The Walls of Jericho

Homing In

“What are you doing?” I demand.

As foretold, Channing is ransacking my underwear drawer, meticulously sorting my panties into two piles. With a disapproving frown, he’d already tossed my meager collection of unassuming bras into an old leather-sided piece of overnight luggage I found stacked in a corner up here in my attic room. It’s now laying on my unmade bed, gaping maw open to receive whatever’s fed to it next.

Scooping up one handful, he paces towards the bed, pausing in front of me to nuzzle the marking spot in the hollow behind my collarbone with a self-satisfied, “Mmmm.”

A hot wash ripples over me, radiating from that point on my body. My eyes slam shut with the delightful shiver, but I’m suddenly conscious of so much more.

The same peripheral and central neural pathways that light up as biochemielectric signals race along them, neon-yellow colored and looped into loose raggedy string dolls in my mind’s eye that help me identify where people are inside a building, those are lighting up in Channing now. Only they’re not yellow.

Or, rather, they’re not just yellow.

The blinding saffron shade is rapidly overpowered, shifting through the visible color spectrum towards the long-wave end shade—yellow to peach, to tangerine, to orange, to neon red, to blood orange, to dark cherry. It’s a suiting match to the intense emotions aroused inside him—heat, passion, sexuality—and produces yet another reciprocally impactful reply of increased desire, happiness and sense of wellbeing in me.  

Lifting one hand, I rest it over his heart and watch as the red colors intensify in both of us at the simple touch when our happy hormones surge.

My God. I’ve become so much more than the limitations of the descriptor ‘technomage’ implies.

“What was that for?” I whisper.

“I don’t know. The urge always happens when I get around you,” he murmurs against my skin, renewing the shimmery warmth flushing over me. “I guess I’m pleased too, seeing you healed without a visible scar.”

“What?”

“Mate marking sometimes leaves a scar if it’s done too roughly or depending on where it’s placed. I desperately wanted the bond to you, but it really would be a crying shame to mar this creamy complexion of yours.”  He delivers his words in that silky smooth tenor of his and a hot jolt of raw erotic sentience grips me.

“I meant: what are you doing with my underwear?”

It’s a lie. We both know it is. The corners of his lips curl upward in a knowing smile.

“Well, these,” he holds the fist full of satiny lacy panties in a rainbow of hues up where I can see it, “are the kinds of panties you definitely should wear. And those,” he points back to the abandoned bureau drawer, “are the kind that should go in the trash. You’re twenty-one, Jericho. Not ninety.”

“Listen here, you—.”

Before I can get started, there’s a rumbling noise out front of the house. It’s a few quick steps to the window and we both get there in time to see the moving truck pull to a stop as a second car pulls into the drive. A total of seven beefy guys get out of the two vehicles.

“Are these yours?” I ask.

“Yep.”

Stunned, I peer up at Channing. “I could hear that. You. And, them. How come I could hear that?”

“Because I chose for you to,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Wolfspeak is just like any other vocalization. It can be done loudly, publicly. Or it can be done privately, like I’ve used with you before.”

“But I’m not wolf.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too.” He grins and tosses the handful of pillaged panties into the open suitcase on my bed. “The best I can figure is the same way your magic allows you to communicate non-verbally with machines and electronics, it also recognizes our non-verbal wolfspeak.”

There’s a flaw in that assumption, but it’s less critical to figure out than the other communication issue that’s been plaguing me. When Damien proved I was right about the dragon following me, he said there must have been a precipitating event that gave my new existence away to that scaly murdering monster. After that, it would have been a simple matter to determine my presence as a minor being moved about the foster care system.

I’ve already figured out that despite existing now in a younger and healthier body, I still suffer the same memory degradation as any other human—if I’m not actively using or regularly revisiting stored memories, they’re eventually forgotten. Which leaves me in a sticky bind for figuring out what might have triggered the dragon’s search.

The night my parents died lingers crystal clear, like I’d expect any other post-traumatic stress inducing events to stick with me. The same is true about the night the Avernus wolves rescued Mia from the dragon’s prison. I expect I can add my charming first and only date with Channing’s beautiful Ducati and its subsequent interruption by the dragon to this list. Plus the man himself has also left a lasting impression beyond the hypersensitive mark on my neck.

But absent any significant use, it must merely be that my persistent techno-manipulation of simple machines, electronics and code gives off a signal the dragon can eventually detect and follow to my location.

“Jericho?”

Drawn from my ruminations by my name, I focus on Channing. “What?”

