She slammed her elbow into his throat again, followed by the back of her fist to his temple. He flopped beneath her, eyes bulging, a keening cry tearing from his throat. His hand flapped at the floor, seeking his knife, and Jackie smashed the side of her right fist down on his wrist, her face expressionless as the sound of shattering bone filled the room.
“Bitch!” Einar roared, skin rippling black light again.
“Jackie,” Marshall called. Dread pooled in his gut. He tried to move again, to get up, to go to her, to help her, but his body refused to obey. Pain devoured him. It burnt him alive from the inside out. “Get away. He’s changing.”
Einar’s leathery flesh shimmered black once more. He wailed, still reaching for his knife, his hand flopping on the end of his arm like a dead squid. Blood flowed from his nose, his thigh. His eyes flared with red hatred. “Fucking kill you, you cunt!”
His scream stabbed straight into Marshall’s core. He’d heard that banshee tone before. Einar was at the edge and nothing would stop him now.
Jackie narrowed her eyes, her naked body covered in sweat, her muscles coiled to taut steel. “I’m pretty certain I’m the one on top.” Her shoulder’s bunched and she smashed her left fist into his jaw. Blood and teeth spewed from his mouth.
He screamed again, a high squeal unlike any Marshall had heard and, limp fingers slapping at the blade of his knife, he vanished.
Jackie was on her feet and beside Marshall before he could blink, her grim expression hardly changing, as if Einar’s sudden disappearance was commonplace. She crouched down beside him, scooping one arm under his back and hauling him upward. “We got to get you out of here.” Her words caressed his pain like a gentle kiss and he gazed up at her, barely able to see her through the black fog taking him. “I don’t think he’ll be gone for long.”
“Run,” he wheezed, trying to lift his hand to touch her face. One touch. “Get away.”
She chuckled, shaking her head as she jerked him to his feet. She slung his arm around her shoulders, her tiny frame taking his weight even as he tried to pull away from her. “You’re a complete moron, you know that.”
He laughed, the sound a liquid gargle. “I’ve been told so.”
For a split second, her gaze held his, her clear amber eyes shining with a clarity, a strength not there before. Her nostrils flared and she pressed her lips to his, the kiss quick and harsh and more wonderful than he could fathom. “C’mon, Pacman,” she muttered, heaving him closer to her body. “Time to run away from the ghost.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jackie dragged Marshall from the kitchen, past numerous doors, each one opening to a room silent and wafting with the sickening scent of Einar’s blood. It was an odor she’d never forget or mistake—the smell of hidden shadows and rotting roots. She pulled Marshall closer to her body, holding him tight as she shuffled along a hallway festooned with framed pictures of a smiling family. He weighed a ton, his hard body like a long sack stuffed full of burning rocks. The heat radiating from him told her all too easily what she feared. She didn’t need to look at the wound oozing blood low on his back to know Einar had stabbed him.
She ground her teeth, fury and fear eating at her. If Marshall died…
“At least I still got my skin,” he slurred, his feet tripping over each other as she moved them through the house. “Gotta be somethin’, right?”
She laughed, surprised by the wry humour she heard in the short sound. “Shut up, Rourke.”
Einar would be back. Wherever the pointy-eared bastard went when he did his poof-there-he-goes trick, he wouldn’t stay there long. Not when he knew he had an easy target to hunt, and at the moment, she and Marshall were a very easy target.
Then hurry the hell up, Jackie. You know where you’re going. Get there. Fast.
Easier said than done, what with a semi-catatonic, somewhat-delirious werewolf in tow. She gripped Marshall’s hand and pulled his arm tighter around her shoulder, drawing him closer still as she jerked open the back door—the very one she’d slipped through as a Tasmanian tiger not ten minutes ago. She wouldn’t let him go. If it meant dying, she wouldn’t let him go.
“You shouldn’t have…you should…”
His voice faded to a garbled mumble and then silenced altogether, his arm turning limp around her shoulders. Jackie gave him a sharp shake, relief flooding through her at his low and decisively annoyed grunt. He was alive. That was the main thing at the moment. Stopping at the back gate, she snatched Marshall’s backpack where she’d hidden it in the leafy fronds of the garden and hooked it over her elbow. It was extra weight, but there were things inside she’d need later. Things Marshall needed.
