When he glanced back at Christian, his eyes glowed blue. “You win this time, Lefevre. But I’m warning you, claim the woman or my family will take her from you and make her ours.”

Tricia did not intend to be claimed as a possession by any man, even a wealthy, handsome, titled man. She edged along the wall towards the door, her breath coming in shallow snatches as the two men approached the pyramid.

Christian stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it over a chair, while the duke removed his charcoal-grey suit jacket and red tie.

The duke ran his hands over the four surfaces of the transparent shape, searching for something. “Here,” he said at length, turning to Christian. “Careless as usual, my son’s left a fault that will give us a starting point.”

Tricia’s retreating feet halted and she stared, unable to drag her gaze away as both men stepped back and extended their arms. A four-foot long sceptre with a flat head and forked tail appeared in each man’s hand. They both pointed the tops of their sceptres at the pyramid. “Cover your ears and look away,” Christian called over his shoulder to her.

A moment later, a blast of gold-green fire from his sceptre hit the pyramid at the weak spot. The duke’s gold-blue fire streamed out, targeting the same spot.

Tricia slapped her hands over her ears at the agonized screaming sound like metal straining under impossible force. She squinted through the shadow of her dark lashes, unable to look away from the terrifying spectacle. The pyramid started to glow so brightly her eyes hurt and the heat warmed her from across the room. The floor beneath the melting crystal had to be getting hot. She sidled closer to the door and scrabbled blindly for the fire extinguisher she knew was there.

“Your son’s resisting the rebirthing,” Christian shouted.

“He’s bloody lazy and doesn’t want to wake up,” the duke replied.

Tricia released the fire extinguisher from its panel and peered at the instructions. Why had she never bothered to find out how the damn thing worked?

Slowly, the transparent pyramid melted. When the trapped blue flames burst forth into the air, Christian and the duke stopped their assault and pulled back.

The fire from inside the pyramid licked the ceiling. Tricia hefted the extinguisher, ready to douse the flames. Before she could press the trigger, the last traces of the pyramid disappeared and a man’s naked body materialized.

Tricia hugged the extinguisher like a lifeline to normality as the man’s face appeared. With his dark hair and blue eyes, the young man closely resembled his father.

Christian hurried back to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Buckland can clear up his mess. Let’s get out of here.”

“Cover yourself up,” the duke growled at his naked son. He cuffed the young man on the side of the head, sending him stumbling into a computer desk, then tossed a dustsheet at him.

Christian eased the extinguisher out of Tricia’s death grip and placed it on the ground.

“Where am I?” The young man asked, blinking in confusion.

“Up to your neck in trouble, boy. As usual.” The duke grabbed his son by the arm and propelled him past them and out of the door. The boy looked barely more than a teenager. His bemused blue gaze snagged hers when he passed and her sympathy welled.

The duke paused and seared her with his stare. “Not a word of this to anyone, Lefevre, or the woman’s mine.”

Tricia shrugged Christian’s arm off her shoulders the moment the duke and his son disappeared. As her fear receded, her anger flared. She hurried up the steps from the Institute’s basement and through the silent echoing Victorian hallway to the front door. Her legs felt weak, but she wasn’t going to admit as much.

“The immediate danger is over, Tricia,” Christian said in a soothing tone.

“Wonderful. You can go away then.”

She stomped out of the front door and, despite her bravado, her heart gave a little leap of relief when she saw the black limousine still waiting for them outside. Although she was hurrying in front, Christian managed to pass her and have the car door open for her when she reached the road. She climbed in and crossed her arms.

Once the vehicle was moving, Christian slid closer to her with a disarming grin and ran a fingertip down her arm. There was no hint left of the formidable man who’d stood up to the duke. Instead, he behaved like the charming Comte she’d known years ago, a man who’d spent his days inspecting his vineyards and romancing her. She should be frightened after seeing him blast fire from a sceptre that appeared out of thin air, but her mind couldn’t summon fear. This was her Christian. The man she’d loved. But did she still love him? Was it possible to forgive him for hurting her?

