Immortal Protector

by Ursula Bauer

  The white foam shot out in a single stream and she angled it towards the wide nose holes. It was sucking wind already from the fight and couldn’t stop from inhaling the chemical antidote for fire. The foam was designed to expand on contact and that’s exactly what it did. The demon’s features seized, it grabbed for its throat and lurched back, coughing and choking. It banged into her stove and pushed it through the dry wall. Gideon used the momentary diversion and drove his sword through its exposed flank. As he pulled back his blade, a brilliant white light flared through the kitchen, its epicenter the demon’s rapidly disintegrating body. Then, a second later, everything returned to normal. All that remained was the destruction and a scattering of dark gray ash.

  Gideon lowered his sword and it vanished. He staggered back hard into her refrigerator, braced his hands on his knees and slid to the floor. He looked up at her, a mixture of confusion, and something she couldn’t quite identify in his eyes. Then his visage shifted. His lips formed a hard frown, and his burning coal black eyes pinned her with an incendiary glare. “I told you to…wait…in…the…car.”

  “Save the thanks.” She found herself finally able to breathe now that he was safe. Now that they were safe. “I don’t know much about immortals, but I’m willing to bet you could use a few Band-Aids right now. I’ll be right back with my med kit.”

  ———

  Gideon wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead. His lungs burned from breathing in all the ash and from the taxing battle. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He briefly considered moving and started to push up to a standing position, but his body screamed in pain, so he decided instead to sit and wait for the doc. He was pissed at her for risking her pretty little neck, and he was damned impressed that she’d wade into battle with demons without a second thought. She was a red-headed Valkyrie, and a genius. Spraying the Keeper in the face with the extinguisher gave Gideon the edge he’d desperately needed to turn the battle. Even without the sword, the Keeper was an ass kicker. Only one thing bothered him. The Keeper shouldn’t have died. Not from a flank wound.

  Gideon had skewered the thing to help immobilize it, choosing the sweet spot: the nexus points of nerves that clustered on either flank of a demon. The thing’s hands blocked the neck, preventing beheading, but a shot to the sweet spot would result in momentary paralysis, giving him a chance to fell a killing blow. Except the strike finished the thing as effectively as beheading. It made no sense. And things that made no sense bothered him.

  He heard Meg’s approach as she muttered curses to herself. She carried a little black bag, like something a country doctor might have. She scowled at him and knelt by his side.

  “Take your jacket off, and your shirt.”

  He smiled and shrugged out of his leathers. “What ever you say, Doc.”

  “Don’t get too excited. This is a professional visit, not a social call.”

  The T-shirt was shredded and useless to him, so he pulled the tatters from his body. Meg might think this was a professional visit, but, judging by the way her pupils dilated and she licked her lips with that delicate pink tongue, he’d bet she was enjoying the view anyway. He felt a sharp stab of masculine pride. The doc liked him. He started grinning like an idiot, even though he felt like hell. “I have a small kit in the jacket pocket. I heal fast. That will help me heal faster if it’s applied to the wounds.”

  Wordlessly, she grabbed the jacket, removed the small, hard-shelled kit and opened it up. “Which one?”

  “The cobalt-blue bottle.”

  She opened it and sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “It smells like raw sewage. What’s it made of?”

  “This and that.”

  “Let’s start with some cleaning. We can use this later.” She sealed it up, opened her own bag, and set up shop.

  Gideon watched as she ripped the seal off a small plastic tray, dropped in several gauze pads, and filled the tray with saline. Her movements were smooth, practiced, economical. He found himself both dreading and longing for her touch.

  “This may hurt.” Much to his disappointment, she donned a pair of latex gloves. “I want to clean the wound on your head first.”

  She repositioned, leaning over him so she could better assess the wound. It gave him a spectacular view of her breasts and brought her body so close she ignited him with a slow, dangerous flame. She touched his forehead lightly, and her lips formed a slight, delectable pout. “The blood flow appears to have stopped. Amazing.”

