The Guide: The Legacy Series, #2

By Sheritta Bitikofer

*Egypt and Middle Europe, 1570*
Tor had known nothing else of life outside of his lonely temple in Asyut. The last priest of the half-man, half-wolf Egyptian god Wepwawet, his days are filled with pious rituals that celebrate the union between his spirit and the gift of transformation his god had bestowed upon him and his family from birth. The sole survivor of his priesthood, he believes he is the only one who can maintain balance between Ma'at (order) and chaos that would inevitably consume the world.
All of that changes when Giovanni, an Italian explorer under the payroll of the vampire lord, Michael Gennari, finds Tor in his temple and asks for his help to find the lost civilization where vampires and werewolves once lived in harmony thousands of years ago. Knowing something of the mythical Arnathia, Tor agrees to help.
Jane Gennari, Michael's young and mischievous daughter, has another plan for Tor. Inadvertently, she makes a long and arduous journey to the Caspian Sea even more dangerous. Drawn to his raw, savage, and sometimes uncivilized character, she lusts after him with a fervor that seems revolting to other vampires. The vampires and werewolves have been at war for centuries, but Michael's small coven do not adhere to such prejudices.
With hunters, traitors, and the unforgiving elements working against them, vampire and werewolf must unite for a common goal: to seek the truth of what happened to upset the balance between their races.

~From the author of the Loup-Garou Series, The Legacies Series takes you through history, revealing the events that lead up to the finale of the Loup-Garou Series. Backstories to pivotal characters like John, Michael, Darren, and Katey's parents, are told in intimate detail with each installment of the series.~

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonstruck Writing
• Release date: Jan 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946821195

Sheritta Bitikofer

Sheritta Bitikofer is a paranormal romance author of eclectic tastes with a passion for storytelling. Her goal with each book is to rebel against shallow intimacy and inspire courage through the power of love and soulful passion. Her biggest thrill comes when she presents love in a genuine light, where the protagonists not only feel a physical attraction to one another, but a deep emotional (and dare we say spiritual?) connection that fuels their relationship forward into something that will endure much longer than the last pages of their novel. A devoted wife and fur-mama to two shelter rescue dogs, Sheritta’s life is never dull. When she’s not writing her next novel, she can be found binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix, doing Zumba with her friends, or painting at a medieval reenactment event.

Book preview

1

In the desert outside Asyut Egypt, 1570

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The bright sun emerged over the eastern horizon, bathing a golden glow over the sands of Egypt. As light hit the brilliantly painted limestone of the temple’s outer walls, Tor awoke in his private chamber. Slowly, the rays of the life-giving sun passed through the pillars, through the courtyard, and into the inner sanctuary that faced east.

His dark eyes watched as the beam of light slowly traveled across the stone floor, passing over the cracks and worn edges of the bricks that served as a reminder that so much time had passed since they were first lain. Yet here he was, carrying on the traditions of his forefathers that had been passed down since time began.

With stiff movements, he sat up from his bed, a mere wooden frame with braided straps that kept his sleeping body off the dusty floors. The wool pillows that might as well have been as old as the temple itself were in great need of new stuffing.

Tor gripped the edge of the cot and looked down to his bare feet. His skin was tanned by years spent in this isolated desert. His hair, a few shades blacker than his eyes, was slicked back by oils to keep it clean and out of his eyes.

The sun couldn’t have come at a worse time. In his dreams, he roamed foreign lands covered in luscious greenery. He could even smell the exotic food he had never tasted and saw the faces of strangers from all walks of life in clothing that appeared so strange and alien to him. Such dreams were coming more frequently. If his father were here, he would have told Tor that it was an omen, a prediction of the future to come. His father knew such things of the future that no other did and his guidance would have been invaluable to Tor now.

As Tor’s eyes swept over the painted walls and inscriptions of the temple that overflowed into his private room, he couldn’t see how such premonitions were possible. He was bound to this place where he was born and raised, and if he was any judge of fate, he would die here as well. His soul ached for exploration, but his mind confined him within these walls. He had a duty and he would take pride in it until his dying breath.

He sighed and rose from his bed. With heavy, lumbering steps, he prepared himself for the morning rituals. He cleansed his body with anointed water and oils that he had blessed himself. He took the incense and set it to smoldering, so its fragrance would permeate the temple.

