Forever

by Jacquelyn Frank

  “I don’t know how everyone does it. I think I’d go mad if I didn’t have some sense of privacy.”

  The Gargoyle regarded her for a moment, her eyes—a cool gray that could be seen in the moonlight almost as if they were aglow—moving over her briefly. “It’s the life of a royal,” she told her, almost pointedly. “It’s a price you pay for the good of your people. You bear with all the fuss and limitations it puts on your freedom because the people and their well-being means more to you than yours does. It takes a very special sort of person to be able to make that kind of sacrifice.”

  Call her crazy, but Marissa got the feeling Diahmond didn’t think she fit that bill. She shrugged internally. What did she care what the Gargoyle thought of her?

  “You don’t like me very much, do you?” she asked her, moving farther out into the night, turning her face up to the moon. She had to admit, the night wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to wake up to. It was cool and crisp and full of curious sounds. expression on his face oihly

  “I am merely at a loss to understand you. That is all.”

  “What is so perplexing? That I won’t readily alter my life away so I can share it with someone else whom I hardly know anything about?”

  “What would you like to know about her that could possibly change your mind?”

  Ouch. Two points to the Gargoyle. The way she had said it implied there were circumstances she might approve of. Had she really meant it to sound that way?

  “What is she like, your queen? I’m assuming you know her … you sound like you do.”

  “I don’t know her half as well as her husband does. If he cannot convince you of her worth, then what can I say to convince you? I will not argue with you or wheedle with you, mortal girl. You do not understand this world, and I see that you fear what you don’t understand.”

  Zing. Four points total. Wow. She hadn’t lost a battle of wits like this in ages. And never so resoundingly.

  “What’s to understand,” Marissa said petulantly. “I die. She lives. Period.”

  Diahmond smiled. “So simple. Yet so complex. Each Bodywalker comes equipped with a special ability. My lord pharaoh is telekinetic. Ramses can control the weather. Do you know what hers is?”

  “I don’t …” Marissa said a bit lamely.

  “Empathy. Emotions, mortal girl. She feels what others feel so keenly, that sometimes all that keeps her balanced is the man you are looking for now. Menes. Jackson. Call him what you will. Now, do you know what I fail to understand?”

  “Do tell,” Marissa invited dryly.

  “Here you have this proposition laid before you … a man who loves you and wants you to do something that will increase his passion for you a thousandfold. He has chosen you—I can only assume he sees something of worth in you—over every other woman in the world. And if you think he makes this choice lightly you would be terribly mistaken, so know that now. The last time he was sent to choose for her it took him eleven years before he found someone he deemed worthy enough. Do you know what that must have done to him? To wait so long? This man has offered you something that will make you stronger, make your senses keener, and will add untold amount of time to your life. I’m not saying it doesn’t have its pitfalls. It does. And to say otherwise would insult your intelligence. I don’t know you but I’m assuming you have some.”

  All right, now that one was just low, Marissa thought with a sigh.

  “Here he offers you this, and then on top of all of that …” she said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, “a love for all time. A love of the ages. Something no mortal woman on earth can lay claim to. A relationship with no doubt. No questioning. No insecurity. I know this because I have seen it. Iit all over ag

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “This is so cool!” Angelina cried after her sister dumped the entire story of what had been happening, what was happening, and what she was actually considering doing into her sister’s lap. After all, she couldn’t do any of this without her. She couldn’t give up her sister as well as daylight and her job and everything else.

  “It’s not cool, it’s insane!” Marissa argued breathlessly. “You need to tell me it’s insane!”

  “Look,” Lina said dryly, “if you came here wanting me to be the voice of reason, then clearly you don’t really want to be talked out of this.”

  Well, she had a point there.