She hurried faster away from the house. Thank God, Einar had selected a place based on its secluded position. The small brick single-story sat nestled amongst the lush bush on the outskirts of St. Helens—the perfect spot, no doubt, to butcher paranormal creatures without being disturbed.
A weak snort buzzed in her ear and she felt Marshall swing his face toward hers. “Dire wolves mate for life, Jackie.” The words were slurred so much they were almost incomprehensible, but Jackie’s breath caught all the same. “Once we mark our mate we are bonded until death takes us.” A wet chuckle gurgled up his throat and he seemed to burn hotter. “Didn’t think it’d be this quick though.” He let out a low groan, the noise vibrating through his scorching body into hers. “I wanted to…”
“You’re not dying, Rourke,” she murmured, keeping her voice calm. “You’re too bloody annoying to die.”
He wheezed out a weak chuckle. “Love you, detective,” he slurred on a rasping breath.
Her throat felt thick and she squeezed her eyes shut for a second, shutting out the dense scrub around her, the clear blue sky overhead. She swallowed, Marshall’s proclamation rocking her more than it should. Being mated for life to him was one thing, him being mated to her however...
A calm flow of energy rolled through her—ancient, timeless and dreamlike. She increased her pace, opening her eyes to stare at the slight hill rising up from the bush before her. The spirit of the land had a warped sense of humour if it thought a Tasmanian tiger and a bloody dire wolf were a match deserving of calm and approval. Someone should have told it the two were—
Made for each other. Both ancient spirits, both the last of your kind, both unable to resist the undeniable desire you feel for each other. Now stop carrying on like a ten-year-old and get to where you have to be.
She hitched him higher against her body, doing her best to avoid tripping over the rocks, fallen tree branches and wombat burrows covering the ground. The terrain wasn’t making her task easy, but then, the Australian bush had never been easy to move through as a human, even here in Tasmania. The land devoured foolish, arrogant, ignorant humans and left the bones for the animals to chew. The Aboriginals knew that. Jackie’s ancestors knew that. The ancient country was never meant for human population. Survival of the fittest took on a whole new meaning when it came to traversing its savage interior, and in the case of her ancestors, survival meant transforming.
But you can’t do that now. Not until you have Marshall safe.
“The very second I saw you, I knew you were going to be trouble,” she muttered, dragging him over a massive fallen tree trunk. Her bare foot slipped on the moist green moss and she stumbled, her teeth clicking shut. She threw Marshall’s backpack over the log, needing both arms to help him over.
“Didn’t mean to…”
She laughed, once again surprised by the warm mirth in the sound. What’s the best way to know you’re in love with a guy? Be able to laugh with him when you’re both on the run from a murderous dark elf. She slipped her arm under his armpit and held him close, scooping up his backpack before hurrying into a stumbling jog again. “Shut up, Pacman. It’s my turn to talk now.”
Marshall chuckled, a shallow hiccup of breath, but a chuckle all the same. His arm tightened around her shoulder, his feet moving with more purpose. “Ye
s, ma’am.”
She shook her head, her heart tight, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve fought what I am my entire adult life,” she went on, each word a gasping pant—damn, he was heavy. “I’ve tried to deny it. I ran from it. I cursed it and hated it.” She fixed her stare on the rise before her. Closer. They were getting closer.
Hurry.
“But until you came along,” she puffed, sweat stinging her eyes, the branches of a low bush scratching at her bare legs, “I’ve never really understood it.”
She felt Marshall’s gaze on her profile but chose not to look at him. She needed to keep her focus on her target. If she looked into his eyes and saw Einar’s poison devouring him, it would undo her. “You bring out the animal in me, Marshall,” she said instead, pushing past a clump of jasmine-choked acacia. “I can’t believe I’ve said something so bloody corny, but you do.”
Her foot fell into a wombat burrow and she careened sideways. Sharp pain ignited in her ankle, shooting up her leg. She bit back a growl and struggled to straighten up. Damn it, they were so close. So close. Only a few feet left to go.