Then, he donned his linen robe before stepping out into the secondary chamber of the temple, where the priests were permitted to carry out their daily tasks. With his bowl of burning incense in hand, a tiny wisp of smoke rising from the herbs, he wrinkled his nose just as he had done as a child. Some things, no matter how often he did them, were never easy. The aroma was always too strong for his keen nose. All priests that came before him had to bear the stench, and so would he.

The chamber’s high walls were covered in the images that told the story of creation. Rich and vibrant colors showed Ra drawing the earth from the primordial ocean to begin the process of life with the other gods of old in attendance to the momentous event.

Tor looked to their faces in profile, their eyes unblinking. They reminded him of his duty, of the task that he had been born into just like his father and grandfather before him. The gods scolded him for his dreams and secret longings for other lands. He was Egyptian and Egypt would always be his home. Why should he want anything else?

He approached an adorned set of doors that were coated in the precious golden metals of the gods, which led to the innermost sacred chamber of the temple.

As he stood alone, the only beating heart for miles around, he could have given a thousand reasons why he should leave. Yet under the stares of his deities, the will to escape left him for now. He set the bowl of incense on the small altar table beside the doors, and what was left of the resigned priest bowed his head and lifted his hands in supplication.

His lips moved, forming the ancient words of the gods. His voice droned on, reciting the spells that he uttered every morning and every night for the last three hundred years.

When he was finished, he reached out and opened the two glittering doors just as the sunlight struck its gold embellishments.

Inside sat a statue of his god, of his ancestor, Wepwawet. Meeting the stony eyes of the half-man, half-wolf god, Tor was struck once more by the gravity of his position. He alone was left to summon the god from his resting place each morning so that the daily cycle of rebirth would not be broken.

If he was not here, who else would maintain the balance between chaos and Ma’at? Certainly not the native people of his country. They had given up on the old ways. They were no longer a proud people, but weak and submissive to the powers that had invaded their lands and stolen their way of life. Tor knew better that their link to the past was the only thing that could preserve their future.

Ma’at, order, must be maintained for the universe to continue as it had been. If he did not, Wepwawet could not be the last functioning god, fueled by Tor’s dedication. Upon the god’s shoulders, he carried the burden of the ignorant people as he battled the demons of the netherworld and kept the waters of the Nile from consuming the cities.

He slowly backed away from the shrine and began to strip off his linen garment so he could complete the next phase of the ritual. Standing bare before his god, he stretched out his arms to embrace his own wolf, the one that had been passed down to him through his ancestral line. It was his personal gift from Wepwawet. It was why he, more than anyone else left in the world, had to be the last priest of Egypt.

Before the wolf could claim his body, a sound came to Tor’s sensitive ears. He turned his head and listened to the slow approach of camels. Their grunts and stamping hooves in the sand outside the temple were unmistakable.

Camels were not an uncommon occurrence in the desert, but the rattling of saddles that clanged in time with each step was not so common this far out. It had been many moons since he had an intruder dare to try and enter the temple. The people of Asyut should have known better than to try and come to a place that was supposedly cursed. The natives had given up on their gods, but not their superstitions.

Instead of slipping back into his clothes, Tor slunk into the inner chamber that was lined with painted columns on either side of the center walkway. In one swift jump, he perched himself within a recessed ledge along the edge of the ceiling that was just tall enough for him to duck into and practically disappear. Perfectly concealed by the shadows, he could watch them as they entered the sanctuary.

He listened to the men, three of them, enter through the temple gates. They all spoke in the common language of the day. He understood Coptic well enough, though he had been raised on the language of the ancients.

His father had taught him many languages, including the sacred form of picture letters that covered the walls of the temples and tombs throughout Egypt. Such knowledge had been lost by the human inhabitants, but the priests of Wepwawet kept the language alive, along with their traditions and rituals.

The men dismounted their camels in the outer courtyard, which would have been as far as any priest should permit them. To enter the inner chamber was blasphemous and disgraceful to the gods. Only those whom the pharaoh himself permitted were allowed to enter here.

Tor allowed them passage, but only because he was curious. One of the men who entered, was not a native. He was a foreigner, much like the ones he had seen in his dreams with pale skin and odd clothes that clung to his frame. Through the incense that was still burning on the altar, Tor could smell the foreigner’s acrid sweat, telling him that the man was not used to such a hot and dry climate.

