And that’s just what he gave her then. A short, powerful kiss right on the lips. No teeth, no tongue … hell, it was practically chaste … except for the fact that it lit her skin on fire underneath her clothes.
Then he was gone from the car with a jingle of keys. She scrambled to follow, determined to warn him that she wouldn’t put up with all his Neanderthal macho man tactics to keep her quiet. No way. She wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him to give her permission to move or speak or whatever the hell archaic role he thought she ought to play up there in his alpha-male atmosphere.
She marched up behind him.
“Jackson Waver—mmph!”
His hand slapped over her mouth and she felt him pushing her bodily into the wall beside the door. She was just shy of biting him when he held a finger to his lips and she followed the indicating nod of his head to the door standing ajar. There was a brick-colored streak across the bottom of the door, about twelve inches up from the ground, and she realized with shock and horror that it had been made by a hand being dragged over the door. Then she looked down and saw the swath of brilliant red leading over the doorjamb and across the light wood floor just inside the door. She heard Jackson’s weapon leave his holster very quietly, and—turning his back to her so he was between her and anything that might come out of the door—he gingerly pulled open the screen door then held it open with the toe of his boot as he checked his corners and eased into the room.
He didn’t have to tell her to stay. She couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. She had seen a lot of dead, dying, or dissected things in her lifetime, but there was something intrinsically chilling about that streaking handprint, as though someone had reached out to try and hold on, to try and stop from being dragged into hell.
In what felt like the longest five minutes of her life, she waited, trying not to breathe too loudly and trying not to think that whatever had happened here was, by trail of that handprint, very likely on this side of the door. Her palms were coated in an icy sweat by the time he came back, reaching for her face, his fingers brushing along her jaw and his thumb on her lips.
“Okay?” he asked, making sure he was looking directly into her eyes.
“Yes but—”
But she could see the grimness tightening his mouth, she could see the rage steaming in his eyes.
“Is there a—?”
“No,” he said, as always seeming to know what she was going to ask. “But somewhere there’s a body missing a hell of a lot of blood. It’s everywhere in there.” He looked down at his boots, showing her the boot prints that followed him out the door. “And now so am I. If I leave here without calling it in … then resign and leave in the same day … they are going to think …” He trailed off.
She gasped in outrage. “They would not! How can anyone who knows anything about you think anything of the kind?”
“It happens all the time. People snap. People—”
“You’re not people,” she hissed at him. “You’re better than people! I can say without any doubt in my mind that you would never, ever snap!”
That made him smile a little. “Oh sure. Now you tell me. After I spent months tied into knots because I thought I had to convince you I was doing ‘just swell’ after Chico died.”
She rolled her eyes, choosing not to dignify that with an argument, especially under the circumstances.
“Isn’t this your sister’s house?” she asked, suddenly realizing she had been there once before.
“Used to be. A family friend took over the mortgage. I think you met him …”
“Leo Alvarez,” she said automatically.
“Jesus. I really do have only one friend in the world, don’t I?” Again that simmering rage made an appearance. “Or I used to. If this is Leo’s blood … he didn’t make it.”
“The blood makes it all the way out over the stoop, but stops just a little way onto the porch. Why drag him all that way, only to pick him up?”
Jackson snorted. “You’ve seen, Leo, right? Nobody’s picking him up unless they have—” He broke off for a second and they met each other’s eyes.
“A partner!” they said in unison.
“We can’t stay here,” Jackson said tightly. “If they came after Leo because of me then we aren’t safe here. Let the consequences lie wherever they will, we’re leaving town right now.” He held up a keychain with a bloodstained pink rabbit’s foot on it. “Leo’s car will be a little less conspicuous to start. We’ll trade out later on before they can put a BOLO out.”
“Jackson?”
The tiny sounding feminine voice made Jackson’s head whip around just in time for him to see his sister suddenly sprinting up the stairs. “Leo! LEO!” she screamed, trying to push and pull her way out of her brother’s arms any way she possibly could. On Docia’s heels was Ram, Docia’s lover, and a very big, very angry-looking man with the shoulder width of two … maybe three linebackers.
“Easy! He’s not in there, Docia. Easy,” Jackson said, although Marissa knew his reassurances were false. It was clear Ram thought so too as they traded looks over his sister’s head.