“You know I would never let Buckland take you, don’t you?”

“I won’t let him take me,” she retorted, knowing full well after what she’d seen tonight that the duke wouldn’t ask for her permission. She’d admired the Institute’s patron as a strong, powerful man who got things done. Now the thought of his attitude to her made her temper simmer. “Why did the duke call me a butterfly?”

Christian’s breath sighed out and he laced his fingers through hers. “Buckland is old school and rather medieval in his attitudes. Butterfly is normally a term of endearment, mon amour.”

The limo pulled up outside Tricia’s small house.

“May I come inside?” he asked.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“The term butterfly for a woman was coined centuries ago. The Sons of Ra are all male as the name suggests, but there are women who carry the gene. These women are always drawn to us, like moths to a flame.” He smiled. “I don’t know if someone confused butterflies and moths, but that’s where the term originated.”

“So I carry the gene? Any son I have will be like you?”

“Only a son fathered by one of the Sons of Ra.”

Tricia stared at the back of the driver’s seat her eyes losing focus. She and her ex husband had tried unsuccessfully for five years to have a baby. “If that’s why the duke thinks I’m worth fighting over he needn’t bother. I can’t have children.”

She expected Christian to express shock, sorrow, offer the usual platitudes. Instead, the gentle stroke of his fingers continued brushing her arm. “You’ll only be able to conceive a child with one of us.”

“What?” Tricia’s temper shot to boiling in an instant. She elbowed him away, pulling on the door handle.

“Wait, Tricia.”

She jumped out of the car and rounded on him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Tears filled her eyes, ached in her chest. By keeping quiet, he’d sentenced her to years of heartbreak trying for a baby she couldn’t have. She’d lost her husband through the strain the experience had put on their relationship. “When you sent me away, you knew I wouldn’t be able to have a child with another man because of this bloody gene. But you didn’t think that fact was worth telling me?”

She pivoted away from the car and ran up the steps to her front door, fumbling for the key in her purse.

“Tricia, calm down.” Christian gripped her shoulders and she ducked away from his touch.

“Get lost. You had a chance to tell me all this twenty years ago. Instead of helping me to understand, you cut me off with no explanation, even though you knew it would affect my life.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what? From jerks like the duke? Strange that I’ve been working for him for the last twelve years then, isn’t it?” Her fingers finally closed around her key and she jammed it in the lock. She tried to squeeze through the door and shut Christian out, but he wedged a foot in the gap.

She gave up trying to exclude him and retreated to the kitchen, flicking on all the lights as she went. The front door closed and she heard the deadlock click and the security chain engage. “We’ll stay here tonight,” Christian said, following her into the kitchen. “You’re tired and distressed. Buckland has enough on his plate this evening dealing with his son. I doubt he’ll come for you.”

“You’re not staying with me,” she snapped.

Ignoring her, he found two mugs and started to make coffee. She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching him. His lithe perfectly balanced body radiated youthful energy. His skin was smooth, not a line or wrinkle in sight. His thick hair gleamed gold under the kitchen spotlights. She turned and stared at her reflection in the glass cabinet doors. She’d kept her figure because she hadn’t had children. Only a few grey hairs had invaded her brown locks. At a pinch, she might pass for thirty-five. Even that age difference might not have mattered, but she would continue to age and he wouldn’t.

Once she would have sold her soul to be with Christian, but times changed. Whatever his reasons, he hadn’t wanted her enough to be honest with her twenty years ago. If the Duke of Buckland had realized she had the magic gene, he’d have spirited her away to some private estate and paired her off with one of his men like a brood mare. When Christian turned her away, he’d left her vulnerable. She didn’t owe him a thing. She would not return to France with him. The damn Duke of Buckland didn’t own the whole of the UK. There must be a place outside of his control where she could live.

