Immortal Cascade 05 Immortal Endgame

by Carol Roi

  "Fuck!" The male, masked Immortal takes another shot at me. I barely manage to dodge it, and feel the pain of something slamming into my temple. I fall to the floor, attempting to hold back the encroaching darkness. Over the earplug, I hear Jan-Michel yelling for me to respond to him, but I can't. Rolling over onto my back I look up to see my attacker looming over me. "Too bad I didn't bring my blade and you lost yours, bitch. Another time?" With those words, the man kicks me in the head and I spiral into the depths of the engulfing abyss.

  With a sigh, Jim Ellison considered the options before him. He had a killer headache. The elevator was out, again. Three flights of stairs lay between him and his goal, the bottle of aspirin on the left side of the third shelf in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom of the loft. His only alternative was to stop at a drugstore, and make himself and Connor even later for their stakeout. Another sigh escaped his lips as he grasped the railing and began the upward trek.

  At the first landing, he realized someone had Madonna's Ray of Light CD cranked up loud. His head began to throb in time with the pulsing bass line, and her hypnotic voice was making his teeth ache. Kiss me I'm dying/Put your hand on my skiiiiii-in. No wonder this country was going to pot. No one listened to good music anymore. On the second landing, he realized the annoying song was coming from his apartment. "Jesus, Sandburg, have some consideration for the neighbors."

  Reaching the door of 307, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and shoved them in the lock. Opening the door with a savage twist of his wrist, he stomped inside, intending to give his roommate a tongue-lashing. Only there was no one in sight. The loft was dark, and the doors to Blair's room were closed. Jim attempted to check for his partner with his hearing, but he couldn't cut through Madonna, and right now, those aspirin were more important. He made his way quickly down the hallway to the bathroom, grabbed the bottle and headed back to the living area just in time to see a dark head of hair along with a pair of bare shoulders rise above the back of the couch.

  The music faded into the background, and all Jim could hear was the racing heart and labored breathing of his guide, along with, "God, angel," and a long, drawn-out "pleeeeease…"

  The object of his plea tossed her head, flinging her long hair back over her shoulder, exposing cleavage, and then Jim found a pair of electric blue eyes boring into his own. Diandra's eyes widened in surprise, and a soft "Oops," issued from her mouth.

  "Oops? What do you mean oops?" was Blair's puzzled response. Jim flicked on the overhead lights. His guide's face appeared over the sofa cushions. "Oh shit! Jim!" He disappeared again, then hopped to his feet, the afghan that normally graced the back of the couch covering him from the hips down, his cheeks a brilliant crimson. "Jim, man, what are you doing here? I thought you were on stakeout tonight!"

  Ellison felt a blush creeping over his face also, as Diandra rose to her feet in back of Blair, then wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, using his body to hide her own. From the cool expression on her face, Jim knew her modesty was more for his benefit than hers. He mentally shook himself, trying not to dwell on the sensual image they portrayed. "I am on stakeout. Just needed some aspirin." He waved the bottle at them. "Um, I'll be going now, Connor's waiting downstairs."

  "Oh! Tell Megan I said 'hi' and I'll see her this weekend," Dee said perkily.

  "Yeah, uh, right." Jim managed to find the door handle and let himself out. He took the stairs two at a time, but he still couldn't tune out their voices.

  "Oh, man, I can't believe that just happened! How come you didn't hear him?"

  "I was concentrating on you, lover," Dee purred. "All my senses were locked onto you, sight, sound, smell…touch…" Jim heard the afghan hit the floor.

  "Oooh…yeah…."

  "And taste..."

  "Oh…god…yeah…."

  Jim yanked open the door to the street just as a car horn blared. He winced in pain, but thankfully was finally able to get hold of the volume control and turn it down, blessedly blocking out the rest of the lovers' conversation, though Jim doubted it could be called that for much longer. Striding over to the blue-and-white pickup, he climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door.

  "Whoa, Jimbo, what's got you all shirty?"