“But—” She was just tipping past the cusp of crying, large tears welling out of her eyes. “But he’s all right, right? If he’s not here, he’s all right.”
“There’s a chance he’s just fine, Docia,” Jackson flat-out lied to her. “We have no idea what happened here. And knowing Leo like we do, I’ll lay bets that this isn’t his blood.” As Ram came up to take possession of Jackson’s sister, Marissa watched him surreptitiously drop the bloody rabbit’s foot into his pocket. He could fast-talk all he wanted, but clearly Docia would put two and two together very quickly if she saw the keychain. “We’ll track Leo down from the road, Docia. I’ll have Asikri stay behind and watch out for information.” He indicated the large wall of a man standing at the perimeter of the group. “Right now we have to get out of here. This is a crime scene, one way or another, and it’s just the kind of attention we don’t need.”
“Do you think he’s all right?” Docia demanded of Ram.
“We’re talking about the same guy who slit Odjit’s throat and rid us of her, yes?” Ram said as way of explanation of his feelings on the matter.
“Even though she was Bodywalker and he was merely human,” Jackson chimed in, making everyone come to a screeching halt except, apparently, her. She ended up stepping on the back of Jackson’s shoes and quickly apologizing. But her apologies fell on deaf ears, since everyone was staring at Jackson as though he’d lost his mind.
“What?” he demanded. “She knows.”
A uniform “Ohhh …” drifted out of Ram and Docia. Asikri, the big hulking wall of surly muscle, just grunted. Or maybe he was breaking wind. It was honestly hard to tell by his expression.
“How did that come to pass?” Ram wanted to know. “You managed to keep this from her last time and for the three weeks following your rebirth.”
“I was attacked and it forced me to show my hand. And we compounded the situation by protecting her openly and then letting one of them get away. A Gargoyle. He didn’t look like any of the usual Templar lackeys, but no doubt he’s reported all findings by now.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It depends on the Gargoyle’s desires and loyalties. A failure like this could sit ill with his masters, and they are not known for their forgiveness. Possession of their touchstones gives the holder the ability to hunt the Gargoyle attached to it down so it’s fruitless to resist, but one might try given the circumstances.”
“So you’re thinking because they figured out who you are …” Ram trailed off, giving Docia’s shoulders a squeeze.
“They’ll go after my family. My friends,” Jackson confirmed in a soft voice that held emotion but dared anyone to see it as a weakness. Marissa could just imagine how he must be feeling right then. Jackson’s record and profile showed how often he took a lot of weight onto his shoulders that didn’t necessarily belong there. “Why are you here?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t recall summoning you.”
Oh, there was a dangerous sound of authority in his tone. Enough to make Ram, a man she had found to be of great strength and conviction, visibly hesitate as they progressed off the porch.
“I … Cleo suspected … well …”
“You’re telling me,” Jackson said with overtaut tension in his voice, “that you suspected I might be in danger and you brought my sister with you?”
Ram looked pained, his expression almost comical. “I could not do otherwise Jackson. If I hadn’t taken her with me she would have gotten on a plane and come anyway on her own steam. At least this way Asikri and I can afford her the protection she needs.”
“And this is all you brought for protection?” Jackson asked. “You and Asikri?”
“Hey!” Docia protested.
“Sorry, Sissy, but as powerful as you and your Bodywalker Tameri are, you are still too newly Blended with her to convince me that she can wield her abilities with absolute competency.”
“So sayeth the man who has only had his Bodywalker for three weeks.”
Everyone turned to look at Marissa and she resisted the gasp forming on her lips. Had she said that out loud? Well, yes, apparently so because Jackson was looking like he wanted to kill her and Docia was looking pretty darn pleased.
“Thank god! Finally another woman on my side! Sometimes it’s just me and Cleo trying to make these overgrown behemoths see reason. We’re not very successful.”
But despite her attempt at levity, Marissa could see her looking over her shoulder at her former house with continued worry for Leo’s fate.
“I only meant to inject a little fairness to the situation,” Marissa said awkwardly. “I have no ulterior motives either way. Other than to point that one part out, I have to agree with your brother that this isn’t a safe place to be on many levels. We should be going.”