While Christian had his back to her, she removed her shoes and walked quietly down the hall, up the stairs and into her room, shutting her bedroom door firmly behind her.

Tricia prepared for bed like an automaton, her mind numb with shock and fatigue. Wearing her oversized T-shirt, she switched off the light and snuggled under her covers.

A knock sounded on the door. “Tricia, I have your coffee.”

She didn’t answer, hoping Christian would think she was asleep and leave her alone.

“I know you’re awake.” The door opened. Christian stood in the gap, the masculine angles of his body silhouetted against the hall light.

Her treacherous heart lurched. They had never been in a bedroom together. Although they’d been inseparable during the six weeks of her stay in France when she was eighteen, he had always been a gentleman, never taking advantage of her.

“I don’t want coffee. Go away.”

He ambled in and placed the mug on her nightstand, then switched on the bedside lamp. “A hot drink will do you good. You haven’t eaten anything since you arrived at the chateau this morning.”

“I’ve already cleaned my teeth.”

Christian sat on the edge of her bed and she made a performance of dragging the covers higher to show she was annoyed. He placed a hand on the pillow on either side of her head and leaned closer. Tricia froze, trapped in the flare of green fire in his eyes. Twenty years dropped away and her body tingled in expectation. “I won’t come to France with you.”

The corners of his lips tucked up as if he were trying not to smile. “I’d forgotten how stubborn you are.” He ducked his head and pressed firm, warm lips over hers. Her eyelids fell at the silky slide of his mouth. Even as she pledged not to touch him, her palm curved around his stubbly cheek. She’d dreamed of this endlessly, before she met her husband, while she was married to her husband, and after the poor man left. She’d always blamed their divorce on her infertility. In truth, it had more to do with her attitude. Her husband had never replaced Christian in her heart. She doubted anyone ever could.

Christian kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of the covers at her side. His fingers traced her features with a feather-light touch. “I’ve missed you every day since you left, mon adorée. After I lost you, I spent weeks in cleansing fire to kill the pain. When I emerged I was younger and stronger, but my heart hurt as much as ever.”

“Why didn’t you come to find me?” After they’d parted, she’d prayed every night that Christian would realize he’d made a mistake and come after her.

“I thought I was doing the best thing for you by letting you go. I wanted to spare you the sort of experience you had tonight. My world is full of danger.”

Tricia closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his, felt his lips brush her neck. She breathed in the uniquely French fragrance of the sun and rich earth tinged with ripening fruit that clung to him like a memory of perfect happiness.

“What shall I do, Christian? Returning to the Institute is out of the question now.”

“Come to France with me, mon amour. We’ve been apart too long.”

She sucked in a breath, revelling in his fragrance, while images of Chateau Montgatine, the vineyards and gardens flickered through her mind. She would have Christian and a beautiful place to live. But how would she feel in twenty years when she was sixty and looking her age? How would Christian treat her then?

“I’m not sure,” she whispered, not wanting to voice her concern because she knew he’d just brush it aside.

“Let us talk of this tomorrow when you’re rested,” he said softly against her ear, his fingers stroking tantalizing circles on her neck and shoulder. “Sleep now.”

The feel of Christian’s arms around her gave her the security to relax. Time drifted and she was nearly asleep when he tensed beside her. The warmth of his body withdrew. She blinked and pushed up on her elbow to squint into the darkness.

In the moonlight, he stood like a statue staring at the door. “Do you smell that?”

Tricia rubbed her eyes, disoriented. Then the bitter tang of smoke reached her nose and the fuzziness of sleep fell away.

“What the hell?” She jumped out of bed and raced towards the bedroom door. Christian grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt. “My bag is downstairs with my credit cards and driver’s licence.”

“They’re replaceable. You’re not.”

Smoke trickled in under the door and rose in a grey wispy curtain like a ghost. Tricia pressed a hand over her nose and stumbled back, the taste of burning plastic on her tongue. Christian strode to the window, unlatched it and peered out.

