Lion Head Mesa A fake brother, who steals your jeans.

Lilitu was full of guile, but Ramesses was far her superior, and she knew it. She'd known it going in, really, but now she really was aware. Backed in a corner, she nodded, slowly, looking at the Pharaoh but not quite meeting his intense stare.

I will stay, and meet him, she agreed. If that's what it takes. But she didn't need to say it aloud.

She glanced briefly, quickly at Jawahir. She'd said something completely different to the woman, and Lilitu assumed that the other wolf would probably take it amiss. Desperate times. . .

Ah, damn it. What had she done?