The Walls of Jericho

Pushing Boundaries

“What can you tell me about this bunker thing? I ask Rebecca, trailing along behind her lightly clicking heels in another long, cold, damp hallway. There’s mold here too—gray-green and fuzzy—and a dank smell to the place. It really needed that air filtration system. Even more now than when it was built. With as sensitive as wolf noses are, I can’t imagine how they stand it.

“Not much,” she answers in that semi-insolent drawl of hers. “It was built in the 1950s for the humans in government in case of a nuclear event, but few knew it existed back then and today, it still remains largely unknown.”

The hair style Rebecca’s given me includes cutting my hair to frame my face which is a new experience for me. The shorter hairs fall annoyingly across my eyes nearly every time I tip my head or look around and they’re too short to tuck behind my ears. I blow the latest offending rose-gold tress from over one eye. “How does someone keep a place like this secret?”

As Rebecca rounds another corner, presumably on the way to the communications center, I make note of the way she moves and mentally sync my stride with hers. She’s taller than I am, but handicapped by those God-awful stiletto heels, it’s easy enough to match. The soft click-click of her shoes that had echoed in contrast to the lower clumping of my boots like a ping pong ball bouncing violently between pegs instantly smooths to a regular, measured rhythm.

Within a few footfalls, Rebecca pivots, leveling a cold-eyed stare at me.

“What?”

“Stop blowing your hair. You need to get used to it, but if you absolutely must, brush it away from your face with one hand. Don’t engage in impatient behaviors.” She mimics the gesture she wants me to use, even though she doesn’t have the hair for it.

Remarkably, what she asks me to do is not merely more graceful, it’s also more effective. I smile when she nods her approval.

“Take about ten steps past me,” she dictates, tipping her head the direction she wants me to go, “then turn around and come back.”

“If I’d known there was going to be runway modeling involved, I’d never have agreed to this.”

Much to my disappointment, my snide comment doesn’t garner the slightest reaction from Her Royal Rudeness, the Ice Queen. She watches frostily as I walk past, doing my best to imitate the languid pace she’d set when I was following her before. “Clodhopper that you are, you’d never have been hired as a runway model. Where did you go to charm school? A hog farm?”

“Esteban’s diner. Before that it was foster homes.”

“Ungh,” she groans, as if the scope of this undertaking is the weight of Atlas upon her shoulders. “Stop.”

She stops me just after I turn to come back towards her.

“You don’t stomp through a turn. You pivot. Like this.” Rebecca takes a step, perches on the balls of her feet, then pivots both feet together, smoothly and at the same time, to reverse direction. “You do it.”

With a bored yawn, I do as she says. “It’s a little hard in these shoes. The soles are sticky.”

“That’s fine. You can add it to the list of things you need to practice. A lot.” Coming towards me, she snaps her fingers pointing to the ground at her side.

“Don’t think I’m going to heel like a dog,” I warn as she passes. I’m sorely tempted to zap the attitude out of her, then refrain. I need her help, not to antagonize her.

With a dramatic sigh, she continues without stopping. “Just fall in beside me, Luna.”

Hurrying, I catch up to her, then slow to the pace she’s set. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that. ‘Luna’. Why? Is it some kind of paleontology insult?”

“It’s a title, you dimwit.”

I have to wonder how this woman and Ferdi can possibly be related. It’s as if he got the full helping of their combined patience, and in exchange, she got all of the bitchiness.  Not that I can’t deal with it—she’s clearly not any worse than some of the regulars at Esteban’s.

“The individual members of the alpha couple are referred to as the ‘Alpha’ and the ‘Luna’.”

“We’re not a couple.”

I grin seeing her shake her head miserably. “Did you sleep together?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“In other words, the answer’s yes,” she counters. “Did he mark you?”

“Also none of your business.”

“In other words, ‘yes’. Congratulations,” Rebecca looks down at me. “You’re a couple. If it make you feel any better, I’d be ticked off about that too.”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet.”

