Immortal Moon

by June Stevens

  “Sure. Why not?” she said, wiping sweat from her face with a towel.

  “Um, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve already fought twice and the dude’s as big as a building.” Jarrett gave her his best ‘that was an idiotic question’ eye roll.

  She returned his eye roll with her own. “I’ve got this.”

  She tossed the towel down and went back to the ring so that the ref could announce the fight.

  The bell rang and as soon as the fight started, Jarrett knew he’d been right about the man’s training. He and Anya were evenly matched in skill, plus he had the advantage of having observed her fighting style in her first two fights. They traded blows for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before the big man had the upper hand.

  It took everything Jarrett had in him to stand still and watch as the man’s huge fists came into contact with Anya over and over. He landed three solid punches, one to her jaw, two to her stomach. Then his heavy booted foot swept out and knocked her legs from underneath her. With a grunt and cry of pain, Anya fell to the ground, blood and sweat flying. Jarret lifted his foot to rush to her, but Pete’s arm slammed across his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

  “She won’t thank you for it, Son.”

  At any other time Jarrett would have laughed at the gravelly voiced old man calling him son. Despite his visible age, he was more than five hundred years younger than Jarrett. But as it was, Jarrett’s mind was filled with the need to protect Anya. As he put his hand on Pete’s arm to move it, the old man spoke again.

  “Seriously, boy. Just hold on a minute. Anya knows what she’s doing. She can take care of herself.”

  Brushing the man’s arm aside, Jarrett took a step forward anyway, stopping dead in his tracks when Anya lifted her head and met his eyes. He saw a ferocity he’d never seen before, and he knew that Pete had been right. If he stepped in and stopped the fight, Anya would be furious with him. He took a step back to his original place next to Pete, ignoring the man’s soft snort of laughter.

  Anya slowly and deliberately pulled herself to her knees. It was apparent she was in some pain, but from the vitality he’d seen in her eyes, Jarrett was sure she was putting on a show to make her opponent think she was feebler than she was. Before she could reach her feet the man’s foot swept towards her mid-section. Jarrett barely had time to think what a low blow it was before Anya turned, grabbing the man’s boot seconds before it made contact with her ribs. She grasped it in both hands as she used her legs to propel herself to her own feet, pulling the man’s leg up with her. Once she was up she gave the boot a hard twist and the giant went crashing to the ground.

  Instead of kicking the man while he was down, Anya stood back and waited for him to gain his feet. She stood at the center of the ring, arms loose, slightly tilted to the side as if she were favoring her left leg, head down. She looked like she was hurt and trying to catch her breath, and she probably was. But Jarrett was certain she wasn’t quite as hurt as she appeared. Despite the apparent looseness in her stance, and her unclenched hands, a tense alertness vibrated off her.

  Her opponent gained his feet and went straight for her, swinging. She stood still until the last moment, then crouched, bending at the knee, and ducked his fist. Her own clenched fist shot up, pummeling his stomach three times fast. Then she rose, catching his chin with another blow. The next minute or so consisted of Anya ducking almost all of her opponent’s swings and kicks, and landing almost all of her own. She danced about in a fury unleashing all of her rage and frustration on the man.

  Though she was using the skill and precision she’d had in her earlier fight, there was something hard and dark in the way she fought now. Something that could only come from a place of deep pain. Jarrett found himself wondering again what could have happened to Anya to make her fight with such edgy ferocity, and how he could soothe the pain away.

  But that thought was quickly lost as Anya delivered a roundhouse kick to her beast-sized opponent’s head and he fell onto his back. He was still one long moment then raised one arm in the air and waved it. “I’m done. I’m done,” he called out in a tired, raspy voice.

  The thin, denim overall clad referee rushed to the center of the ring and held up Anya’s arm to the roar of the crowd. When he let go, Anya walked to the edge of the ring. When she was still several steps away from Jarrett, her knees buckled, and she went to the ground.

