The Pharaoh’s Favorite novel Chapter 38

The weakness from his kiss lingers in my limbs, a deep, aching pull that settles in my very bones. It is real—undeniable proof that Amen was telling the truth.

His touch doesn’t just consume; it drains, pulling the life from those he desires most. And yet, I cannot bring myself to care.

I don’t want to stop.

His lips still hover above mine, his breath ragged, his body rigid as if he’s forcing himself to hold back.

But I can feel him trembling with restraint, his muscles taut, his fingers twitching at my sides on the table. His self-control is crumbling, slipping like sand through his fingers, yet he still tries.

“Neferet,” his voice is thick with warning, husky with a desperate plea. “This is dangerous. I might hurt you—”

I silence him with another kiss, my lips pressing insistently against his, my body arching into him as I reach for him again.

A growl rumbles in his throat, primal and raw, as he grabs my wrists, tearing them from around his neck and pinning them above my head. I gasp at the sudden movement, my back hitting the cool wood of the map-covered table. His grip is firm, unyielding, pressing me down beneath him.

For a moment, neither of us move. We just breathe.

Heavy. Erratic.

Our chests rise and fall in time with one another, our eyes locked in an unspoken battle of wills.

His gaze is ablaze with need, but his jaw tightens with hesitation.

“We have to stop,” he rasps, his forehead pressing lightly against mine. “Before this goes too far. Before you suffer because of me.”

But I remember the words from my dream. The voice that whispered to me about the priestesses of Isis—their magic, their blood.

I draw in a slow breath, forcing myself to focus despite the fire in my veins.

“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “The priestesses of Isis—they don’t just serve the goddess. Their magic alters them. It changes their blood.”

Amen stiffens slightly. I see the flicker of confusion in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips as he searches my face for the meaning behind my words.

“What are you saying?”

“Our blood is not ordinary.” I swallow, my voice steady with certainty. “It is infused with divine energy, shaped by power, meant to be a conduit. It’s why the rituals exist. Why the Pharaoh must find the one blessed by Isis.”

Amen’s grip on my wrists tightens slightly, his breath uneven. “No matter how much energy you possess,” he says slowly, “my power can consume it all.”

I smirk. Bold. Reckless.

“Then take me.”

His entire body tenses.

“All of me. Test your power, my almighty Pharaoh,” I continue, my voice a seductive challenge. “Try to drain me to the very last drop.”

Before he can react, before he can stop me, I tilt my head slightly and bite down—hard—on my lower lip.

A sharp sting, then warmth. A single bead of blood blossoms against my skin, dark and rich beneath the flickering light.

Amen’s breath hitches. His eyes darken, pupils expanding as he watches, his focus solely on the crimson drop lingering at the corner of my mouth.