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She smirked. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It was a final performance.”
He grinned. Confident-like. “We’ll see.”
He’s right. I’m already slipping.
Lynretta and Amani joined them before she could snap a clever response. Both looked thrilled by the long, grungy ride.
“Don’t you love to travel by camel?” asked the museum’s curator, turning to face the ruins with excitement sparking her eyes. “This is Ptolemy XII’s temple at Kom Ombo.”
Indigo opened her mouth to speak but closed it. She slapped her hat to her thigh again, surrounding the group with dust plumes. She settled on “hmm” as her response while she rubbed her sore buttocks.
When Roark rested his hand on top of hers, she swatted it away. With a snarl, he tugged her toward the temple, following the other two females who seemed intoxicated by a new ruin to explore. “Didn’t your mother ever talk to you about flies, honey, and vinegar?” he asked.
“No. We never had such a conversation.”
He dropped Indigo’s hand to wrap his arm around her hip and tuck her to his side. “Speaking of honey, I have another use for it when we get back to the hotel.” His lips brushed her ear. “I’m going to pour it on you and eat my fill.”
Indigo stumbled, no longer certain all the moisture in her pants was sweat. “This Blood’s Kiss quest is your idea. You’re paying me big time. Focus on that.”
“I can multi-task. Fuck and think. Think about fucking. Fucking think. You get my drift.”
Did she ever. Roark was an enigma. Though mufti covered him from boots to neck, power seeped from his pores. Despite his insouciant gate, his coiled muscles were constantly ready to spring into action. He worked overtime to mask the energy behind sexy, carefree shifter banter. Flirtatious words. Sensual glances. But he set Indigo’s bullshit meter to red alert.
Careful, girl, he’s getting under your skin like cellulite. Pretty soon, even liposuction won’t cure the problem. The kinda-shifter has too many secrets. Beware.
Wasn’t that the whole sorry story of her youth?
Secrets. Yeah.
She didn’t want a male with secrets. He had hidden from her the fact he was a spy for Cadmon. Was that it? Or was there more?
Lynretta shouted Roark’s name. “Come quick. We found something.”
They followed her to a large, well-preserved relief on a temple wall. A woman with a young male at her side clutched a sword above her head as if to protect the child.
“That’s Cleopatra and her son, Caesarian, sired by Julius Caesar,” said Amani.
The four visitors studied the ruin for some time.
Indigo resisted fingering the images captured in stone. “Amani, let’s say the blade is Blood’s Kiss. Let’s further say it passed from Alexander the Great to Ptolemy I Soter and down his line to Cleo. Where would it go from her? To one of her kids? To another Ptolemaic ruler?”
“She had four children. Caesarian and three with Mark Antony. But she was the last active ruler of the Ptolemaic Empire.”
“Ideas?” asked Indigo, impatient to get on with the hunt, find the sword, and part ways with the disturbing kinda-shifter. If it wasn’t already too late.
The Egyptian historian tucked a fallen lock of hair into her dusty scarf. “Roman forces under Octavian defeated Mark Antony in the Battle of Actium in 31 BC. The following year, the two lovers committed suicide. Though Caesarian was slated to rule, he died shortly after.”
“So where did the sword go? To Rome?” Indigo needed a trail to follow. If only she had a piece of the weapon, she could follow it. This kind of research was always slower.
Amani’s brows scrunched together. “At this point, I’d say the best bet is to study archival documents pertaining to Cleopatra VII.”
“Could the weapon be buried with Cleopatra?” asked Roark.
“Could be. The ancient writings might point you in that direction.” Amani tapped a thoughtful finger on her chin.
Lynretta rested a hand on Roark’s arm. “I must resume my own studies. I’m flying home but will leave you in Amani’s skilled hands. You will need a translator for the documents.”
“I don’t have the time to serve as a translator,” said Amani. “I could find you someone who reads Latin, Greek, and hieroglyphics. For pay, of course.”
