Her Pirate Master by Tula Neal Page B

there had nothing to do with her, and really why should it, she knew he would not react well to her presence. Imi took a step backward and cried out in shock at the feel of hard flesh. An arm went around her neck, and a hand closed over her mouth. Imi bucked and tried to scream as she was lifted off the ground.
    “Quiet,” Sahman hissed, appearing before her.
    In answer, Imi thrashed her legs and threw herself from side to side trying to loosen the other man’s grip on her.
    Without warning, Sahman’s fist ploughed into her stomach. Imi would have doubled over from pain and shock but for the man holding her.
    “Good, now be still.” Sahman paused and eyed her menacingly as if daring her to disobey him.
    She kicked out at him and felt a small flare of angry glee as he jumped back. The man with his hand over her mouth dug his fingers into her cheeks.
    “Open the door there,” the man commanded in Latin.
    Sahman rushed to obey, and Imi found herself carried inside one of the storehouses. Sahman propped open one of the high small windows and closed the door.
    “Who are you?” the man asked, giving Imi a little shake.
    Imi struggled to free herself.
    “No, wait,” the stranger said, his rough voice low. “I will let you go, but if you scream or try to escape, Sahman will kill you. Do you understand?”
    Imi grunted. He had switched to the formal language of Egypt’s priests.
    “I will tell him to do it, and you will die. Whether you live or not is up to you.” He spoke the words flawlessly, without a stumble but in a curiously accented way. Was he a Theban who had spent much time out of the country? Or was he Alexandrian? She couldn’t tell. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was in great danger.
    Imi swallowed hard and nodded to show she understood.
    “Good.” He let go of her, and Imi stiffened her knees, determined to show no weakness. She turned around to get a good look at the man. Stocky, he had high cheekbones and a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. Most startlingly, his eyes under heavy brows were the color of the moss that grew on rocks continually washed by water. They gave him the look of a Mittani, but he could just as well have been from even farther away.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    “Who are you?” Imi retorted.
    Beside her, Sahman drew his back his fist. Imi flinched. The stranger held up his hand.
    “No, Sahman. We must save our energies for when we really need them. I’ll try it again. Who are you?”
    “Imi.” She pushed the word out reluctantly. “My name is Imi.”
    “Sahman tells me they picked you up on the road to Anxur. You were coming from Rome.” It was not a question, but he paused. When she didn’t say anything, a small smile flashed on his face, but it was gone in an instant.
    “I will get your story out of you, so you might as well cooperate.”
    “You have no reason for bringing me here. You should let me go.”
    “Should I?” The smile came back, and he looked downright cheerful now. “You’re the daughter of Khefre of Alexandria, are you not?”
    “What? What?” Her mouth dried. Despite the heat, she suddenly felt cold. “What do you know of my father? Tell me.” She took a step toward him, but Sahman blocked her with his arm.
    “Ah, ah.” His smile broadened. “Tell me what I want to know first.”
    “Just . . . does he live? Tell me that much, and I will answer all your questions.”
    He held up his hand. “There is only one thing, really, that I wish to know. Sahman tells me that when you were found, you clutched a small chest and would not release it. What is in that box, Imi?”
    She glared at him. He could tell her what she wanted to know above all else, but how could she betray the princess? Goddess, she prayed. Save me. But nobody came bursting through the door to her aid.
    “Do you not want to know the fate of your father and mother after the ill–conceived rebellion against the queen of