Tricia pressed up beside him, flutters of terror in her chest when she felt the heat rising outside. Flames licked out of the downstairs windows.

“Merde! We’re trapped.”

“Surely you can’t burn?” Tricia asked through the sweater she’d pressed over her nose.

“You can.” His jaw clenched. “There’s only one way out. Dress warmly.”

“Why.”

“Just do as I ask. Quickly.” The urgency in his voice stimulated her into action.

She yanked on her old sweat pants and jersey, then turned to him.

“Socks, shoes, gloves, hat,” he barked.

She frowned to herself but rooted through her drawers to find what she needed. The smoke had thickened, stinging her eyes and making her cough. Christian guided her to the window so she could breathe cleaner air. He pushed yet another sweater over her head, dressing her as though she was a child. Maybe he thought all the clothes would cushion her landing when she jumped out.

“Stand back.” He raised a foot and kicked out the window frame, sending wood and chunks of masonry crashing to the ground.

Tricia had wound a scarf around her face to filter the air and shield her eyes. As she squinted through the weave, Christian’s black jacket seemed to melt away and something bright and glittering took its place. He reached for her, but she stumbled back in confusion, bumped into the nightstand, and sent the lamp crashing to the floor. Strong hands gripped her, pulled her to the window. She coughed, her chest aching as she struggled for breath.

Christian dragged her against his body. His torso was covered in something hard and shiny and her gloved fingers rubbed over a pattern on his chest. He stepped out of the window. Tricia braced to fall. Instead, the smoke disappeared, and the city lights faded to be replaced by stygian darkness.

Cold scraped razor sharp across the small areas of exposed skin around her eyes and neck, drove icy needles into the marrow of her bones. She shivered, her teeth chattering so hard her jaws cramped. Her skull ached as though in a vise. Her eyes froze shut; her breath jolted in short painful snatches of arctic air. She tried to press tighter against Christian, but she couldn’t reach his heat. His arms held her close, but his body was as hard and cold as ice.

A scream echoed in her head but only a pitiful whimper passed between her chilled lips.

Just when she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, the air expanded around her. Her feet touched ground and the warm scent of night in the Loire Valley trickled into her nose.

Her legs folded beneath her, but Christian’s arms were suddenly warm and strong. He caught her up and laid her on a bed before bundling covers around her. “You’ll be all right, mon amour. You’ll be all right.”

She heard a door open and Christian shouted. “Remy, we need cognac.”

Tricia’s body trembled with cold but at last she managed to crack open her eyes. All she could make out were blurred colours. The rushing sound of water blended with the thud of footsteps. A knock on the door. “Chris, mon ami? You are hurt?” Monsieur Benoit’s voice.

“I had to bring Tricia through the ether. We need to warm her quickly.”

She huddled in a shivering bundle beneath the bed covers. When she tried to speak her lips cracked and she tasted blood.

“Shh, Tricia. Shh.” The bed dipped at her side and a glass pressed to her lips. A burning trail of brandy ran down her throat, until she had fire in her belly and a spinning head.

She managed to open her eyes enough to see him bend over her to pull off her shoes and socks. Then her sweat pants disappeared.

“What. .?” she whispered.

“Warm water, my little butterfly. That will do the trick.”

He peeled off her gloves, then pulled the two sweaters over her head, leaving her naked. He scooped her into his arms and swept through to the bathroom. Tricia hadn’t heard Monsieur Benoit leave, but the bath was full and the butler nowhere in sight.

Christian lowered her into the oversized tub of bubbly warm water. Her eyelids fell. A sigh of relief hissed over her lips as the gentle heat chased away the last of the chill.

“You didn’t suffer frostbite, thank goodness.” At Christian’s words, she opened her eyes to see him step into the tub with her. He’d stripped to the waist, keeping on his black trousers.