Beside me, she bristles. As we round another corner, then stop immediately at a closed door, she asks, “Is there any way I can convince you to be the smiley silent rich guy’s plaything?”

“Nope.”

She rolls her eyes, then thumbs towards the door. “He’s in there.” She starts to walk off. “He can take you back to the garage.”

“Hey, Rebecca?”

I watch as Her Royal Rudeness pauses, then slowly pivots to face me with a bored expression.

“Thanks.”

“Thank me by getting me out of this hole. Wolves aren’t meant to live underground.”

“Noted.” I nod, watching as she disappears around the corner and realizing that if Channing’s not actually behind this door, I’m going to be using my cognitive map to find my way out of here. That thought feels a bit like it must have to the sacrifices offered to the minotaur. I rap, and when no one answers, I turn the handle.

If ever was a place that screamed ‘I’m plotting world domination’, this is it.

A thirty-five foot diameter round table emblazoned at its center with the state’s crest of arms is eerily illuminated with recessed lamps over each of the empty chairs around it and occupies one side of the long rectangular room. Gigantic and cliché maps, like the kind used for tracking troop movements, cover one nearby wall. Another is dotted with pinned sticky notes, photos and wireframes. The whole place oozes high-pressure deliberations where the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

It’s creepy.

And sort of cool.

Channing’s standing before an enormous desk with six symmetrical wall-mounted monitors all with touchscreen user interfaces like a high-tech evolving mosaic. With one fist propped on his narrow hips, he rearranges the information he’s studying from screen to screen with the finger of his other hand. Catching him in profile like this shows off his yummy muscular backside and thighs, and the clothes that Rebecca chose for him just exploit his gorgeous body further.

God, he’s a sexy beast.

“I can smell you, you know.”

He gives me a second or two to process what he’s said before slowly swiveling his head my direction, his eyes lit faintly with alpha glow.

I shift my weight to one hip and stare back at him. “I can’t imagine how. The smell of mold in here is knocking me out. I think I should be entitled to some kind of legal compensation for being subjected to this health hazard.”

“Noted, and overruled. I liked your hair better dark,” he drawls, then extends the hand propped on his hip to me. “You still look damn good though, Jericho.”

God, he’s a sexy beast.

“Best look your fill because unless you’re sending Rebecca to duplicate this every day, this is the last time you’ll see it.” Take the bait, take the bait, take the bait. The thought cycles through my head.

That draws a frown. “Rebecca was supposed to set you up with something you can maintain yourself.”

“The both of you may have underestimated what level of fashionista failure I am,” I counter, then add in a generous tone, “Fortunately for you both, I’ve divined the solution already.” Channeling my newly-acquired inner Rebecca-b***h, I set myself in motion towards his outstretched hand using the languid measured strides she did.

Channing’s eyes are riveted to me. So much so I imagine I can see the infinitely tiny movements of them as my hips sway.

Well, what do you know? Her Royal Rudeness has done me a real favor. The way he’s watching, I feel like the greatest s*x symbol to ever walk the earth on my little fifteen foot jaunt to him.

Channing pulls me closer by the hand, then slides his arm around my waist. Focusing on the data he’s got displayed all over the monitors, I let him draw me against him so that my hips nestle against his. With a newfound and ferocious case of imposter syndrome, I stand stiffly and I’m sure he can feel me broadcasting my insecurities through the electric buzz between us.

His arm that was at my waist creeps upwards, then his massive paw curls around my jaw, tipping my head away from him. Against me, he radiates heat like the sun through a greenhouse, drugging me with a soporific fascination. , my magic streams around us.

I know.>

With his other arm, he cuts beneath my shoulder, tugging aside the jacket collar and the shoulder strap of the tank top I’m wearing. I shiver as he nuzzles that sensitive flesh in the hollow of my collarbone. He inhales, so slowly I almost don’t feel the movement of air, then his warm exhale rips a shuddering gasp from me.

