Sons of Anubis: Meet Markus


Name: Markus

Occupation: Anapa, clan leader of the Children of Anubis

Age: 5000, give or take a century

Height: 6’5″

Weight: 225

Likes: Sending the Lost Ones back to the underworld

Dislikes: Lost Ones and Isis Witches

Favorite pastime: Kidnapping Isis witches


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Markus’s eyes widened as the witch’s power punched him, causing him to rock back on his heels. Not so weak after all. Obviously she needed her passions provoked in order to fully tap into her power. Something told him provoking her passions wouldn’t be a problem.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when weeks of reconnaissance had finally come to fruition, but this woman wasn’t it. She appeared young, though that was hardly an indication of age for their long-lived races. He knew she still had a healthy student loan balance, and her driver’s license stated she was mid-twenties. It was unusual for a witch so young to live outside of the safety of a coven, which was why he’d expected someone older, wiser, more of a challenge. Had she been thrown out of the Lotus Circle because she wasn’t powerful enough?

No, he’d felt her power when she’d gotten angry. It was there, waiting for her to tap into it. Maybe she was bait, living away from the protective circle of witches in order to trap the Sons of Anubis. His hand lifted, fingers wrapping around the gold Anubis-head talisman all adult jackals wore. Let the witches try. He and his jackals had survived and would continue to do so. No sacrifice would be too great.

He stared at the witch. If would be a shame if she was part of a trap. Women like her had always been a weakness to him—long-legged, thick in the thighs and full in the chest; eyes sloe, dark, fathomless and large in her copper-skinned face. Just the sort of woman he would pursue if he had the time or the inclination.

He had neither. Not with Lost Ones walking the night. Certainly not with someone targeting the Sons of Anubis. Not with two of his clan brothers so close to death just down the hall.

Markus fisted his hands. This Isis witch was a tool, a means to an end, nothing more. He couldn’t think about his need, how long it had been since he’d enjoyed a woman. He had to think about his clan, their survival and their eternal fight against the undead. Not the need that spiked through him every time he felt her magic.

Angry with himself for being distracted, he bared his teeth at her. “For both our sakes, I hope you aren’t weak. If you’re weak, then you’re of no use to me. And if you’re no use to me…”

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