“On that we can all agree,” Asikri finally spoke up to say. Then, as though something about the entire lot of them pissed him off, he turned and stalked away.
“Give it time,” Jackson said with amusement. “He kind of grows on you.”
“Like a wart or a huge pimple. Big, ugly, hairy, and the last thing a girl wants to wake up to in the morning,” Docia said.
This time not even she was fooled by her attempt at levity, so she fell silent and seemed to make every effort not to look back at her house again.
Chapter Eight
Leo clawed his way to consciousness, the cacophony of agony screaming through his body almost too overwhelming and the gritty taste of bile sharp at the back of his tongue. He struggled, tried to push or pull or move in any way possible, even though he knew it was going to hurt like hell the instant he achieved any of those goals. But there was no movement to be had. Just the same, something was different. Anything different had to be an improvement over the last time he’d been conscious in the world. Didn’t it?
“Well, it is good of you to join us at last.”
The greeting was cordial. Almost refined. Or maybe it sounded that way because anyone with that particular kind of accent couldn’t help but sound as though he breathed slightly better air than the rest of the world. It wasn’t exactly a British accent, but it was foreign. Perhaps South African. However, placing it wasn’t the first thing on Leo’s mind.
No. The first thing on Leo’s mind was the shriek of new pain that tore through his shoulder as he tried to move again.
Breathing. I’m breathing.
That was different. This was a difference he had to count as an improvement. At first. But each breath hurt like hell and any move he made was like nails from a finishing gun punching down in rapid succession, rather like a dotted line that demarcated one territory from another on a global map. The light hurt his eyes, but it didn’t escape him that it was probably shining directly into his eyes precisely for that reason. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the opposite end of that kind of tactic … and he supposed he knew where this was headed.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. Wow. He sounded like hell. And talking made him cough and … oh yeah, that was a whole new world of hell right there as well.
“Somehow I doubt that. You aren’t at all apologetic. Not yet anyway. We might get to that eventually.”
Leo fought with the grit scraping between his eyelids and the resolution of his focus. The image that finally crystallized for him was of a tall, athletic man with russet hair that was emboldened by the nut-brown color of his skin. He was seated in a metal chair, some ancient relic from an old office supply dungeon.
Then he was gone from the car with a jingle of keys. She scrambled to follow, determined to warn him that she wouldn’t put up with all his Neanderthal macho man tactics to keep her quiet. No way. She wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him to give her permission to move or speak or whatever the hell archaic role he thought she ought to play up there in his alpha-male atmosphere.
She marched up behind him.
“Jackson Waver—mmph!”
His hand slapped over her mouth and she felt him pushing her bodily into the wall beside the door. She was just shy of biting him when he held a finger to his lips and she followed the indicating nod of his head to the door standing ajar. There was a brick-colored streak across the bottom of the door, about twelve inches up from the ground, and she realized with shock and horror that it had been made by a hand being dragged over the door. Then she looked down and saw the swath of brilliant red leading over the doorjamb and across the light wood floor just inside the door. She heard Jackson’s weapon leave his holster very quietly, and—turning his back to her so he was between her and anything that might come out of the door—he gingerly pulled open the screen door then held it open with the toe of his boot as he checked his corners and eased into the room.
He didn’t have to tell her to stay. She couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. She had seen a lot of dead, dying, or dissected things in her lifetime, but there was something intrinsically chilling about that streaking handprint, as though someone had reached out to try and hold on, to try and stop from being dragged into hell.
In what felt like the longest five minutes of her life, she waited, trying not to breathe too loudly and trying not to think that whatever had happened here was, by trail of that handprint, very likely on this side of the door. Her palms were coated in an icy sweat by the time he came back, reaching for her face, his fingers brushing along her jaw and his thumb on her lips.
“Okay?” he asked, making sure he was looking directly into her eyes.
“Yes but—”
But she could see the grimness tightening his mouth, she could see the rage steaming in his eyes.
“Is there a—?”
“No,” he said, as always seeming to know what she was going to ask. “But somewhere there’s a body missing a hell of a lot of blood. It’s everywhere in there.” He looked down at his boots, showing her the boot prints that followed him out the door. “And now so am I. If I leave here without calling it in … then resign and leave in the same day … they are going to think …” He trailed off.
