Sin's Daughter by Eve Silver
Prologue
The Underworld, the Territory of Sutekh
Fifty years ago
Kai Warin pressed his hands to his chest. Warm. Sticky. Drawing his fingers away, he saw they were covered in blood.
Pain knifed through him, stealing his breath, stealing his thoughts. Then it passed and he was left feeling numb, out of sorts, like he wasn't really here.
And where was here?
He had a fleeting impression of a sandstone gallery and preternatural silence. Guess he wasn't in Kansas anymore.
He definitely wasn't on Pfeiffer Beach. The lack of sand and waves and sky gave it away.
Fear bit at him. Not for himself. For Amber. He pictured her, light brown hair tousled by the wind, eyes bright as she looked at him. And then she was gone. Fading like morning mist under the glare of the warming sun.
Was she safe? God, she had to be safe.
The thought brought anger shimmering over him in waves, and for a second, he just stood there, disoriented.
Then he remembered the note—red lipstick on the bathroom mirror. She thought it was a game to do things like that; she liked to surprise him. She'd written two words. Pfeiffer Beach. Their private place. She called it the most beautiful beach in the world. He'd kissed her there for the first time. Weeks later, he'd brought blankets and made love to her there under the stars.
But this time, it hadn't been Amber there waiting for him. It had been…
He stared at his bloody hand for a long moment. He couldn't remember.
His head jerked up.
Before him was a set of heavy wooden doors. As he approached, they swung open. Alert, he scanned the area, searching for any hint of movement, any threat. He closed his fist and felt the slippery warmth of his own blood.
Except…he didn't. He shot a look at his hand. There was no blood. He slapped his palm to his chest and jerked his chin down. Still no blood.
"Come," a voice bid him, low, commanding.
He stayed where he was, framed in the doorway. The room was in shadow. He could see the outline of a man on what appeared to be a raised dais, and he could smell flowers—
"Lotus blossoms," the voice clarified in a flat, bored tone.
"What do you want?" Kai asked, cutting to the chase.
Kai scanned the shadows and corners, noting the dual rows of columns that ran the length of the vast space, and through the open doors at the far end of the room, palm trees.
Again, the pain in his chest twisted in knots. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could barely stand. In his mind's eye, he saw muzzle flashes from at least three weapons. He'd been shot. The memory of lying in the sand with the sound of the waves and the wind, and the star-flecked sky a dark saucer overhead flowed over him, then ebbed, slipping from his grasp.
"Do you understand now?"
"Yes." He did. He was dead, and this sure as fuck wasn't heaven. "Amber," he breathed, far more afraid for her than he was for himself.
"Tell me about your family. Brothers? Sisters?" he'd asked.
He remembered the shadows that clouded her eyes.
"No one," she'd replied. "My mother and I—" She'd shaken her head then, and he'd had the feeling they were estranged. And she was alone.
"You have me," he'd said, and offered a cocky smile. "Forever."
But that had only made the shadows grow darker.
And now he was dead, and he'd left her alone.
"Amber Hale remains Topworld."
Kai took a second to figure that out. "Topworld. You mean, she's still alive."
"Yes."
"And this is…the Underworld?"
"Yes." A pause. "You understand that she sent you there. You understand what she did?"
Lipstick on the mirror. She'd sent him to Pfeiffer Beach, but she hadn't been waiting for him there.
He shook his head but said nothing, not willing to dignify the implied accusation.
"Come," the voice said again.
"Do I have a choice?" Kai asked, wondering why he wasn't more afraid.
"There is always a choice. Yours is between eternal life and annihilation." A pause, then, "Choose wisely."
Chapter One
San Francisco, California
Present day
They were hunting her. Three of them. Maybe more.
There was little safety here, but there was even less safety out there.
Ramped up on adrenaline, Amber Hale dived across the bed. She pushed up on all fours and crouched on the far side, lifting her gaze to the open bedroom door.
No one there. For the moment.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She dragged the mattress down, tipping it onto its side to form a wall between her and the door. Then she shoved her hand into the hole in the box spring and grabbed the gun. A Taurus Millenium Pro. Light and small, it nestled neatly in her palm.
The thump of the bass and the drums carried up through the floor, through her feet and legs, pounding in time with her runaway pulse. The music was a benefit—and curse—of living above a bar. Free concerts. The good, and the bad. Some nights, she was grateful for the invention of silicone earplugs.