The Sheikh's Destiny. Olivia Gates
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through the vortex of crimson-blotched darkness, one of her attackers seemed to be sucked away as if into a black hole. He slammed into the side of the building with a sickening crunch.
A second assailant turned away, but a hair-raising crack sent his blood arcing inches from her face. His terrified gaze bored into hers before his body slammed into her as if from the impact of a speeding car. He took her down with him.
She struggled under his dead weight, fear pulsing through her disorientation. Who had come to her rescue? Would they turn on her once they had finished off her attackers?
The body pinning her down was heaved away. She wriggled up frantically on the freezing sidewalk and saw… saw…
Him.
A fallen angel. Huge, dark, ominous. Frightening in his beauty, radiating power and menace. Almost impossible to bear looking at, yet equally impossible to look away from.
And she knew him. She’d known him all her life.
But it couldn’t be him. Not only had he changed almost beyond recognition, but what would he be doing here? Now? When she’d been certain she’d never see him again?
Was her jolted brain conjuring up an imaginary savior?
If so, why not one of her cousins who were as well equipped to fill the role? Why him?
Why Rashid Aal Munsoori?
But with her senses stabilizing, no doubt remained. It was Rashid. A remote, if steady, presence in her life during her first seventeen years. The man she’d had a crush on since before she could remember.
He was now facing the remaining two attackers like a monolith, his one-of-a-kind face carved from the coldness of the night, majestic head almost shaved, juggernaut body swathed in a coat that flapped around him like angry creatures from the abyss.
The men recovered from their shock, charged him, snarling, slashing switchblades at him. Dread deluged her.
Unfazed by her shout or their attack, Rashid maneuvered like a matador fielding raging bulls, harnessing the mindlessness of their charge against them. His arms and legs lashed out in a choreography of deadly precision, his methods merciless, flawless, as second nature as breathing was to her. He looked like an avenging demon reveling in vanquishing the loathsome quarry he lived to prey on.
By the time she pulled herself to her feet, Rashid had the two men plastered against the building. One had lost consciousness. The other hung in the air, feet kicking feebly.
Over the night’s moaning wind, she heard rumbles issuing from Rashid. They didn’t sound human.
For a crazy moment, she thought they might not be. That he did have some… entity inhabiting him, one that wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than taking those men’s lives.
That conviction broke her paralysis. “You’ll kill them!”
At her choking protest he turned his head and… ya Ruhmaan.
Merciful God—what had happened to him? He barely resembled the man she’d obsessed over all her life. The eerie blankness in his eyes, the serene viciousness baring his teeth. Like a beast in killing mode.
And that scar…
“And?”
She shuddered. His voice. It completed the impression. That some demon occupied him, had taken him over, was metamorphosing his body to suit its nature and needs, was using his voice to transmit its darkness and danger.
This man who’d once been Rashid was serious in his question. He had no compunction about killing in principle, and none at all about snuffing out the lives of the thugs he’d conquered.
There was no way to appeal to the mercy of this creature. He had none. Of that she was certain. She couldn’t use fear of consequences, either. She was as sure he felt no fear of any sort. He seemed to feel nothing but violence and vengeance. It was as if he’d stepped in to punish the criminals, not to save her, the victim.
Only appealing to his logic remained.
“And there’s no need.” She could barely form words in her frozen, constricted throat. “You’ve already beaten them—to a pulp. None of them will be out of intensive care anytime soon.”
“Putting them back together will be a gross waste of medical resources. I should spare society the cost of their continued existence.” He turned his eyes to the man wriggling and whimpering in his hold. “Scum like this don’t deserve to live.”
She ventured closer, feeling as if she was interrupting a lion’s kill. “A death sentence is over the top for their crime, don’t you think?”
Still looking at the struggling man, Rashid said, “The ones they’ve committed so far, you mean. They would have probably ended up killing you—”
“No, man…” The man choked, terror flowing from his eyes. “We were only… goin’ to hold ‘er… for ransom. A bro recognized ‘er for a princess… from one o’ those filthy rich oil kingdoms… said we’d get… serious dough… for ‘er. We weren’t going to hurt ‘er… or touch ‘er…” he spluttered the qualification when Rashid squeezed his throat harder. “I… swear. Danny got carried away when she hit him… and you probably killed him for it… but I didn’t do anything to her… don’t kill me… please…”
In spite of everything, she pitied this flimsy creature in the body of a brute. He’d been reduced to blubbering in the grip of a force the likes of which he hadn’t known existed.
The imbalance of power should have been in their favor, four hulks versed in violence. But Rashid had overpowered them like a superior feline would a pack of rats.
But it was as if he didn’t even feel her there, had been debating with his inner demon the actions he should take, finding only approval from it.
She had one last shot before this situation passed the point of no return. Give him, and that demon, something to appease their merciless convictions.
She ventured a touch on his arm, flinched. Even through the layers of clothes, electricity arced from the steel cables he had for muscles to strike her to her toes.
She swallowed a lump of agitation. “Wouldn’t you rather they live to suffer the consequences of their crimes? You’ve probably given them all some permanent disability.”
When his dark gaze turned to her again, it felt as if he was seeing her for the first time, letting her and her words breach the barrier of his implacability.
Suddenly, he unclenched his hands. The men, both unconscious now, thudded to the ground like sacks of bricks.
Relief shuddered through her, the freezing air filling her lungs. Rashid had killed before. But it had been as a soldier in three wars. Here, it would have been different. And she couldn’t have even those thugs’ deaths on her conscience.
As he stood appraising his handiwork, she sensed his demon scratching at its containment to be let loose to finish its job. But Rashid seemed in control of their symbiosis again, back to being the ultramodern desert knight who had the world at his feet and everyone in it at his disposal.
He produced his cell phone, called the police then an ambulance. Then he turned to her. “Did they hurt you?”
At his question, she suddenly felt the imprint of their hands all over her arms and back. But the epicenter of pain was the left side of her jaw. Her hand flew to it instinctively.
He urged her below a streetlight. She stumbled at the feel of his hand on her arm, then again as he kicked one of the thugs in the head when he began to stir. The contrast between his violence with her attacker and his gentleness with her was staggering.
Once within the circle of light, his hand moved hers away from her face so he could examine it.
“Maybe I will kill them