The Walls of Jericho

Technomage Rising

Something weird happens when a man says words like that to you. When he kisses you like that—taking his time as if you’re the only woman in the world and there’s no place else he’d rather be.  

Not scary weird.

Delightful weird.

The kind of weird where my heart starts beating out this wild pitter-patting. Channing’s not waiting for something else—he’s not hoping to cop a feel, he’s not planning on taking me to bed again. Well, he might be—he’s a guy after all—but it’s not his first motivation. He’s just kissing me because it’s the one thing he wants in this moment. It makes each breath catch in my throat knowing it.

The air stirs between us and he grins, releasing me. He watches my reaction, reading me like a book. The white-blue whorls are spinning crazily around his dark dilated pupils and it’s so intense, I have to close my eyes. My skin feels too tight, then erupts in goosebumps from head to toe as if my feelings are trying to vent from underneath it. To claw their way out to chase more of his touch. It tingles madly.

“If you kiss me like that again, I’m probably going to break down.” The weak whisper quavers.

He radiates a seductive heat that’s enough to make me drowsy and, God, does it feel good. The undercurrent of his lustful possessiveness incites an answering thrum of excited anticipation from me. Sparks leap, crackling and snapping in the space between us and where we touch—those tiny square inch patches of clothed flesh between the outside of my knees and the inside of his.

The faintest touch glazes over my thumb where my hands sit laced together in my lap. A light brush over the delicate bones of my wrist is followed by a sweet steadying caress along my upper arm. Soothing and tender, it lifts my hair away from my neck and off my shoulder. As if reconsidering, his hand slides gently along my sensitive neck before he fondles the lobe of my ear.

He pauses, as if hesitating, lingering just close enough that I can feel the heat from his hand near my neck and I can’t help my shiver. Then his warm hand cups the back of my head possessively, drawing me nearer.

“I love your mouth.” It comes out as a low growl that sets a quiver of raw anticipation spiking along my nerves.

When I open my eyes, the world wavers with a dream-like magical quality that feels remarkably like falling. Channing’s gaze drifts from my lips, along my neck, and settles on the soft hollow just behind my collarbone where my pulse throbs, suddenly steady. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Its soft seductive beat calls to him.

An interminable minute passes after he sets his lips there, planting a tender kiss as if marking the spot to return later. His mouth opens, allowing his rough-soft tongue to lick my skin, to set his teeth, restraining me with their light grip.

I stiffen against the searing, tearing pain as his teeth sink into me. A conflicting cacophony of sounds bombards me, the rushing of my blood past my ears and the frantic din of panic in my head.

Then the most extraordinary pleasure envelops me. Embracing it ferociously, I let it fill me from my core and spread throughout my limbs. Vaguely, I feel that I’m still in Channing’s arms. Yet it’s as if we’re weightless, soaring through the cosmos. Nothing else matters but this sweet, timeless rapture.

I don’t know when he released his teeth. My head lolls back. The white ceiling spins slowly, then tilts wildly. Channing presses my lips to his powerful pulse at the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He gives the faintest hiss as my teeth pinch, then break his skin. The sound morphs into an aching raw moan of pleasure as his blood flows over my tongue. Limp as wet paper, I slump against him, clinging with limp arms as the salty metallic warmth singes along my throat. It pools like molten lava in my stomach, then the wolf warmth explodes over me, spiraling like the white-blue whorls in his eyes.

Strong arms close around me and his hand cradles my head. Dipping his lips to my neck, he laps over that spot again. A hot shiver races over me, tearing a shuddering moan from my lips as the unbearable pleasure surges again. He murmurs softly against my flesh, too low to hear.

My fingers knot in the fabric at his sides as the soporific weakness ebbs. The roaring din in my ears fades and the world reorients and stabilizes. “What did you say?”

“I should have done this years ago,” he whispers, then gives a contented sigh.

The frantic pounding of my heart slows to a satisfied regular rhythm. “I think you should’ve led with that. Instead of that whole nasty business on the bathroom floor this morning.”

A subtle crackle alters the electric flow between us. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m winging it here.”

