Forever
Page 8
They hit the ground all right, but both landed on their feet, the impact so hard she could feel it under her. Suddenly they seemed larger than life, like two mighty titans at war with each other. She knew she was bearing witness to something that could never be unseen, a secret that could endanger her life. Suddenly Jackson’s adversary spat out a pair of words, the language beyond foreign to her, and a charge of red light enveloped his hands and then exploded like a bomb when he used them to shove at Jackson’s chest.
Jackson went flying back, tearing through the air until his shoulder and the right side of his back impacted a tree. Once again he landed on his feet, the only hint that he had been injured was a grunt as he regained balance.
The enemy, whoever he was and for whatever reason, attacked once again, more words spitting past his lips and more red, fiery light bolting from his hands in a massive ball of energy. But this time Jackson was ready for him. He leapt aside, propelling himself into a running charge and plowing into the attacker. They cracked their heads together, like two mighty rams challenging each other for the right to a mate.
“How do you dare?” Jackson roared into the other man’s face. “How do you dare try and injure what is under my protection!” He gave the man such a vicious shake that he squawked like a dying bird.
“J-Jackson …” Holy hell, was that her voice? Was she actually going to try and reason with … with …
She had no idea what they were. She should just shut the hell up and figure out how to get away and run really, really fast in the other direction. But logic said, after witnessing what she had just seen, distance wasn’t going to make all that much of an effective advantage.
“I will tear you down, Menes, and reap the reward and infamy for it! I will destroy you so thoroughly you’ll find permanent end! This I do in the name of Amun! And when you fall under our blades, I will take your human doll and use her until she swells with my get.”
Well, apparently that was the wrong thing to say, Marissa thought. The roar of fury that ejected from Jackson was, in a strange surreal way, very flattering, as was the beating that commenced instantly after. There was a sense of being championed that she’d never felt before, and as terrified as she was of them and of what the other man had just vowed to do to her, she felt a wave of reassurance and faith in the power of the man fighting for her safety … as well as his own.
Jackson’s shirt, she realized, had been burned away across the front. Charred, ragged edges in a large circle exposed the bulletproof vest he wore and it too was scorched to black. He was trading blows with the other man in earnest now, perhaps a little too earnestly, obvious signs of wrath causing him to overreach, to miss his mark. But after just a minute he must have realized this as well and grew intent and serious, taking more time to plot not only his attack, but his defense. The two men grappled, struck, and crashed through the brush and trees.
Our.
It struck her just as suddenly as “was” had when Tommy’s mother had spoken it. Jackson’s enemy had said “our.”
“Jackson there’s another!” She screamed the warning to be heard over the din of their fierce battle.
He looked up, distracted momentarily by the warning, looking to her as if the other was possibly coming after her. But he wasn’t. Marissa suddenly grasped that this was all about Jackson, as something enormous and heavy dropped out of the sky to land behind him, with wings of terrifyingly large proportions. The wingspan of it must have been at least twelve feet wide.
It’s wingspan.
It was a creature as ugly and horrific as any demon she’d ever seen illustrated in fantasy. Its gnarled hands, giant wings and massive body looked as though it had been carved directly out of stone.
“On my god,” she whispered, fear freezing her to the spot, gripping her so thoroughly she couldn’t even scream. But what terrified her, mobilized something else.
Sargent.
The dog, she realized, had been barking viciously since the start of the fight, but Jackson had not commanded him or signaled him to move and Sargent had fought his ingrained nature in order to obey his master’s training. But he must have decided enough was enough when the demon creature fell onto Jackson’s back. He tore through the undergrowth, all savage teeth and snarls. He leapt for the first assailant, his teeth finding a mark on the man’s left thigh and latching on ferociously. The titan, for all he was built like a linebacker, bellowed out a roar of agony even as a massive burst of red energy was exploding out of him. The demon had wrapped an arm around Jackson’s throat, yanking him up from the ground and back against his massive stone chest. He’d been holding him still for the blast his partner was about to release, but Sargent’s interference pulled the energy off center. It still hit Jackson at full burn, but the off-centeredness of the shot may very well have saved Jackson’s life as his clothing burst into flame. His pants, vest, gun belt … it was all incinerated on contact from the front, the fabric trapped between his body and the beast’s was all that remained.