  Cursing, he was by her side in an instant, scooping her up into his arms. He carried her to the wooden crates stacked against the wall where Pete had been perched when they arrived earlier in the evening. The massive owner of the fight club had been standing next to Jarrett when Anya collapsed and was now close on his heels.

  “I’m fine,” Anya protested from Jarrett’s arms. “I’m fine.”

  Jarrett ignored her and laid her on the crates. She promptly sat up.

  “I told you I’m fine,” she groused.

  “Yeah? So you were just inspecting the cleanliness of Pete’s floor?” he asked.

  “I had a twinge in my ankle.”

  “Your ankle? Which one?” he demanded, his hands automatically running over her legs.

  “Left,” she said lifting it up slightly, and Jarrett saw the grimace she tried to hide.

  He unlaced her boot and gently pulled it off, followed by the sock. Anya hissed.

  “Okay, a little more than a twinge,” she admitted when he gave her a hard look.

  He pushed her pant leg up to reveal a large expanse of swelling, blue-tinged skin.

  “Here, let me take a look,” Pete said.

  Jarrett gave a start. He’d forgotten the man was next to him and turned to look at Pete with his huge, beefy hands. No way was he touching Anya.

  Pete obviously read the thoughts on Jarrett’s face because he gave a deep, hearty laugh. “I won’t hurt her, boy. I’m a med-mage. Low level, to be sure, and I can’t heal a paper cut, but I’m excellent at diagnostics. We need to see if her leg or ankle is broken.”

  “It’s okay,” Anya said, putting her hand on Jarrett’s where it rested protectively on her knee.

  Reluctantly Jarrett stepped aside and let Pete work. Pete rubbed his hands together for a long moment, holding them over Anya’s ankle before he finally touched her, lifting her leg until it was straight out. A dark, raw jealousy clawed at Jarrett’s stomach as he watched Pete’s hands slide down the bare skin of her calf to her ankle.

  He knew it was ridiculous, and not just because the man was at least three decades older than Anya. Jarrett’s jealousy was completely bonkers because Anya was in no way his property or possession to claim. Other men had touched her before, and in less than two weeks he’d be long gone from here, leaving her free to be touched by any other man she chose.

  The thought elicited a rough growl from his throat.

  “I’m okay,” Anya said, patting his arm. She’d obviously mistook his sound as one of concern. He didn’t correct her.

  Pete sighed. “You are, but your ankle isn’t. Nothing seems to be broken, but there are some torn muscles.”

  “Torn?” Jarrett asked, trying not to let his alarm show in his voice. That didn’t sound good. He’d torn muscles before, and broken bones, but he was a vampire. He healed within hours and as long as the injury had been set properly, he had no lasting effects. But Anya was norm. A torn muscle for her could be disastrous, couldn’t it?

  “Don’t look so stricken, both of you,” Pete said. “A torn muscle is serious, but it’s not anything to really be concerned about as long as you can get to a healer capable of deep healing. You’ll want to find someone within the next twenty-four hours.”

  “We’ll go right now,” Jarrett said, not giving Anya a chance to speak.

  Pete pulled Anya’s pant leg down and eased her sock on her foot while Anya grimaced and bit back a moan of pain. “Don’t put the boot back on. Oh, and Jarrett, have them do a full body diagnostic on her. The healer will automatically heal that nasty cut above her eye, but I’m not
convinced she fell because of her leg. A concussion could cause dizziness.”

  “When I’m on both feet I’m going to remember you two talking like I’m not even here, and kick both your asses. And I wasn’t dizzy. It was my leg,” she groused.

  “Don’t you get lippy with me, young lady,” Pete growled. “I’m telling him what to do because he’s going to see to it that you are well taken care of, or he’ll answer to me.”

  Anya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever you say Pete.” There was a smile in her voice, and she leaned over and kissed the older man on his cheek.

  Pete flashed a wide grin before carefully schooling his face back into a scowl. “Go on you two. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a fight house to run, you know. Can’t be playing healer all night.” He turned and walked back to the crowd around the ring, as Anya and Jarrett laughed.