The two others, natives with their long tunics and heads wrapped in turbans, gazed around the chamber with eyes of wonder. The foreigner did as well, but he was more interested in the carvings than the structure of the temple.

Looters had come here before and each time, Tor drove them away. The statue and incense bowl alone would have been a valuable prize to sell on the market. Gold had once been a plentiful resource and the ancients were master craftsmen of the metal, able to mold it and use it in magnificent ways. Now, the natives were greedy and cared nothing for the religious significance of the gold.

This is incredible! the foreigner said as he shuffled to a depiction of Wepwawet and the goddess Isis. His fingers dusted the inscription below it and he grumbled in another language that Tor did not know. By the man’s inflections, Tor could tell that he wasn’t pleased.

We should leave, one of the natives said.

Nonsense, said the foreigner. Do either of you know what these symbols mean?

Neither of the guides were paying attention as their hands gripped the hilt of their khopeshes. The sickle-shaped blade glinted off the sunlight as one of the men turned, and it flashed in Tor’s eyes. He backed away from the glare, causing a tiny fragment of the ledge he perched upon to fall to the floor. The soft tap of the impact echoed in the temple.

Both Egyptians spun in his direction and looked to the source of the movement. Tor did not waste time. He leapt from the ledge and used one of the columns to propel himself forward, with his eyes glowing a seething gold and sharp fangs bared.

Tor landed close to them, well within striking range of their blades, and let out a terrible and earth-shaking roar that loosened the dust and sand from the uppermost crevices of the temple ceiling.

The men screamed and immediately fled out of the temple, abandoning the foreigner.

The pale man turned and stared with wide eyes at the naked priest, but did not move. Tor growled and snapped at the intruder, but still he didn’t flee as the others did. Either he was fearless or too stupid.

Instead, the man did something that Tor was not expecting. He spoke.

Warm greetings, he said as he placed his hand over his heart and gave Tor a deep bow.

It startled Tor enough that he ceased growling and took a few steps away. This man greeted danger with such openness. No human had ever been so bold when they faced his wolfish golden eyes.

You are not welcome here, Tor snarled with an underlying promise that if he didn’t leave, the foreigner might find himself dead.

Still, the man did not run. I know this is a sacred place. I only came to learn. I’ve traveled far to be here and see this magnificent –

This is not a place of learning, Tor interrupted. This is not a place of worship. This is a house for the gods. Mortals are not to be here.

The man paused, his lips parted as if he were ready to speak again, but didn’t have the words. His shoulders slumped and there was a brief look of disappointment in the stranger’s brown eyes.

I thought –

Whatever you thought, Tor snapped, you were wrong. Leave!

The man sucked in a breath and then turned back to the portrait on the wall. I’ll leave after you tell me what this means. Who is this? He pointed to the image of Wepwawet with his white wolf head and body of a man.

Tor squared his shoulders. He supposed that he could give something to this man for showing such brazenness. That is Wepwawet and this is his temple. I am a son of Wepwawet, and therefore his hem-netjer-tepi. The high priest. It is my duty to take care of him and his temple.

The foreigner frowned and lowered his arm to his side. So, this is just a temple?

Just a temple. Tor wanted to spit at the man’s disregard for the sacred. This wasn’t just any temple. It must have been the best preserved temple in all of Upper Egypt. Nowhere else would he find images in such striking, vivid colors, nor a place that hadn’t been reclaimed by the sands of the desert. Tor had served as the high priest, as well as every rank of priest below him, to ensure that the temple and Wepwawet were well cared for. He worked hard every day to make sure that this piece of his faith was preserved, whether anyone else wanted it to remain or not.

What were you expecting? Your guides should have told you that this place was a temple.

The foreigner cleared his throat. I was hoping this place would be a little more than just a temple. I’m searching for a place that was said to be the seat of a great civilization. One where people like you and other preternatural creatures lived together.

Tor balked and sneered at the stranger. People like me?

A tiny spark of hope flickered in the foreigner’s eye. Yes. There are many, many more like you around the world. Didn’t you know that?

Tor balled his hands into fists against the very idea. Perhaps this is what his dreams were all about. All he had ever known was the priesthood of Wepwawet. The priests were the descendants of the god, his emissaries on earth. They were his chosen people because they shared his gift of transformation. The blood of the wolf coursed through his veins and it was evident in the way his eyes still gleamed a brilliant gold instead of their usual