Of all the times she had imagined scenarios where she might see Jackson naked, this one had certainly never crossed her mind. His skin was burned, but nowhere near what it should have been for having his clothes catch fire. It was red, more like a decent sunburn than anything. Pulled back and up, his back bowing, every single muscle, of which there were considerably many, stood out in stark relief, portraying quite clearly just how much he was putting into the struggle with the new adversary. Far leaner than those he fought, she didn’t see how he could possibly survive against so much weight, strength, and inexplicable power.
A percussive blast exploded out from him, sending his enemies flying, Sargent dropping to the ground with a pained whine. But before either of his adversaries could impact anything, Jackson landed on his feet, reached out with both hands, each targeting an enemy and his fingers fisting hard. Each male body jerked to a halt in mid-air, both trapped by an unseen force, both struggling as if to breathe. Neither could move. Jackson stood with his thickly muscular legs braced apart, his body straining outward in both directions as if the effort to hold them took monumental strength. Then he whipped his left arm toward his right until his fists slammed together. And as he did that both suspended bodies careened into each other, a loud, sickening smack filling the air. He let them fall, leaping forward to get between Sargent and them when the dog tried to jump back into the fray.
“Out!” Jackson commanded roughly, a hand pushing toward Sargent and the telekinetic power he wielded snatched Sargent by his collar hard enough to halt him, forcing him to listen to the command. Then he turned back to the male who had wielded the deadly red energy, grabbing his enemy’s head between his hands. “Suck Ether,” he hissed as he wrenched the man’s head around 180 degrees and shoved his face in the dirt. Then he sent another of those percussive blasts into his enemy’s body, this time blowing him apart on a molecular level.
Marissa watched the man disintegrate into thin air.
Jackson couldn’t keep himself from looking for Marissa, checking on her in a costly distraction as he looked over his shoulder at her. It allowed the Gargoyle the opportunity it needed to launch away from him and into the night sky. Gargoyles could fly at blinding speeds, despite the weighty stone of their bodies, and the creature was out of his reach within instants.
Later, Menes ground out in his mind. In the future we will grow strong enough where they cannot escape us so easily.
He was drawing hard for breath, in desperate need of a moment to pull himself together, but knowing he couldn’t risk the luxury. Sargent was whining, a little put out that Jackson had pulled his leash, in a manner of speaking. But the dog couldn’t possibly have stood up in a battle with these supernatural and powerful enemies. Jackson had tried to protect him just as he had tried to protect Marissa.
How had they found him? How had they known?
It was a trivial point of interest. They had their way of discovering things just as his people did. He had thought himself well hidden, safe in his anonymity, and it had been a foolish way to behave. Menes had allowed it in order to help Jackson’s spiritual transition as well as the Blending process. There was comfort in the familiar, and he hadn’t wanted to throw 180 degrees of change at him all at once. The Blending process was overwhelming enough as it was …
And he had lingered for other reasons. One of which, he confessed to himself, was sitting right behind him. But one step at a time. He couldn’t guarantee that the Gargoyle wouldn’t try another run at him or that they didn’t have reserves out there somewhere.
Slowly, he turned to face the wide, wild blue eyes of Marissa Anderson.
Marissa was panting for air, the world swimming around her as she stared with wholehearted disbelief at Jackson. He took a slow breath, steam lifting from his bare skin and into the cold morning air. She didn’t know that not all of it was from his exertions of the moment. What she didn’t realize was the coming sun was lightening the sky, and when it finally began to touch his skin she would watch him slowly go numb, one second at a time, the obvious signs of life bleeding away from him until he was little more than a paralyzed husk, his consciousness trapped within and unable to do anything but scream and scream and scream for freedom. Because, even though he knew logically it was temporary, even though he knew that night must always follow day and that, with the darkness would come release and succor; that poisonous, deep paralysis and that long stretch of helplessness ripped at everything that Menes and Jackson were. Men of strength. Beings of power both physical and mental. Men of action. They were the men who others hid behind, taking comfort in the protection they could deliver. To be so exposed and vulnerable was the very worst of all things to men like them.
Marissa watched Sargent sit, his tail wagging in a swish-swish that kicked up old pine needles underneath a nearby tree, little cries eking out of him as he inched closer and closer to Jackson in an effort to win his attention. Sweat rolled down Jackson’s skin, wending rivulets that tracked around thick, beautiful muscles and the veins and vessels that roped all along them. He was not overbuilt by any stretch of the imagination, but he was formidable just the same. And beneath a solid six pack of abs, was a tattoo. A dagger, pointing down toward a whole different sort of dagger, and two entwined snakes wrapped tightly around it—each snake devouring the tail of the snake before it in a never-ending circuit. There was something so primal about that emblem, and something so intimate about being able to see it like she was. See him. All of him.