“I had the movers start in the garage to give you time to pack,” he advises me. “If you’re not going to contribute, then I think we’re done up here.”

I glance at the open suitcase. It still contains only my underwear and nothing else. I fix him with a droll stare and appeal to his obvious possessiveness. “You’re really going to have me wandering around Avernus in nothing but my underwear? That underwear,” I point to the mildly slinky stuff he’s selected from my drawer to reinforce my point.

“No. That’s not what I intend for you to be doing in that underwear at all.” He gives me a lazy grin and an upward flick of his scarred brow. “I expect if that’s all the clothing you have at your disposal then you won’t be wandering any place more public than my personal quarters. Unfortunately, you won’t be at Avernus for more than a few days. Not that you’ll be any more likely to go out dressed like that where you are.”

“Where are we going?”

“An Avernus safehouse,” he explains. “It’s in the neighborhood just across the river from southern Crossroads, connected to us through the panic room and an underground tunnel. We’ll supply a new identity and background for you and Mr. Adriani. Take care of the bills.” Channing approaches with measured steps. “Naturally, you’ll be thrilled when your fiancé the traveling consultant returns home to stay with you.”

“Fiancé, is it?” I arch a brow and lift my left hand, the backs of my fingers towards him. “Dost mine ears deceive me? I hear no polite request which I might consider despite its prematurity. And mine eyes fail me? I see no gigantic glittering token of your tremendous esteem.”

“I’ll rectify that post-haste so we can spend a few weeks on a honeymoon.”

The way he says ‘honeymoon’ is so blatantly lustful, my feminine core ramps up operations to maximum overdrive. I can feel its silken damp output slick the space between my legs and flush hot at the thought of him making another carnal tour of my quivering body. I’m melting just imagining.

His nostrils flare as he stands over me, inhaling deeply, and the white-blue whorls spark to life in his deep blue eyes. “That’s the kind of welcome a man likes,” he murmurs. 

“Channing!” Ferdi shouts from downstairs. “Need you down here, boss.”

With a frustrated sigh, he closes his eyes and when they reopen, the white-blue whorls have settled. “Best get some clothes if you want them, Jericho,” he warns. “I’ll be right back.”

**

Channing’s POV

Why does somebody always want something just when you're thinking about getting busy? As soon as my feet hit the first floor of Mr. Adriani's house, I demand, “What is it?”

“Is Jericho packed?” Ferdi asks, handing a suitcase off to one of the packing crew. “Put this in the car.”

“She’s a girl. Of course she’s not packed.”

From his insolent slump on the sofa, Damien mumbles, “Five bucks says she’s down here before this conversation is over, now that her distraction is gone.”

“Unless you have something helpful to add, shut your trap, Damien.”  

“As a matter of fact, he does,” Ferdi supplies, then points a finger at Damien. “She won’t be packed before we’re done, nerd-boy. Five bucks and you make sure there’s access to I Love Lucy episodes at Avernus.”

“Are you two done?”

“Yep. You’re up Damien.” Ferdi replies, propping his hands on his hips as we both focus on him.

“On a hunch, I hacked the social services database,” Damien begins.” It’s about as secure as Oreo cookies around a three-year old. Pathetic—.”

“The point?” Ferdi and I urge in stereo.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Looking back at his phone, Damien continues, “I half expected it to be KDS work—you know, since they’re into everything anymore—but it’s not. It’s just run-of-the-mill exceptionally half-assed government work.”

“That’s good then, right?”

“Not really. It gets worse. The database isn’t KDS, but the server for it is.”

My brows shoot up in surprise. “I thought KDS didn’t deal with government contracts and infrastructure. Especially not the stuff under local jurisdiction.”

“They don’t. It’s too old, too vulnerable to cyberattack and not a big enough paycheck,” Damien agrees, confusing me further. “Except in the case of social services. Just a bit shy of eleven years ago.”

“Oh crap.” I hang my head. “Let me guess, right after the explosion that killed Jericho’s parents and my dad?”

“Exactly. Within days of that incident, the KDS Board of Directors launched a community outreach program.” Damien makes air quotes around the last two words. “Their database architects and software engineers were sent on nine week sabbaticals on a rotating schedule to work in underserved industries in the community—public schools and libraries, Department of Motor Vehicles, and, first and foremost, Crossroads Social Services.”

“So they have access to all of that?” Hearing a sound upstairs, I pace the few steps that will allow me to cast a glance up the stairwell and make certain Jericho isn’t close enough to hear.