  “I guess I don’t,” she confessed aloud, as if it were a dirty little secret that shouldn’t be spoken of, because saying it made it real. “But what about the whole dying part? I mean, surely …”

  “You’re looking at it all wrong,” Lina said, her eagerness almost infectious. “It’s not dying, it’s … it’s … metamorphosis. You’re a pretty, fuzzy warm little caterpillar … and when you take this step you’ll be this magnificent, powerful, beautiful butterfly that will be so deeply loved and … oh, I’m so jealous I could spit! The only thing that kind of sucks is the sunlight part. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t see the world in daylight every day.” Then she shrugged. “But from the sound of it you’ll be able to see in the dark almost as if it were daylight, so maybe it won’t really matter. Anyway …” She looked down at the bedspread and tugged at the fabric a little. “Anyway, it’ll be nice knowing that you’re safe, you’ll be happy, and that I won’t lose you anytime soon. From the sound of it you’ll potentially outlive me.”

  “Believe me, some of those things are the ones I question. But … I’m realizing something. These people here are in pieces right now. With Jackson only just now becoming fully Blended, coming here to take on the reins of his government, they’ve been without the leaders they depend on for a very long time. Especially her. She only lived a week, as I understand it, before the Templars got to her last time. That means it’s been almost two hundred years since they were truly together.” She sighed in tandem with her sister. It really was terribly romantic, the idea of two souls striving for centuries for the expression on his faceu when that, opportunity to simply be with each other. To be able to touch one another. It made it easy to understand why Menes’s grief had outweighed his sense of duty to his people when he had lost his bride after only a few days. “And provided I can keep out of reach of the Templars, I could maybe help.”

  “Think about it,” Lina said eagerly. “You’re a psychiatrist! Who better to have an empathic ability? How are you going to do it? Bullet to the brain? Or poison, like Cleopatra, dying in beautiful repose.” She laid back in the bed, one arm thrown dramatically over her head.

  “Okay, it really creeps me out that you are excitedly talking about my suicide.” Marissa frowned. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I mean the bullet thing …” She shuddered. “No. It might be fast but … no. I think I’ll stick with the poison idea. Write myself a script for some heavy-duty sleep meds. I guess I have to talk to Jackson about it. I don’t know what the rules are here. Oh my god, I’m really doing this.” Marissa felt her throat clench tight even as the rest of her squirmed with excitement. “Provided he still wants me.” She sighed. “I haven’t been very nice to him.”

  “He’ll forgive ya. They always do.”

  “What if …” she began.

  “Oh stop thinking and for once in your life just do,” her sister said with sudden vehemence. “Do what you really want to do and stop analyzing it. Stop trying to control it. Just … stop.”

  Marissa took a breath and nodded. Angelina smiled and, wrapping her arms around her sister’s neck, hugged her tight. “Now … drop dead.”

  She sniggered and Marissa pushed her away with a laugh, getting up and smoothing her skirt. “All right,” she said. “Here goes nothing … and everything. This is me, just doing. Going with those instincts and emotions and …”

  “Leave!”

  “Oh fine,” Marissa said, sticking her tongue out at Lina, dissolving their maturity completely back to when they’d been kids, making fun and teasing each other. Then she took ano
ther breath and hurried out of Lina’s bedroom and out of the guesthouse.

  She found him rather unexpectedly as she was approaching the house around the southwest corner of the building. Actually she heard his voice first and the sentence that hit her ears made her freeze in her tracks.

  “I know you need to get to bed, Max, but I need you to do me a favor and bring Sargent back to the SPD. Tell them … just tell them he’s going to need a new trainer,” he said, his tone low and his words tight with the emotion he was refusing to show. “Tell them that I had to move away due to an unexpected family crisis that won’t resolve itself anytime soon. I’ll write a resignation letter to make it official and have one of the Gargoyles send it from another state. Just in case they are looking for me. In a few weeks Leo can go home and make them understand that he’s not dead and I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Jackson, no!” she burst out, unable to control herself due to her outright shock.

  Jackson turned slowly, his eyes sweeping to hers, the anger in them hard and very evident. He didn’t say a word, just expression on his facele and ihlypointedly turned his back to her to speak to Max once more. “He’s to travel in the cabin of the jet, Max. Don’t crate him and put him in the hold.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Max said, clearly protesting the idea that Jackson thought he might.

