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Authors: Tracey O'Hara
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The Final Wish
A cool breeze swept across the desert sands and tousled Ishari’s hair, lifting fine tendrils around her face. She savoured the blessed relief the night brought from the day’s heat. The smaller of her world’s two moons sat high above, surrounded by stars twinkling like diamonds in the deep-purple sky. Dominating the horizon was the half-risen second moon, casting a fine magenta glow over the dark dunes.
Even though it’d been an hour since sunset, the marble floor of the palace terrace still remained warm beneath her feet. And yet the cool air chilled the gold cuffs at her wrists. The bracelets were more than just symbols of her station; they bound her to this sumptuous palace as little more than a prisoner in a gilded cage, with only a young servant and her guard, Hussein, to see to all her needs.
She’d become the Djinn a little over three hundred cycles ago, inflicted with the great powers that could only be used in the service of the one who possessed Ishari’s vessel.
Ishari moved to the ornate stone pedestal in the centre of the courtyard. She ran her hand over the surface of the dark liquid within the rounded bowl that rested on the pedestal. A heavenly image rippled into view. Caleb. The owner of her soul until his third and final wish was made. Would he call her tonight? The thought both thrilled her and filled her with dread. For once he made that final wish …
Ishari shuddered, trying to banish the thought from her mind as she gazed down at Caleb.
While it was night in her world, it was still day in his. He sat on a long lounging chair by a swimming pool in the late afternoon light with his guitar across his lap. The fingers of his left hand moved delicately along the long slim wooden neck as he plucked at the strings with his right hand. His cropped hair was little more than a dark shadow covering his head and the dying sunlight made his golden-brown skin glow with an almost radiant sheen. A white body-hugging sleeveless shirt highlighted the honed muscles of his torso and showed his well-defined, grey-tattooed arms to perfection. Black jeans hid long legs and his bare feet tapped in time to music she couldn’t hear. Although the pedestal offered a window into her master’s world, there was no sound. How she wished she could run her hands over that magnificent body, kiss those delectable lips. But he didn’t seem to want her in that way, much to her regret. In three hundred years she had never yearned for one of her masters the way she did him.
A woman with unnaturally scarlet hair suddenly appeared behind him and leaned over his shoulder to run her delicate hands down the contours of his chest and abdomen. The master ignored her. Almost. His fingers stumbled over the strings. She leaned in further, her long hair washing over his skin as she whispered something his ear.
A pang of fire lanced through Ishari’s stomach as she watched the woman intimately caress Caleb’s body. She wanted to turn away, but felt strangely compelled to watch each and every intimate touch.
The other woman took the musical instrument from his hands and almost threw it on the lounge beside them. The bulge in his pants said the woman’s advances were not as unwelcome as Ishari wished them to be. A searing wave of jealousy washed over her, catching her by surprise. Her cheeks heated and tears of frustration stung her eyes. She wanted to be the one touching his beautiful golden skin and running her hands over his short-cropped hair. Yet this woman, this human , touched her master in ways Ishari could only dream of.
Ishari gasped and gripped the sides of the pedestal as she watched the redhead pop the button on his pants then slid down the zipper, freeing his healthy erection. Her lips ached to surround his thick cock, her tongue dying to taste the salty bead of moisture on the swollen head. Instead it was the other woman’s hand encircling his length, squeezing and stroking his warm hard
A cool breeze swept across the desert sands and tousled Ishari’s hair, lifting fine tendrils around her face. She savoured the blessed relief the night brought from the day’s heat. The smaller of her world’s two moons sat high above, surrounded by stars twinkling like diamonds in the deep-purple sky. Dominating the horizon was the half-risen second moon, casting a fine magenta glow over the dark dunes.
Even though it’d been an hour since sunset, the marble floor of the palace terrace still remained warm beneath her feet. And yet the cool air chilled the gold cuffs at her wrists. The bracelets were more than just symbols of her station; they bound her to this sumptuous palace as little more than a prisoner in a gilded cage, with only a young servant and her guard, Hussein, to see to all her needs.
She’d become the Djinn a little over three hundred cycles ago, inflicted with the great powers that could only be used in the service of the one who possessed Ishari’s vessel.
Ishari moved to the ornate stone pedestal in the centre of the courtyard. She ran her hand over the surface of the dark liquid within the rounded bowl that rested on the pedestal. A heavenly image rippled into view. Caleb. The owner of her soul until his third and final wish was made. Would he call her tonight? The thought both thrilled her and filled her with dread. For once he made that final wish …
Ishari shuddered, trying to banish the thought from her mind as she gazed down at Caleb.
While it was night in her world, it was still day in his. He sat on a long lounging chair by a swimming pool in the late afternoon light with his guitar across his lap. The fingers of his left hand moved delicately along the long slim wooden neck as he plucked at the strings with his right hand. His cropped hair was little more than a dark shadow covering his head and the dying sunlight made his golden-brown skin glow with an almost radiant sheen. A white body-hugging sleeveless shirt highlighted the honed muscles of his torso and showed his well-defined, grey-tattooed arms to perfection. Black jeans hid long legs and his bare feet tapped in time to music she couldn’t hear. Although the pedestal offered a window into her master’s world, there was no sound. How she wished she could run her hands over that magnificent body, kiss those delectable lips. But he didn’t seem to want her in that way, much to her regret. In three hundred years she had never yearned for one of her masters the way she did him.
A woman with unnaturally scarlet hair suddenly appeared behind him and leaned over his shoulder to run her delicate hands down the contours of his chest and abdomen. The master ignored her. Almost. His fingers stumbled over the strings. She leaned in further, her long hair washing over his skin as she whispered something his ear.
A pang of fire lanced through Ishari’s stomach as she watched the woman intimately caress Caleb’s body. She wanted to turn away, but felt strangely compelled to watch each and every intimate touch.
The other woman took the musical instrument from his hands and almost threw it on the lounge beside them. The bulge in his pants said the woman’s advances were not as unwelcome as Ishari wished them to be. A searing wave of jealousy washed over her, catching her by surprise. Her cheeks heated and tears of frustration stung her eyes. She wanted to be the one touching his beautiful golden skin and running her hands over his short-cropped hair. Yet this woman, this human , touched her master in ways Ishari could only dream of.
Ishari gasped and gripped the sides of the pedestal as she watched the redhead pop the button on his pants then slid down the zipper, freeing his healthy erection. Her lips ached to surround his thick cock, her tongue dying to taste the salty bead of moisture on the swollen head. Instead it was the other woman’s hand encircling his length, squeezing and stroking his warm hard
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