“They do. Custom-made stalking system that includes everything a school-age orphaned technomage might need.”

Exhaling a long sigh that puffs my cheeks, I tuck my hands in my back pockets and stare at the floor. “Is it safe to assume our dragon is someone on the KDS Board of Directors?”

“Nah,” Ferdi interjects. “The dragon can mesmerize. We need to know who initiated that program, on whose suggestion and everyone who worked on the server set up for social services.”

I nod. “Good thinking.”

“I figured you’d say that, so I started researching. As it happens, we’re in a unique position to discuss that very program with someone directly involved,” Damien says cheerily.

My brows draw together. “What? Who?”

“Our recent rescue. Charles Daniels.”

“Jesus,” I breathe. “How vulnerable are we?”

Damien shrugs. “There’s no way to tell for sure. All the Avernus infrastructure is private and damn secure if I do say so myself. You know, except for Jericho. I think it’d be a good start to talk to Daniels pretty quick.”

“Best to assume we’re compromised and take steps to protect ourselves.” Ferdi crosses his arms over his chest. “We know wolves are in big trouble if the dragon gets his taloned feet on the Heritage database. Is there any reason to assume that would also endanger Jericho?” He pins Damien with his ice cold gaze.

“I’ve never looked,” Damien admits, “but I can. The dragon’s ambitious. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to wipe us out. Failing that, he’s gone to even more trouble to find Jericho and have her do it.”

“We all know his mentality,” I state grimly. “She was only valuable to him while she was compliant. If he gets to Avernus, she’ll be the last thing standing in his way to domination. He’s already killed her once. It won’t bother him to do it again.”

“How long before we’re cleared out of here?”

Ferdi shakes his bald tattooed head dismissively. “Small as this place is and with seven wolves plus me working on it, we’ll be done before dark. Once Damien processes their new identities and background, we can move them into the safe house the next day.”

“Good.” I chew my bottom lip for a few seconds, considering. “Damien, what would it take to get a fake realtor’s sign out front with a number that routes to an Avernus operative?”

“Not much,” Damien shrugs, then his face screws up with doubt. “You can’t seriously think the dragon would slip up that easily though.”

I shake my head. “Under normal circumstances, no. Jericho knocking him down and Ferdi getting that flame suppressant down his throat—that pissed him off. You can bet on it. He makes mistakes like any other narcissist when he’s mad. We might get lucky.”

“Alright. I’ll get it done.” Working through something else on his phone, Damien adds, “The sign should be done by the time we get back to Avernus.”

**

Drake Kemp’s POV

I stare in the mirror at the paired burn marks with an unsettling mix of fury and astonishment. In the reflection beyond me, the waxing moon beds down heavily over the ocean, taking the last of the twilight sky with it.

A mere taser shouldn’t have fazed me at all. Yet this one did. In the delicate hands of a whippet-thin vagrant woman.

There’d been something fiercely attractive about her—dark hair, fine pale skin, a pretty set to her features. Despite my normally superior cognitive skills, I find myself unable to recall anything beyond those vagaries about her.

The taser had done far more than faze me obviously.

Frankly, it had been impossible for me to overcome, which in and of itself is impossible to fathom—I’m a dragon, not a flimsy human. Even in my shifted form, I'm imprevious to most harm, vastly superior to a human.

Though I was completely cognizant initially, the device’s powerful current quickly overwhelmed my conscious thoughts and reduced my brain to a deafening static. The relentless never before encountered pain gripped along my spine with twisting agonizing barbs, then the powerful voltage triggered electrically-induced muscle spasms, stripping me of the last of my bodily control.

I’d gone completely rigid but felt as though the electrical current had set me vibrating with a host of stinging insects beneath my flesh. Then I’d felt the initial crackling of my shift begin. A wholly unfamiliar panicky feeling engulfed me.

Somehow, the wolves had found me. Their taser device would force me to reveal my true form. Immobilized as I was, that would be the end of it. I’d walked right into the trap they’d laid.

The last thing I’d seen was that I was falling, then the electrical current had stopped. Stripped of all motor skills, my powerful body had relaxed, crumpling like a rag doll to the ground after the hellish agony. With a grunt through gritted teeth as I'd struck the ground, I’d succumbed to blackout unconsciousness.

I’d woken suffering the lingering effects. Aching muscle soreness, and my ability to remember and process information temporarily impaired. I’d been furious as hell, prepared to snap my attacker in two.

Only she was gone.

Victorious beyond her wildest destitute imaginings.

What a woman.