And standing utterly na**d as he was, there was nothing … absolutely nothing she needed her imagination for any longer. Except, perhaps, in the way furtive parts of her mind began wondering things like … how would his lean, sexy body feel pressed to hers, his hot wet skin slick against her and all that delicious muscle clasped around her … holding her … moving and shifting within her and making exquisite love to her?
She wanted to laugh at herself for the utter absurdity of it all. How could she possibly be thinking about any of that after what she had just seen him do? After she knew what deadly things he was capable of? She didn’t even know who he was anymore … if she ever had at all. She didn’t even know what he was anymore. In the flesh as he was he looked all human … or actually, fairly god-like as he seethed with power and energy.
He advanced on her and she skittered back, barely keeping herself on her feet as she snagged herself on the bracken and underbrush. Oh Christ. She was out there all alone with him. This was one of those moments when she wanted to curse herself for her foolhardy devotion to doing a thankless job. She had no business being out there, just as he had said. Maybe now she knew why.
“I-I didn’t see anything,” she stammered out. “I swear … I’ll-I’ll … I won’t say a word. You know, therapeutic confidentiality and all that.” She laughed, the sound weak and tinny.
“Aw c’mon, doc. You and I both know that flies out the window if you think I am a danger to myself or others.”
Damn. Damn, damn, damn! He was too smart for her own good, and she had always known that. It was, perhaps, why she had worked so hard to give him a wide berth. Or maybe it had been an instinctive reaction, some sort of flight mechanism that had kicked into effect for her, recognizing an apex predator subconsciously and working hard to keep herself far away from the danger he represented.
Only that was a bald-faced lie in part. Never, in all the times she had seen him, had she thought of him as being an unmitigated danger. She had come to know this man. He was thoughtful, conscientious, and, she had thought until this moment, he was perhaps the most law-abiding creature on the planet. His seeming devotion to doing the lawful thing, even when that lawful thing was contrary to what was very obviously not the right thing had always struck her. Like setting a man loose he had known in his soul was a pedophile, a predator of small children, because he had no sure proof … or rather not enough to convince the DA to prosecute the case. But what he had done was spend his time off doggedly watching the man’s every step until he did have that proof and could see him prosecuted. It was why he ought to have been detective grade by then … only he had held himself back, and she had always thought it was because he felt far more valuable as a k-9 officer.
Jackson went flying back, tearing through the air until his shoulder and the right side of his back impacted a tree. Once again he landed on his feet, the only hint that he had been injured was a grunt as he regained balance.
The enemy, whoever he was and for whatever reason, attacked once again, more words spitting past his lips and more red, fiery light bolting from his hands in a massive ball of energy. But this time Jackson was ready for him. He leapt aside, propelling himself into a running charge and plowing into the attacker. They cracked their heads together, like two mighty rams challenging each other for the right to a mate.
“How do you dare?” Jackson roared into the other man’s face. “How do you dare try and injure what is under my protection!” He gave the man such a vicious shake that he squawked like a dying bird.
“J-Jackson …” Holy hell, was that her voice? Was she actually going to try and reason with … with …
She had no idea what they were. She should just shut the hell up and figure out how to get away and run really, really fast in the other direction. But logic said, after witnessing what she had just seen, distance wasn’t going to make all that much of an effective advantage.
“I will tear you down, Menes, and reap the reward and infamy for it! I will destroy you so thoroughly you’ll find permanent end! This I do in the name of Amun! And when you fall under our blades, I will take your human doll and use her until she swells with my get.”
Well, apparently that was the wrong thing to say, Marissa thought. The roar of fury that ejected from Jackson was, in a strange surreal way, very flattering, as was the beating that commenced instantly after. There was a sense of being championed that she’d never felt before, and as terrified as she was of them and of what the other man had just vowed to do to her, she felt a wave of reassurance and faith in the power of the man fighting for her safety … as well as his own.
Jackson’s shirt, she realized, had been burned away across the front. Charred, ragged edges in a large circle exposed the bulletproof vest he wore and it too was scorched to black. He was trading blows with the other man in earnest now, perhaps a little too earnestly, obvious signs of wrath causing him to overreach, to miss his mark. But after just a minute he must have realized this as well and grew intent and serious, taking more time to plot not only his attack, but his defense. The two men grappled, struck, and crashed through the brush and trees.
Our.
