The Haunted Sultan (Skeleton Key) by Gillian Zane, Skeleton Key Page B

that even though they had a very carnal start, they could set things on the right track and make a go of their unique experience. His tongue slipped past her lips and tangled with hers, giving as well as receiving until they were pressed up against each other. Her hands slipped into his hair and his were roaming all over her exposed skin.
    Owen tried to control things, but it was a battle he wanted to lose.
    “Please, may I join?” The Sultan tapped Owen on the shoulder, causing the couple to break apart and look at the foreign man guiltily.
    “No, man, sorry, I don’t share.” Owen put a protective arm around Sierra.
    “I am not interested in share. You can both be blessed with my knowledge of the art of seduction.” He waggled his eyebrows, not to be funny, but in all seriousness. Sierra broke into a guffaw and the Sultan crossed his arms in insult.
    “I am offended by your laughing. I am as serious as a shrew. The women of the harem trained me well.”
    “And I’m sure you’re excellent at that,” Sierra patted him on the shoulder, “But, maybe we should focus on the matter at hand. Getting rid of this Peri. Where’s that vase?”
    “You are right, Mountain. You shall break the vase.”
    “Just break it, like that?” Owen looked skeptical. He didn’t want Sierra to take any chances. Maybe he should break the vase.
    “Yes. Do it,” the Sultan urged.
    “Alright, here goes.” Sierra went to the fireplace and grabbed the vase. She held it over her head and braced herself for a powerful throw.
    A cold rush of air blasted through the room.

Chapter 18
    S ierra froze , the vase held above her head, ready to throw. She couldn’t move. The air thickened, and she felt something in the wind, granules of something like sand. It hit the room like a sandstorm. Tapestries were ripped off the walls, sofas were thrown into the air and crystal and china fell to the ground in a crash.
    Sierra’s body stung everywhere her skin was exposed. The sand hit her with a force that was painful. Owen grabbed for Sierra, his big body trying to shield her from the assault. But as he tried to protect her, the sand coalesced, ripping at her body, moving her. It was trying to take the vase away from her. It beat at her arms.
    Sierra held on with all her might. She couldn’t let go, if she did the Peri would have its vessel. It would hide it and they would never be free of this place. But the pain was getting to be too much. Scratches appeared on her arms, her skin burned.
    “Owen,” she pleaded, indicating with her head, the vase. “Do something.”
    He left her, alone, with only the attack of the wind. She held on mightily. Her eyes were tightly closed, unable to stay open because of the sand. She was in a whirlwind. The granules stormed around her in a twister of sand, raising her up and pitching her around the room.
    She screamed as something slammed into her hard.
    The crash of glass made her eyes pop open. Shards of glass rained down her arms and over her head. She felt the sting of cuts as it hit her cheeks and her arms. But she didn’t care. Owen had done it.
    The wind died down and she looked at him, holding a fireplace poker in his hand. He must have hit the vase as she held on for dear life.
    Sierra waited for it to be over, but the wind still whipped. Not as strong, but still there, still bombarding her with sand. She looked down at her feet, the vase was destroyed but there were still large parts of it.
    “Sierra,” Owen implored and handed her the poker and he began to stomp on the pieces of the vase, grounding them to tiny shards. Sierra followed suit, slamming the poker into each large piece that she found.
    The wind was now only a little gust. Sierra looked up from her glass smashing task to see the sand eddies had started to coalesce into a form. But the Peri was weak looking, translucent. He reached for them, his face a mask of pain.
    Sierra and Owen didn’t let up. They stomped and slammed the poker down