Broken By Daylight (Beasts of the Briar #4)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

West bank of the Nile, outside of Luxor 1904

T he young man wiped the beads of sweat off his brow and blinked up at the wavering horizon. The unforgiving sun had been blazing down on him all day, but he’d been unable to tear himself from his work. Dust covered every inch of his skin, his neck was burned from the sun, and his khakis were stained from the ochre sand. But as he stared down at the uncovered ruin before him, every physical ailment melted away.

A lost world right beneath his fingertips. History, long covered by the earth, now seeing the sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. His heart near beat out of his chest for the wonder of it all.

He stood and arched his back, pulling off the wide-brimmed hat that was meant to protect him from the relentless sun. A canvas of stone and sand stretched before him. He would be returning to Luxor in a few days to meet with the leader of his expedition. Every morning, he thanked whatever it was—God, the stars, fate, or simply Lady Luck—that he’d found his way into the employ of an eccentric Italian who had taken him here. Egypt was like no place he’d ever been before. Not the wilds of his homeland, a world away across the sea, nor the busy streets of London that he’d traveled to in search of employment.

Egypt could throw everything she had at him: blistering sunburns, sand in every crevice of his body, agonizing days with no discovery to be found. But when he looked down at the broken slab he’d just carefully unearthed with a brush and scalpel, it was all worth it.

It may just be a piece of rock with a carved hieroglyph to someone else, but to him, it felt like his own version of magic.

The rest of the archaeological team, dressed in matching sun-faded khaki, busied about him. The rhythmical clink of pickaxes striking the hard earth filled the air, sometimes cut with the call of a desert bird. Camels milled around the dig, carrying canteens of water and fresh fruit brought in from Luxor.

“Nice-looking find.” Someone clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, and the young man turned to see his colleague, Samuel Rowell, smiling at him. Samuel’s large, round head matched his large, round body. He was experienced on digs and had taken the young man under his wing.

“Finally got this part clear of the sand.” The man bent down and pointed to the hieroglyph on the slab.

“What does it say?” Samuel asked.

“I don’t know. Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man trailed a hand along the image. It seemed to whisper to him in a voice he couldn’t understand.

“Boss says there’s likely a tomb nearby. Keep your head down and eyes peeled.” Samuel’s gaze drifted to the side, and he crossed his arms. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?” the man asked, still unable to take his eyes off the hieroglyph.

“ She’s back again,” Samuel muttered. “That nosey broad from last week.”

“Who?”

“Ah, you lucky bastard, you were in Luxor with the boss and didn’t have to deal with her. She came to the site and started digging right where we were working! I told her to scram, and she laughed in my face. It’s no place for a woman here, that’s for certain, and definitely not a smart-mouthed one like her.”

The man raised an eyebrow, imagining Samuel’s usual red face becoming even more beet-like while in confrontation with this woman.

“I had to deal with her last week,” Samuel groaned. “Your turn. Tell her to get out of here.”

“I’m busy!” the man exclaimed, gesturing back to the ruin.

Samuel gave him another clap on the shoulder. “You’ll be busier if she steals one of our discoveries and the boss finds out that you let her on site. Off you go.”

The young man sighed, staring longingly at his work, desperate to give a shot at trying to interpret the hieroglyph. “I’ll be back for you,” he muttered and headed off in the direction of the woman.

Her back was to him, and she was bent over in the sand on the edge of the dig, an open case of tools at her side. A camel stood quietly nearby, loaded with canteens, a bag overfilled with textbooks, and even more tools. She was certainly prepared.

The young man’s feet sank into the soft sand as he approached. She didn’t turn around as he stood behind her. She wore tight-fitting khaki pants and a white blouse, with tall leather boots covered in dust. Her curly brown hair was pulled into a ribbon at the nape of her neck. He cleared his throat. She didn’t turn.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

Again, ignored.

“Ma’am?”

She didn’t budge, instead busying herself with a scalpel now, clearing away some of the debris from whatever she was working on. Fed up and eager to get back to his own project, the man looked at the sun behind him and adjusted his position, causing his shadow to stream over her work.