  He shook his head, wincing, and reached over the back of the seat to grab a bottle of water. Tossing a couple of pills back, he chased them with a long squirt from the water bottle then started the car. "Believe me, Connor, you don't want to know."

  By the time they'd spent thirty minutes sitting in a cold car amidst the towering glass and steel structures of Cascade Office Park, Jim had changed his mind and was telling Connor exactly what to expect when she moved in with Dee after the first of the year.

  "I mean, she has a perfectly good loft right across the hall. I don't see why they have to always be going at it on my living room floor."

  Connor giggled. "On the floor?"

  "Yes, on the floor. I asked Sandburg about it, and he said his bed's too small. There's a king-size bed in her apartment, but no, that's not romantic enough. Diandra's place doesn't have a fireplace. They didn't even have the damn thing lit tonight!" He exhaled through clenched teeth. "And they were using the sofa. I hope they had the presence of mind to put a sheet over it. Do you know how hard it is to get that kind of stain out? Never mind the smell. Sandburg usually ends up burning some kind of weird incense to cover it up, and then I spend the whole night sneezing."

  Megan laughed again. "Sounds to me like you're a little envious, Ellison. But I think once I move up to Seacouver, she won't feel so compelled to spend all her time here. Besides, I think it's kind of cute. Young love and all that."

  Jim snorted and stared out the windshield, then jerked as if he'd been struck.

  "What?"

  "That sounded like a shotgun blast." As he spoke, the loud clarion of an alarm pierced the air.

  "Bugger! That's not our building!"

  Jim shook his head and started the truck, peeling out of the parking place. "No, it's QuestScape!"

  When I struggle back to awareness, I reach up and activate the mic at my throat. "Harrier?"

  \Christ, Zephyr! What the hell happened? Did I hear what I thought I heard?\

  I gingerly touch my temple, my fingers coming into contact with sticky blood, but I feel the wound closing already. "Never mind that. How long?"

  \Five minutes since that bastard last spoke to you.\ There's a pause then, \Shit, Zeph, get out of there, police are responding to shots fired and the alarms!\

  "Damn. Can you see the security guard? Where is he?" I start to walk towards the lab exit, hoping I can make it to the stairwell and up to Sharee's office before the guard and/or the police show up.

  \Looks like he locked off the elevators and is about to enter the stairwell... You have to use the backup plan.\

  The backup plan. Crap. I do an about face on the floor and run over to the window that was blown out by the shotgun blast which had somehow disarmed me of my sword. I look out through the broken glass and cringe. "This is not going to be pretty." Stepping up onto the narrow windowsill, I look down to the ground below. The snow which has been falling hasn't stuck, so my method of flight will not be easily detected. I hope.

  The landing wasn't the most graceful, my knees bending to take the impact. I roll to help the kinetic energy of jumping from a fourth story window dissipate. Unfortunately, I hear the bones in my right ankle snap when I land. Biting my lip to hold back the pain, I manage to regain my footing and hobble away from the building. "Harrier, meet me at the fallback point. I'll be a little late, damn ankle broke." I nearly trip over my sword as I walk, and I see it. The wire is twined around the blade, two small balls attached to either end of the wire. I can't take it with me, nor can I just leave it for the cops to find. "I found my sword, Harrier. Don't ask, I'll update you later, for now, help me to remember I tossed it into the large pine on the east side." With a heave, I do just that. With a solid thunk , the sword actually manages
to lodge itself in a high branch, well out of sight.

  \Roger, Zephyr. What the hell? Who are y...\ BLAM! BLAM!

  The sound of gunfire coming over the earpiece nearly deafens me. My heart starts to race as I fear somehow the Immortal who had challenged me in the lab has found my friend. I start to run, as best as I can on what now feels like a sprained ankle, intent on reaching my Watcher.

  "Freeze! Police!"

  I skid to a halt, looking down the barrel of a rather lethal looking gun. Raising my hands, I look beyond the gun and up into the face of a tall woman with long auburn hair.

