Page 80 of Silver Angel

“If that is what it will take to have you willing again,” he promised recklessly.

She shrugged him away from her ear, doubting her hearing. “You don’t mean that,” she scoffed. “My God, I have even been told you exhaust yourself in order to satisfy everyone. You should be glad that at least one of the women you own won’t feel neglected if you ignore her.’’

“It would devastate me if that were so, but you know it is not. Now that you have tasted the pleasures of the body, you would miss this.” He slid a hand between their bodies to capture a breast. “Even now I can feel your nipple hardening, begging for my kiss.”

“Sto—” The word turned abruptly to a scream, for suddenly behind him there loomed a dark shape, but all Chantelle actually saw was the flash of a dagger raised above the Dey’s head.

Chapter Thirty-seven

If Derek had stopped to think, that would have been the end of it. The knife would have found its target, plunging through his back straight to his heart. And the blade was long enough to have passed through him, going on to impale Shahar as well.

But he didn’t stop to think. Shahar’s scream was laced with fear, not outrage at his seduction, and his instincts demanded immediate response, not questions.

He rolled, taking Shahar with him, right into the legs of the assailant. The man lost his balance, falling over them, his knife sinking so sharply into the pillows it pierced right through, the tip breaking off on the marble floor beneath. But the weapon was not made any less dangerous by losing its point. It was still deadly enough to slash through flesh and bone, and was swiftly brought into play to do just that.

Derek only had time to shove Shahar away from him, the man was on him so quickly. He couldn’t even spare a glance to see if he had abandoned her to other assailants, though professionals weren’t likely to bother with a woman until their objective had been met, and he was that objective. But the man didn’t get immediate help. He was strong enough not to need any, as Derek painfully found out. And if the blunted, jagged edge of the dagger didn’t have difficulty breaking through his skin, it would have sunk deeper than a mere half inch before his own strength forced it out, his hands nearly breaking the man’s wrist before it was jerked away.

The second stab was deflected with his forearm, and that gave him a chance to land a fist on the assassin’s jaw. But in his position on the floor, there wasn’t much power behind it. Mere seconds passed before the knife was back, slashing at his throat this time. But the longer reach of his arms saved him, and a palm to the chin of the assassin so he couldn’t see his target.

The blade fell short of its mark, and Derek was able to latch onto the wrist again, determined not to lose it this time. Now it was simply a matter of strength, and an awareness that there could only be one survivor in this contest.

Chantelle crouched on the floor, both fists pressed to her mouth, her eyes riveted to the deadly scene before her. She didn’t think to run for help, nor did she wonder why there wasn’t any help forthcoming after her piercing scream. Her instinct was to do something herself, but she was terrified to take her eyes off the grappling pair even for a moment, afraid that it would be over if she did. And the assailant was so huge, now that she could see him clearly. There was solid bulk filling his robes, a broad back, thick shoulders, and arms that were probably just as thick. How could Jamil, who might be strong but was so much slimmer, hold him off for very long?

She had to do something and quickly, before the fear she was experiencing paralyzed her even more. She stumbled to her feet, glancing frantically about for a weapon that would make a likely club or…Her eyes flew to the table as she suddenly remembered the long knife Jamil had used to carve the roast. No servants had come in to clear the table. The knife was still there, but could she use it? Could she actually kill a man? What would happen if she didn’t?

Jamil could die, of course, and that gave her the incentive to run to the table and snatch up the knife. But she was more terrified than ever with the lethal thing in her fist. How could she do it? How could she not? She didn’t want Jamil to die, did she?Did she?

She acknowledged the answer only on a deeper level, for she was already moving toward the deadly struggle on the floor, and before she could question the right or wrong of it any further, she raised the knife to plunge it into the assailant’s back, just as he had meant to do to Jamil. But she had gotten too close to them. A leg jarred her, ruining her aim, and somehow that broad back wasn’t there to receive the blade, but Jamil’s head was.

Chantelle blanched even as the momentum prevented her from drawing back, it all happened so quickly. She saw the knife nick Jamil’s ear as she fell against the assassin. And then she went crashing into the wall, unaware that she had knocked the large man so off balance that Derek was able to change their positions, and she got thrown over in the process.

The pillows set up against the wall cushioned the impact, so that Chantelle wasn’t even stunned. But she had lost her knife in the fall. And when she looked back, the two combatants were still. No, oh, God, no!

“Jamil?”

He raised his head, and Chantelle crumpled with relief, sinking back into the pillows.Nowshe felt bruised and battered. But what must he be feeling?

“Are you all right, Shahar?”

“Me?” she choked, and then sucked in a gasp as he stood up. “You’re bleeding!”

It came out as an accusation. Derek glanced down at his chest but knew the cut was too minor to be concerned about.

“It is nothing.”

“But why did he…how could this…where the devil are your guards?” she finally got out, anger replacing her fear.

“I believe I told them I would skin them alive if they interrupted me tonight for anything. They obviously took me at my word. But they are mutes, after all, and would not have heard anything.”

“I screamed loud enough to alert the guards at the end of the hall.”

“So you did.” Derek grinned. “But even if they would have responded to a woman’s scream, which is doubtful in your case, since the entire palace knows what trouble I have with you, the guards at the door would not have let them in.”

She ignored the insinuation that her screams could only mean he had lost patience with her. “Then howdidhe get in?” She looked at the man lying motionless on the floor and shuddered, seeing the dagger protruding from his chest and the wide pool of blood around it.

“A good question.”

Chantelle watched him march to the door, only now realizing that the guards outside must be dead. But they weren’t. They came in the room, followed soon by many others. And the Dey’s personal guards weren’t dead either. They were still in the garden where he had banished them, which left both entrances guarded, but obviously not very well. It was no wonder the mutes were so upset on finding the dead man in the room. They were guilty of either inattention or collusion.