My emir

Chapter 4

Karim lifted the girl into his arms. He held her tightly, feeling his fingers glide over her body, stroking and pinching every curve. For the second time in the past hour, he caught her. By the car — where she’d nearly taken a bullet and hit her head against the edge of the headlight — he’d managed to cushion her head with his palm as she fell onto the asphalt.

His movements, driven by pure instinct and soul‑deep adrenaline, spoke for themselves. He’d chosen her. He didn’t yet know what came next, but his arms possessively pressed her limp body to his chest. Inside, an unusual tremor stirred. He took the sabre from her slender fingers. A wondrous blend of temperament. He closed his eyes for a moment, then inhaled her scent.

Every person on Earth carries a unique skin aroma. Turkish women smelled of mahlab, Chinese women of star anise; the Middle East and Egypt were steeped in anise, Mexican women in fragrant pepper, India in clove scents, Indonesia and Sri Lanka in cinnamon, Europe in paprika and juniper notes, Finland in caraway oils; Georgian women carried the lovely blue fenugreek — and so on.

The blonde, like the northern Slavs, smelled of rose. Floral. Musky. Sweet. Strange, but her scent also carried bitter‑sweet, fruity, and woody notes. Among southern Slavs, closer to Europe, the skin’s fragrance often held hints of mustard — pungent, earthy, slightly sharp. But hers was Arabic: subtle, faintly spicy.

He carried her out of the apartment, descending the stairs and weighing everything he’d seen. All that was missing was a clash with Rashid’s men. He’d left the car and his guards outside the courtyard. Carefully, he carried the girl to it and placed her in the back seat of the large Range Rover. He ordered the waiting bodyguard to apply a sedative patch and treat her scrapes.

As he waited, he thought. The girl held no value for Rashid’s men. But if she was indeed Hussein’s daughter, contradictions arose. Why was the child important, but not the mother? By appearance, the little one shared far more with his roots than the mother did. Outwardly, she bore little resemblance to Emirati women — too much Slavic ran in her veins.

And yet, there she lay, unconscious in the back seat: too fair‑skinned, fair‑haired, with delicate bones, graceful wrists, fragile fingers. He saw no trace of the Hussein lineage in her — nor any features of Miriam.

Still, still — noble bone, aristocratic fingers, a swan‑like neck. Truly royal blood flowed within her, paired with courage and bravery. She hardly knew she’d stood against a pro, defending her child like a true lioness. She’d managed to push the killer back and survive. That earned her respect. And the very fact that she’d so easily overcome her fear in the face of his gaze spoke of iron will.

Vivid blue eyes, harmonious facial proportions, exquisite, slightly plump lips. His gaze lingered seductively on them. Karim’s Adam’s apple twitched. He swallowed.

And her hair was natural — a beautiful shade of gold. He could tell from the fine hairs on her arms, from her eyebrows. He’d deal with her later — with the shades, with the lips. He had other matters to attend to.

— Take her to my place. Keep an eye on her — but be polite, — he ordered the driver. — We need to find the jackals before they leave the country, and find out what this was all about.

***

Karim was hot on the trail, very close to the border. In this cursed world, with its electromagnetic cameras and various surveillance devices, the roads were terrible. Rashid’s men were in such a hurry to leave the country that they chose the nearest rural airport and a company that dealt with field treatment. She wouldn’t ask questions. Who was it that chartered the plane? Consider it a low-cost flight. It would fly slightly into Kazakhstan and then change course due to a breakdown. With a technical landing and repair, the passengers, who were officially non-existent on the papers, would transfer to another aircraft. They would leave the country to their destination. This was a typical emergency evacuation scheme.

But while they were making their way five hundred kilometers through local, non-federal roads, time was also passing. Navigators and GPS worked well in cities, but beyond that, any cellular connection had holes. They had to act extremely swiftly.

Catching up with them at noon, near a village lost among birch groves, he noted that Rashid’s men were in an extreme hurry. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be driving straight through; they would at least be disguising themselves. They had changed their vehicle, for example. Two special services men. That was all that was needed for such operations.

