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by Kerry Adrienne
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Kathryn Adams
is a veterinarian with a cause—she risks her financial security to help local
cat rescue groups. When a stray cat, black with one green eye and one blue,
meows at her door one night, Kathryn’s view of rescues changes quickly.
In Ancient Egypt, the throne is passed to the firstborn son, and
when the sun rises over his father’s fresh tomb, Seti will claim his crown. He
doesn’t want to rule, but the only other option is death, and his half-brother
is happy to oblige.
Seti and
Kathryn each need fulfillment in their lives. Through the help of Madame Eve
and an ancient Egyptian goddess, they find peace in each other’s arms for one
night. At dawn, Bast will return to ferry them back to their responsibilities
unless they can rescue each other.
Pharaoh, Mine
The king’s
sarcophagus lay on a large carved stone in the center of the torch lit chamber.
Seti paced across the compacted dirt, the oily smoke from the flames trailing
behind him in a whirlwind of memory. Musky incense swirled over mounds of
beaded offerings to the gods. He fell onto his knees, trembling. The lone
melody of a cane ney flute snaked down into the tomb, the musician somewhere
outside, with most of the mourners.
“Father,” he
whispered. No tears came. He fingered the painted hieroglyphs lining the edges
of the wooden likeness of his sire. The markings told stories of the king’s
honored past. The wars. The blood. The lives cut short and the many children. Many brothers.
“And I am
firstborn. Why?” He pressed his sandaled toe against the earthen floor and
balled his hands into fists. Shaking, he stormed over to the servants who knelt
by the vizier at the tomb’s entrance. “Leave!”
The servants,
half-bowing, scampered through the low doorway. Seti shook his head. They
scurried like startled rats.
“My king, you
must calm down,” the vizier said. The old man moved his staff side to side, in
deference.
“I am not yet
king, Pensekhmet. Not until morning.” Seti rested his head on his father’s
image, freshly kohled on the surface of the painted wooden coffin. The pigments
smelled of sharp pine and heavy clay, alive and fresh, but his bitter old
father lay inside—wrapped in linen and empty of his soul. The tyrant had
finally passed into the afterworld. Even now, he walked with the gods.
“When the sun
rises, you will be king. It is time to put away your childish notions and
accept your destiny.”
Seti beat his
fists against the wood in a slow rhythm. “I do not want to rule Egypt.”