She gasped in outrage. “They would not! How can anyone who knows anything about you think anything of the kind?”
“It happens all the time. People snap. People—”
“You’re not people,” she hissed at him. “You’re better than people! I can say without any doubt in my mind that you would never, ever snap!”
That made him smile a little. “Oh sure. Now you tell me. After I spent months tied into knots because I thought I had to convince you I was doing ‘just swell’ after Chico died.”
She rolled her eyes, choosing not to dignify that with an argument, especially under the circumstances.
“Isn’t this your sister’s house?” she asked, suddenly realizing she had been there once before.
“Used to be. A family friend took over the mortgage. I think you met him …”
“Leo Alvarez,” she said automatically.
“Jesus. I really do have only one friend in the world, don’t I?” Again that simmering rage made an appearance. “Or I used to. If this is Leo’s blood … he didn’t make it.”
“The blood makes it all the way out over the stoop, but stops just a little way onto the porch. Why drag him all that way, only to pick him up?”
Jackson snorted. “You’ve seen, Leo, right? Nobody’s picking him up unless they have—” He broke off for a second and they met each other’s eyes.
“A partner!” they said in unison.
“We can’t stay here,” Jackson said tightly. “If they came after Leo because of me then we aren’t safe here. Let the consequences lie wherever they will, we’re leaving town right now.” He held up a keychain with a bloodstained pink rabbit’s foot on it. “Leo’s car will be a little less conspicuous to start. We’ll trade out later on before they can put a BOLO out.”
“Jackson?”
The tiny sounding feminine voice made Jackson’s head whip around just in time for him to see his sister suddenly sprinting up the stairs. “Leo! LEO!” she screamed, trying to push and pull her way out of her brother’s arms any way she possibly could. On Docia’s heels was Ram, Docia’s lover, and a very big, very angry-looking man with the shoulder width of two … maybe three linebackers.
“Easy! He’s not in there, Docia. Easy,” Jackson said, although Marissa knew his reassurances were false. It was clear Ram thought so too as they traded looks over his sister’s head.
“But—” She was just tipping past the cusp of crying, large tears welling out of her eyes. “But he’s all right, right? If he’s not here, he’s all right.”
“There’s a chance he’s just fine, Docia,” Jackson flat-out lied to her. “We have no idea what happened here. And knowing Leo like we do, I’ll lay bets that this isn’t his blood.” As Ram came up to take possession of Jackson’s sister, Marissa watched him surreptitiously drop the bloody rabbit’s foot into his pocket. He could fast-talk all he wanted, but clearly Docia would put two and two together very quickly if she saw the keychain. “We’ll track Leo down from the road, Docia. I’ll have Asikri stay behind and watch out for information.” He indicated the large wall of a man standing at the perimeter of the group. “Right now we have to get out of here. This is a crime scene, one way or another, and it’s just the kind of attention we don’t need.”
“Do you think he’s all right?” Docia demanded of Ram.
“We’re talking about the same guy who slit Odjit’s throat and rid us of her, yes?” Ram said as way of explanation of his feelings on the matter.
“Even though she was Bodywalker and he was merely human,” Jackson chimed in, making everyone come to a screeching halt except, apparently, her. She ended up stepping on the back of Jackson’s shoes and quickly apologizing. But her apologies fell on deaf ears, since everyone was staring at Jackson as though he’d lost his mind.
“What?” he demanded. “She knows.”
A uniform “Ohhh …” drifted out of Ram and Docia. Asikri, the big hulking wall of surly muscle, just grunted. Or maybe he was breaking wind. It was honestly hard to tell by his expression.
“How did that come to pass?” Ram wanted to know. “You managed to keep this from her last time and for the three weeks following your rebirth.”
“I was attacked and it forced me to show my hand. And we compounded the situation by protecting her openly and then letting one of them get away. A Gargoyle. He didn’t look like any of the usual Templar lackeys, but no doubt he’s reported all findings by now.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It depends on the Gargoyle’s desires and loyalties. A failure like this could sit ill with his masters, and they are not known for their forgiveness. Possession of their touchstones gives the holder the ability to hunt the Gargoyle attached to it down so it’s fruitless to resist, but one might try given the circumstances.”