“If that’s another rephrase of ‘you should go easy on my ego’, the answer is still a resounding ‘no’.”

He tsk-tsks at my shoulder. “Brutal, Jericho.”

“Your steak fries are burning.”

“Oh crap!” He leaps to his feet so quickly I have to clutch at the counter to keep from falling off my barstool. Flinging the oven open, he grabs the aluminum foil-covered pan with a potholder and drops it quickly on top of the stove.

Swiveling at the waist, he snatches his spatula off the kitchen island where he’d been using the griddle. At the same time, he closes the oven with one foot. He picks at the baked potato slices on the pan with the spatula’s corner, flipping a few of them over. “Ha! Salvageable! Good save, Jer. It’s like—.”

Channing’s words trail off as he stares at me, brows drawn together.

Stunned by the sudden flip in is demeanor, I answer his unspoken question defensively with one of my own. “What?”

“Were you in it? Or did you smell them burning?”

I flash him an evil look. “If by ‘it’ you mean techno-connected to the oven, then the answer is ‘no’. They’re potatoes, dumbass. On a flat metal pan. Not much in the way of technology there.”

He studies me as if he’s trying to decipher something written in Sanskrit.

“What now?” I demand.

“Nothing.” He reinforces the reply with a slight shake of his head. Returning to the grill, he turns on the heat again to finish the burgers and sets the pot lid over them aside. “It’s like every time I turn around there’s another facet to you.”

“Nope,” I deny. “Same old Jericho. Made up of my usual organic ingredient mix of disdain, spite and mastermind-level intelligence.”

“You left out a sprinkling of irrational thoughts and a small pinch of vengefulness.”

“Beefcakes like you aren’t supposed to have vocabulary like ‘irrational’ and vengefulness’,” I counter quickly.

That scarred brow of his flicks up and he grins as the burgers begin to sizzle again. “Learned them from a television ad for potato chips. Might’ve been a pizza commercial.”

God, he's so gorgeous. I can’t help myself. I smile back. That’s when I hear the magnetic door at the junction of the two hallways release.

“Hey, Damien,” Channing says as the footsteps draw closer. He leans slightly so he can see around me better. “If you can hang around for another five minutes, the burgers—.”

“Jesus, Channing. What have you done?” Damien’s footsteps shuffle erratically to an abrupt halt, almost as if he'd tripped and fallen.

I swing my legs to the side and swivel on the barstool so I can look at him, surprised to his brows drawn together over the rim of his glasses.

As if my attention or acknowledgement was what he was waiting for, Damien surges toward me, far faster than I would have expected him capable of. His hand closes on the loose collar of my shirt, tugging it aside so he can look at my neck. Reminded of Channing’s bite, I feel the subtle tingle, haunting like a pale ghost. Flushing red, I grab at my collar and cover the mark shyly.

With a savage snarl, Channing bolts around the granite-topped island. He jerks Damien off of me, his massive fist drawn up to strike.

“Channing! No!” Scrambling off the barstool, I wedge myself between the two men. Beneath my palms pressed against his chest, his powerful heart drums an angry beat. “What are you doing!? He's your friend! Stop! Stop!”

With me between them, the homicidal tension ebbs infinitesimally from Channing’s body and his fist drops slightly. His gaze flicks to mine and the snarl fades.

“Good,” I say soothingly, feeling my terror lessen. “That’s good.” 

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Damien reaches around me, his fingers catching the rounded collar of Channing’s t-shirt and sliding it to the side. “You marked each other? Oh my God. What were you thinking?”

Jerking out of Channing’s grasp, Damien paces across the room, one hand massaging the back of his neck, the other propped on his hip as an impressively foul slew of obscenities pours out of his frustrated mouth.

Pulled into the protective circle of Channing’s embrace, I turn so I can face his right hand man.

I’m only beginning to grasp the complexities of Avernus and its mission. Understanding the wolf behavior I’ve just witnessed is on a whole other level. One I'm wholly incompetent to handle.

Though my heart’s pounding like it’s about to leap out of my chest, clearly Damien isn’t nearly as bothered by the unprovoked aggression. 