  "Down on the ground, hands behind your head."

  An Australian? A little out of her jurisdiction, but I comply with the orders, carefully dropping my backpack before dropping to my knees, then my stomach. As the female cop, probably a detective seeing as she's not in uniform, frisks me, I feel it. The tingling sensation warns me of an approaching Immortal, then the sound of tires squalling in the parking lot and more gunfire reaches my ears. The feel of cold metal snapping around my wrists brings me back to my immediate situation.

  The Australian hauls me to my feet and, grabbing my right elbow tightly, starts to walk me towards the parking lot. The pain flaring from my arm tells me she's got hold of a pressure point. "Let go of my arm, you Aussie Amazon."

  "Sorry, mate. Not just yet." She actually tightens her grip and my temper flares.

  "Let go of me." As the last word escapes my mouth, I pivot on my right heel and my leg flashes out, the toes of my left foot connecting with the woman's thigh, hitting her in the nerve junction. She drops to the ground, pulling me down with her.

  "Bugger!" The curse explodes from her, and even with my hands cuffed behind my back, I'm back on my feet before she can rise to hers. I'm mad, worried about Jan-Michel, and need to get the hell away from here. I aim a snapping front kick at the downed officer, only to be tackled from the side.

  I feel the hand on the back of my neck, pinning me to the ground as the growling baritone voice above my head asks, "Connor, you okay?"

  "Yeah. Thanks, Jim. I can't believe the damn gell got the drop on me."

  The man holding me down actually chuckles. "This little thing? Losing your touch, Megan?"

  "Snog off, Jimbo." I hear the woman gasp as she tries to put weight on the leg I just smacked. "Oooh, that's going to bruise."

  Once again, I'm hauled to my feet and I'm finally able to get a look at the man who tackled me. I'm looking at his chest then my eyes flow up to his face and my heart thuds in my chest. It can't be, it's not possible! His light colored eyes, barely discernible in the pale orange light of the street lamps, narrow, and his hands tighten their hold on me. Good thing. For the second time in this overly fucked up evening, I lose myself to the darkness.

  I've been traveling with the tinkers, what some would call gypsies, in the Highlands of Scotland for about six months. Earning my way as a dancer, pleasuring only those men I choose to pleasure, and tonight, I've chosen the best.

  The new Laird of Clan MacAlasdair is young, tall, handsome as sin, and possessing eyes so blue I want to drown myself in them. With the skirts swirling around my calves, the blouse I wear dipping off my shoulders, allowing the young Laird a glimpse of my not so inconsiderable charms, I dance only for him. The scarves I hold in my hands trail across his shoulders, teasing him, as he sits back and watches me with eyes darkening in passion. The players, the true gypsies, start playing the scintillating tune at a faster tempo, challenging me to keep pace.

  The other Scotsmen gathered around the large fire clap their hands to keep the rhythm at a furious pace, and boisterously encourage the young man before me to try to catch the end of the belt falling from my waist, an age old token of choosing. If he catches the belt, I go to him. Once, twice, he misses the catch. I'm just about to give in to my base desire, to slow down, when he catches the belt and pulls me into his lap.

  Out of breath, but not caring, I pull his smooth shaven face to mine and kiss him deeply, accepting him as much as he's chosen me. The wolf whistles and howls from his clansmen greet my actions.

  "Watch it, William, or the fire-headed gypsy lass may just take your life as she looks for that gold you swallowed earlier."

  He breaks away from the kiss, and I purr in my throat, missing, already, the tongue which had danced in my mouth. "Argyle, haud yer wheest!"

  The men laugh and the one called Argyle roars out, "Same to ye, William. Or better yet, ask the lass to help you!" I know not what I am to supposed to help the young Laird do, but I smile as I pull his attention back to me and tease his full lips with a light, flickering, taste of my mouth. I can feel his desire for my body rising beneath the kilt he wears, the muscle twitching and bucking against my thigh. I'm forced to hold on to his powerful neck as he lifts me when he rises to his feet.