“So you’re thinking because they figured out who you are …” Ram trailed off, giving Docia’s shoulders a squeeze.
“They’ll go after my family. My friends,” Jackson confirmed in a soft voice that held emotion but dared anyone to see it as a weakness. Marissa could just imagine how he must be feeling right then. Jackson’s record and profile showed how often he took a lot of weight onto his shoulders that didn’t necessarily belong there. “Why are you here?” he asked suddenly. “I don’t recall summoning you.”
Oh, there was a dangerous sound of authority in his tone. Enough to make Ram, a man she had found to be of great strength and conviction, visibly hesitate as they progressed off the porch.
“I … Cleo suspected … well …”
“You’re telling me,” Jackson said with overtaut tension in his voice, “that you suspected I might be in danger and you brought my sister with you?”
Ram looked pained, his expression almost comical. “I could not do otherwise Jackson. If I hadn’t taken her with me she would have gotten on a plane and come anyway on her own steam. At least this way Asikri and I can afford her the protection she needs.”
“And this is all you brought for protection?” Jackson asked. “You and Asikri?”
“Hey!” Docia protested.
“Sorry, Sissy, but as powerful as you and your Bodywalker Tameri are, you are still too newly Blended with her to convince me that she can wield her abilities with absolute competency.”
“So sayeth the man who has only had his Bodywalker for three weeks.”
Everyone turned to look at Marissa and she resisted the gasp forming on her lips. Had she said that out loud? Well, yes, apparently so because Jackson was looking like he wanted to kill her and Docia was looking pretty darn pleased.
“Thank god! Finally another woman on my side! Sometimes it’s just me and Cleo trying to make these overgrown behemoths see reason. We’re not very successful.”
But despite her attempt at levity, Marissa could see her looking over her shoulder at her former house with continued worry for Leo’s fate.
“I only meant to inject a little fairness to the situation,” Marissa said awkwardly. “I have no ulterior motives either way. Other than to point that one part out, I have to agree with your brother that this isn’t a safe place to be on many levels. We should be going.”
“On that we can all agree,” Asikri finally spoke up to say. Then, as though something about the entire lot of them pissed him off, he turned and stalked away.
“Give it time,” Jackson said with amusement. “He kind of grows on you.”
“Like a wart or a huge pimple. Big, ugly, hairy, and the last thing a girl wants to wake up to in the morning,” Docia said.
This time not even she was fooled by her attempt at levity, so she fell silent and seemed to make every effort not to look back at her house again.
Chapter Eight
Leo clawed his way to consciousness, the cacophony of agony screaming through his body almost too overwhelming and the gritty taste of bile sharp at the back of his tongue. He struggled, tried to push or pull or move in any way possible, even though he knew it was going to hurt like hell the instant he achieved any of those goals. But there was no movement to be had. Just the same, something was different. Anything different had to be an improvement over the last time he’d been conscious in the world. Didn’t it?
“Well, it is good of you to join us at last.”
The greeting was cordial. Almost refined. Or maybe it sounded that way because anyone with that particular kind of accent couldn’t help but sound as though he breathed slightly better air than the rest of the world. It wasn’t exactly a British accent, but it was foreign. Perhaps South African. However, placing it wasn’t the first thing on Leo’s mind.
No. The first thing on Leo’s mind was the shriek of new pain that tore through his shoulder as he tried to move again.
Breathing. I’m breathing.
That was different. This was a difference he had to count as an improvement. At first. But each breath hurt like hell and any move he made was like nails from a finishing gun punching down in rapid succession, rather like a dotted line that demarcated one territory from another on a global map. The light hurt his eyes, but it didn’t escape him that it was probably shining directly into his eyes precisely for that reason. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the opposite end of that kind of tactic … and he supposed he knew where this was headed.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. Wow. He sounded like hell. And talking made him cough and … oh yeah, that was a whole new world of hell right there as well.
“Somehow I doubt that. You aren’t at all apologetic. Not yet anyway. We might get to that eventually.”
Leo fought with the grit scraping between his eyelids and the resolution of his focus. The image that finally crystallized for him was of a tall, athletic man with russet hair that was emboldened by the nut-brown color of his skin. He was seated in a metal chair, some ancient relic from an old office supply dungeon.