If anything, he seems more upset that there’s a physical relationship evolving between Channing and me. Which, if anything, I find a little offensive. As if I'm not good enough for him? I’m seriously second-guessing my decision to let s****l attraction get the best of me where Channing Stark is concerned. I definitely have my doubts whether I’m up to the task, especially if he becomes this kind of loose cannon whenever he’s involved with someone.

Damien pivots to face us at the far end of the kitchen. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Channing?”

“Claimed her. It’s my right to choose a mate, regardless of bloodline.”

Frustration metamorphoses into astonishment as Damien processes the response. “Bloodline? Bloodline!? Are you crazy? We don’t even know what she is or what she’s capable of! Jesus! She’s advanced with the technology so much that she’s accelerated the natural processes beyond genetics and biology! How the hell do you know she didn’t infiltrate here on purpose? For the dragon!?”

“Jericho’s not dragon.” Channing’s reply is flat. Firm. Convicted. “Nor is she with the dragon.”

For the first time in my life, I feel vindicated. Dare I say loved?

“How would you know? She fled the body of Mia and was born again within seconds in that one!” Damien gestures wildly up and down at me. “I traced it myself, Channing. How do you know she didn’t kill the child to take that body?”

Oh, now I want to hit Damien myself. Shoving my way out of Channing’s arms I advance across the floor towards him. Overhead, the lights begin to flicker and I can feel power surging into my veins. “You want to know what happened? Fine. I did not. Kill. Anyone,” I snap. “Yet.”

Suddenly realizing there’s real danger, Damien backs away, but he’s already trapped himself against the wall. It's all the space I need. As he flattens his palms against it, I raise mine on either side of his head. “If you’re so smart, then you figure it out!”

A single spark discharges between my hands, through Damien’s head. He jerks rigidly, his eyes wide in horrified disbelief.

“Jericho! No!” Channing’s huge paws close around my wrists, wrenching them away as Damien slumps to the floor. Pinning my hands behind my back with one hand, he closes the other around my throat from behind. His fingers tighten enough to bruise, then crush. “What have you done?” he hisses in abject horror and rage.

“Wait!” Damien chokes out hoarsely. He lands on his hands and knees, reaching one hand toward Channing. “Wait!”

Luminescent, pea-sized globe lightning flares in dark blue and red orbs around Damien’s head. They linger a few seconds before winking out with a fizzling sound and a pungent odor that mingles with the scent of cooking meat. His hands knot into fists. His breath comes in heavy pants through clenched teeth, then morphs into a blistering string of obscenities. “HolyfuckingmotherofGodcrapcrapcrapcrap!”

I gasp, struggling to breathe around Channing’s crushing grip on my throat, while before us, Damien squeezes his eyes shut and unleashes a rising groan of escalating pain.

“Jericho, make it stop!” The grip around my throat intensifies.

“C—can’t. B—breathe!”

The edges of my vision begin to gray out and contract towards Damien in the point of focus as he collapses to one elbow. As the last flare of globe lightning fades, the spines of my magic ease and he heaves in a loud, gasping breath. His eyes fly open, owlish behind his spectacles.

Bolting to his feet, he covers the steps between us in a quick second. He wrenches Channing’s hand from around my throat, catching me as I slump toward the floor.

“Jesus, Chan! Were you trying to kill her? Look at the bruises you left.” He lays me flat on the floor, then tips my head left and right. He presses his ear to my chest. “Breathe, Jericho! Jesus! You have to breathe!”

“What the hell happened!?”   the alpha voice commands. “She said she was going to kill you.”

“No,” Damien corrects. I feel his cool fingers at my wrist, pressed against my pulse. “She said she hadn’t killed anyone.”

“I distinctly heard her say ‘yet’ as she was advancing on you!”

“Come on, girl! Breathe! Good,” Damien encourages. “Deeper now. That’s it. She didn’t mean me. She meant the dragon. She’s going after the dragon. The child—oh my God. This is incredible. She's incredible.” 

“Damien, I nearly snapped her neck for what she did to you, even knowing I’d die because of it.”

