Claiming the Jackal. Seressia GlassЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter One

      “There, that should do it.” Rana smoothed the bandage in place, then smiled up at the jackal shifter. “You can take the wrap off tomorrow morning and apply the ointment again. After lunch, feel free to shift.”

      “Thank you, Priestess.” The young jackal smiled, holding his bandaged forearm. “It feels better already. You surely have a magical touch.”

      “You’re welcome,” she said, grabbing her chart to make a few final notes. The young guard—at least, he seemed young—had entered the infirmary with a six-inch gash in his arm, given to him by another guard during combat training. “How long does it normally take you to heal from your wounds when you shift into your jackal form?”

      “Well, usually—” Suddenly he stiffened, eyes widening. A whimper seeped from his throat as he dropped his gaze.

      Concerned with his abrupt change in demeanor, Rana reached out to touch his carotid artery. “Are you all right?”

      Power rolled through the infirmary a split second before a warning growl did. Rana dropped her hand, suppressing a shiver as she recognized the distinctive signature of the magical energy weighing down the air. He was here.

      She turned to see Hector, the jackals’ second in command, filling the doorway. The large jackal growled again. “Remain away from your post for much longer and I can guarantee you will be in desperate need of a healer.”

      The words were soft, almost negligent, but only a fool would ignore the threat woven in them. The young guard was no fool. “My apologies, Captain. I’ll return straightaway.” He beat a hasty retreat, Hector’s glower boring into him.

      The shifter captain stepped into the exam room, turning the full weight of his silvery-green gaze to Rana. She stopped, stared, her duties forgotten.

      Hector was stunning—in looks, in effect. Six feet three inches of solid, sleek muscle, olive skin highlighting his Greek-Egyptian heritage and gray-green eyes beneath thick brows and dark brown hair that seemed perpetually wind tossed. She knew that he was roughly two thousand years old, and his power was potent, heady.

      Awareness tingled along her nerve endings, awareness of him. Every time she saw him, her breath caught in her throat, her blood heated and her palms grew damp. A month into her stay at the jackal compound and she was still struck mute by his nearness. He made her feel like a girl in the first blush of womanhood, not a priestess over three hundred years old.

      Most of the Sons of Anubis were politely distant in a could-rip-your-throat-out sort of way. They all seemed fiercely protective and focused on their duties, something that she, a Daughter of Isis, could appreciate.

      Hector, however, was...more. Large and lethal, he radiated danger and intensity even when standing still. The infirmary—six large beds and two cages flanked by new state-of-the-art equipment—seemed too small to contain the full force of his energy. She only had to look at him to know that he was fiercely committed to everything he did and accepted nothing less than a successful outcome.

      He wore a simple white T-shirt and dark cargo pants, but on him they were a king’s raiment. The white cotton emphasized his broad shoulders, defined arms, taut abs. Isis, have mercy.

      She’d been introduced to the captain after Tia, granddaughter of Isis high priestess Aya and great-granddaughter of jackal clan founder Sekhanu, had wed the current clan leader, Markus. While the other male jackals had shown keen interest in Rana and the other Daughters of Isis who had attended the ceremony, Hector had been coldly reserved, almost to the point of hostility.

      Hector’s distrust and dislike of Rana and the other Daughters of Isis was palpable. It didn’t matter that she had worked tirelessly both magically and surgically to save three of his fellow clan mates after an attack by the undead. It didn’t matter that she and her fellow priestesses had nothing to do with the murders that had started the war between their peoples. Hector tolerated the presence of the priestesses because he had to. Rana had the feeling that if Hector had his way, the Daughters of Isis would never set foot on jackal lands again.

      Rana, of course, couldn’t stay away. She’d known from the moment she’d entered the jackal compound that she was meant to be there. Discovering that the shifters’ healer had died trying to save other members from a deadly curse a few months ago and they didn’t have another confirmed it. She’d been the first to volunteer to be part of the visiting delegation, and had every intention of making it permanent. She even had Aya’s blessing, the high priestess saying it was the will of Isis. Here, Rana could right the wrongs inflicted by Amansuanan. Somehow, she would make reparations for the horrors her grandmother had caused with her twisted jealousy. She’d been behind the attack on the Daughters of Isis and the Sons of Anubis—her jealousy over then—high priestess Asharet and her mate, Sekhanu, had festered into a killing rage. She’d managed to kill both leaders and several followers and somehow blame the jackals for the crime. Four thousand long years of enmity, of hiding and avoidance and a few outright conflicts that had left whole swaths of the Two Lands uninhabitable.

      Shame, hurt and anger burned through Rana. Her mother had betrayed Tia to Amansuanan, enabling her to be kidnapped.