  If he straightened just a bit, moved an inch or so to the right, he could capture those juicy lips and kiss away any frowns. “You have no idea.”

  She changed gears and moved back on her heels so she could give his chest and abdomen a better look. Her hand feathered across his bare skin and he shivered at her touch.

  The corners of her lips tilted up. “You’re ticklish?”

  “What can I say, Doc. You have the touch.”

  She colored slightly and turned away, keeping her eyes solidly focused on his naked torso. He had to suppress the urge to grab her and roll her beneath him. He had a vivid image of how she would look, how she would feel. He felt himself start to harden and pushed away the tantalizing thoughts of her soft body, pliable and hot beneath his own. She’d taste sweet as cotton candy, melt in the mouth sweet. He knew it. He craved it. He realized as she poked and prodded with that skimming, gentle touch that he felt better. Instantly better. He’d had none of the wound gel, nothing other than her touch, and his pain was fading.

  All thoughts of sensual delight fled, replaced by a rising sense of unease. Gideon stared down at the gashes that cut across his body and realized that since she’d started her examination, the healing process increased. Rapidly increased, to a frantic, impossible pace.

  Meg reached for some gauze. “The torso lacerations looked much worse from far away. They’re far more superficial than I thought.”

  “My kind heal quick.” But not that quick. Especially when the wounds were made by enchanted and poisoned weapons. Those always took a few days to really go on the mend. If you managed to survive them. Something was wrong. Just like the Keeper dying from a single non-killing strike.

  “You’re not kidding.” She shook her head, a look of disbelief in her eyes. “The wound’s closing even as I’m cleaning it. Just like it did last night.”

  Last night was different. The blade wasn’t contaminated with dark magic. Something changed. Not in him, he realized, panic surging into his blood. She’d changed. Meg was different. Very different. Her touch healed. He shut his eyes for a moment as a powerful realization hit him like a kick to the gut.

  He was too late. She’d touched the artifact’s case, the jar, but it didn’t matter. She’d changed. She’d changed, and there was no turning back. He couldn’t take her to the safe house while he ran after the artifact. If he didn’t fix this, fix her…

  “Gideon, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

  He opened his eyes. Her face was very close to his, so close he could feel her breath warm against his cheek. Her eyes were clouded with concern. Concern for him. She shouldn’t worry for him. She should worry for herself. Gods damn him, he was too late. He reached out and caressed her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” She cocked her head to the side, confused. “For what? You saved my life. Again, I might add.”

  She felt so real, so alive beneath his hand. So normal. But the evidence of his healing was damning. She’d absorbed the magic in the artifact. It gave her a healing touch. This much he was sure of, but past that, he had no clue what else it had done. The briefing warned against something like this happening, but considered it a remote possibility. “You’re a fighter, Meg. I like that. Brave.”

  “I’m a chicken, Gideon. You’re the one slugging it out with—well, you know.” She moved her attentions to the wounds on his belly, cleaning them with the same meticulous, loving touch. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem worse since I’ve started doctoring you.”

&n
bsp; “It’s not you.” It’s the magic. How to fix this one, Gid?

  Salazar’s warning sounded like a death knell in his head. What if, in the end, he had to implement protocol? As he watched her care for him, dabbing his skin so carefully, her every action focused on him and him alone, he knew there was no way at this point he’d follow protocol. To hell with all of that trash. She’d absorbed the spell energy from the buckle of Isis, all that meant was a change of plan. He’d need to find a way to get the magic out of her before getting the artifact. In a way, this was helpful. If she had the energy, it meant that the artifact was most likely inert. It also meant the perp wouldn’t stop trying to grab her. He couldn’t use the artifact as bait.

  “I’m not taking you to the safe house, Doc.” It wasn’t really a lie, he told himself. The latest attack revealed the truth of the situation to him. But she didn’t need to know that. Not yet. Not until he fully understood what it meant, and knew how to get her back to normal. The way he saw it, he had no other option. “This attack means we need to change plans.”