The arms around me tighten in approval, then his teeth nip the tender skin. A wild jolt of knotted pleasure and pain races along my nerves and lights up my brain upstairs, and my female core downstairs.

He releases his next inhale as a rumbling “Mmm-mine”, then turns the marking mimicry into a soft searing kiss.

I positively melt against him. Not like a trickling thaw. Instantaneous liquification. If he wasn’t holding me together in his arms, I’d have puddled all over the floor.

“You smell like spiced molasses cake.”

Forcing my lips to work, I reply, “I don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s delicious. I’d like some right now.”

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head the limits his hold on me will allow and close my hands around his massive wrists. “Nope. If you’re going to put me through all this, plus drag me out of bed and into a freezing shower this morning, then no. We’re going shopping, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine.” It’s a low chuckle as he releases me, then he steps over to the computer and starts shutting programs down. “I’ll just screw you senseless later.”

I huff a dismissive snort. “So this is what you do when you have hundreds of millions of dollars for your budget.” While he’s busy, I pivot in place and make a slow survey. “It looks like something I’d expect in a war film. Or at NASA.”

“You don’t approve? I have to admit that surprises me.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t approve. We’re hardwired to take in massive amounts of sensory information from our physical environment. A place like this, or even Damien’s smelly little mancave, makes it easier to organize your thoughts. To find and make connections. I’m still shocked.” The admission is one hundred percent true. “I had no idea the state had a facility like this.”

 “Neither did the guy who sold it to us.” The last of the keyboard clicks fade into the electrical buzz of the recessed lamps, then he scrounges in a drawer. “He owned the property for nearly twenty years and thought the bunker’s concrete façade was a retaining wall against the side of a hill. It’s only just visible at the surface, but even from the air, it looks like a badly maintained private road that dead-ends in the middle of nowhere and is actually on top of the bunker.”

He skims a fingertip along a Crossroads city map hung on the wall, and finding what he wants, pushes a pin into it.

“So why all the elaborate tunnels for Avernus? If you have this, what did you need that for?”

“Dragonfire is hot enough to melt through concrete. Even two feet of it.” Channing takes my hand and heads for the room’s door. “I couldn’t take the risk that folks under me might get hurt.”

I’m quickly lost in the dimly lit, unfamiliar corridors that twist and turn by a different route than Rebecca brought me to Channing. Since the thought’s in my head again, I bring up privately nefarious plans for the woman. “You didn’t ask how I planned to solve the issue of maintaining my appearance.”

“I did that on purpose.” He stops us at one of those handle-less doors and feels around for the release sensor. “I avoid things that have to do with Rebecca whenever possible.”

“Do you?” I ask as the door releases and slides aside to allow us into the garage again. “Isn’t that curious? Why?”

Over his shoulder, Channing gives me a disapproving frown. “Because she’s Ferdi’s sister.”

“So? Doesn’t keep you from hanging out with Ferdi.”

He hands me my helmet off the Ducati’s seat. “It’s awkward, alright? We—dated.”

“Oh-ho, do tell.” I pull the helmet on my head, adjusting and securing the chinstrap.

“Come on, Jericho. It’s ancient history. I don’t pry into your personal life.”

Swinging my leg over the bike, I wait as he pulls his own helmet on. “I don’t have a personal life. Never did before you.”

“Fine. Connect these, will you?” He taps the side of his helmet as he walks across the humongous garage. Locating another sensor, he opens a door and bright sunlight pours through it onto the floor.

I link the communications through the helmets in time to hear him sigh heavily.  

As he returns to the motorcycle, he explains, “We all grew up together. Damien and I were friends from the time we were toddlers. Both our mothers were doctors and they were summoned here by Ferdi and Rebecca’s dad.”

“Is that when you started dating her?” I ask as he swings his leg over the Ducati then settles in behind me.

