Meredith Webber – One Night with a Seductive Sheikh: The Sheikh's Redemption / Falling for the Sheikh She Shouldn't / The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum (страница 14)

Suddenly, footsteps joined his in the muted silence.

They came from behind. Sure, steady. Single. In an alternating rhythm to his footfalls. No attempt to catch up to him, just keeping pace.

A chill crackled through his every nerve.

It wasn’t fury that someone was following him. Or even worry at the possibility of an attack.

It was a … presence that had engulfed him.

Immense. Potent. Ominous.

He stopped. So did the steps behind him. He turned slowly, felt the icy menace of that manifestation swirling around, hindering him like a straitjacket of chains. By midturn every instinct was shouting at him, Don’t look back! Just walk away!

It took all he had to overcome the unreasoning aversion, mostly out of burning curiosity.

Next moment, it was his turn to gape.

Twenty paces away, a man stood so still he might have stopped time in its tracks, so dark he seemed to absorb shadows, snuffing out light. Tall, taller than even him, as broad, in an abaya that opened over shirt and pants, falling to the ground like a shroud of night. He projected something far larger than his physical size, emitted a force Haidar had never felt from another human being. His stance was deceptively relaxed, arms passive by his sides, face slightly lowered, dark eyes leveled on him from beneath dense, winged eyebrows, transmitting a message, a knowledge. That it would be at his whim that he walked away from this confrontation. And it looked like …

Rashid?

Every muscle in his body went slack with shock.

But … no. It couldn’t be. The dimness was playing tricks on his vision, his imagination. He had been thinking of Rashid a lot lately, must be superimposing his memory on this man who resembled him—

“I heard you were pimping yourself out.”

A sickening sensation jolted through him. That voice …

It shared elements with the one he’d last heard over the phone. After they’d become enemies. It had been cold and dark then, nothing like the lively, expressive baritone of the man who’d once been his best friend, sometimes closer to him than his own twin. He’d thought the ugly conflict had been coloring it.

It was far worse now. Fathomless with terrible mysteries.

It was Rashid. Changed almost beyond recognition, yet undoubtedly him. Then he moved. With every step closer, it became clearer. The orphaned distant cousin who, through what he’d once thought a twist of magnanimous fate, had become the biggest part of his and Jalal’s life, had not merely changed.

He’d metamorphosed.

One of the most apparent facets of radical change was his hair. Rashid had always kept it long, to his guardian’s distress. It had once reached the middle of his back. Even when he’d joined the army, he hadn’t gotten the usual military crop.

It was now almost shaved.

But it was worse than that. As he came to a stop a few feet away, in the light from a brass sconce, he could see it. A bloodcurdling scar slashing its way from the corner of Rashid’s left eye down to the corner of his jaw, slithering down his neck, then lower …

“So tell me, Haidar, how long have you been hiding this burning desire to be tied, gagged and abused?”

That new voice, that predatory rumble, revved inside his chest with an oppressive sorrow. For the two-decade friendship that had ended and taken another chunk of his humanity with it.

But regret served no purpose. And his humanity, according to the best of authorities, hadn’t existed to start with.

Tilting his head, conceding that there would be no quarter given on either side, his huff was the very sound of bitter amusement. “Dominated. Abused is a whole different subcategory.”

“Just goes to show you can never claim to know anyone.”

The bile of confusion at how vicious Rashid had become in his enmity rose again. “So true.”

Those black-as-an-abyss eyes poured icy goading and burning scorn over him. “Word is you exiled yourself from Zohayd after your mother tried to roast half the region and serve it to you on a platter. I wonder how much effort you put into fabricating that ‘fact.’”

Rashid was one of the trio who could ever smash through his defenses, melt the layers of ice at his core. Boil his blood.

But a heated defense was exactly what Rashid wanted.

He’d long been done giving anyone what they wanted from him.

“You know me, Rashid. Such things come to me effortlessly. I leave it to … lesser men to exert themselves.”

Seemingly satisfied he had gotten the reaction he’d wanted after all, Rashid said, “So now that Zohayd has wised up and kicked you out on your ear, you’ve come to blight Azmahar with your presence. But if you knew anything about me, you’d know people leave it to me to … deal with discord and its sowers.”

Without the tinge of sarcasm in his tone, he would have thought Rashid was deadly serious. Deadly, period. This was the face of someone who would kill without mercy.

As he had before.

Not that it worried him in the least. Two more things he’d been born without were fear and the ability to back down.

He raised Rashid double his provocation. “I just thought I’d come see what I can do to save Azmahar from the dire fate of having to settle for someone with your … fundamental deficiencies. You know how charitable I can be.”

Something lethal slithered through the depths of Rashid’s eyes—not exactly an emotion, but a reaction. Haidar didn’t know why, but it forced his focus back to the scar.

Ya Ullah, how had that happened? When? Not during his army years. He knew that. What he didn’t know was why he’d never heard of Rashid having it, or how he’d gotten it. Did anyone know?

He had a feeling no one did. No one but Rashid himself.

“How much did you pay those clans to ‘choose’ you as their candidate?”

Rashid’s voice, harsher now, brought his eyes back to his. He didn’t want his scar scrutinized. Especially by him.

Haidar exhaled. “How much did you?”

“I was actually offered whatever I could ask for. A lot of people will do anything to stop you, or your asymmetrical half, from taking the throne.”

Suddenly he was fed up. He hated this. Hated that they had to keep stabbing at each other, deepening the wounds, widening the rift. He’d never wanted any of this. Now he wanted it all to stop.

It wouldn’t be a concession of defeat if he reached out to Rashid. It would be an olive branch to an injured adversary. Who should have never become one.

He inhaled. “A throne is something I never thought about or wanted, Rashid.”

“That’s a famous tactic.” Rashid shrugged. “The sour-grapes maneuver. You were the Prince of Two Kingdoms who could never be in line for the throne of, either. What else can you do but pretend you aren’t interested?”

“No pretense. After a lifetime of watching what kind of pain in the neck, heart and butt being king is from the woeful example of my father, I wouldn’t wish it even on you.”

“I’m so touched that you consider me your worst enemy.”

Wanting to kick himself for the terribly timed joke, when it was certain Rashid had taken it literally, he started to clarify.

Rashid overrode him. “But don’t I now share that status with your pointedly absent semi-demon twin?”

Haidar waited for the mention of Jalal to finish turning the skewer embedded in his gut.

Rashid only stabbed him harder. “I came after you only to tell you how entertaining it will be, watching you two campaign for the throne, adding your arrogance to your uncle’s ineptness, your cousins’ excesses and your mother’s all-round villainy.”

Having inflicted all the injuries he’d wanted to, Rashid turned.

He’d walk away, and any chance to heal their severed bond would be lost.

Haidar lunged after him, grabbed his arm.

Rashid’s gaze lowered to the fingers digging into his abaya-wrapped flesh. Haidar could swear his hand burned.

He didn’t care if Rashid possessed heat vision for real and would burn off his hand. He had to know.

“What happened to you, Rashid?”

After a chilling moment, Rashid calmly removed his hand from his arm, stepped away as if Haidar’s nearness soiled him.

His gaze was opaque. “You were always a self-involved son of a major bitch, Haidar.”

He wasn’t up to contesting the accuracy of that summation, wasn’t sure how it applied here. “I’m trying to get involved now.”

“A bit too late for that. Years too late.”