Morgan Hawke - Temple Of Lillith.pdf
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
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resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
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Phantasy – One Erotic Tale from Phantasmagoria -
For your Individual Pleasure
Copyright © 2003 Morgan Hawke
ISBN: 1-55410-020-8
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in
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Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya
Publications, 2003
Look for us online at:
www.zumayapublications.com
www.Extasybooks.com
Morgan Hawke
Temple of Lillith
Love Immortal
For PsiVamp
~ Overture ~
t
’s perfect, exactly what I need for my private
ritual.” The ceremonial magician grinned and
pulled off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes with his
sleeve. “A completely abandoned Egyptian temple
out in the middle of nowhere, and nobody knows that
I’m here.” He tucked the dark glasses into his shirt
pocket. Squinting his aqua eyes, he noticed how close
the orange sun lay against the edge of the rolling
dunes. “It’s going to be really dark, really soon. No
hunting around the outskirts of the temple for me.
Looks like I get to set up camp right away.”
“I
He stopped the Range Rover just out of casual
sight, parking it close to the crumbling mud-brick
wall that bordered the temple yard. He frowned at
the marks in the sand as he shut off the engine.
“The tire tracks in the sand are a dead give-away
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Temple of Lillith
that somebody is here.”
He climbed out of the rover and stretched; his shirt
strained at the seams.
Hmm,
he thought while staring
at the temple
I wonder why nobody’s put a fence around
this old relic to charge admission?
Pocketing the ignition
keys, he pulled the battered fedora from his head and
gave his hat a smack against his leg, knocking out the
dust from the hat in a cloud.
There’s no real road anywhere near.
He scraped his
hand through the military-short, sun-bleached,
blonde spikes of his hair and knocked the blown sand
loose from his scalp.
Hell, the damn road ran out on me a
long ways back, so, all those holier-than-thou Egyptologists
could have missed it.
He firmly pulled his hat back on.
He watched as the sand curled from the roof of the
temple to pile atop the dune behind it.
If this whole
thing was buried in sand and the wind cleared it in the last
dozen years or so, it could be that no one’s found it yet,
he
mused. The front of the roof was only a little higher
than the back. If the wind had uncovered it, it was
also possible that a sirocco windstorm could blow
from the other direction and bury the entire temple
overnight.
Raising his arm, he at wiped the sweat and grime
on his forehead. “At the speed I was flying over the
sand, I think I rattled a few teeth loose.” He froze in
mid motion. “Oh shit, the violin!”
He took two strides to the back of the Rover and
yanked open the trunk door. Carefully he pulled out
the battered case of his violin. Flipping it open, he
checked the instrument for damage after all the
jouncing over the sand to get there. “Just fine.” He
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Morgan Hawke
whistled softly. “Not even dusty.”
He stared hard at the waiting temple and frowned.
“I have to make this fucking ritual work. I don’t care
if I have to raise Satan to do it, I will have my music
back.” He snapped the buckles to the violin case
closed, then set the case carefully in the sand. “What’s
the use of being a musician that can’t write music?”
With renewed determination, he went to get the
rest of his stuff from the back of the battered Range
Rover. Tossing his camping gear over his broad,
muscular shoulder, he reached over grabbed his
heavy, red velvet, Magical Arte bag crammed with
his ritual equipment from the passenger seat. He
picked up the violin case, giving the vehicle’s door a
shove to close it with his hip.
He slogged across the heavy sand, stepped through
the narrow gateway that was square and roofless, into
the temple yard, then across more sand. He climbed
the worn steps and glanced up at the towering lotus-
capped pillars supporting the heavy stone roof.
Traces of scarlet and indigo paint lingered in the deep
grooves of the sculpted pillars.
“I didn’t think paint would still be on anything
sitting this long in the desert,” he muttered in
surprise. “I just hope to whatever god that the roof is
still stable on this thing,” he grumbled, stepping past
the threshold and into the deep shadows of the half-
buried temple.
Only a few steps into the entrance, he was blinded
by utter darkness. He dropped his pack on the floor to
dig out his flashlight. Snapping the light on, the beam
from his light tunneled back into deep shadow. He
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