“No.” Leaning forward, he walks us to the open door. “We were still kids. Grade school. But we were all friends. Even as kids, she gave her all to keep up with Ferdi, Damien and me. I respect Rebecca. We got along well back then. As friends. Then we got older, hormones kicked in and assumptions were made—some on her part, some on the part of everyone around us. We sort of played along, but I knew she wasn’t my mate and she knew I wasn’t hers.”

“So what happened?”

Channing eases the motorcycle through the door, then closes it behind us. He fires the engine and starts us along the bumpy road. As we bounce along it, I glance in the rearview mirror.

I can understand how the fallout shelter is kept secret. It’s a secluded location, out on the ridges east of Crossroads, and largely surrounded by trees. There are no windows. The most obvious thing about it is the plain cement façade with an unpaved road that still leads to it. Three deer flee into the woods as we make our way down the road— I’m sure there are all kinds of animals out here—but to a casual observer, it looks like undeveloped private property.

“A big issue was her father dying and her uncle assuming the alpha role over Avernus until Ferdi got a little older,” Channing continues. “His leadership was poor. Really poor. Wolves were dying by the droves in direct conflicts with the dragon. They were suicide fights. Humans were getting killed collaterally too. Other leaders tried to help him, but he wouldn’t listen. Eventually, my dad challenged him and became Alpha. Just like that, Rebecca wasn’t the most eligible female in the pack anymore, and I was the future alpha. That’s when she started to push.”

“What do you mean ‘push’?”

“Push for us to mate.”

“But you said you both knew you weren’t mates.”

“We did. By her rationale though, since neither of us had found our mates, we should just do it and be happy with what we had.” Channing turns us onto an intersecting road that’s still bumpy, but at least some effort is made to maintain it. He opens the Ducati up a little more. “I wasn’t willing to settle.”

“You split up then?” 

“I thought we did,” he replies wryly. “She went to college and got her PhD. We didn’t see each other or talk much over the next twelve years. She didn’t pursue an education in anything of value to the fight here, so my dad let her do as she wanted. Then when my dad died, she came back. She wanted me to cede alpha to Ferdi. When that didn’t happen, she wanted him to challenge me.”

“Obviously, that didn’t happen either.”

The road’s been getting progressively better and better, and in another couple miles, we actually reach a point where it’s paved. Hearing the details about Rebecca is making me question my decision to enlist her help—she doesn’t sound particularly reliable—but there are two sides to every story and I have a lot more of Channing’s than I do hers. Plus, I think she could really make finding the dragon a lot easier.

“Nor will it. Ferdi doesn’t want the job. And now I’ve found you.” He gives me a little squeeze with his arms around the outside of mine. “Now that you have my whole life story, you see why I’m none to keen on rocking the boat with her. Nor do I want her stirring up trouble while she’s out of sight.”

“I’m not proposing you rock the boat.” God help me that I know what I’m doing. “My suggestion is that you deploy her to help me keep up appearances. You said you were going to get me some help with Mr. Adriani. In home caregiver and light housework. Where better to keep an eye on her?”

“You two didn’t seem like you were getting along,” he says suspiciously.

Well, that response doesn’t bode well for my sales pitch. “Eh, we had a rough start up, but once we established some boundaries, we got along pretty well. Besides, where better to keep an eye on her than right under both our noses? She said the same thing you did about wolves not being meant to live underground. Maybe if she got to see the sun then she’d be less moody.”

“You think she can be of help to you?” He pulls the Ducati along the highway, waiting for a break in traffic so we can merge.

“Yeah. A bunch.” It’s not a lie exactly. After all, he didn’t ask what I thought Rebecca could help with.

There’s not response from Channing, even after he takes us onto the highway towards Crossroads and brings the bike up to traffic speed.

“If that’s what you want, okay.”

“That’s what I want.” At least, I hope I do. “Where are you taking me now?”

“Crossroads, babydoll. To the diamond district on the north side.”