  She glanced sideways at him, then changed the wet gauze for a dry one. “Why?”

  “You’re too hot a property right now.” He hedged the truth again. Better to play it cool. “I need to figure out why.”

  “What does that mean for me, Gideon?” She stared at him full on, her innocent eyes boring a hole through his black soul. “You’re giving me part of the story again, aren’t you.”

  “Trust me, Doc, you don’t want the whole thing right now.”

  She pulled away. “You should let me judge for myself.”

  Gideon used the opportunity to get distance and stand. His body responded immediately. There wasn’t an ache or pain to be found. They were screwed. They were so screwed.

  “I don’t know the whole thing, Meg. I’m a soldier, nothing more. I’m going to take you to an expert in the field of magic. One I know I can trust. Right now you’re a walking beacon for trouble, I need to know why.”

  Meg cleaned up quickly and dumped the used supplies in her trash. She stepped gingerly over the debris and picked her way to the arched entry into the living room. She paused and looked back at him. “When will this really end, Gideon? Is it really a week or two? Or will it go on longer?”

  They both had until the solstice. He didn’t want to consider the consequences of failure. He’d fix it, he’d find the real truth, he’d save the fair maid. Like a battering ram, the memory that threatened him since he first laid eyes on Meg’s picture burst into his consciousness. He’d failed a fair maid once. Failed the woman he should have protected above all others. He wouldn’t fail this time. This time, the fair maid would get the fair shake and the dragon slayer she needed. This time, he’d be there.

  “It will end by the solstice.” One way, or the other, it would end, in that he had no choice. He grabbed the biker jacket and donned it like his old suit of armor. “Don’t worry, Meg. I gave you my word I’d keep you safe. I don’t go back on my word.”

  “I’ve delivered a similar line before, Gideon. I know how important it is to help keep someone’s spirits up in the face of overwhelming odds.” She let out a deep breath, and shook her head. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I? I’m going to die.”

  He plowed through the mess and grabbed her arms, pulling her tight against his chest. She was boneless, unresisting. “Not on my watch, Doc.”

  She tilted her head up and her misty, fey eyes locked with his. “Tell me the truth, for once, Gideon. The whole truth. I need to know. If you want me to run off with you, be straight with me. Am I going to die?”

  “I think you’ve absorbed the magic of the artifact. Honestly, I don’t know what that means for you or me, but I know it’s not good. This guy we’re going to see is just outside of Vegas. He can help.” He searched her eyes looking for a sign, praying this was enough. It was as much truth as he was prepared to speak aloud. As much truth as he was prepared to hear. “The stakes are high in this game, Doc. Right now both of us are at mortal risk. Every second, every step of the way.”

  “I thought you were immortal.”

  “I am, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be dusted. The correct weapon used a certain way, or, the right kind and amount of corporeal damage, and I’m toast.” Gods, he wanted to kiss her. Amidst all this madness, that one thought plagued him, that one savage need drove him to the very edge. He felt his control fray, his desire mount. She was so close. He angled his head lower so they almost touched. “I’m immortal, but like everything else under the sun, I have my weaknesses.”

  She lifted her hands and placed them against the lapels of his jacket. Even through the layers of leather, her heat scorched him. “If I’m going to play this game, as you call it, I need to know the rules.”

  The pressure of her hands parted the biker jacket, and the tips of her breasts skimmed his bare skin. He sucked in a hard breath, felt himself go tight in all the wrong places. If she kept it up, he’d take her here, now, in the middle of hell, consequences be damned. He released her and stepped clear of temptation. Her scent followed him, his blood on fire from her touch. “Some things are better left alone. I know the rules, that’s enough.”

  “No, Gideon, it’s not enough.” Color rose high in her cheeks. “I’m going to pack a bag. Vegas is a long way, that will give you plenty of time to catch me up. If I’m going to play this game, I’m damn well going to play to win.”