A growl rumbled low in her chest, an irritated gnarr that set her nerve-endings on edge. Angry. Her thylacine was angry. More than angry.
Jackie snorted. Impatient bitch. She stopped, her ankle a world of ache, her lungs burning. She closed her eyes, a frustrated sigh bursting from her. “Whose stupid idea was this?” she muttered. What had she been thinking? Running up into the bush, seeking a place she didn’t know? A place her newfound connection with the land told her was there, calling her? “This isn’t a plan, this is lunacy.”
Marshall’s lips pressed to her temple, warm and soft, and she started, swiveling her head to look at him. “You bring out the human in me, Detective Huddart,” he whispered, his eyes clearer than she’d seen them since dragging him from the house. Blood still flowed from his shattered nose, sweat still ran from his forehead, but his eyes held hers and spoke a truth she could never doubt. “And my human trusts you as strongly as my wolf.” He brushed her lips with his again, the salty taste of his blood and sweat stirring the animal deep within her being. “Now, tell me you love me so we can get our asses to wherever it is we need to be.”
Jackie couldn’t help herself. She laughed. Shaking her head at the half-dead Texan draped around her shoulders, she pressed her lips to his. “I love you, P.A.C. Agent Marshall Rourke.”
He wheezed out a chuckle, his arm tightening around her shoulders with weak pressure, holding her closer to him as he returned her kiss. “Of course you do.”
Warm joy washed through Jackie. She gazed into his eyes, every molecule in her body tingling. She’d said it. Aloud. She’d said it and it felt good. No, not just good. Powerful.
Right.
Fresh strength surged through her muscles. She hitched Marshall higher up her body and began walking again. The spirit of the land called her, a wordless song deep in her soul that she heard with her entire existence.
The inhospitable terrain gave way to soft grass, softer ferns. Silken leaves stroked her legs, her hips. Cool caresses that sent little ripples over her flushed skin. She moved faster, a tingling thrum stirring in her core. Tugging her. Pulling her. Her thylacine groaned, the sound wholly and completely one of contented calm. A sense of belonging flowed through her. She frowned, the surreal potency of the sensation disarming her even as she welcomed it. She’d fought this her whole life?
The grass beneath her feet became velvet, the drops of morning dew resting on each blade slicking her soles. She moved faster, the call on her being growing stronger. Deeper. Ancient and new all at once. Strange and familiar. Marshall seemed to grow lighter on her shoulders, although she knew that was an impossibility. And yet he was no burden to carry. No load to bear.
The trees seemed to part before her, the clean scent of eucalypt slipping into her every breath, nourishing her. She looked around for the rock formation she’d never seen before but knew was there all the same. Four rocks resting together, an outcrop of granite older than the trees and soil around her. Four rocks forming an alcove in which Marshall could wait. Protected. Safe. Unseen. Four rocks to keep him from Einar until she could finish what the hunter had started.
She looked around the landscape—her home, her place—and saw the rocks. The tingle in her soul grew stronger and her breath caught in her chest. She knew this place. She remembered it. She had been here before. A lifetime ago. The memory of her family, her mother, her father, rolling through the torment of her past. She’d been born here, safe in the protection of the rocks. Her mother’s arms her world, these rocks her home until the men with the dogs and guns came. The men stinking of liquid death—swilling it from cans gripped in their large hands. The dogs stinking of human violence, straining at the end of chains, saliva spattering from their snapping muzzles, dripping from their gnashing teeth. The men and the dogs finding them, a family of three. Finding them, tormenting them. Chasing them. Chasing them until her father shifted into his animal form and her mother yelled at her to run away. And then the guns began to…
The memory faded and Jackie stared at the rocks, her heart pounding, the pain in her heart as strong as the love she remembered all so well. She’d returned home. And her thylacine howled with grief and joy.
“This place feels…” Marshall’s mumble drew her attention from the rocks and she turned her head, looking at him. He studied the outcrop, a frown pulling at his sweat-slicked forehead. “Right,” he finished.
Jackie smiled, pulling him closer to her body. “It is right.”