“Do. You. Mind?! ” the woman snarled and turned.

Their eyes met and the man blinked. Her expression was filled with anger but to him it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. He had gazed upon the tomb of Tutankhamen, flown in a hot air balloon above the Serengeti, traveled by sea across the Atlantic, and yet no wonder could compare. Her nose twitched with her scowl, brown eyes flashing golden in the sun.

Had he seen her before? No, and yet, it was as if she’d lived within his mind for all his life. Like every piece of him was crying out, I’ve been waiting for you!

He was in love. That had to be it. What else could it be? Love at first sight. He’d thought such a thing only a silly idea from children’s fairytales. But this felt as it had when he uncovered his first ruin. Like sunlight hitting a place that had been hidden in the dark for a thousand years.

Magic.

Her nose stopped twitching. The dark brows, jutting down, softened and her lips parted into an O.

The man would not be surprised if a hundred years passed and they became covered in sand again, for time stilled between them.

Then she whispered, “You’re in my light.”

With a certainty he had never felt in his twenty-five years, the man replied, “You are my light.”

Yes, this was true love, and she felt it, too—

The woman burst out laughing. “Excuse me?”

The man stopped. Caught himself. You are my light? What does that even mean? Heavens to Betsy, I’ve been in the sun too long.

He shook his head and tore his gaze from hers, afraid he’d get lost again in whatever that was. That was heatstroke, that’s what that was.

“This is a closed dig, ma’am. You’re not allowed to be here. This site belongs to Mr. Schiaparelli.” There. That’s what he was supposed to say, and he’d said it. Good. He turned to leave—

She laughed again. It was brash, a donkey’s bray. It was the damned most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“This site doesn’t belong to anyone. How can you own history? How can you own the languages and the religions and the past that is carved into this stone?” She turned around. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m quite busy actually discovering something useful, instead of just carving up rock to shove in a glass box.”

The man sighed and looked back at Samuel, who was busying himself plucking dates out of a jar. He had tried to send her packing. What else could he do? His own work awaited—

He bent down beside her. “What are you working on?”

She gave him a sidelong look. He offered a genuine smile, as a peace gesture, and she returned it with a relenting sigh. Before her was a sun-washed slab of broken stone. She’d assembled the pieces like a puzzle. “I’ve been looking for these segments for days. See how they fit together? Once I have the last section, I’ll be able to read it.”

“You can interpret the hieroglyphs?”

A smile broke across her lips. “Yes. I have a special interest in languages.”

He stared down at the pieces, the middle missing. One empty spot. But he recognized the shape, the jutting bit here, the indent there. “I’ll be right back.”

Carefully, ever so carefully, the young man returned a few minutes later, carrying the slab he’d uncovered. Her eyes widened as she saw it. With deft fingers, he slotted it right between the other pieces.

“It fits,” she whispered.

“Well?” he urged. “What does it say?”

She traced the symbols. “Roughly, it says … Here lies the Queen.”

They met each other’s gaze. “It’s true,” he whispered. “This is the Valley of the Queens.”

Her eyes glittered. “That’s why I’m here.”

Then she quickly packed her tool kit, stood, and walked to her camel. “A brilliant discovery always makes me hungry. I must go back to the city now.” In a fluid movement, she mounted the beast and her shadow fell over the man, her eyes sparkling like chips of gold.

“Wait!” the man cried. “Will I see you again?”

Her voice was light, as if she knew something wonderful that he didn’t. “Oh, you won’t be able to keep me away.”

As she drew the reins, her white blouse shifted, and the sunlight caught a necklace she wore. It shimmered every color of the rainbow, a luminescent flash of light. The man squinted against the gleam. A rose.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Anya. Yours?”

“George,” the man replied. “George O’Connell.”

Anya smiled that knowing smile once again before turning her beast and striding off across the horizon. George could not look away, not even after she became nothing more than a tiny dot amid the dunes.

He had the very distinct feeling his life would never be the same.