The Pharaoh’s Favorite novel Chapter 45

I whirl around, desperate to find the source of voices, but there is nothing—no figure, no shadow, only the deafening chorus of wailing and whispers that scrape against my senses like jagged stone. It is endless, filling the air, pouring into my ears, seeping into my very bones.

I stagger, my vision blurring.

Where are they coming from? What are they?

Then—warm fingers tighten around my own, grounding me.

Amen.

His grip is desperate, his breath ragged, his dark eyes wild and unfocused as they lock onto mine. He clutches my hands against his face as though I am the only thing tethering him to this world.

“You hear them too?” His voice is hoarse, breaking at the edges. “Do you see them—the unrested souls? Can you stop them?”

His desperation is raw, bleeding into every syllable.

“Please, Neferet. Do something. Help me.”

I open my mouth, but no words come. The weight of the unseen specters presses harder, suffocating, threatening to drag me under.

My heart pounds, a frantic rhythm against my ribs, my pulse hammering in my throat. My knees buckle. And then—I feel it.

The familiar pull, the weakness creeping through my limbs, leeching the strength from my muscles.

His power. Even in his agony, even in this moment, his very presence is draining me.

No. Not again.

A memory flashes before me—the night in the desert, the sandstorm curling around us like a living force, the way my blood had bent to my will, reshaping the world with its power.

My blood.

The answer strikes like lightning.

Without thinking, without hesitation, I rip my hands from his grip and reach for the dagger sheathed at his hip. The cool metal glints in the moonlight as I draw it free.

Amen flinches, confused—but I do not give him time to react. I raise the blade to my thumb, press down, and slice.

A sharp sting. A warm trickle.

Then, before doubt can creep in, before I can second-guess, I lift my hand to his lips. His breath hitches, his pupils dilating as he realizes what I am doing.

“Drink,” I command, voice firm despite the shiver in my veins.

He hesitates. “Neferet—”

I press my bleeding thumb against his mouth, silencing him. The moment his tongue meets the wound, everything shifts. The air, thick with unseen voices, trembles.

The pressure that had been crushing my chest dissipates like mist in the morning sun.