Page 6 of Feline Good

August had dark brown eyes, but with an amber tint, like a fire lit them from within, something she failed to notice earlier. Maya almost chuckled to think of herself referring to them as brown. His gentle waves framed his face, parted to the side in a stylish manner, but he managed to avoid looking feminine. All three of them were the furthest from feminine she could imagine. His beard was more developed than Asher’s was, and her palms ached to cup his face, feel the pricks of the coarse hair bite into her skin as he—

Okay, stop that. Right now.

Clearing her throat to hide her attraction, she threw back her third shot, the alcohol burning her throat and belly as she swallowed it down. When she set the glass on the bar, she leaned forward on her forearms, kicking her hip to the side as she settled in for a long discussion.

“And your name?” She met the gaze of the middle man, his dark hair also cut short on the sides with a long piece on top, but straight and much shorter than Asher’s. A warm sunshine glow beamed out from his hazel eyes, so at odds with the scowl marring his face as he glared at her.

“Amir.”

All A-names? Odd.

“Are you brothers? What’s with the A-names?”

In her peripheral, she saw Asher and August nod their heads, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Amir’s.

As the final male spoke, she finally recognized the lilt to all of their voices— the accent. Maya had heard it all her life, though she herself never adopted the beautiful cadence. “You’re Egyptian?” Cocking her head to the side, she waited patiently as they all glanced at one another in surprise at her question.

“You mean you don’t already know?” August asked this gently, as if she was slow.

Frowning, she shot back, “Do I look like a psychic?” Actually, she kind of was, but she never foresaw this coming.

They shared another look before August turned to her, concern evident on his face. “You hail from the Neith family, correct?” He asked the question despite seeming to already know the answer.

Her fingers tightened around the shot glass. “My name’s Maya Neith. Yes.”

“And your parents are no longer living.” The question came off more of a statement he knew to be truth. Well, he should know, since it had been his fur she’d cried into only days after her parents were killed. Maya gave a short nod.

“And you were eight when they passed, right?” There was a soft touch to his tone.

Asher spoke up this time, tapping his fingers on the bar impatiently. “And they never told you any stories about Sekhmet… Bastet… past, present, future…” He trailed off when she only gave him a blank stare.

“Can’t say I remember any fairy tales like that.”

The third man, Amir, sucked in a sharp breath at her comment, pulling her gaze to him. The fury in the depths was at odds with the soothing color of his beautiful eyes, and she straightened, wary of the fierce emotion there.

He sighed, before motioning to the top shelf she’d pulled the whiskey down from. “Well, you might want to pour another drink. This might take a while.”

Suspicious, but with nothing else to lose, Maya grabbed the bottle and her glass before walking across the bar floor to sit in a booth. She ignored the unconscious intruders still tied up and wiggled her fingers for the guys to join her.

They obliged, and she settled in for a story that would change her life.

* * *

“What do you mean, you haven’t heard from them? They left hours ago.” Sekhmet pulled her dark hair to one shoulder as she leaned back in the opulent chair.

Okay, yes, it was a throne. She liked it that way, even if it was rather cliche. Sekhmet liked pretty things, and speaking of, she locked gazes with her toy and fondest confidant.

“Well? Did your men locate the Guardian? Kyril, you know we need that amulet. It worries me that you haven’t heard from them.”

Her handsome counterpart frowned before moving closer, trailing his hand across her bare shoulder as he moved to stand beside her. “They’re professionals. Trust me, they know what they’re doing—”

A beeping trilled from his pocket, and Kyril hurried to retrieve his cell phone, silencing the noise with a scowl on his face.

Sekhmet sat up, leaning forward to see what the alert was. Her brows dipped low in concern as she spoke. “Kyril, what is it? Tell me they found the Keepers of Time.” A slight growl distorted the last of her words when his face fell.

“You need to recall them. Now!”

A curse burst from her lips at the failure, and with a flick of her wrist, she summoned Kyril’s henchmen to her feet. Sand exploded as they landed in a heap, sputtering and whining. Curling her lip at them, she leaned back and steepled her fingers, waiting with an arched brow for an explanation of their fuck-up.