  “I know. It just … needed to be said. I had to make sure.”

  “Jackson!” She barked his name out as she marched up to his side. When he didn’t acknowledge her she shoved herself between the two men and grabbed him by his shirt, wishing she could shake him. “You cannot give up that dog! What are you thinking? You know how much he means to—”

  “What I know,” he bit off into her face, “is that someone just reminded me that anyone and anything near me risks themselves just by knowing me. Someone reminded me that what I am turns an innocent soul into a target, brings stress and heartache and horrible things into the life of that innocent. So excuse me, but I’ll be damned if Sargent is going to get himself killed while trying to protect me from a supernatural creature he has no defense for! And he’s been trained for a job that he loves. That he’s eager for. This is me being unselfish, Marissa. But I can see why you wouldn’t recognize it.”

  All right, Marissa thought with irritation, just when had she become the designated asshole in the house? Everyone was taking these mean little potshots at her and she’d had just about enough of it.

  “Don’t you dare fault me for taking the time to understand and evaluate something before jumping in with both feet! And you!” She whirled to face Max who was trying to discreetly leave the argument. She pointed to the ground and let out an imperious, “Stay!” Max went still, lifting a brow in curiosity and Sargent’s butt hit the ground in a very obedient staying position. “If I’m going to be queen around here, I’m going to expect to be fully … and I mean fully … informed of any important decisions! I’m not going to be a figurehead or something pretty sitting on a throne while all the big strong men take care of all the business.” She whipped back around to face Jackson. “I don’t know what Hatshepsut’s feelings are on the subject, but I suspect all this high-handed bullying bullshit doesn’t fly with her, and it doesn’t fly with me either. So with the both of us together you’re in for a major attitude adjustment. We aren’t going to put up with it!”

  She stopped talking, breathing hard and glaring at Jackson as her temper started to cool. She hadn’t noticed his eyes going wide, hadn’t noticed the slight slack in his jaw.

  “Did …” He cleared his throat of an unidentifiable emotion. “Did you just say we?”

  She could have knocked him on his ass with a feather, that was how numb with shock Jackson was. Surely she didn’t mean …? Yes, he thought quickly before he got his hopes up, she was just speaking hypothetically.

  “Yes, I said we, provided you can quit being an ass long enough to kill me. And what’s the deal with that anyway? The rules, I mean. Can I just overdose or lick mustard off a spoon or … what are the rules to this dying thing, because I know there has to be rules and you can damn well bet I’m going to get it right.”

  “Oh my god. expression on his facesvg.” It was all he could think of to say. He knew he was staring at her, knew he was looking like an ass because he couldn’t form a single coherent thought in his head about what to do next. He couldn’t because his heart was racing with fear and excitement. Fear that he was dreaming, excitement that he wasn’t.

  “Jackson,” she said dryly, “when a woman offers to kill herself for you she kind of expects a little more than ‘Oh my god.’ ”

  “Oh my fucking god,” he shouted at her right before letting every single impulse flowing through him loose. He grabbed for her with both hands, dragged her up against his chest, wrapping her in a suffocating hug while crushing her mouth under his. He kissed her as hard and as deep as he dared, overjoyed to feel her whole body softening and relaxing, her lips parting to allow him to do ravishing things to her mouth. He kissed her so long and so intensely that he thought he was getting light-headed from lack of oxygen. When he finally pulled back from her it was to her smiling eyes, watching her lick her lips clean of their mutual flavors.

  “Max, you can go now,” she said, dismissing the man with a wave but never once looking away from Jackson. “Back at the house, not on a plane. Understood?”

  “Yup.” Max chuckled and headed off with Sargent in tow.

  “I can’t believe,” Jackson stammered, still not knowing what to say. “Are you one hundred percent …?”

  “Are you ever going to finish your sentences?” she teased him.