Excuse me!? ‘Snapped my neck’!? What the hell happened to all that ‘mating of equals’ crap? I have no idea what I was doing. Why would I ever have thought something like this could work? There’s only one thing to do. Stick to my plan. Get my degree. Get my job at KDS. Get the hell away from all of these people as fast as I can.

“Die?” As I open my eyes, I see Damien’s anxious gaze shifts from me to Channing. “You mated her?”

Wait—what? Die? The only person I want to die is the dragon. I owe that scaly jerk a thing or two. But Channing? Even manic aggressive as he is, I wouldn’t wish that on him. He has a sweet side. Mostly. And God, he can kiss me breathless. Then there’s his divine abs. And whatever that thing was when he bit me.

“Duh.” Channing tugs the collar of his t-shirt aside. “Do you think I marked her for fun and games?”

When my vision completely clears, I struggle to sit up. Damien offers me a hand on one side and Channing on the other and they pull me to a sit. “The hamburgers are burning. You can smell that this time, right?”

As Channing bolts around the kitchen island to turn the grill off, Damien pulls me into a sit. “Are you okay?”

“What kind of stupid question is that, Damien?” I give him a withering glare, then roll to my hands and knees to stand up. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart or something?”

“Listen, take it easy.” Damien offers me a hand I swat away.

“Don’t tell me to take it easy. And you—,” I point my finger at Channing and give him a dire warning glare, “—you stay the hell away from me. This whole place is a lunatic asylum. Don’t you dare touch me, Stark. I’m not kidding.”

Backing away, I stop at the junction of the four hallways.

God, I’m exhausted. Every cell in my whole body pleads with me to lay down on the floor, curl into a ball and sleep this nightmare away. Only I can’t do that. The nightmare is real. If I want it to end, I have to take matters into my own hand.

“Jericho—.”

“Channing. I’m dead serious. I can’t take anymore of your crap. Stay away from me.” I flick a glance at Damien. “You were supposed to bring me a key.”

He casts a glance Channing’s direction and I can tell by the mixed compassion and pity in his expression that what I’ve said has devastated Channing. Then he reaches toward his back pocket.

Too bad.

“Give me the key. I’m going home. I’ll throw it back inside as soon as I’m done with it.” As I hold my hand out to Damien, Channing snatches it from his hand before I can take it.

“I’ll take you home.”

“No. You won’t.” The lights flicker around me. All the better. They need to know I mean business. “Give me the key. Damien can show me to the door. I don’t want to see any of you again.”

The stabbing pain that lights up my nerves originates at Channing’s mark on my shoulder. Ignoring it, I demand the key again. Damien and Channing exchange a meaningful stare, communicating silently for a long minute before the alpha relinquishes the key to his hand.

“This way,” Damien says softly, leading me toward the hallway junction.

The hallways turn and double back and pretty quickly I’m lost, but that’s the least of my worries. The bite at my neck throbs agonizingly. I’ve probably got an infection. My God, what is wrong with me?

“I wish you’d let me take you to the infirmary,” Damien says softly. 

I don’t bother to reply.

When at last Damien opens a door to the outside, I’m greeted with the sound of the ocean waves at high tide, rushing against the shore. Just beyond the end of this cave, I can hear the water. Overhead, a waxing moon glows, luminous and bright, kissing whitecaps on the crests of his dark ocean lover, and shimmering in a narrow streak to light the cave. 

I'm free. 

A peace settles over me.

“This way.”

“No. Just tell me which way to go. Keep your key, close the door behind you. I’m done with you guys.”

Damien sighs, then swallows hard. “Look, I know what happened got way out of hand.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t. “Damien, don’t.”

“What do you expect me to do, Jer? You put all this stuff in my head—.”

“So what?”

“—and that’s nothing compared to what you did to Channing.”

“What I did to Channing!?” I bite out. “Ever since he followed me home, my world has gone down the toilet! I’ve almost been killed. Three times now—once by gang members whose only interest in me was because of him. Once by an actual dragon—that never happened until he started following me around. And just now by the man himself. I’ve been manipulated, assaulted, used and my emotions toyed with. Whatever you think I did to Channing, I promise, he’s earned.”