He settled at her side and gently rubbed her arm. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much.” Her head lolled back and her eyelids drifted down. She had dreamed of such a scenario. Suffering the painful cold might be a price worth paying to feel his hands on her body. He massaged up her arm, then shifted to her other side.

Languid heat coursed through her veins and spread across her skin. Her breasts became heavy, her nipples tight and tingly. She knew exactly where she wanted him to massage next.

He leaned his back against the side of the round tub and lifted Tricia to sit between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. He worked his fingers over her neck and shoulders. Her head flopped forward. The chill long forgotten, she lost herself in the wonderful sensation of Christian’s hands massaging her muscles. “Pure bliss,” she whispered in a husky undertone.

The regular movement of his fingers paused, then continued more gently. “Are you recovered, mon adorée?”

“Mmm.” Tricia wriggled her bottom back snug into the vee of his thighs. Twenty years ago she’d been innocent and taken her lead from him. She wasn’t eighteen any more. She placed her palm on Christian’s thigh and squeezed the firm muscle.

“Tricia.” His breath whispered across her neck, sparking nerves beneath her skin. She didn’t know if she would stay with him, but she had dreamed of making love with him so many times; she had to take this opportunity.

She rose, water and bubbles cascading off her body, and stepped out of the bath. The room was warm. She didn’t cover herself but stood naked in invitation, waiting for him to follow.

Christian climbed out, his wet trousers clinging to his skin. She feasted her eyes on the sculpted muscles of his torso, his lean hips and powerful thighs.

A lopsided grin settled on his lips. “I’d forgotten you are. . more experienced now.”

“Twenty years will do that for a girl.”

His hand rested at her waist and pulled her a step closer to him. He stroked the long dark strands of wet hair from her face. He angled his head and kissed her with slow, thorough exploration until she was light-headed and breathless.

“Does this mean you’ll stay with me?” he asked against her lips.

Tricia leaned back, ran her hands over his chest, and looked up into the green-gold flames burning in his eyes. “That depends how good you are in bed,” she teased.

Tricia lay in the centre of Christian’s bed, tingling with anticipation while he eased his clingy, wet trousers down his thighs.

He stretched out beside her and trailed his hands over her curves as if learning her shape. “You’re more beautiful than I imagined.”

Pulling him closer, she pressed herself against him. His mouth claimed hers in a tender kiss while her fingers explored the silky skin of his back. His face was the epitome of youthful masculine beauty, but he had the well-muscled body of a mature man — a tantalizing combination.

She had yearned for Christian for so long; being here with him in his bed was like a dream. She wanted the moment to last forever, but she was as hungry for him as he was for her. Their eager hands teased and claimed with frantic need. He shifted on top of her with a growl of desire and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to hurry.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as pleasure shimmered through her, sweeping away her fears and worries until nothing mattered except loving him.

After they had finished making love, he collapsed on his back beside her, breathing hard. She snuggled up to him, little aftershocks of pleasure racing through her. “The Duke of Buckland is out of luck.” She imagined a scowl on the duke’s arrogant face and smiled. “Will you tell him you’ve claimed me?”

Christian rolled on his side to face her and kissed her finger-tips. “I haven’t claimed you yet, mon amour. That’s something different.”

“So the duke would still take me from you, even though we’ve made love?”

“Let’s ensure he doesn’t have a reason to try.” His gaze roamed her face and he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips. “I’ll never give you up again, Tricia. I shall claim you now.”

“You haven’t told me what’s involved in the claiming yet.”

“I’ll bind you to me in a way that means I’ll be able to sense you, keep you safe. You’ll be marked as mine, untouchable by any others of my kind.”

Tricia shifted uncomfortably. “Sounds as though you’re about to hang a tag around my neck with your phone number on it in case I stray.”

He chuckled. “The connection between us will go a lot deeper than that. You have a dormant gene that the claiming activates to attune you to my energy.”

