The Walls of Jericho

Of Equals

Channing’s POV

I’m not the quintessential large-and-in-charge, obey-me-or-die Alpha. The way I see it, an Alpha’s success depends on his pack. Which means respecting each pack member’s contribution, regardless of how big or small. Generally humans, as a convergent species with wolves, fit into this paradigm well. There are a lot of innate similarities between our social interactions and theirs.

The same doesn’t seem to hold true for Jericho. She sees everything in life as a zero sum game. 

Which means every time I try to alpha my way in, she shuts me down.

Maybe it’s because she’s already lived an isolated lifetime as the dragon’s captive. Maybe it’s because after her rebirth, she spent years bouncing around from foster home to foster home. Whatever the cause, I manage to disrespect her and step on her toes in every conceivable way, even when I’m not trying to.

Especially when I’m not trying to.

Like right now.

Being the kind of friends they are, Damien and Ferdi have teased me mercilessly, but I’ve always thought there was a true significance to the fact that Jericho is named what she is.

The famed city of Jericho is one of global archaeological importance. Its eight or nine thousand years as a human settlement, of building and rebuilding in the same place, makes it one of oldest more or less continuously occupied locations on our planet. It’s a living historical record, with its layers revealing evidence of humanity’s early steps toward modern-day civilization.

The same is true of the adorable girl staring silently at me with somber, amber-colored eyes across the kitchen island. Each incarnation of a technomage like her throughout history corresponds to incredible leaps forward in humanity’s development, in much the same way the stratified ruins at the city sharing her name have shown.

Perhaps the city of Jericho’s most prominent historical feature was its extensive, protective, ringed wall fortifications. Historical accounts of these walls described them as so intimidating, they discouraged invaders trying to take the city. 

Jericho itself sat atop a humongous flat-topped hill rising seventy feet above the surrounding plain. It was surrounded by a steep embankment supported by an enormous twelve-foot high stone retaining wall. Above the retaining wall, there was another mudbrick wall marking the perimeter of the embankment. At the summit of the hilled Jericho was still another mudbrick wall.

All in all, those fortifications made the city of Jericho nearly impregnable.

I say ‘nearly’ because it’s abundantly clear that my Jericho, like the isolated and proud city, allowed people through, allowed people in, but so cautiously that all but the most persistent abandon their attempts. Like the city Jericho, when a wall is breached, she rebuilds it again. 

Which is what she’s doing right now. Re-fortifying. Digging in. Locking me out.

“Babydoll, I can tell by looking at you that I’ve said something that makes you unhappy.”

Across from me, Jericho’s creamy complexion melts into a smooth blank canvas that carefully disguises her thoughts and feelings behind a polite social mask.

Crap. Wrong approach. I turn the heat off on the grill, then cover the burgers with a pot lid to keep them warm. Coming around the island, I take a seat on the barstool with my legs around her. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ve done wrong so I can fix it.”

She gives me the faintest shake of her head and shrugs the delicate shoulder nearest me, raising another invisible wall. “Nothing to fix, Channing. This is who and what you are.”

Beneath her skin, the low seductive hum of her power is a little edgy and murderously sharp. The last thing I need is to start another row. Not because I'm not capable of the fight, but because the thought makes my throat burn and the look in her eye stops me in my tracks and warns me to think exceedingly carefully about my next words. 

“That’s not all that I am, Jericho.” I caress along her spine with the back of my fingers and she stiffens.

“How am I supposed to believe that when you just told me I’m a complication? That I was an Avernus target?” Her magical hum increases in intensity, vibrates with an irregular, asynchronous beat.

“Babydoll, that was thirty years ago when you were still in the dragon’s thrall. By capturing you, we had the potential to identify him.”

“I wasn’t in his thrall,”  she asserts firmly. “I was his captive, much like I’m yours right now. Your complication.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain, Channing.”

Jericho sits very still, watching me with those glorious,  yellow-orange and brown flecked eyes. Moving slowly, I turn her stool so that she faces me. Sliding to the edge of my stool, I embrace her gently, then trail little kisses from her lips, along her jaw and down her neck. She’s remarkably pliant and soft, especially considering how upset I'm certain she is.

I wish I had a better way to reach her. A way to appeal to her senses. To entice her to open up to me.

Then again, maybe I do.

Nuzzling her neck at the crook of her shoulder, I close my eyes and breathe deep the sweet molasses and clove scent of her that I love. 

**

I stop mid-neurotic meltdown as a hazy sensation rolls over me.

Channing. Alpha.

The subtle prickling of awareness swells into an irresistible undertow, drawing me towards him like iron filings to a magnet. The magic inside me reaches out blindly, seeking by touch as his alpha compelled me to do, stumbling towards him.

The first shock wave of his contact raises the hair on the back of my neck and along my arms. Then I’m swept into him in an undeniable flow. I feel like I’m part of him, I’ve become so wholly his. It’s both frightening and enthralling the absolute power he wields over my mind, my heart and my body.

Terrified, I struggle against it. I remember all too well what it felt like to be bound by the dragon.

I’m not soothed, yet I relax. He’s right, in a manner of speaking. The dragon’s power was to have. Channing’s is to excite. To thrill and titillate.

Relief floods through me. Channing’s words may strike me as wrong, but the sentiment he feels is a balm to my battered, hopeless heart. “I’m only human, Channing. When I’m around you, I feel like I should be something else.”

His expression is soft, wonderous, when he raises his gaze to mine. He reads my conflicting emotions with ease. His lips brush against mine as if they were meant to be there.

That intoxicating stir he creates creeps over me. A disquieting love so close, so warm, so steady.

With a fierce smile, he cups my jaw with his large warm hands and tilts my face towards his. 

Channing’s first kiss promises he’s willing to fight for me. The second, that he’ll continually prove his right as my partner, his worthiness. His third comes with a hoarse groan as he claims me as his own.