“Let’s be honest here, Jer. We both know Channing’s best feature isn’t his brain. It's his heart. He's been in love with you for years. I know that hurts.” Damien points to the mark at my neck. “It feels like that because you’ve imprinted on each other. You’re a bonded pair—.”

“Will you people stop saying that!? It hurts because it’s a damn bite, Damien! It’s probably infected too. Why am I even entertaining you? Which way do I go to get out of here?”

“It’s not infected, and it’s not going to stop aching. If you felt enough to share that, then you feel enough to fix what’s wrong. Don’t let your pride isolate you from the best thing that could’ve happened to you in this life.” He cuts me off with a lifted hand a shake of his head. “If you’re strong enough to do what you did to the dragon, you strong enough to get yourself home safely. I trust you to do that. Channing will learn to. There are natural steps at the end of the cave. Follow them up. You’ll come out in the neighborhood where you grew up.” 

I don’t bother looking back. It’s a few steps to the end of the cave, then the wind sweeping along the bluff picks up my hair, tugging it wildly.

The way the cave is angled, it’s invisible from the outside from nearly every angle except if you’re a bird. It’s not until I step out onto the first steep rocky ledge that qualifies as a stair, that I get the full panorama.

As I’d imagined, silvery moonlight licks the hungry waves lapping at the shore below, a wide yellow expanse of beach abandoned at this hour to the wind and the water. Glancing upwards, I count the rocky ‘stairs’, and struggle to make myself take them.

I’m so tired. I slouch and take a seat on the first stair. Despair sits upon me like the burden of Atlas and I don’t even know why.

That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever sort of said. Completely irrational. You know what will be warm and comfortable? My bed. In a house where the only crazy man is diagnosed that way and isn’t pretending he’s normal.

My God, what’s wrong with me? Maybe I’m getting close to my cycle. I feel like I’m going to cry.

I’ve never liked the ocean. When I look out over it, all I see is a mindless nebulous void. Something all consuming and never satisfied. Something that steals away the things that are important to me. Which just makes it all the more important that I hold on to the few I have.

Only right now, the going down these natural stairs to the beach looks a lot easier than making the climb to the top. On the spur of the moment, I decide to descend instead.

I’m not particularly attached to the flat ballet slippers Channing bought me, but for the time being, they’re the only shoes I have. If I have to walk home in them, I’d rather not do it when they’re full of sand. At the bottom step, I slip them off and hook the toes over my fingers. 

The sand beneath my feet is powder soft and still a little warm from the day’s sunbathing. As soon as my feet sink into it, it soothes my soul. The mere thought seems to offend Channing’s bite and a sharp pang is what I get as reply.

I don’t know how long I’m standing there, with the wind buffeting me and the rhythm of the waves reminding me far too much of the rise and fall of a certain sculpted chest.

Suddenly, it was all too much.

I set my shoes down on the bottom rock above the sand, then eased myself to the golden bed and curled up in the shelter of the stone. 

**

It was long towards morning when I woke up, cold and stiff, with a painful throbbing at the crook of my shoulder that seemed to circle my heart and squeeze like a vice. I could tell by the sound that the tide had risen higher. The mists from the waves had left a crusty salt coating all over my skin I could taste on my lips.

It reminded me of Channing.

Wandering in the vague fog of vanishing sleep, I wondered if this was what it felt like to be part of the ocean—a little cold, a little salt-crusted. A little desperate and unsatisfied.

I wondered too: what if this was the just the way of life?

Not wrong. Not right. Just an existence as whatever unnamed gods’ blind wills had made it. A thing to be endured.

If that was the case, on the one hand, it meant it didn’t matter whether the choices you made fell into that arbitrary morality of wrong and right. If everything was going to happen the way it was regardless of what you did, then really, what choice did we actually have? The thought only feeds my despair.

I tip my face towards the ocean, yearning to feel the mist on my face. Opening my eyes, I realize my view is blocked but it takes a moment for the realization to sink in.

I’m staring at a pair of muscular legs, the perimeters of which are blurred by a fine spattering of dark hair. Gasping, I bolt upright. 

“I beg your pardon,” the man standing over me demands in a haughty voice. “This is a private beach. What are you doing here?”