Tricia was no biologist, but she knew that every cell in her body contained genes. “You’re talking about something pretty drastic here, Christian. You’re spooking me.”

He slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her. “I promise you there’s nothing to worry about. The experience is special. . intimate. Something I’ve only ever shared with one other woman.”

Right now, she did not want to hear about the other woman with whom he’d shared this special intimate thing. “Just tell me how you do this transformation.”

“Simple. I bathe you in my fire.”

“Whoa.” Tricia pulled back out of his grip and reflexively snatched the sheet to her chest. “No way.”

Christian sat up and angled his head, assessing her. “You’re frightened.”

“Any sane person would be.”

“I won’t hurt you. My fire renews.”

“Your fire’s hot. Don’t try to tell me it’s not because I watched you melt that pyramid at the Institute. I felt the heat from across the room.”

Christian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I would never hurt you. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”

And there lay the rub. He had already hurt her so badly he had shattered her teenage confidence and left her broken-hearted. His definition of hurt didn’t tally with hers. And it sounded as though once he’d claimed her there would be no going back. He’d have some kind of psychic tag on her for the rest of her life.

Tricia rose from the bed, tugging the sheet with her to cover up, and walked to the window. Dusk had fallen. The scent of evening flowers filled the air while tiny bats circled the terrace below.

“I need to claim you to protect you, Tricia. I suspect whoever set the fire at your home will pursue you here. The followers of Set and Anubis hunt our women and kill them when they can.”

“Great. So if the duke doesn’t take me some nutty pagans will try to kill me.”

“I’m afraid they’re more than nutty pagans. Apart from Ra, Set was the most powerful of the old gods. He’s evil incarnate and he arms his followers with powers that challenge even the Sons of Ra.”

Tricia plopped down on to the window seat and stared at him. “Are you telling me the Ancient Egyptian gods are still alive?”

“A few, but you only need to worry about Set and Anubis.”

“Oh, great. Well that’s all right then.” She rolled her eyes.

“Now you understand why I sent you out of my life to protect you, mon amour.”

“Actually, I don’t. If I’m a target, you should have at least warned me.”

“They only found you because you drew attention to yourself.”

“Well forgive me for wanting a job and a life.” She turned her back on him, her heart pounding with indignation.

A rustling sound warned her he had climbed off the bed. His hand settled gently on her shoulder. “After I sent you away, the odds of you encountering another Son of Ra or of touching a ben ben were close to zero. Will you keep punishing me for a choice I made with the best of intentions?”

Tricia squeezed her eyes closed and let her head drop forward. Was she being childish and vindictive? Did she want to hurt him for a decision he’d made twenty-two years ago?

She rose and turned into his waiting arms. He eased her head against his shoulder. His warm hand splayed soothingly on the small of her back. “Remy knows the touch of my fire. He’ll confirm it doesn’t hurt.” His lips brushed her ear. His hand on her back pulled her closer; the evidence of his arousal pressed against her stomach. “Come back to bed with me, mon amour. We’ll discuss the claiming tomorrow.”

In the middle of the night, knocking intruded on Tricia’s sleep. Drowsy with the languor of sexual satiation she barely roused at the sound of Remy’s urgent words.

“I’ve been called to Egypt,” Christian whispered. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

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.

She risked a glance around the tree and called out to Christian. He must have heard the note of panic in her voice because he broke away from the other men and ran towards her. She expected him to leap in front of her protectively as he had done before. Instead, the moment he saw the man, he went down on one knee.

“Down,” he whispered. “Kneel down.”

A few days earlier, she’d have refused. She had thought nobody deserved such veneration. Strange how the threat of death altered one’s beliefs. She crouched slowly and put one knee to the dry dirt, keeping the man in view through her lashes.

“Is he on our side?” she asked under her breath.

“Sometimes.”

The man spoke again in a voice that resonated with the rise and fall of civilizations.

