Tales of the Djinn: The Guardian (26 page)

“This one would be fun to whip,” he said. “My
hospitality is yours if you loan her to me tonight. I won’t even
fuck her, since you claim she’s not very good at it.”

Okay, biting her tongue was harder than Elyse
thought. She managed not to curl her hands into fists. Avoiding
clenching her jaw was impossible.

This time Sheikh Zayd laughed like smoke
flowing over stone. “City man,” he said to Arcadius. “Never try to
fool an ifrit. Your God-loving faces aren’t made for it.”

Elyse felt rather than saw Arcadius bow
slightly. “You are too wise. The human has made me heartsick. I
cannot be parted from her for even one minute.”

“Now
that
I believe.” Sheikh Zayd
slapped Arcadius on the shoulder. “What else have you to bargain
with?”

“It is too paltry,” her protector said
modestly. “A mere human trinket of no value. I hesitate . . . no, I
cannot waste your time.”

“Show him, master,” Joseph urged, falling in
with his playacting. “Perhaps he’ll find it useful. No other sheikh
in the Qaf has one.”

“Show me,” the sheikh ordered, thrusting out
an imperious hand.

As if he hardly dared, Arcadius laid her army
knife in his palm.

“Hm.” The sheikh held it up to the dying
light, fortuitously causing her former wedding diamond to flash.
“What is it?”

“It is a Swiss army knife. It has
thirty-three implements, including a fish scaler and a corkscrew!”
Suddenly radiating enthusiasm, Arcadius showed the sheikh how to
fold them out one by one. The Philips screwdriver was a stumper,
but the other tools were hits. Sheikh Zayd especially admired the
ballpoint pen.

“It writes
blue
,” he praised. “Signing
everything in blood gets monotonous.” With an air of satisfaction,
he closed all the bits and bobs, slipping the knife away somewhere
in his robes. “I accept your gift. Please come break bread with me.
You too, Samir,” he threw over his shoulder.

Elyse guessed the smoke demon hadn’t lied
about everyone knowing him.

~

Arcadius allowed himself to feel a cautious
measure of victory. He’d maneuvered the sheikh into catching him in
a lie, thus reinforcing Zayd’s sense of superiority. Most great men
enjoyed thinking of themselves as impossible to trick. Even
Iksander had now and then.

Iksander
did
,
Arcadius thought, correcting the past tense.

A servant showed their scraggly trio to a
communal ablutions tent.

“You may wash,” the man said, his snooty tone
implying they needed to. “Please avail yourselves of the extra
robes in those baskets.”

“They have water,” Elyse exclaimed, once they
were alone again.

They had more than water. They had a lovely
blue-and-white tiled fountain splashing within the tent.

“Water crystals,” Joseph mused, lifting one
from a notably generous pile.

“That looks like a piece of quartz,” Elyse
said.

“Break it,” Joseph suggested, handing the
small point to her.

Elyse took the crystal to the fountain, where
she snapped it carefully in two. The moment she did, at least five
gallons of icy H2O sprayed out and soaked her. She gasped in shock
before bursting out laughing.

“Bad genie,” she scolded Joseph.

He grinned delightedly at his successful
trick.

“You’re almost clean,” he pointed out.

She flicked her wet hands at him.

Arcadius smiled fondly. Seeing them happy
gave him an unanticipated sense of well-being.

Playtime over, they washed as quickly as they
could while giving each other privacy. The clothes that had been
left for them were beautiful: soft and clean without a single mend
or tear. Their fineness reassured him Zayd took offering
hospitality seriously. One set of garments was actually small
enough for Elyse.

“This suits you,” he said, tying the slave
rope back around her waist. Though he didn’t need to, he smoothed
the vivid blue outer-robe down her hips.

“My hair’s a mess,” she said, touching
it.

“Your curls are pretty,” he assured her.

She looked up at him, her eyes enchantingly
wide. Their brief trek across the desert had added color to her
face. He wanted to kiss the roses in her cheeks and lips, followed
by unpeeling every layer she’d just drawn on to caress the soft
delights of her nakedness. His cock began to harden, its rise
within his loose trousers too swift for his peace of mind. He
shouldn’t have let himself linger over helping her. The slave rope
was too good at giving him ideas.

