Stephanie Draven - Dark Sins and Desert Sands

It was the hieroglyphs—not the kiss—that made the blood drain from her face.

“Layla?” Nate Jaffe was staring at her, but she couldn’t reply. “What’s wrong?”

I can read hieroglyphic s, she thought. That’s what’s wrong . Among so very many other things. The symbols swam before her eyes, taunting her. There had to be a simple explanation for it. Maybe she’d been an archeology student in college. Maybe her parents had been curators of a museum. If she remembered her past, it would somehow make sense. “I have to tell you something,” Layla began.

Dr. Jaffe’s face reddened and he spread his palms on the table. “You don’t have to say it, Layla. I’ve known for some time that your heart isn’t in this relationship.”

Layla’s mouth fell slightly open. “Nate—”

“Are you going to deny it?”

Layla brought her lips back together, unable to tell even one more lie. A fatal moment of silence passed between them before he looked away. “We’re both adults,” he said, motioning to the waiter for the bill. “Let’s just end things while we can still be friends.”

She hadn’t come here to break up with him. She’d come here for his help, but given the hurt in his eyes, she didn’t dare ask him for anything right now. She’d call him tomorrow. Things would be better in the morning. They’d have to be.

He paid the bill and escorted her out of the hotel like the gentleman that he was. As they passed out of the lobby onto the street outside, he even gave her fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he said, and then, because he looked so forlorn, Layla pressed a very soft kiss to his cheek.

After four tours of duty, scouting missions were a thing of second nature to Ray. What amazed him about Vegas was the ease with which he could hide in plain sight. Poised near the Luxor entrance with a disposable camera in hand, pretending to take photos of the sphinx, he knew the precise moment that Layla Bahset stepped out of the casino wearing that smokinghot red dress.

He snapped a quick shot of her giving her date the polite brush-off. Ray didn’t recognize the guy with her. He was older, with silver hair and gave off a well-mannered vibe. Totally not the type he would’ve envisioned for her, but whatever. Ray didn’t think the guy was a threat. Even so, as she walked away from her date, Layla looked upset. She started down the drive toward the strip, rubbing her bare arms against the cooler night air.

Keeping his head down, Ray followed her, but he wasn’t the only one. Maybe it was his training. Maybe it was a preternatural instinct. Maybe it was because he couldn’t figure out why a cabbie would be wearing sunglasses at night. Whatever it was, he turned his head at just the right moment to see the driver lift a radio to his mouth, his attention riveted on Layla’s retreating form.

Son of a bitch , Ray thought. So she was in some kind of danger. And not just from him.

Ray didn’t like the crowds, didn’t like the noise and the neon lights of the strip, but he kept his eyes on her. As he followed her, he noticed that she had a catlike grace. Maybe it wasn’t just a fluke that she envisioned herself as a lioness. Still, she didn’t seem comfortable in the night and she sure didn’t have the focus of a predator. She didn’t even look up to see the dark sedan that pulled around the corner, creeping behind her. Seemingly oblivious to her peril, she crossed the street, her sensible black pumps clicking against the pavement.

Ray followed her. So did the sedan.

Layla paused on the sidewalk outside the Golden Calf Casino. It was a crappy little hotel, nestled amongst the bigger, more glamorous ones. Hawkers and hobos gathered beneath the gilded statue of a steer, upon which was fastened a sign announcing the nightly pancake special. Layla stared, as if she were lost.

It was at that moment two big, beefy guys stepped out of the dark sedan.

Ray could have let it happen. He could have let them—what, arrest her? Attack her? Kill her? It’d be the least she deserved. But he couldn’t let it happen. She was still the only chance he had at proving his innocence, he reminded himself. The information he needed was buried inside her ruined memory, and as long as he kept her alive, he still had a chance of digging it up.

Ray strode toward her and she turned. He saw just the corner of her eyes, the green glint of surprise. It was enough. He slipped into the depths of those eyes and grabbed onto the edge of her thoughts. “Put your hand in mine and keep walking,” he said.

Forcing her to obey should’ve been easy, but with her, nothing ever was. He slammed into the same wall of resistance, and not wanting to wait for his powers to take full effect, he grabbed her hand and yanked her forward.

He follows you wherever you go, but when you turn to meet him his face doesn’t show .

It was the man of her dreams— literally , the man of her dreams—but he was no shadow monster now. No snout, no hooves, no glinting horns. Still, he clutched her hand like he could break it. He’d come out of nowhere and she’d been taken completely by surprise. “Wh-what are you doing?”

His close-cropped goatee scratched her cheek when he leaned in to whisper, “Someone’s following you, so shut up and keep walking.”

She took a few steps with him before she could stop herself. It was as if she wasn’t moving her own legs; he was. But that was impossible. As they threaded their way through the crowd into the casino, the sirens of a winning slot machine screamed at them. The scent was beer mingled with sweat, and a thumping music played static behind the roar of voices.

“Who’s following you?” he asked, and she started to turn her head to look. “Don’t let them see you looking! Glance over there, at the glass doors. See the reflection?”

She saw them. Two clean-cut guys in suits pushing through the revelers. She tried to get her wits about her. For all she knew, the men could be chasing him , not her . She shouldn’t let him guide her to the stairway behind the bar, but her hand felt small and somehow secure in his calloused palm. His presence, dark and brutish as it was, made her more … alive. She was actually feeling , and though it might be the death of her, she didn’t want it to stop!

Still, she found the presence of mind to ask, “Who are you and where are you taking me?”

The question seemed to infuriate him. “You really don’t fucking remember me, do you? My name is Ray. You probably remember me better as Prisoner Twenty-Four.” The harshness of his words carried even over the hustle and bustle of the casino, and effectively silenced her until Ray skidded to a stop just outside of a bank of elevators. They nearly mowed down an elderly man who had just come down from a higher floor with his bags in hand, obviously ready to check out.

“What’s your room number, gramps?” Ray barked.

“Five-thirteen,” the elderly man answered, his jaw going lax and jowly as he stared into Ray’s eyes.

“Give me your hotel key,” Ray said, and Layla watched in astonishment as the old man did as he was bid. “Now go for the pancake special and forget to check out.”

With that, Ray yanked Layla into the elevator. Until that moment—until the elevator doors shut—she’d thought that the stranger was in command of himself and in command of her. He’d been unbelievably strong, aggressive and self-assured. But the moment the two slabs of metal slammed together, shutting out the brighter light and noise, she watched her captor’s face go ashen. The look that passed over his eyes was something desperate and feral.