  “My god, I’m going to kill you,” he said fiercely, wanting to shake her for taking delight in his flabbergasted state.

  “Well, that’s kind of the idea, right?”

  In lieu of shaking the hell out of her he yanked her back up against himself. This time it was she who leapt for the kiss, meshing her mouth to his as if they were a single being, then breaking again and again as each successive contact grew hotter and hotter and faster. Before he knew it she was climbing up his body, arms wrapping around his head and neck and legs wrapping around his waist. It took four blind, heated steps before he found the side of the house and slammed her up against it, following hard with the press of his body. God. Oh god, what was it about her that made him want to forget every nicety he’d ever learned as a lover and just … fuck her crazy. And then take her slower, sweeter, afterward. But it was always this first. This hunger. This rapacious need to just be inside her however he could manage it and as soon as was humanly possible.

  Together they pulled up her skirt, his hands running hot beneath it and letting her fill them with soft, sleek flesh. Her backside was curvy enough to earn the title “booty,” but it was always played down with the sharp lines of professional clothing. Sexy yet conservative. The kind of conservative sexy that made you want to un-conservative her. Unwrap her. Undo her. Just as he was coming undone, he realized. Not just the way she was feverishly working to open his jeans and push them down off his hips, but just undone. If she knew how devastated he had been when she’d said those things to him earlier … even now it choked him to think of her wishing he’d actually died. Because that was what it had been. If not for Menes, he would have died. Of course, if not for Tameri saving his sister he wouldn’t have even been in that place and time, but that was splitting hairs.

  And that didn’t matter now. With one hand on her backside he reached to take himself in hand and aimed himself in the direction he desired to go. He notched himself against her and, gripping her hard to keep her still, he lunged up into her in a single, stunning thrust. She broke from his mouth to cry out, her hands reaching for his hair, grabbing it up into her fists and doing everything but pulling. He didn’t pause, didn’t wait. He had no time for that. He was completely blindsided by the knowledge that he could come in just a couple more strokes. He didn’t understand it really. He had no experienc
e with which to judge this desperation. He’d always been in total control of his relationships, headlong feelings and undue attachments not anything he’d ever indulged in or craved.

  He was just as bad as she was, he realized. He was the pot and she the kettle. At least she had an excuse. A bid to be more professional. What was his reasoning? It was just safer that way, he thought. And there was nothing safe about this. For all they would be immortal and nearly unbreakable, this was akin to taking his life in his hands. Or giving it into hers. And god, but it terrified him.

  But it didn’t keep him from taking her hard right then and there, both of them moaning with pleasure loud enough to be heard … well, just about anywhere. He wished he could make himself be self-conscious about that. Make himself show her more respect than he felt he was doing just then, but he couldn’t. Didn’t. Wouldn’t.

  All he could do was thrust himself into her again and again, as fast as he could humanly manage, sucking air in through his teeth when the urge to climax grabbed him by the balls and ripped through him. It happened so fast. So blindingly fast. And it pulled out of him until it hurt. He was barely aware of the fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, or the way she gasped to catch her breath, or the way she was like liquid in his arms and against the wall.

  The wall.

  Holy hell! He’d just taken her against the side of the damn house! In public! Well, nearly anyway. He knew no one would have dared come in the direction of the ruckus they’d just made. In that way, he realized, it was damn good to be the king.

  “Death by sex,” she breathed into his ear. “Oh yes. I hadn’t considered that one.”

  That made him snort a laugh out his nose. Sometimes she just tickled the heck out of him. Like the time she’d taken umbrage with Howard Redman’s lewd assessment of her ass every single time she walked past his desk. Any other woman might have found another path. But not his Marissa. She had leaned over the desk, he could swear she was purposely giving him a peep down her blouse, and had whispered very loudly that what he was doing was called sexual harassment and that the department had a zero-tolerance policy and that he better be careful before some gutsy pissed-off chick decided to sue him right down to his saggy, baggy little boxer shorts.