God, he wished that damned book of love poems
hadn’t prevented him from taking her on her bed.

“People are heading to the fire,” Joseph said
from the slit he’d cracked in the tent’s entrance. “We should
probably join them.”

His words pulled Arcadius back to the task at
hand. “Could you accidentally forget your manners while we’re
eating?”

“Of course,” Joseph said. “Are you intending
to send me away as punishment?”

“I am. I’d like to know the scuttlebutt among
the sheikh’s servants before we proceed further.”

~

Joseph seized his opportunity as soon as the
roasted lamb and other dishes were divvied onto brass platters.
Though Samir had been invited to join them, he’d slipped away with
his plate. Perhaps the smoke demon disliked others seeing how he
ate. Who knew how he managed it without a solid form?

“Good appetite,” the sheikh wished the
remaining company.

“God be praised,” Arcadius’s obedient servant
responded.

Every ifrit seated around the fire glared at
him.

“Idiot,” Arcadius rebuked, clouting Joseph
behind the head. “Have you forgotten where we are? Get away from me
before I do worse than rattle your pea-sized brain.”

Joseph begged forgiveness, bowed, and slunk
hastily into the shadows.

“My sincere apologies,” Arcadius addressed
the sheikh. “My man is a skilled magician, but his intelligence
sometimes fails him in other areas.”

“Sorcerers can be hard to manage,” Zayd
acknowledged. “Tell me, what do you think of this couscous?”

Arcadius complimented him fulsomely on the
food—not difficult to do since he was hungry and it was good.
Unused to eating hot meat with her fingers, Elyse was having a
harder time. Other than that, she was behaving better than he’d
hoped. She’d known to crouch at his feet rather than joining him on
his rock. She did nothing to draw attention. She even made herself
smaller. He wondered where she’d learned the skill. Not from her
father. Leo Solomon wouldn’t have wanted his daughter to be
invisible. But maybe the knack had helped her get along with Cara
when they were young. He could imagine Elyse’s cousin wanting the
spotlight to herself.

As he ate, Arcadius watched the sheikh
interact with his men. Zayd definitely ruled from above but didn’t
seem resented—not even for his hard temper. Twice, he struck
associates across the face for small infractions, an act that
inspired not even half the disapproval Joseph had for his prayer.
Iksander was a different type of ruler, but his people were
different too. These djinn respected violence. Being top dogs of
the desert was more important to them than being loved. The only
weakness Arcadius saw was that they were a smidgen bored.

Maybe the other dog packs were too cowed to
start up a good war.

He asked Zayd’s leave to retire before the
other man was ready to let him go. His polite insistence earned him
a barrage of jests, most along the lines of his “pet” needing
seeing to.

“You city men,” Sheikh Zayd mocked. “You’ll
never stiffen up your swords if your dick is the hardest thing
about you.”

Arcadius smiled and bowed as if the words
weren’t a grave insult. He laid his hand behind Elyse’s neck.
Though he didn’t think the ifrit saw her trembling, he registered
the vibration through his fingers. She’d bottled up enough tension
for one evening.

“Oh, as you wish,” the sheikh relented,
seeing his guest’s will was fixed. “My good wine would be wasted on
your city mouth anyway.” He snapped for a waiting servant. “Take
them to the tent I told you to prepare.”

Despite mocking him for his softness, the
tent Zayd provided was large and luxurious. The floor was a plush
red and yellow carpet, the walls double layered to keep out the
blowing sand. In one corner was a bath carved from emerald green
desert glass. Someone had filled it. The water was steaming.

Their escort had departed, so Arcadius turned
Elyse to face him. Her eyes were too bright, her lower lip shaking.
Arcadius touched it and she stilled the trembling with her teeth.
His urge to soothe her was very strong. Uncertain how to go about
it, he caressed the sides of her face gently. His little fingers
brushed the leather collar around her neck.

“You did well,” he said. “Even better than I
asked.”

She nodded—not ready to speak, he
guessed.

“I’m sorry they frightened you,” he tried.
“They are rough men.”

Elyse swallowed. “When Sheikh Zayd said I’d
be fun to whip, he meant
really
whip, didn’t he?”

“You didn’t realize that?”

“Not at first. Not until I saw him draw blood
when he struck those men.”

