“I see it through my own eyes.” Drat. Shouldn’t have said anything. I clamped my mouth shut.

The Jackal chuckled.

The sun had set behind the hills. Dusk claimed the river. Gloom wove its way through the palms. Faint tendrils of steam escaped the river, still warmer than bathwater.

“I want your body,” Anapa said.

“That’s flattering, but no.” I couldn’t help it, it just burst out.

“Not in a sexual way, you foolish child. The body I wear in the world is a part of my bloodline. But he is weak. Its magic reserves are meager. Make no mistake, if Apep is resurrected, the assistance I can offer you will be limited at best. Your body is strong. Your blood is rooted in the same place as mine. We’re both a mix of beast and man. You’re a more suitable host than any of the other shapeshifters I have encountered.”

“I’m a hyena. You’re a jackal.”

“I will make do,” Anapa said.

“And what happens to me?”

“You will merge with me.”

“You’re lying.” I knew it. I felt it in my gut.

The Jackal lapped the river. “Perhaps.”

“Why would I throw my life away?”

“Because I am a god and I asked for it.”

“You are not my god.”

The Jackal sighed. “That is the trouble with this age. There was a time when thousands would slit their own throats for my sake.”

“No. There was never that time.”

The Jackal bared his teeth. “What do you know, whelp?”

“I know human nature. We might sacrifice a few, because we are stupid and hardwired for group survival. But we would never die in the thousands because a god wished it. Those kinds of numbers require material gains, like power, wealth, territory.”

The Jackal stared at me. “Give me your body.”

“No.”

“There may come a time when you will say yes.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

The Jackal laughed softly. “Look over there.”

I glanced up and saw a man. He stood in the river, nude, with the waters lapping at his thighs. The last rays of the setting sun colored his side, throwing orange highlights on his skin, tracing every contour of the etched muscle. He looked so…perfect. Except his face was a blur.

“Who is it?”

The man’s body arched up, his back bending back at an unnatural angle, the ridges of the stomach muscles stretching and his face came into focus. Raphael.

A figure rose above him, an eight-foot-tall man with the head of a jackal. He raised his hand, a golden staff in it, and passed it over the body. The skin over the Raphael’s chest and abdomen split.

I gasped. No!