Page 31 of Hot Zone

Seven

Rustam frowned. He heard true panic in Tessa’s voice. Whatever she’d lost was of utmost importance to her—enough to risk her life to recover it. It would be tremendously dangerous for them to approach the feasting hall again, but apparently, that was exactly what they were going to do.

He sighed. “What did you lose?”

“My belt pouch.”

“Oh. That. I picked it up when I was adjusting one of those randy pups’ memories.” He pushed aside the fold of his short skirt and pulled her leather pouch off of his belt. A wave of enormous power passed through him, literally staggering him. What the—?

He hadn’t felt anything like that since the last time he was on his ship!

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right…An image of extraordinary clarity washed over him, as if he was seeing it in person. Marching soldiers. Coming this way. With purpose. Focused on Tessa…and him. He swore under his breath.

“Ohmigod. Thank you!” Tessa cried, startling him badly, jerking him back into the present. She lunged at the pouch, clutching it close to her chest like a long lost treasure.

What manner of talisman did she carry in there that so magnified his abilities? Rustam had never felt the like from any Persian artifact.

“We’ve got to go,” he bit out, grabbing Tessa’s saddlebags and tossing them over his shoulder. “Soldiers are coming for us.”

She didn’t question his assertion nor did she need any further encouragement to grab her last bag and bolt for the door.

“Which way?” she asked as they stepped out into the dark hallway.

He’d sensed the soldiers coming from his left. The fading residue of that single moment of sharp vision didn’t tell him more. “Right,” he stated.

She fell in beside him as he took off at a ground-eating run. Please the gods, may she be as good a runner as she was a fighter.

He’d been stunned when she’d waded into the melee with his attackers and proceeded to take out several of them with well-placed blows. He’d heard of warrior cultures far to the north where the women fought as ferociously as men. After seeing Tessa in action, he fervently hoped never to find himself at war with such a people.

A voice shouted from well behind them. He couldn’t make out what the man said, but it might have been something to the effect that he and Tessa should halt. Rustam put on an extra burst of speed as she raced beside him.

“This way,” he hissed.

His unusual status as both slave and playmate of the Persian elite gave him access to every corner of the palace. He used that knowledge now to duck into a narrow servants’ hall, winding his way through a rabbit warren of passages that led to the palace laundry and sewage disposal area. He suspected the guards behind them wouldn’t be nearly so familiar as he with this portion of the complex.

“Good grief, what’s that smell?” Tessa panted.

The stench was overwhelming. Apparently, the winds tonight were blowing back up the offal shafts.

He grunted, “Chamber pots are emptied here. Breathe through your mouth.”

“Egads,” she muttered in a muffled voice.

He ducked back out into a main hallway as soon as possible, traveling at a right angle to their earlier flight. Several expensively clothed figures rounded a corner ahead of them, and he yanked Tessa into a dark shadow. Not enough space here to hide entirely, though.

He swept her into his arms, burying his face against her neck and pulling her head down to his shoulder. As the laughing nobles drew near, he ran his hands through her hair to obscure her face—and swore. Her fair hair would mark her identity more surely than the sight of her face would.

Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he did a quick one-eighty, placing his back to the colonnade and shielding her with his body. To be safe, he pulled the corner of his shoulder drape across her head.

The laughter retreated behind them.

“Hello. I’m suffocating in here.”

“Sorry.” He unwrapped her quickly. “I was afraid they would see your hair.”

“Ahh. Sorry I’m so exotic. I assumed there would be at least a few blondes in this place.”

That was an odd thing to say. He looked at her quizzically, but she added hastily, “Shouldn’t we be going?”

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