Claiming the Jackal

She forced herself to continue putting away her supplies. “If your men have a discipline problem, it’s not because of anything that I have done.”

“Truly?” His eyes narrowed. “How many warriors have come to you with injuries?”

A surprising number, enough that made her wonder if “practice” for jackals meant fight to the death. “More than I would have thought.”

“Too many,” he agreed, his tone sharpening. “Willing to risk permanent damage just to know your touch. Therefore, you are not to treat any jackal for anything less than bone protruding from flesh. Even then, if a jackal enters the infirmary under his own power, he is not injured enough to require your services.”

The brusqueness of his tone stiffened her back. “You can’t ask me to do that!”

He bared his teeth. “I’m not asking.”

Rana dropped the roll of gauze, her hands settling on her hips. “And you most certainly can’t order me to do that, either. I refuse!”

He blinked in surprise, as if no one had ever dared defy him. Rana probably wouldn’t have, either, over anything but her calling. When it came to healing, she answered only to the gods themselves, and she’d question them if they wanted her to do harm.

His gaze narrowed. “Watch your tone, witch!”

“Is that supposed to be an insult, jackal?” Acting before thinking, Rana crossed to him, stopping when they were nose to nose. “Yes, I’m a witch—a damn good one, if I say so myself. And I’m also a doctor. I went to med school, did emergency-room rotations and spent some time in Africa with Doctors Without Borders. I have stared down warlords and children with rifles, so all your growling and chest beating have zero effect on me.”

She jabbed her forefinger into his chest with every sentence she spat. “You don’t decide whom I treat. You don’t decide how severe an injury is. You don’t decide anything about the infirmary at all. Your commander, Markus, put me in charge of this infirmary, and as long as I’m here, I will treat anyone who comes to me for assistance, whether that is a pup with a scraped knee or a guard with a gaping wound. This is my charge and my duty, and I won’t let anyone keep me from doing it. Not even you!”

A tense silence fell between them. Her fingertip hurt from poking it into Hector’s rock-hard chest. Realization sank its claws into Rana’s awareness as Hector’s eyes glowed molten. She was probably the first person to challenge his authority. And most likely the last.

Oh, crap.

His hand covered hers on his chest. Her palm flattened out, cupping one very well developed pectoral muscle. Heat sped from her hand, up her arm to burn her cheeks and enflame her insides.

“So much fire,” he said, his voice low with wonder. “I always thought Isis witches were cold.”

That insulted her more than being called a witch. “I’m not—”

“I know.”

His hand stroked over hers, flat against his heart. She could feel the fast tempo of a jackal’s heartbeat through her fingertips, sure and strong. Your body is amazing.

His fingers tightened on hers. “My body’s what?”

Gods, did she say that aloud? “Uh—I mean, your physiology’s amazing. I don’t know much about jackal biology, but I’m hoping the information I’m gathering can be used to heal.”

A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. “So we’re nothing more than guinea pigs to you.”

Stung, she tried to snatch her hand away, but he wouldn’t let her. “Of course not! But the more information I gather, the better I’ll be able to help you, all of you.”

“Why?”

She blinked, surprised at the simple question. “Why what?”

“Why are you so...passionate about helping jackals?”

“I don’t care if they’re jackals or wolves or humans or Daughters of Isis. They’re patients first. If they need my help, my healing skills, I’m going to give it to them.”

He cocked his head, his skepticism clear. “You can so easily forget that we were enemies, not even two months ago?”

Butterflies formed in her belly. “I’m only three hundred years old, so the tragedy that severed our alliance was the equivalent of a history lesson to me. No jackals have ever personally caused me harm. I hadn’t even met a jackal until your clan came to the coven to defend Tia from the Lost Ones and my—and Amansuanan. If anything, that event proved how wrong the Daughters were to blame you and fear you. It made me even more determined to help your clan.”

She stared up into those amazing silver-green eyes, trying to read him. “Do you still think of us as enemies?”

“Not all of you.” Distrust and a healthy dose of confusion pushed back some of the anger in his expression. “Not you.”

Their gazes locked. Hector’s nostrils flared. She didn’t know if she swayed forward or he did, but their cheeks brushed as each inhaled the other’s scent. Gods, he smelled good.

He felt even better.

“What is it about you?” Wonder filled his voice.

Again she tried to pull her hand away. Again he restrained her. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. I’m just standing here.”

“No. There’s something about you.” He leaned closer. “Something that makes my men careless in practice just so that they can have you tend to them. I would know why they choose to risk my wrath to come to you.”

“I don’t do anything other than ask them questions as I treat them,” she managed to say, painfully aware of the frenetic beating of her heart. “Same as I have done for the female jackals, for the children. Getting a medical history is standard practice.”

He stared down at her, skepticism silvering his gaze. “You expect me to believe that you aren’t enchanting my men in some way?”

“Enchanting? It’s not my fault that your men are unused to being around women. You should allow them to socialize more.”

“With humans who do not know what we are or what we do?” He snorted. “Or with Isis witches who have been our enemies for centuries?”

“Not anymore, remember?”

“Not all of you. Remember?”

She suppressed a wince. He had a point, a very good one. Millennia ago a priestess—her grandmother, Amansuanan—had caused the rift between the Sons of Anubis and the Daughters of Isis. All the Daughters, even high priestess Aya, had believed Amansuanan dead. Realizing only recently that she was not only alive, but also the root cause of the rift between priestesses and jackals—and creator of this new breed of undead Lost Ones—had shocked the coven. While many Daughters didn’t know or couldn’t remember Rana’s connection to Amansuanan—after all, she’d never met her grandmother—they all knew Cassandra, Rana’s mother and a priestess, had set Tia up to be captured by the Lost Ones. Cassandra had escaped with Amansuanan, leaving Rana ashamed, angry and determined to prove she had nothing to do with her relatives’ evil machinations.

“Look, I understand that there aren’t enough female jackals to go around for all of the men. And I know having so many Daughters in the compound is taking some adjustment for men not used to being around so many unattached women. Give them a little more time and I’m sure they’ll settle down and ignore us.”

Maybe the jackals would ignore her, but she certainly couldn’t ignore Hector no matter how hard she tried.

“Perhaps.” He stroked her hand, making her shiver. “Perhaps there is something about you, an Isis witch who cares so fiercely. It’s dangerous.”

Rana had no idea what he meant. Was provoking him dangerous? Without a doubt. Was standing there, letting him cup her hand to the magnificence of his chest, dangerous? Absolutely. Was wanting to press her body against his as she gave in to the urge to kiss him dangerous? In spades.

Yet she stood there, completely aware of the danger, completely aware of him as she had been for the past four weeks. Stood there, paralyzed with the danger of wanting to touch him, taste him. With wanting more of him.

As if in answer, his free hand came up and slowly flattened over her heart. “You fascinate me, an Isis witch with so warm a heart that it quiets the rage I’ve held for your kind for thousands of years.”

Rana had to swallow before she could speak. “We’ve always been taught that jackals were wild, raging creatures that would kill Daughters on sight. What I know, what I’ve witnessed about the Sons of Anubis, makes me weep for the suffering inflicted on both sides.”

She reached up, covering his hand so hot through her blouse. A connection snapped into place, a feedback loop of pure energy. She drew one ragged breath then another as magic and want crashed through her system. Tia had told her about the earthy sensations she’d felt when her magic had joined with Markus’s, but Rana hadn’t expected to feel such raw, earthy power herself. She hadn’t with any of the other guards who’d come to her. Hector’s power and vitality she’d felt across a room. Now, up close, on a feedback loop blending with hers, she couldn’t do anything but stand there and experience it, even as everything in her screamed for more.