The Alliance

Chapter 1

The table was alive with the kind of conversation you make with your enemy.

Or maybe former enemy was a more fitting term- considering today an alliance was being built. Those were my father's words, yet they contradicted the terribly restrained resentment that reared its ugly head every time Ebrahim Gani opened his mouth.

His large hands itched so badly with the urge to wrap around his lean, caramel neck and strangle barely breathed out answers from him that they'd curl into fists to relieve themselves. Attacking him on his own turf wouldn't be a smart move- I trusted he knew that much.

There were guards behind every corner of the large mansion. Dressed in black and a golden yellow. No weapon was held explicitly but one wrong move and there'd be a gun pulled to your head quicker than you could tell Ebrahim; 'Fuck you'.

I internally prayed to resist the violent urges that preyed on me just as well as my father- but by the way my fork met my plate too loudly, my not wanting to be here echoing throughout the large dining hall- I was not doing a very good job. Mother had sent me her warning glares more times than I could bother to count. Her sage eyes starkly contrasting her pale, powdered skin as they met my own wordlessly telling me to behave.

Because we were here to make friends with our foes. Bury the hatchet along the many tombstones that have been planted in an overflowing graveyard. I'd agreed to cordial. Make cordial conversation with family we'd always been known to bicker with. The same family that had taken so many of our own's lives.

My fingers tightened around the gold fork bringing it down harshly with a sound that had my father reaching at his waistband, heads turning towards me. I couldn't tell whether or not I was embarrassed by the attention. I could only feel the fresh rage that lingered like a Phoenix's breath hot on my skin.

"Where's the washroom?" I managed passively, my eyes met Ebrahim's, and I could hear the sharp intake of breath from those seated around the mahogany table actually enjoying the large feast he'd had his servants prepare. His own nearly black, depthless eyes hardening. His wife answered but I nearly lost her directions in the blizzard that Ebrahim's gaze sent my way. And I barely recalled them as I walked away from the dining area and into the dim hallways of the fortress of a house. Over-analyzing my surroundings- if there ever was such a thing- and wanting nothing more than to go back home.

This. The being in the home of the Scorpion House's leader- it didn't feel right. I had been in the house of a murderer before. I lived in the house of a murderer. Hell, I've been the murderer. Worse than the stranger that parents-rightfully so- warn their kids not to talk to, not to take candy from.

But the crisp Arabian style wallpaper clad walls, the marble that clicked underneath my heel, the elegant chandeliers that hung above my head as I walked the seemingly never-ending hallways told stories of more than just murder. The closed doors I passed, held secrets that I wasn't eager to uncover. That I hoped I'd never be privy to.

I spent a while in the washroom, not at all eager to return to the first civil dinner both families had shared in ages but the thought of my parents annoyance at my absence led my next actions. My feet knew that as they carried me with hurried steps towards the dining hall, before I realized I'd taken a wrong turn. I never took wrong turns. Yet walls I hadn't passed before with eerie looking pictures of, most likely dead, men and women now lined the halls, and my curiosity slowed my steps down.

Hands feeling over the rough texture of the old, worn frame that held a painting of a man in traditional Arabic dress with a headscarf covering every inch of his face save for his eyes in a vast desert. A scorpion nearly the size of an alligator stood beside him. Pinchers clasped together and stinger alert.

It wasn't seeking to attack him. It was ready to protect. "The deathstalker." My hands are cold with the feel of a knife in my hand. The action practiced so much that it's instantaneous now. "It burrows underneath the sand so fast that you'll only see it disappear into the sand once it's stung you."

My heartrate picks up. "You'd never see it coming." I let out a small, dry chuckle, "Sounds familiar." My body turned to face the heir of the Scorpion House. Imaan Gani. Unmistakably. Seeing as I had been seated across from her for a good few hours. Hearing her dutifully input into the conversation. And almost becoming sick from the laughs she always seemed to manage at the right times. Yet never looking up, never fully acknowledging her. Because despite everything I knew she was, she was still undeniably beautiful.

With a sharp jaw, small almond eyes that made one appreciate their hazel irises even more up-close, long eyelashes and thick, full eyebrows that were currently raised. "An untrusting ally is as good as an enemy." She stalks closer, embodying the scorpion in her all-black suit.

"That ship sailed the day your family ambushed ours." I narrow my eyes at her, hand tightening over the metal. "The day you killed hundreds." She circles me. "So fuck your trust." Like a snake trapping their prey, deciding when to strike. Where to bite when they do.

My feet take a step back on their own accord. She's close enough for me to smell her perfume. Her frame towers over me by at least a head, "Only because we beat you to it." My back meets the wall, and the blade her neck. "As if you didn't have a sniper on the roof." Imaan tilts her head as she speaks, revealing more of her neck.

A steady pulse underneath smooth caramel skin, "So don't act so coy, princess." A tad bit more pressure on the knife would make her bleed. An extra push would surely cut deep enough to leave a scar. And just enough would stop blood from pumping to her heart. I want to, so badly.

"We'd go down together." She says into my ear as if she's reading my mind, hearing my thoughts. As if she knows how badly I want to slice a memorable alit into her skin. My eyes flutter trying their best to hold their narrowed stance as I loosen my grip on the knife, because as much as I hate to admit it- she's right. Here is not the time nor place.

My hand falls as I close my eyes, heavily exhaling a strained breath until I don't feel her warm chest against me anymore. Dark hair no longer tickling my skin. When they open again, all I see is her retreating figure as she disappears, turning behind the corner.

Leaving me in the hallway. Eyes of strangers watching me stitch myself back together again. My ancestor's enemies. I walk away from them but still feel their judgmental gaze burning into the back of my head. Tallying the victory on a scoreboard that dates back hundreds of years from today.

I smooth down my dress, as an excuse to distract my mind from Imaan Gani. The feel of the midnight jewels that bedazzle the black dress bumpily running under my palms. The knife that for the first time failed at inflicting fear cold against the skin of my outer thigh. My hands ball up at the thought.

She was so close, yet so far.

I tell myself it was a one-time thing. Next time things will end differently. Loud chatter greets me as I re-enter the hall. Re-taking my seat and tucking the chair in.

My eyes lock with hers and I silently promise it to her.

Fuck the alliance.