It struck her just as suddenly as “was” had when Tommy’s mother had spoken it. Jackson’s enemy had said “our.”
“Jackson there’s another!” She screamed the warning to be heard over the din of their fierce battle.
He looked up, distracted momentarily by the warning, looking to her as if the other was possibly coming after her. But he wasn’t. Marissa suddenly grasped that this was all about Jackson, as something enormous and heavy dropped out of the sky to land behind him, with wings of terrifyingly large proportions. The wingspan of it must have been at least twelve feet wide.
It’s wingspan.
It was a creature as ugly and horrific as any demon she’d ever seen illustrated in fantasy. Its gnarled hands, giant wings and massive body looked as though it had been carved directly out of stone.
“On my god,” she whispered, fear freezing her to the spot, gripping her so thoroughly she couldn’t even scream. But what terrified her, mobilized something else.
Sargent.
The dog, she realized, had been barking viciously since the start of the fight, but Jackson had not commanded him or signaled him to move and Sargent had fought his ingrained nature in order to obey his master’s training. But he must have decided enough was enough when the demon creature fell onto Jackson’s back. He tore through the undergrowth, all savage teeth and snarls. He leapt for the first assailant, his teeth finding a mark on the man’s left thigh and latching on ferociously. The titan, for all he was built like a linebacker, bellowed out a roar of agony even as a massive burst of red energy was exploding out of him. The demon had wrapped an arm around Jackson’s throat, yanking him up from the ground and back against his massive stone chest. He’d been holding him still for the blast his partner was about to release, but Sargent’s interference pulled the energy off center. It still hit Jackson at full burn, but the off-centeredness of the shot may very well have saved Jackson’s life as his clothing burst into flame. His pants, vest, gun belt … it was all incinerated on contact from the front, the fabric trapped between his body and the beast’s was all that remained.
Of all the times she had imagined scenarios where she might see Jackson naked, this one had certainly never crossed her mind. His skin was burned, but nowhere near what it should have been for having his clothes catch fire. It was red, more like a decent sunburn than anything. Pulled back and up, his back bowing, every single muscle, of which there were considerably many, stood out in stark relief, portraying quite clearly just how much he was putting into the struggle with the new adversary. Far leaner than those he fought, she didn’t see how he could possibly survive against so much weight, strength, and inexplicable power.
A percussive blast exploded out from him, sending his enemies flying, Sargent dropping to the ground with a pained whine. But before either of his adversaries could impact anything, Jackson landed on his feet, reached out with both hands, each targeting an enemy and his fingers fisting hard. Each male body jerked to a halt in mid-air, both trapped by an unseen force, both struggling as if to breathe. Neither could move. Jackson stood with his thickly muscular legs braced apart, his body straining outward in both directions as if the effort to hold them took monumental strength. Then he whipped his left arm toward his right until his fists slammed together. And as he did that both suspended bodies careened into each other, a loud, sickening smack filling the air. He let them fall, leaping forward to get between Sargent and them when the dog tried to jump back into the fray.
“Out!” Jackson commanded roughly, a hand pushing toward Sargent and the telekinetic power he wielded snatched Sargent by his collar hard enough to halt him, forcing him to listen to the command. Then he turned back to the male who had wielded the deadly red energy, grabbing his enemy’s head between his hands. “Suck Ether,” he hissed as he wrenched the man’s head around 180 degrees and shoved his face in the dirt. Then he sent another of those percussive blasts into his enemy’s body, this time blowing him apart on a molecular level.
Marissa watched the man disintegrate into thin air.
Jackson couldn’t keep himself from looking for Marissa, checking on her in a costly distraction as he looked over his shoulder at her. It allowed the Gargoyle the opportunity it needed to launch away from him and into the night sky. Gargoyles could fly at blinding speeds, despite the weighty stone of their bodies, and the creature was out of his reach within instants.
Later, Menes ground out in his mind. In the future we will grow strong enough where they cannot escape us so easily.
He was drawing hard for breath, in desperate need of a moment to pull himself together, but knowing he couldn’t risk the luxury. Sargent was whining, a little put out that Jackson had pulled his leash, in a manner of speaking. But the dog couldn’t possibly have stood up in a battle with these supernatural and powerful enemies. Jackson had tried to protect him just as he had tried to protect Marissa.
How had they found him? How had they known?
