“I know you’re awake, witch.”
The voice, cold and harsh, stabbed at any lingering hope. Did he call her a witch because he knew she was one, or was it an epithet of some sort? If he knew she was an Isis witch, he would have gagged her. Since he hadn’t, it was a strong possibility her kidnapper had no idea who he’d taken.
A smile bent her lips. She’d make him regret that.
Tia struggled to an upright position on the mattress, twisting around until she could see the face of her captor. She could have tried using her Voice without facing him, but staring into another’s eyes always strengthened the compulsion. Besides, her power reserves were low since she hadn’t had time to replenish her magical energy. She didn’t know if she had enough strength to put him under her control long enough to break free, but she’d try.
She expected her captor to be sitting but he stood instead, blocking the door. He was a slab of a man; dressed in old work boots and black jeans so well-worn they had a charcoal sheen to them and showed every bit of the muscles in his long legs. A gray T-shirt stretched across his wide chest, made even tighter by the defined copper-skinned arms folded across it. A close-cropped goatee called attention to a soft mouth, probably the only soft part of him. It balanced the dark cap of tight waves, and the amber-whiskey-colored eyes that glared at her from beneath strong brows and above an even stronger nose. Despite his size, his build wasn’t that of a bodybuilder, more like that of an Olympic gymnast.
Presented with such a visual feast, her base magic stirred, but not enough to quell the renewed fear that stalked up her spine. She didn’t need to see the sigil on his T-shirt or the gold Anubis-head pendant that hung on a thick chain around his neck to know who—or rather, what—her kidnapper was. She also knew that if she couldn’t control him with her Voice, she had no other options.
Locking her gaze to his, she summoned her power. “Release me, dog.”
The block of a man dropped his arms, his expression blank. He took a step forward, leaned over her...then burst out laughing. “You thought you could enslave and insult me in the same breath? I removed your gag just to see—or rather, hear—what you can do. Try again, witch.”
Dammit! Like “witch” was an endearment, coming from one of the Sons of Anubis. She knew her freedom hinged on her ability to use her power. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had the time or the inclination to recharge her base magic.
Regret soured her stomach. What would her coven sisters think if they could see her now, as defenseless as they’d always thought? What about her grandmother?
Thinking about Aya, the high priestess of the coven, had Tia reaching deep inside to her magical core. She stared up at the jackal and put every bit of compulsion she could into her Voice. “Help me escape to safety.”
Power filled the room. It rolled over the man. His eyes widened as the power of her Voice hit him. Again, he swayed toward her. Then he stepped back, shaking himself hard the way a dog dashed water from its coat. “You have magic, I’ll give you that. But if you think you can control me, think again.”
Tia cursed under her breath. If the jackal was immune to her compulsion, that meant he had magical strength in his own right. Still, he had kidnapped her, not killed her. Obviously, he wanted something from her. Something only a Daughter of Isis could provide. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I am Markus Grant, and I lead the Sons of Anubis who have chosen to call this town home,” he told her, his eyes glinting. “Those who still hold to our sacred duty to keep the Lost Ones where they belong, away from the land of the living.”
Tia refrained from rolling her eyes. Pretty speech, even if it was a lie. She knew the Sons of Anubis had abandoned their “sacred duty” centuries ago, leaving a bloody trail of broken Daughters of Isis in their wake. Without the jackals’ help, they hadn’t been able to protect the funerary temples or much of anything else, and had to abandon their home, their land.
The news that a jackal clan not only lived in Atlanta, but also thrived enough to take on the Lost Ones, disturbed her. Her grandmother’s warning slithered through her mind. Aya had told her to be extra vigilant when she left the protection of the coven, with good reason. Jackals tended to kill first and ask questions never. She’d thought she’d taken every precaution. Now she knew better. How long had the Sons of Anubis been in Atlanta? Had they somehow tracked her circle, followed them here?
She mustered what little defiance she had. “If you think I’m going to tell you where my sisters are, you’re wrong.”
“I don’t care where the Daughters of Isis are holed up,” he retorted. “At least, not at the moment. What I care about right now is you, Tia Jensen.”
Air seized in her lungs, causing her voice to squeak past her lips. “How do you know my name?”
“I know more than your name. I know that you’re a physical therapist with an exclusive client list. I know that you are affiliated with the Golden Lotus Circle of the Daughters of Isis, but you’ve been a solitary practitioner for the last four years.”
Tia stared at the man before her, fighting to suppress her fear. It flooded her nerves, pushing her magic, the power of Voice, further away. He’d stalked her. This jackal had hunted her like a wolf chasing down a rabbit. “What do you want with me?”
“Your powers.” His gaze raked the length of her, making her aware of the thin excuse for a nightgown that she wore. Her ears burned with embarrassment. The burn scalded her body in impotent rage as he half turned his back to her, as if implying that she wasn’t much of a threat to him. Considering how easily he’d breached her wards and taken her from her own bed, he was right, and it made her even angrier. She tamped it down. Getting angry wouldn’t help her escape, only hamper it. She needed to remain calm to keep her magic at the ready.
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I had hoped you’d be powerful enough to be of use to me, but if you’re not...”
He didn’t finish his statement, but he didn’t have to. Tia knew exactly what the jackals did to those they found useless.
Shame stung her eyes. Her coven sisters had thought her useless when she’d failed to manifest greater power at the onset of puberty as the seventh Daughter of a seventh Daughter was supposed to do. Hurt by the rejection, she’d distanced herself from the other Daughters by going to college, staying in on-campus housing until she completed her studies, then putting a down payment on a modest house. She’d been making a solitary life for herself, but home was still in the circle with the other Daughters of Isis, even if they didn’t think so.
“You say that you hunt the Lost Ones.” She wasn’t sure if she believed that, but she’d play along if it garnered her freedom. “Do you want my help fighting them?”
Again the laugh. “I’ve seen your defensive spells—or lack of them. I doubt your fighting skills are much better.”
Anger flooded her. “Your pack of dogs broke through my wards and into my house in the dead of night like a navy SEAL team storming an enemy hideout. You drugged me, bound me and brought me here before I could blink. What can one Daughter of Isis do against a pack of jackals?”
“For one thing, not rely on magic to save her,” he shot back. “Which you should have known, given how weak your magic is.”
“I. Am. Not. Weak!”
* * *
Markus’s eyes widened as the witch’s power punched him, causing him to rock back on his heels. Not so weak after all. Obviously she needed her passions provoked in order to fully tap into her power. Something told him provoking her passions wouldn’t be a problem.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when weeks of reconnaissance had finally come to fruition, but this woman wasn’t it. She