Exquisite Captive by Heather Demetrios Read Free Book Online Page B

prostrations he’d been forced to do whenever the Ghan Aisouri rode onto his overlord’s plantation on the backs of their massive gryphons.
    Things are different now, he thought. It’s your turn to bow before the serfs and beg us for mercy.
    Over the next few hours, Raif glided around the room, careful not to attract the attention of Malek’s security, his guests, or the man himself. It wasn’t fear—Raif was a jinni and Malek and his entourage mere humans. Still, best to be cautious. He didn’t want to arouse the suspicion of Nalia’s master. The only way for Raif to get what he wanted was for Malek to think everything was as it should be in the empire he had created for himself.
    So Raif shadowed her, letting his energy flow in a slow-moving current that connected him with his prey. He was never more than a few feet from Nalia, close enough to see her clenched fists and the shiver that would occasionally take hold of her as she pretended to listen to Malek’s guests. Every time she turned around, he slid out of view. He could almost feel her frustration building. It was cruel to play with her thus, he knew. He could imagine how exhausted she was becoming, simply by keeping an increased awareness.
    Finally, the revelers began to tire of their excess. Sometime before dawn, Malek leaned close to Nalia, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered to her. His long fingers traced her naked spine down to where the backless dress gathered at her tailbone, and she nodded at whatever he said. Nalia turned around and headed for the stairs, her eyes immediately shifting to Raif, who stood beside an elaborate ice sculpture of an elephant. She stopped for a moment, studying him. Her lips parted slightly, and a flicker of recognition passed across her face. Then she shook her head slightly and began moving forward once again. Had she figured out who he was? They’d never met, he was certain of that, but she must have been on the battlefield during the serf uprisings.
    He eased next to her, keeping enough distance so as not to attract her master’s notice. He spoke in Kada, the jinn language, lest any guests be eavesdropping.
    “I’m not here to kill you.”
    She raised her eyebrows, then stared ahead, slowly moving through the crush of party-weary bodies as if he wasn’t there. The guests parted before her and Raif kept pace, annoyed that he had to play catch-up.
    “Then why are you here?” she asked, her lips barely moving.
    “It’s complicated,” he said. “Where can we talk?”
    “I don’t speak to traitors.” Hatred oozed out of her voice. “You’re a Djan. How can you work for the Ifrit? They’re monsters— butchers .”
    The anger he’d been keeping at bay throughout the party flared to life, igniting green sparks in his eyes.
    “I’d never work for them,” he spat. “If you hadn’t been so intent on fighting me in the garage, you would have known that.”
    “Something about the word salfit must have confused me about your motives,” she said.
    “Look, if you’re through being your master’s pet for the night, I can—”
    She glared, looking him full in the face for the first time. “Pet?”
    This wasn’t going well. His sister, Zanari, was constantly reminding Raif that the art of diplomacy was just as important as the art of war. The only way to get this Ghan Aisouri scum to listen to him was to play the part of the docile serf.
    “Forgive me . . . My Empress .”
    Nalia stopped, her muscles suddenly taut. When she looked at him, her eyes betrayed nothing—had she detected his mockery?
    “Your empress is dead,” she said in a flat voice.
    Interesting, he thought. He’d assumed she’d been biding her time, waiting for Malek to make his third wish so that she could return to Arjinna and claim her place as the land’s rightful heir to the throne. It seemed this one didn’t fit the power-hungry mold of the royal Aisouri.
    “You are the last Ghan Aisouri—the only jinni with royal blood