  Once he was gone, Anya looked up at Jarrett. “Just take me to River; she’ll know what to do.”

  Jarrett scooped her up. “You’re going to the hospital. You heard what Pete said, you need a healer experienced in deep healing. I know River has some healing talent, but I don’t think she can do what you need.” He shifted her weight against him so that she was cradled comfortably in his arms as he strode out of the warehouse. “Besides, no way am I walking into Pinky’s with you lying in my arms covered with blood. I wouldn’t live long enough for you to tell him I didn’t do this to you. Not that it would matter. He’d hold me responsible just for being in the room with you.”

  Anya screwed up her face in agreement. “Yeah, there’s that.” She sighed in defeat and laid her head against his shoulder. “Okay, take me to the hospital.”

  Jarrett expected Anya to protest him carrying her all the way to a healer but she didn’t. She’d only asked once, when they’d started across the bridge to the other side of the river, why he hadn’t hired a rickshaw. She’d accepted his explanation without argument that carrying her would be faster because he wouldn’t get caught in traffic, and it would jostle her ankle less and cause her less pain. To Jarrett’s mind, her acceptance was a sign of just how much pain she was in. Anya wasn’t nearly as cantankerous as Fiona, but like her sister, she didn’t like giving up control. Though they hadn’t known each other long, he knew her well enough to know that under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t allow herself to be carried across the street, much less across town.

  In an effort to get her healed as quickly as possible, he jogged across the bridge, careful to keep her ankle from bumping his body, and all the way to the clinic. It wasn’t until Anya opened her eyes and saw where they were that she gave protest.

  “Jarrett, this is City Hospital. You can’t bring me here. They only treat employees of the city-state or Blades. I’m neither, so they won’t treat me. There’s a public clinic further down Broadway.”

  He didn’t trust her health and her ability to walk on the chance that the med-mage at the public clinic had enough power and skill to take care of her properly. Though the healer’s guild had high standards in the med-mages they certified to work in the clinics around the city-state, the fact was not all healers were created equal. They had different levels of power, and though every clinic was supposed to have at least one high-level med-mage on staff, there was no guarantee they would be on shift at the clinic. And, the city’s public clinics usually worked with a minimal staff. City Hospital, located directly across the street from the Blade Headquarters, was the only place he knew of that was guaranteed to have several high-level med-mages on shift at all times.

  “There’s no guarantee there is a healer qualified to help you at the other clinic, but there is here. Don’t worry, they’ll treat you. You may not be a Blade, but I am,” he said, giving her a wink. Then he tilted his head and grinned. “As a matter of fact, not to brag or anything, I’m a pretty high-ranking member of one of the most elite special squads in the Blades. They’ll treat you.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, you’ll see a med-mage, the highest ranking I can find, and you’ll hush about it.” He signaled the end of the conversation by shifting her weight against him so he could use one hand to push open the door.

  He stepped into a small, sterile-looking lobby with a large desk in the center. The young man at the desk idly looked up as they walked in, and then jumped up. “How can I help you? Do I need to call an emergency team down?”

  Jarrett would have laughed at the young man’s flustered reaction if he hadn’t understood it so well. In the short time it had taken him to get across the river and the few short blocks to the clinic, the bruises that covered Anya had turned from blue-tinged to deep purple. The cut above her left eye had continued to bleed so that blood streaked down her face and soaked her shirt. She had more blood smeared from the right corner of her mouth down her chin from a lucky punch landed by the opponent in her second fight.

  “It’s okay,” Anya answered the young attendant, her voice soothing. “It looks worse than it is. I just need to see a med-mage if possible.”

  The attendant smiled at her. “Absolutely. I’ll just need to see your credentials.”

  Before Jarrett could respond by showing his Kukri tattoo, Anya said, “I don’t have any.”

  The attendant shook his head. “I’m so sorry, I can’t help you. We have a strict policy. If it were life or death I could overlook it, but…”

  “I have credentials,” Jarrett growled, annoyed.

