Everlasting - Iris Johansen [63]
“I know.” He leaned forward to kiss her gently. “And even longer than the rest of our lives. The everlasting bonding. We're very lucky to have found it, and we'd be damned fools to risk losing it.” He kissed her again with a power and passion that was a shining promise. Then he lifted his head and his voice was a little unsteady. “I love you, Kira. I'll love you forever.”
The moment was so fraught with beauty and meaning that she couldn't speak.
At last he released her. “More later,” he said with a low, husky laugh. He took her elbow. “Now, let's get out of here before Naldona's soldiers come breathing down our necks.”
He didn't speak again until they had lifted off and were flying north over the dark forests and moonlit ribboned streams. He glanced at her searchingly. “You're very quiet. Are you very unhappy about leaving your home?”
Kira lifted her eyes from the rolling panorama below. Yes, it was sad to be leaving, particularly when she wanted so desperately to help Tamrovia. Yet Zack had said there would be ways for them to help in the struggle, and she knew together they would find those ways. In the final analysis, from now on wherever Zack was, her home would be, just as she would be the lodestone of his existence.
She held out her left hand and he took it and clasped it with warm, comforting strength.
“I'm not leaving home.” She smiled at him lovingly. “I'm going home, Zack. I'm going home.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Iris Johansen has more than twenty-seven million copies of her books in print and is the New York Times bestselling author of Stalemate, Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Blind Alley, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and more. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.
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MAY 3, 1196
FORTRESS OF MAYSEF
NOSAIRI MOUNTAINS
SYRIA
HIS POWER WAS WANING, fading like that blood-red sun setting behind the mountains.
Jabbar Al Nasim's fists clenched with fury as he gazed out at the sun sinking on the horizon. It should not be. It made no sense that he should be so afflicted. Weakness was for those other fools, not for him.
Yet he had always known it would come. It had even come for Sinan, the Old Man of the Mountain. But he had always been stronger than the old man in both mind and spirit. Sinan had bent before the yoke, but Nasim had prepared for it.
Kadar.
“You sent for me, master?”
He turned to see Ali Balkir striding along the battlements toward him. The man's voice was soft, hesitant, and he could see the fear in his face. Nasim felt a jolt of fierce pleasure as he realized the captain had not detected any loss of power. Well, why should he? Nasim had always been master here, in spite of what outsiders thought. Sinan might have been the King of Assassins, feared by kings and warriors alike, but Nasim had been the one who had guided his footsteps. Everyone here at the fortress knew and groveled at his feet.
And they'd continue to grovel. He would not let this monstrous thing happen to him.
Balkir took a hurried step back as he saw Nasim's expression. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I beg your forgiveness for intrud—”
“No, stay. I have a task for you.”
Balkir drew a relieved breath. “Another attack on the Frankish ships? Gladly. I brought you much gold from my last journey. I will bring you even more this—”
“Be silent. I wish you to return to Scotland where you left Kadar Ben Arnaud and the foreigners. You are to tell him nothing of what has transpired here. Do not mention me. Tell him only that Sinan is claiming his price. Bring him to me.”
Balkir's eyes widened. “Sinan? But Sinan is—”
“Do you question me?”
“No, never.” Balkir moistened his lips. “But what if he refuses?”
Balkir was terrified,