She crossed the short distance to the formation, hunching into a semi-crouch as she helped Marshall into the dark cave the four rocks made. Velvet-soft moss covered the ground, thick and spongy. She lowered him to it, making sure he lay on his side before tugging open his backpack. Inside, wrapped in the cotton T-shirt he’d packed for her who knows how long ago, was a small glass vial. If what was in that vial—a luminous violet liquid—was what she thought it was…
“Marshall,” she whispered, turning back to her life mate. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks, his body twitching. “Marshall, I need you to look at this.”
His eyelids fluttered open and Jackie choked back a raw groan. His eyes were glassy, unfocussed. She took his right hand and placed the vial against his palm, closing his fingers around its slim shape. “Marshall,” she whispered again, lowering her head closer to his. “I need you to tell me what this is.”
His lips parted, his tongue scraping over their dry, split surface. “Blood.”
Jackie let out a silent sigh. She drew her head closer to Marshall’s. The heat baking from his body was like an open furnace. “Is this what you gave me? How do I give it to you?”
His lips moved, soundless words she couldn’t understand.
“Marshall.” She lowered her head until her ear hung above his mouth. “Marshall, how do I give it to you?”
Nothing.
She pulled away, staring at him. His eyes were closed again, his breath shallower still. And slower. Too slow. She shook her head. No. This wasn’t the way it was meant to happen. This wasn’t the plan.
“Not…enough.”
Marshall’s croaked whisper tore a sob from her throat and she shook her head again. “Yes, there is, Pacman.” She closed her fingers around his hand, the vial enclosed within his fist taunting her. “Stop being a bloody wuss.”
He chuckled, blood bubbling past his lips with the weak laugh. “Didn’t mean…to mess up your life.”
She closed her eyes, refusing to let the angry tears welling in their corners fall. “Stop being a dickhead, Rourke.”
“Okay.” The word was barely more than a breath.
A bitter laugh gouged at her chest and she rolled her eyes, turning back to Marshall’s backpack to riffle through its contents, searching for Marshall’s phone. If she could call Hillerman, someone from P.A.C., anyone, maybe they could tell her what to do. She couldn’t lose him. She c
ouldn’t. Not when she’d finally accepted who she was. Not when she’d finally admitted that she loved him. She couldn’t. Life couldn’t be that unfair. Hands fumbling with Marshall’s phone, she sucked in a shaking breath, and froze.
The sickly-sweet stench of Einar’s blood slid into her nostrils, like the putrid vapor from decaying mulch.
She snapped her stare to the opening of the rocky alcove, scanning the narrow slither of bush she could see beyond as she pulled another breath. Shit.
He wasn’t there yet, but he was close. Close enough to taint the air with his poisoned existence.
Shit. She wasn’t ready.
She closed her eyes and wriggled her fingers, forcing her frantic heart rate to slow. Settle, Jackie. Settle. She’d lured the hunter here for a reason. She had to remember what it was.
Throat tight, chest heavy, she bent at the waist and laid her lips against Marshall’s feverish forehead. “If you die on me while I’m gone, Pacman, I will track you down on the other side and give you a damn good beating, understand?”
She didn’t wait for his response, if there even was one. She didn’t have a second to spare. Straightening to her feet, she slipped through the narrow opening and scaled the rock formation, standing motionless on the highest point. She held her arms slightly out from her body, legs spread wide enough to let the gentle breeze swirling down the hillside stream between her thighs. Over her sex. Her hair lifted at the nape, tousled by the tugging wind caressing her cheeks and lips. Her nipples puckered tight, a chill of calm anticipation rippling through her. She lifted her chin and, letting her thylacine surge to the surface, threw back her head and howled.
She transformed mid-call.
Einar moved through the bush, every sense he possessed narrowed onto the thylacine’s scent. She’d dragged the werewolf with her. Rourke’s odor threaded through hers in weak ropes of decay, making Einar smile. His ex-partner was almost dead. Almost. Which meant he still had the chance to string the werewolf up by his ankles and gut him alive.
Savage Transformation: Savage Australia, Book 2 Page 21