  "Clansmen, honored guests, I bid you to celebrate all night if you wish. I have other things to do this night." He carries me like I weigh no more than the thistle down that floats in the air. "Lass, which wagon is yours?" I point out the wagon parked at the far end of the camp, furthest away from the bonfire, then I tighten my grasp on his shoulders and swing my legs downward, only to raise them back up and clasp my thighs around his hips.

  "If you don't mind, Laird, I don't think I can wait that long. Can you?" I feel his arms clasp me around my own waist and I reach down between us to pull my skirt higher and pull his kilt up as well. My hands explore the wealth of man I've found, testing its weight and I feel the slickness of his arousal, which causes me to become aware of my own needs. His gait increases in its speed, and soon, we're on the other side of a wagon, hidden from the firelight, with my back braced against the wagon's wall.

  The kisses we share are nearly animalistic in nature, nipping and biting tender flesh without hurting. He lifts me high to lathe my breasts through the silk of my shirt, until I use my hands to pull it down, exposing my body to his gaze and the light of the full moon overhead. Slowly, oh so slowly, he lowers me onto his manhood, sliding into my body causing me to gasp in pleasure. I actually whimper as he pulls me back up, as if to pull out, then I buck against him, and he fills me once again. Over and over, do we tease each other, our kisses deepening as we seek to silence each other's sounds of pleasure. The pace quickens as sweat starts to pour, making it harder to maintain our holds on one another, and with a final shudder and a moan captured in honeyed mouths, we reach our completion at the same time.

  How we manage to sink to the ground without losing our intimate contact, I never know, but our kisses arouse each other, and once again we're riding the magic created between us. At some point, we must have made it to my wagon, for I'm in my bed when the first calls of the birds greet the morning sun. I reach out blindly to seek my lover, only to find my bed empty. Rushing to dress, I crawl out of the wagon, to see the young Laird, on top of his great war horse, readying to ride to Bannockburn. At his side, holding a chalice, is a young woman, her long blonde hair unbound as befitting a married woman, her body heavy with child. I pull my shawl around my body, fending off the chill of the morning air, happy I was able to ease the young Laird's needs when his wife could not.

  Opening my eyes, I find myself looking into eyes so blue, with a strong jaw that seems so familiar to me that I think I've not yet returned from my trip to the past. But while the eyes are the same, the rest of the man's features do not match Laird MacAlasdair's.

  "It's okay. You'll be all right. I'm sorry I hit you so hard, must have knocked your head on something when you landed. Now, stay still." No, he looks a little like my Highland Laird, but the voice is not the same. The cuffs I wore are no longer around my wrists and I move to sit up. "Whoa, wait a minute, wait until the paramedics get here." He's gentle as he pushes me back to lie on the ground, but I struggle to rise.

  "I'm fine. Let me up." I sense his reluctance and go for the soft spot, "Please?"

  He pulls me to my feet and yells over my head. "Okay. Johnson!" I turn to see a uniformed
officer jogging over to us. "Johnson, take her down to Central and place her in our interview room. Connor or I will be there as soon as we can." The officer nods as he takes my arm to guide me away from the tall, devilishly good-looking man.

  "Can do, Detective Ellison. Come on, Miss."

  "Am I under arrest?" I ask of the woman, and man, Detective Ellison, over my shoulder as I'm led away. It's the Australian who answers.

  "Depends on what we find out, sheila, and my mood when I get back to the station." With a flounce of her hair, the tall woman turns her back on my escort and me. She and the detective start retracing my steps, my backpack now hanging from the Australian's shoulder.

  I watch as the woman limps away. Damn, never should have kicked her like that. Last thing I need right now is charges of assaulting an officer. I sigh as the uniformed officer leads me to a marked police unit, places me in the back seat and soon, we're off. The Australian didn't find my earphone or my radio, and the other officers didn't think to pat me down. I strain to listen for any sign Jan-Michel LaFollet is okay. But the radio stays silent.