He stroked her unruly hair,
liking—inappropriately, perhaps—how the waves clung to his fingers.
“To a certain extent, most djinn can draw power from human
emotions. Ifrits especially relish drinking pain.”

“Like Samir and the sick girl’s rocking
horse.”

Arcadius nodded. He didn’t evade her eyes.
“Djinn are different beings from humans.”

Thoughts ran behind her expression. She
looked away, keeping them to herself.

“There’s a bath,” she said, spotting it.

“And a commode. Zayd is either showing off or
trying to put us off our guard.”

“Or both.” Her rueful smile said her spirit
was coming back.

He slid his hands to her shoulders, feeling
their slender strength beneath the borrowed clothes. He wanted to
undress her but wasn’t sure he should suggest it.

“Arcadius.” The throatiness of her voice drew
his gaze to her face again. The look in her eyes was unmistakable.
She wanted him. Her hands slid up the shirt and robe that draped
his chest. Heat flashed across his skin as her wrist cuffs brushed
him. They were alone. She could have removed them. So could he, if
he’d wanted to.

“Elyse,” he whispered, lifting her off the
ground for a ravenous kiss.

He’d dropped the slave rope when the servant
left, and she hadn’t picked it up. The leash dangled over his
embracing arm, yet another reminder of their pretend roles. When he
drove his tongue into her mouth, she sucked it, locking her legs
enthusiastically around his waist. He had to touch more of her, had
to remind her she was safe because she belonged to him. He palmed
her bottom and squeezed the firm lush flesh. Like him, she was
wearing loose male trousers. The cloth was thin, the halves of her
ass nearly naked for his fondling. He pushed his stroking further,
groaning when his fingers found a stretch of dampness on the
inseam. Her labia were hot and wet and clearly ready to be played
with.

She made a noise, wriggling in his hold until
her folds molded around his rigid length. This was what they both
needed, or part of it. She thrust up and down his cock, her body
growing wilder, wetter, rubbing his erection from base to tip.

That felt so good his scalp prickled.

“Elyse,” he gasped, wishing there were a wall
to slam her against.

He settled for holding her tight to him, for
pushing his hips in movements that made the most of hers. His
nerves grew hot, his balls beginning to tingle. She couldn’t seem
to slow. She nipped the cord at the side of his neck and worked
herself on him faster.

“I’m going to come in my clothes,” he warned,
gripping her harder still.

Behind him, from nowhere near great enough a
distance, Joseph politely cleared his throat.

“Shit,” Elyse gasped, scrambling down from
him.

Arcadius fought his desire to curse. He’d
been a breath away from exploding, which would have been a shame if
he hadn’t known himself capable of taking her quite a few times
tonight. His erection thrust like a pole in his loose djinn pants,
thick and hard and not going down for any reason soon.

He didn’t turn around right away. It seemed
insensitive to let Joseph see him in this state, like rubbing the
servant’s nose in what he couldn’t experience himself.

“Forgive me, master,” the servant said,
sounding uncomfortable but not unsure. “I wouldn’t interrupt if I
didn’t think you’d want to hear this immediately.”

Arcadius heaved a sigh. “Let me hang a
tapestry for you,” he said to Elyse. “So you can bathe
privately.”

She nodded and leaned around his side.
“Sorry, Joseph,” she said.

Arcadius hung the tapestry on the appropriate
hooks in the tent’s structure. He heard Elyse test the water,
gritting his teeth at the thought of her undressing without his
help. He sighed again. There was no more putting this off. He
turned to Joseph, drawing breath in preparation to ask what he’d
discovered.

To his surprise, Joseph held up a finger for
silence.

He used the heel of his slipper to draw a
faintly luminous five-foot circle in the pile of the carpet floor.
He beckoned Arcadius to step into it. The thickening of the air in
his ears told him the circle was a magical sound shield.

“We’re being spied on?” he asked.

“You didn’t notice?” Joseph paused and shook
his head. “Of course you didn’t. You were . . . worried about
Elyse. There’s a small seeing crystal buried in the main tent pole.
No, don’t look. We’re angled away from it. Elyse should be all
right. You hung the tapestry between her and it.”

“Damn,” Arcadius said. “I should have
expected that.”