  Chapter Five

  Atlantis, the Border Realm

  Seth gazed out upon the serene waters of the Aegean Sea. The aquamarine waves were gentle, gilded by the touch of everlasting sun that illuminated this part of the immortal realm. He turned his face up to the pristine, blue sky, and let the heat fill his soul. He was a God of Upper Egypt, but he rarely visited the sands of his former domain these days. When he needed the sun to soothe his black heart, he came here, to this mystical island, and walked along the mythical shores. Atlantis had a way about it and he could understand why it inspired so much legend. He found it funny that the mortals considered it a given the island sank into the sea, and lately, they’d decided it was located somewhere near Santorini.

  This made him smile as he strolled. He owned a villa on Santorini. It was a nice island, despite the increased tourism, but it was certainly not the compass arrow that pointed the way to paradise. Atlantis was central to everywhere since it existed in a different realm along the dimensional thread. So in theory, yes, it was off the shore of Santorini. And, off the shore of Rhode Island, or Borneo, if need be. Atlantis bordered on everywhere, and nowhere, but to get to any of the infinite places it touched, you needed to use one of the many arches to find your border. While the portals led to the magical edge of the island, the physical portion of Atlantis resided in the Aegean, undetected, unnoticed, ever waiting. Only once had the protective barriers failed. But once was enough in the minds and the myths of the mortals. One glimpse of paradise was not easily forgotten by those consigned to a mediocrity bordering on hell.

  Seth felt the approach of another deity. Felt it like a dark cloud blotting out his sun. His favored clerics trailed behind him at a discrete and obsequious distance, an ever present shadow. He had so few followers in this age. Lucky for him the ones he had were very devout, giving him the energy he needed to keep his existence at an acceptable level. When he faced front again, there she stood, the other deity, in all her bitchy feline glory. Bastet, the meddler. “Funny, I thought you favored the dark. A cat thing, right?”

  She was in human form today, but her eyes she could never quite get right. They were tawny with the signature feline elliptical, iridescent irises that reflected the world back upon itself, never revealing a hint of what went on behind their mysterious surface. She nodded politely at him and joined him without invite in his stroll. “I’ve been looking for you, Seth.”

  “I’ve been right here. On the beach. Taking the air.” He angled a bit so his steps brought him into contact with the rolling tide. The water washed over his sand
aled feet, feeling like a sensual bath of warm honeyed wine. “Don’t you know? Walking is good for your health.”

  “Abiding the rules is better for your health, or have you forgotten the terms of the Covenant?”

  Forgotten? Never. The eternal stalemate of the Covenant meant he and Horus would never know who was the best in battle. He could never fight his war to a satisfactory end. He had to trade off souls with the other God, the son of his cursed brother Osirus. The brother he killed.

  Seth smiled to himself. The memories warmed him even more than the heated, Mediterranean waters. So Bast was here to remind him of the rules of the game, that no overt action may be taken to upset the balance and threaten timeline integrity. Interesting. He, least of all, wanted the dimension at risk. Put the dimension at risk, you put the Gods at risk, including him. That put what little power and influence he did wield at risk. He didn’t care for that, but, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Whenever he believed he could score a gain in power and still preserve dimensional integrity, he was willing to throw down. “I believe I know better than most how far I can bend the rules before they snap back at me.”

  “How far have you bent them this time?”

  Bast had a way of speaking that few others could duplicate. Her words, when she chose, were hissed, a sound that grated on his nerves and made his ears ache.

  “I like my life, Bastet.” He used her full name, putting condescending emphasis on it as a father might when speaking to a wayward and difficult child. “Yes, our wars and petty conflicts are cold. We have minor intrigues at best. Most of the fun is had by our mortal followers, and they’re few and far between in this age. It’s not in my best interest to upset the game. You, better than most, know I always act in my best interest. Now, Horus, on the other hand, he has a nasty habit of acting in what he passes off as the ‘greater’ good. You know what happens when Gods get savior complexes. Suddenly, the rules don’t apply.”