Christian answered before interpreting for her. “He wants to know why we’re fighting Anubis.”

“Who is he?”

“Runihura, the destroyer of gods.”

“Never heard of him.” But with a name like that, she thought she should have.

“Think of him as a powerful, immortal policeman.” Christian shuffled closer to her while the other Sons of Ra joined them on their knees. Tricia glanced around anxiously but there was no sign of Anubis.

She turned back to find Runihura’s fathomless dark gaze on her. A warm wind stirred her hair and the scent of the desert swirled around her. He beckoned to her. At Christian’s nod of encouragement, she rose cautiously and stepped forward. The aura of power surrounding the Egyptian prickled her skin.

“You are the source of this conflict,” he proclaimed in his epic voice.

Great! Someone had burned down her home and tried to incinerate her; a giant dog that shouldn’t even exist had attacked her and this misogynistic immortal wanted to blame her.

“It’s not my fault if I have a gene that makes Anubis want to kill me.”

Runihura flicked a hand at her in a gesture that clearly said women should be seen and not heard. “Who claims this woman?” he demanded.

Christian rose. Tricia’s gaze jumped to the Duke of Buckland, tension gripping her throat. His eyes flicked up to her but he didn’t rise as she’d expected, instead he remained on his knee, the only movement his shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. Had the duke relinquished his claim to her because he knew she loved Christian? Maybe he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

Her sigh of relief whispered over her lips a moment too soon. The golden-skinned Son of Ra with the red fire stepped up on her other side, his dark brown eyes glinting with golden flame. “I would have this woman for my family.”

Christian rounded on him. Suddenly the curved blade was back in his hand, spitting green sparks. “She belongs to me, Luca.”

He didn’t say, “I love her” or even “I need her”. This was all about staking his claim on something valuable. Feelings didn’t come into it. Certainly not her feelings.

“I don’t want to be claimed by any of you,” she snapped.

Runihura’s gaze drilled into her, dragging every scrap of her attention to him. Against her will, she took a stumbling step towards him, followed by another.

Her insides quivered as eddies of hot air raced around her. The sound of Christian’s shouts faded.

“Please. .” Don’t hurt me. Words circled in her head but her mouth wouldn’t obey.

A ball of pure white fire flared in Runihura’s cupped palm. She tried to raise her arm to protect her face, but her muscles didn’t respond. He lifted his hand and dropped the fiery sphere on to the top of her head. Her pulse raced as a shroud of glittering white sparks cascaded over her and penetrated her skin.

Her rush of panic faded as the fire whispered through her with a silky caress. She swayed and her breath hissed out on a little moan of pleasure. On the edge of perception, she heard Christian’s angry shout and a scuffle. She didn’t remember closing her eyes, but when she opened them, the Duke of Buckland and a golden-haired Son of Ra were holding Christian down on his knees as he scowled up at Runihura.

The immortal stared at her for a moment, flickers of white fire dancing across his golden skin. “You are protected,” he said. Then he stepped back and disappeared. No blast of cold or rips in the air, just there one moment, gone the next.

A string of French curses rent the air as the two men released Christian.

“I warned you that another would claim her,” the duke said.

“This is your fault,” Christian pointed at Luca, the man who’d challenged him for her. But if he wanted a fight, he was out of luck. Luca shrugged, then stepped back into the ether and disappeared.

The other Sons of Ra departed, including the duke, leaving her and Christian alone. The sudden silence and peace seemed unnatural after the terror and noise of battle.

Christian’s strange garb shimmered. She blinked and he was clothed in a pair of tan trousers and a blue shirt. He walked away from her and dropped down on the bench where she’d been waiting for him before Anubis attacked.

His gaze ran over her incredulously. “He renewed you so fast.” He snapped his fingers. “Twenty years gone in a second.”

“What?” Tricia touched her face. The skin felt smoother. The twinge in her knee had vanished. “My god, are you saying he’s knocked twenty years off me?”

