Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) by Manda Mellett

catered for discreetly on his many trips abroad. Would we be here today had my mother lived? The question occurs to me as I glance at the man who sired me. He raised us fairly, I have to admit, but with an iron will and a wooden rod. As I watch him, I see no weakening from the man who damn-near flayed the skin off my back when I rode his prized horse without permission the day after my seventh birthday.
    Control and power roll off him in waves; as emir he cannot afford to show any weakness. The only visible sign that three years have passed since I last saw him is the receding hairline reaching almost to the top of his head now, and the observation causes me to run my hand unconsciously through my overlong hair, hoping I have escaped inheriting that particular gene.
    We don’t bother with polite conversation or exchange platitudes and pleasantries; today’s meeting is far too serious for that. A servant enters and serves us with coffee but I sit detached, lost in my thoughts. Everything that has happened to me since Paris seems surreal, as though it’s happening to somebody else and I’m on the outside, looking in.
    After casting a careful look my way, Sheikh Rushdi breaks the silence.
    “I have met again with the tribal leaders, the desert sheikhs.”
    I notice Kadar exchanging a flicker of concern with Jasim, and can see they’re both dreading the inevitable outcome that, at this precise moment, I’m feeling reasonably confident I’m resigned to.
    “They want revenge. Nothing will satisfy them other than the blood of their enemy who conned them out of their hard-earned money. They are adamant they will not accept financial compensation. As we are all aware I have already achieved their reluctant agreement to honour the alternative proposal I put before them, but only if it happens fast. Any delays and they will take matters into their own hands. They have become weary with what they see as our procrastination.”
    He pauses as if waiting for comment. When none of us offer any contribution, he continues, “The marriage will go ahead.” Keeping his gaze on us, the ruler’s broad brow furrows, turning his face stern, a monarch’s face, one that would accept no dispute. “You will put your plans into action, Kadar. I want her here in Amahad tomorrow.”
    I suddenly find it difficult to breathe, as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. What had been hypothetical is now fast becoming a horrifying reality, and I realise I’m not nearly as ready as I’d hoped. These plans are about me . I suddenly become conscious of the implications. My future. My life . I’m a monster and now I’m to be used as a tool of vengeance.
    “No!”
    I’m only vaguely aware of Jasim thumping the table, drawing a look of reprimand from the emir. “This isn’t right. The man is dead and that’s the end of it. They must accept they can’t take their revenge and leave it at that. The Treasury will recompense their losses …” He glances around the table, looking for support.
    Kadar leans back in his seat, steepling his hands and tapping his fingers against his lips as he glances towards our father, who nods, giving him permission to speak.
    “Jasim, you’ve been out of the loop in London. Let me remind you of the history. Three years ago Amahad negotiated a contract with Benting International. It was a blue-chip company at the time; we were satisfied with the terms, and with its financial stability.”
    “I’m aware of that.” Jasim shifts in his seat impatiently and gives a short, humourless laugh. “England is no backwater, and the newspapers made sure to cover Benting’s actions. The gossip rags had some particularly juicy, er, facts. His mistress introduced him to a new lifestyle that he couldn’t afford. An intelligent man, apparently, but with a lack of common sense. His legitimate business wasn’t providing enough easy money to fund his drug and gambling habits. So he started elaborate cons.”
    Raising his