It was a trivial point of interest. They had their way of discovering things just as his people did. He had thought himself well hidden, safe in his anonymity, and it had been a foolish way to behave. Menes had allowed it in order to help Jackson’s spiritual transition as well as the Blending process. There was comfort in the familiar, and he hadn’t wanted to throw 180 degrees of change at him all at once. The Blending process was overwhelming enough as it was …
And he had lingered for other reasons. One of which, he confessed to himself, was sitting right behind him. But one step at a time. He couldn’t guarantee that the Gargoyle wouldn’t try another run at him or that they didn’t have reserves out there somewhere.
Slowly, he turned to face the wide, wild blue eyes of Marissa Anderson.
Marissa was panting for air, the world swimming around her as she stared with wholehearted disbelief at Jackson. He took a slow breath, steam lifting from his bare skin and into the cold morning air. She didn’t know that not all of it was from his exertions of the moment. What she didn’t realize was the coming sun was lightening the sky, and when it finally began to touch his skin she would watch him slowly go numb, one second at a time, the obvious signs of life bleeding away from him until he was little more than a paralyzed husk, his consciousness trapped within and unable to do anything but scream and scream and scream for freedom. Because, even though he knew logically it was temporary, even though he knew that night must always follow day and that, with the darkness would come release and succor; that poisonous, deep paralysis and that long stretch of helplessness ripped at everything that Menes and Jackson were. Men of strength. Beings of power both physical and mental. Men of action. They were the men who others hid behind, taking comfort in the protection they could deliver. To be so exposed and vulnerable was the very worst of all things to men like them.
Marissa watched Sargent sit, his tail wagging in a swish-swish that kicked up old pine needles underneath a nearby tree, little cries eking out of him as he inched closer and closer to Jackson in an effort to win his attention. Sweat rolled down Jackson’s skin, wending rivulets that tracked around thick, beautiful muscles and the veins and vessels that roped all along them. He was not overbuilt by any stretch of the imagination, but he was formidable just the same. And beneath a solid six pack of abs, was a tattoo. A dagger, pointing down toward a whole different sort of dagger, and two entwined snakes wrapped tightly around it—each snake devouring the tail of the snake before it in a never-ending circuit. There was something so primal about that emblem, and something so intimate about being able to see it like she was. See him. All of him.
And standing utterly na**d as he was, there was nothing … absolutely nothing she needed her imagination for any longer. Except, perhaps, in the way furtive parts of her mind began wondering things like … how would his lean, sexy body feel pressed to hers, his hot wet skin slick against her and all that delicious muscle clasped around her … holding her … moving and shifting within her and making exquisite love to her?
She wanted to laugh at herself for the utter absurdity of it all. How could she possibly be thinking about any of that after what she had just seen him do? After she knew what deadly things he was capable of? She didn’t even know who he was anymore … if she ever had at all. She didn’t even know what he was anymore. In the flesh as he was he looked all human … or actually, fairly god-like as he seethed with power and energy.
He advanced on her and she skittered back, barely keeping herself on her feet as she snagged herself on the bracken and underbrush. Oh Christ. She was out there all alone with him. This was one of those moments when she wanted to curse herself for her foolhardy devotion to doing a thankless job. She had no business being out there, just as he had said. Maybe now she knew why.
“I-I didn’t see anything,” she stammered out. “I swear … I’ll-I’ll … I won’t say a word. You know, therapeutic confidentiality and all that.” She laughed, the sound weak and tinny.
“Aw c’mon, doc. You and I both know that flies out the window if you think I am a danger to myself or others.”
Damn. Damn, damn, damn! He was too smart for her own good, and she had always known that. It was, perhaps, why she had worked so hard to give him a wide berth. Or maybe it had been an instinctive reaction, some sort of flight mechanism that had kicked into effect for her, recognizing an apex predator subconsciously and working hard to keep herself far away from the danger he represented.
Only that was a bald-faced lie in part. Never, in all the times she had seen him, had she thought of him as being an unmitigated danger. She had come to know this man. He was thoughtful, conscientious, and, she had thought until this moment, he was perhaps the most law-abiding creature on the planet. His seeming devotion to doing the lawful thing, even when that lawful thing was contrary to what was very obviously not the right thing had always struck her. Like setting a man loose he had known in his soul was a pedophile, a predator of small children, because he had no sure proof … or rather not enough to convince the DA to prosecute the case. But what he had done was spend his time off doggedly watching the man’s every step until he did have that proof and could see him prosecuted. It was why he ought to have been detective grade by then … only he had held himself back, and she had always thought it was because he felt far more valuable as a k-9 officer.
