Sins of the Flesh

He wanted to kill her, to take her head and twist her neck and do to her what she’d done to Kuznetsov.

But he didn’t move. From somewhere deep inside he managed to dredge some self-restraint and he froze, panting, willing himself to stay cloaked from her sight. He could kill her as easily in a few moments as he could now.

Better to wait, watch and possibly get answers to the questions that hammered him. He wanted to know how she’d gotten in here without him sensing her presence. How she’d killed a man so easily with nothing but her hands. This man. This kill. Why?

He focused his awareness on her, stretching his ability to detect any hint of the supernatural. And then he felt it. A low energy signature that had hummed under his radar, until now.

Damn it to hell. Damn it to fucking hell. She had her own stealth skills. Impossible. The only beings he knew of who could hide in plain sight were soul reapers. And to a one, soul reapers were male.

She definitely wasn’t one of them.

So what the fuck was she?





CHAPTER FOUR



I shall have power in my heart, I shall have power in my arms,

I shall have power in my legs,

I shall have power to do whatever I desire.



—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 26

THERE WAS SOMEONE WATCHING her. Calliope knew it in her gut, though she had no visual confirmation. Eyes could be tricked. Instinct couldn’t.

She looked up from Pyotr Kuznetsov’s lax form, letting her gaze slide to the corners and the shadows. Only one thing she knew of could essentially make itself invisible, hiding in plain sight. A soul reaper. Her gut was telling her that one watched her now, invisible, undetectable, until and unless he decided otherwise.

A rare, sharp thrill of fear arrowed through her. She choked it into submission, holding her ground, alert, wary. Calm.

Panic and fear were her enemies more than any corporeal creature.

Besides, she couldn’t outrun him. If he was here and he wanted her, he’d catch her. Better to tough it out.

Keeping her focus, she checked the last call on Pyotr’s cell. The Temple of Setnakht. She wondered who was dead and why that death had made Kuznetsov afraid. She tossed the phone back on the bed then cut a veiled glance at the shadows, willing whoever was there to materialize from the ether.

Wishful thinking. She would not see him unless he wished her to, would never know that he approached until it was too late.

A chill crawled up her spine. Bad enough to be stalked. Worse, to be stalked by one such as he. Memories clawed at the lid of the box she tried to keep locked, but she slammed it shut, refusing to let them crawl free.

Surreptitiously, she scanned the dark room. Perhaps he was in the far corner. Perhaps he stood by the open closet door. She thought he was closer, only a hand span away. But she had no proof. There was only darkness and shadow and a thin sliver of ambient light breaking through the crack in the heavy curtains.

She could know nothing with certainty except that he was her enemy. And he was deadly.

Her choices were limited. She chose the option that called for brass balls. The direct approach.

“I know you are here, soul reaper,” she said softly, though she expected no reply. Let him wonder how she knew. Let him wonder exactly how vast her power was.

Compared with his…a pebble in a windstorm. He outgunned her. But she had hopes that she could out-think him.

Thugs—whether human or supernatural—generally didn’t excel in the use of their gray matter.

Her gaze dipped to where Kuznetsov lay sprawled on the ground, his arms flung wide, the towel he’d been using inches away from his outstretched hand. His head lolled to one side, eyes closed, mouth open, and his legs were twisted at uncomfortable angles, leaving him naked and bare and exposed. She was disinclined to arrange his limbs in a more decorous position. He was not a man who deserved any consideration.

“How did you know you weren’t alone?”

Her head jerked up, her attention shifting to the left. Her words had invited the soul reaper to reveal himself, but she hadn’t expected that he would.

And she hadn’t expected that voice, rich and low, like smoke and velvet. Familiar, somehow. It made every nerve in her body sit up and take notice.

A part of her had hoped that if he did reveal himself, her suspicion would be proved wrong, that he would be some other creature than one of Sutekh’s minions. The fact that he didn’t correct her told her that hope was in vain.

The shadows cloaked him. The darkness caressed him. His build was honed and muscular. Broad shoulders. Lean hips. Black jeans. Black boots. Dark, blue-gray shirt.

Her focus lifted to his face.

Her heart slammed against her ribs and she felt dizzy. Sick. He was the supernatural she had mistaken for a human. Worse and worse.