“I would have done this for you, mon amour. If only you’d let me.”

Her pleasure at her newfound youthfulness faded at the look of desolation on his face. If she hadn’t rejected him last night, he’d have already claimed her. There would have been no need for Runihura to bathe her in his fire. Part of her regretted hurting Christian, but another part was relieved that she wasn’t his property. Twenty-two years ago, the blind devotion of teenaged love would have made her give up everything to be with him, but she’d have felt trapped in such a relationship.

“I still want to be with you, only now it’s my choice. Isn’t that better?”

“You don’t understand, Tricia. You belong to Runihura. I can never touch you again.”

“You don’t seriously believe he wants me?” She snorted at the idea. “He was simply protecting me so I didn’t cause him any more trouble.” And giving her the freedom to choose her own man. Maybe Runihura wasn’t such a misogynist after all.

She sat beside Christian on the bench and reached for his hand. He snatched his arm clear and jumped up. “Don’t! The pain is excruciating.”

The blood drained out of her head as understanding dawned. “It’ll hurt for us to touch?”

“Of course. Didn’t you listen to me?”

“No, you. .” Her words trailed away when she remembered what he’d told her the previous night. You’ll be marked as mine, untouchable by any others of my kind. She hadn’t understood he’d meant it literally.

“Have you ever tried to touch a woman claimed by another Son of Ra?”

His angry gaze snapped to her face. “That is forbidden.”

“Then how do you know it’s true?”

His breath rushed out in irritation. “Luca touched my countess when he tried to save her life. They both suffered for his noble act.”

His countess? “What happened to her?”

“She lost her head to Madame Guillotine.” Christian pivoted away from her and paced to the river. That must have been the woman he’d mentioned the previous night. Tricia pressed her temples, feeling rotten. Had Runihura bathed her in fire as punishment for defying their customs, knowing it would prevent her from touching Christian again? She hadn’t sensed anger in the Egyptian.

“Runihura isn’t a Son of Ra, is he?” she asked, thinking aloud.

For long moments, Christian didn’t answer. Then he swung around with a frown. “No. He’s one of the old ones.”

“Perhaps his fire’s different. He summoned it as a ball in his hand rather than from the end of a sceptre.”

Christian shook his head but the tension on his face had faded and a spark of hope lit his eyes. He came to stand before her and held out a finger. “One fingertip only.”

She swallowed, spooked by the talk of excruciating pain. Her finger hovered in the air a fraction from his. He closed the distance. As their skin touched, a sound like distant wind whistled in her ears. A rushing sensation flowed through her body. White fire burst from her fingertip and engulfed Christian’s arm.

She squeaked with surprise and yanked her hand back.

“Tricia, are you all right, mon amour?” Christian dropped to a crouch before her, his face a mask of concern.

“It didn’t hurt,” she assured him, embarrassed that she’d made such a fuss.

“When you cried out, I thought you were in pain.” Christian levered himself on to the bench beside her. Before she had time to think, he pulled her into his embrace; his lips pressed against hers. The rushing feeling gradually eased until it was no more than a gentle tickle across her senses. Christian pulled back, blinking in astonishment. Flickers of white fire danced all over him. “I’ve never seen the like. Runihura did more than protect you; he’s given you fire that eclipses mine.”

Tricia stared at him, totally nonplussed. “Why?”

Christian shrugged. “He moves in mysterious ways. What matters is that I can touch you; we can be together.”

He pulled her on to his lap and nuzzled her neck. Tricia giggled at the sudden release of tension. She held out her hand to see if she could summon fire. Instead, a curved dagger with a mother-of-pearl handle appeared on her palm, white fire skating along the blade. She dropped the knife in shock and it disappeared again. “Good gracious, what does Runihura expect me to do with that?”

Christian rubbed his thumb over her lips and flickers of sparkling white fire danced between them, tingling against her skin.

“We have the rest of our lives to find out, mon amour.”