Claiming the Jackal. Seressia Glass

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.

      His hand tightened on hers and somehow she was closer, a breath separating them. Then even that distance closed as Hector leaned down, claiming her mouth. Whether he’d intended it as a punishment or a dare she didn’t know, didn’t care.

      The heat she’d felt moments before became a flame burning through her meager defense and fanning her simmering desire to a boil. It had been a long time, longer than she cared to think about, since she’d been in a man’s arms. Even then, no one had swamped her senses the way Hector did.

      A growl rumbled between them, and she realized she was the one who’d made it. She leaned forward, stepping as close as she could, wanting more of his mouth, his heat. His tongue traced her lips, silently seeking entrance. She opened for him, bliss sweeping through her as their tongues slid and tasted. Heat spread through her, plumping her nipples, dampening her core.

      Kissing Hector wasn’t anything like she’d expected. It was so much more.

      His hands pulled away from hers as if forced away, then settled onto her shoulders. “Gods. Gods damn me.”

      With a jerk, he set her at arm’s length. Silver swirled in the depths of his gaze, eyes dilated with the same need she felt. “You will leave my men alone,” he rasped out. “If you have need of information, you will come to me.”

      She swayed toward him. “What if— What if I want something other than information?”

      He dipped his head and Rana uttered a mewl of pleasure as his teeth scraped her throat. “Whatever your needs, come to me,” he breathed against her skin. “I and I alone will provide.”

      With that, he stalked out of the room, leaving Rana to sink onto the exam table to gather her wits, her breath and her self-control.

      Chapter Two

      Anubis’s balls.

      Hector dove into the chilled lake, touched bottom, then pushed off. He swam the length of the water twice, then shifted to jackal form and paddled the length again. Exerting his body, pushing his muscles, all in a desperate need to cool the fire burning in his veins.

      Rana.

      He’d approached the Isis witch in an effort to deflect his men away from her. He’d thought pretending to claim her was the best option.

      He’d never been more wrong.

      Pretense had died the moment he’d kissed her. Hell, it had vanished long before that. The moment she’d poked his chest, the fire of conviction burning in her gaze, she’d piqued his interest.

      He’d allowed an Isis witch to challenge him. He’d allowed her to touch him and walk away unscathed. He’d kissed her, had come close to taking her right there in the infirmary. He’d taken her scent, given her his. By the dark breast of Nephthys, he’d all but claimed her when he’d set his teeth to her throat. At least other jackals would stay away from her now.

      He just didn’t know if he could.

      Rana had bewitched him. That was the only explanation for it. Despite carrying enough mistrust and anger to believe himself immune to the lure of the priestesses, he’d fallen under the spell of one. How, he didn’t know. He’d thought himself immune to their charms, the power of their Voice. An Isis witch was behind the curse that had killed four jackals and almost killed his brother. A group of Isis witches had hunted his kind for centuries, taking their pelts for some unknown purpose. Yet another Isis witch had betrayed the new Anput and nearly gotten her killed. He had good reason to distrust Isis witches and even better reasons to hate them. Yet this woman, with her caring nature and healing touch, soothed him and stirred him as none had in centuries.

      Rana was different. He’d known that when they’d briefly met at the ceremony joining Tia and Markus. The nurturing strength of her healer’s magic had wrapped around him, abating some of his rage. Though he’d easily dismissed the other priestesses, he’d noticed Rana as a man recognizes a woman. A little taller than average, the top of her head reached his chin. Mysteries and keen intellect shone through the fathomless darkness of her gaze, drawing him in. She was all curves, from the golden-copper apples of her cheeks, the bow of her lips, the swell of her breasts, to the sweet curve of her hips and thighs. She kept her ebony hair in short, touchable waves that just grazed her neck and made him want to tuck the wayward strands behind her ears. Her eyes were tomb-dark yet soft beneath sweeping black brows, the warmth in them accented by the slightly upturned nose and balanced by full lips that seemed always ready to smile.

      The memory of her touch swam through him. She’d touched him, and he’d awakened. Just a simple touch to his chest, her palm flat against his heart, and he’d come alive. Everything after that had been new and wondrous and etched into his memory. His first breath, taking her air. The first scent of