The small взлетная strip was located near the confluence of two rivers, by the water. They were loading their things. At the confluence of the two rivers was the border between the states. Karim, who only flew with major airlines and companies, had never seen what field treatment planes looked like. He was quite amazed. An almost relic. A rusty can with large tanks on its sides.

“Stop,” he roared, drawing a half-circle with his hands in the air, trying to capture all the people in his sight and aiming at the main one.

The man turned around. At his feet, hidden under a black cloak, slept a three-year-old blonde girl, wrapped in a baby blanket, in pink pajamas with white bunnies. The second man stood behind the car by the trunk and was taking out bags.

The first man turned around, raising his hands up, while the second drew his weapon. With authority, he spoke threateningly:

— Son of Yılmaz, our paths do not intersect. Do not interfere.

— Give her to me, — demanded Karim, pointing to the sleeping child. — She belongs to the house of Mahmud.

— She does not belong to you, — retorted the man, but nevertheless did not dare turn his back.

The engine started slowly. The plane hummed. And that meant there was a pilot in the low-cost cabin.

— Swear by blood that she is not a daughter of the Hussein lineage. And if you can’t, return what is rightfully ours by kinship.

The man tilted his pale head, stretched his neck as if stretching. But in reality, during the lunchtime of the hot dry day, he was preparing to flee. He was buying time. He could not break the promise given to Rashid. And by not killing the heiress, he had already stained his honor and dignity. Now his kin would turn their backs on him and curse him forever.

Meanwhile, Karim took up a fighting position, preparing for a shootout. He recognized the fair-haired young man as the son of one of the high-ranking officials of the Emirates. In their strict and rigid hierarchy of the internal life support system, children occupied a prominent place.

“Young fool!” — thought Karim, realizing that if he refused to return the stranger, there must be good reasons.

— Swear! I will back off!

— I can’t, — said the man, picking up the child in his arms.

The fair-haired man’s companion fired first. Karim returned fire, hiding behind his car. The fair-haired man, grabbing the girl, rushed into the cabin, yelling at the pilot to take off urgently. The shooter prevented Karim from peeking out, from shooting at least at the gas tank.

The plane, humming in the silence, moved along the strip, gaining speed and hastily taking off. It carried in its belly the messenger of a foreign world and the prize.

The outcome of the duel was decided quickly, as soon as the aircraft climbed high into the sky. Only Karim’s men and the second man remained. Young and overconfident, he fought too desperately — but he undoubtedly lacked experience in such skirmishes. Five minutes later, it was all over. He was wounded in the chest and arm; the third bullet had hit his stomach. Karim pressed his foot onto the man’s wounded arm, and the man screamed at the top of his lungs, breathing his last minutes.

— I want answers to my questions, — Karim uttered sternly. The life of the defeated man now belonged to him.

— I cannot give them to you, — the man replied mockingly, almost smiling triumphantly as he choked on his blood.

— Where did they take her? Where?

The defeated man tried to recite a prayer, but he didn’t manage to finish it. His gaze froze, fixed forever. A hoarse breath escaped his lungs. Karim spat and cursed angrily.

He stood up, brushing dust from his clothes. The sun beat down mercilessly, turning the air into a shimmering haze above the cracked earth. The smell of gunpowder and iron‑rich blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with the dry scent of dust and distant river reeds.

Karim looked at the fading trail of the plane — a tiny speck against the vast blue — and clenched his fists. She’s gone. For now.

“Gather the men,” he ordered, his voice low but carrying. “We move. We follow the trail. They won’t get far.”

One of his men stepped forward, wiping sweat from his brow. “Sir, the signal’s weak. No GPS lock. We’ll have to track them the old way.”

“Then we track them the old way,” Karim repeated, his tone unyielding. “They took what’s ours. We get it back. No matter the cost.”

His eyes scanned the horizon — the birch groves, the winding river, the scorched fields beyond. Somewhere out there, the girl was being carried deeper into the unknown. And he would find her.

“Move out,” he commanded. “And remember — we don’t stop. Not until we have her back.”

His men nodded, checking weapons, loading gear. The engines roared to life. Dust rose in thick clouds behind the convoy as they set off — a relentless pursuit across the burning land.

Karim climbed into the lead vehicle, gripping the wheel tightly. I will find you, he thought, staring ahead. No matter where they’ve taken you.