  He shifted Anya’s weight again so that he could push his right wrist out to the man. Both the attendant and Anya looked down. It was, of course bare. But Jarrett opened his senses and pushed a little power through his body, focusing on his wrist. Within seconds a black-lined tattoo appeared on his skin. The fleur-de-lis over crossed swords proved he was a Black Blade Guard agent, the curved blades of the swords denoted his position in the Kukri division.

  “I’m Agent Jarrett Campbell, Kukri division, and I am authorizing treatment of this civilian,” he said, his voice polite, but firm. “I wish to see the highest ranking med-mage on duty, please.”

  The young attendant nodded. “Yes sir. Go through this door, take the first hall on the left, then the second hall on the right and the trauma room is at the end of that hall. I’ll scry back and let the healers know you are on your way.”

  “Thank you,” Anya called back to the attendant as Jarrett carried her through the door behind the desk.

  “Should have just walked around the building to the trauma entrance to start with. It would have gotten us in quicker,” Jarrett mumbled under his breath.

  Anya shook her head. “Give the boy a break. He was just doing his job. Speaking of jobs, why is your Blade tattoo invisible?”

  Jarrett stopped for a moment, mid-stride and stared down at her. “Three words. Covert. Spy. Assassin.”

  Anya stared at him blankly for a moment, and then closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Oh, yeah.”

  Resuming their journey down the maze of halls, Jarrett explained, “There are several covert divisions of the Black Blade Guard. All those agents have ID tattoos that are specially spelled so that they appear only if the agent pulses energy through them with the intent to show them, or in case of the agent’s death.”

  “That makes sense. I had never thought about it. I guess any time an agent goes undercover they get the same spell on their tat?”

  “Yeah,” Jarrett nodded. “But for regular agents that have to identify themselves on a regular basis, it’s a nuisance, so they don’t use it. And it looks like we are here.” He indicated a set of double doors a few yards away.

  Anya let out a sigh and wiggled uncomfortably in his arms. “Yay. I’m getting a little tired of being hauled around.”

  Jarrett, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit tired of holding her close. Vampiric strength and stamina came in handy sometimes. He was eager to get her healed. Though he knew the bruises and blood looked worse than what they were, he didn’t like seeing her in pain. He was also a little anxious about
the muscles in her leg. A few minutes, or even hours, probably wouldn’t make a difference in whether or not her leg could be healed thoroughly and properly, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  He pushed through the double doors into a large room with a circular desk in the center and narrow beds separated by curtains lining three of the walls. A tall, dark-skinned man looked up from where he stood near the desk and started towards them.

  “Can I help y…Anya? What happened?” Then dark fury flashed in his eyes as he moved his gaze to Jarrett. “What did you do to her?”

  “Don’t be a pratt, Luca,” Anya said from Jarrett’s arms. “He didn’t do anything to me. I was at Pete’s Fight House. I had a match with a dude the size of a building. I won.”

  Luca stared at her a long moment, then, ignoring her quirky smile as she said the last word, he shot a dagger stare at Jarrett. “You let her go up against an opponent that big? What were you thinking?”

  If Jarrett hadn’t thought the same thing a hundred times over the last half hour, he would have punched Luca in the mouth. Instead he said, “Since you know her name, I’m assuming you’ve met her. So I’m going to give you a moment to mull over how idiotic that question is.”

  Luca glared at him. “Fair enough. Sorry Anya, I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t make your own decisions.”

  “Yeah, I know. Look, I know I’m not actually authorized to get treatment here, but…”

  Luca shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I run the place, so I get to decide who is authorized. I’ll take care of you myself.”

  Jarrett said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like her to be treated by the highest level med-mage on duty.”

  Luca shot him a withering look. “That’s me. I’m the highest ranking med-mage in Nash. Now if you’ll let me take her, we can get started.” He held out his arms.

  Unconsciously Jarrett pulled Anya tighter and took a step back. “I’ll carry her wherever you need.”