Forever (28 page)

“I know, Menes,” he said. “Though you are still young I can see you are well Blended.”

Another talent the Gargoyles had. Anyone who was a Bodywalker had a distinctive glow around them if seen through a Gargoyle’s eyes. It was, Jackson supposed, the Templars’ way of an early warning system. Until a human being did something to reveal his Nightwalker nature, it was virtually impossible for Templars to determine whether there was one or two souls in the body of a human approaching them. So, they had equipped their would-be slaves with the ability to see the difference so that they could warn their masters. And, apparently, the stronger the souls, the more enriched the Blend, the brighter they would glow.

“Jackson,” Jackson corrected almost absently. “We think we prefer Jackson for this lifetime. Although I don’t suppose it makes much difference to us either way.” He shrugged and tucked the gun into the waistband at the www.ballantinebooks.com wag.back of his jeans. It wasn’t an ideal holster if they were going to mix it up, but it would do.

“Odd,” Ahnvil said, his head lifting and his large stone nostrils flaring wide. “The Templar is not on the air. Why would a Templar travel by foot onto the grounds when they all use their spell work to become
airborne? And I …” Again, a wide flare of nostrils. “I smell blood. A great deal of blood.”

That made the tension in Jackson’s shoulders tighten even further. “An injured Templar?” Jackson looked back toward the house, wondering where Ram was and if, perhaps, this was one of the Templars Tameri had come to warn them about. A defector, of which she was one of many she had said. When Tameri and Docia’s Blending had advanced enough for the former priestess to speak, those words had been like pure hope to Ram … and to Menes. Never in all these generations of war had they heard of such a thing. After all, no one dared to cross Odjit. But perhaps, if he let it be known that Templars would be welcomed back into the fold, they would begin to come in greater numbers. Before long they might all be on the Politic side of the line drawn between their two camps. It was a state wherein he could be very content should it come to pass.

“Is the Templar alone?” he asked his intuitive friend. There was no better tracker than a Gargoyle. Their specialized senses made it so.

“There are no other Templars in the area,” Ahnvil assured him. “I do not even sense the energy of spells that might cloak them.”

“Then I suggest we let our guest come to us and see what we see. Tameri’s foot in our door is going to have to change our approach to things from now on,” he warned Ahnvil, Ihron, and the female Gargoyle, Diahmond.

Ihron was a slightly leaner version of Ahnvil, which was unsurprising because they were not only from the same clan; they were rumored to have been born of the same maker. As for Diahmond … if a Gargoyle in its stone form could ever be considered beautiful, Jackson would have to say that Diahmond was exactly that. There were many stages of a Gargoyle’s appearances.
There was the human appearance, meant to blend into the world, the human appearance with stone skin, worn like an armor that could be quickly donned and shed, and then the full Gargoyle form, which was that of a grotesque, winged beast. In any of his forms, Ahnvil was an enormous figure, and by the standards of a human woman, Diahmond was taller even than Marissa and quite muscular and fit. When human and wearing her stone skin she was as beautiful as a marble Aphrodite, smooth and graceful and powerful. Only when going into battle or when she flew did she turn into her grotesque form. Even so, she was compelling and a thing of fierce feminine strength, like a Valkyrie set for battle and convinced of her superiority.

“Should we not meet this Templar at the gate?” Ahnvil said, clearly chafing against the idea of letting a Templar simply walk onto the grounds of his king’s home. Then again, Ahnvil was happiest when Templars were either not in his purview … or were being ground beneath his heel in battle. Getting the formerly enslaved Gargoyles on board with this new plan of acceptance was potentially going to be quite difficult. For good reason they did not trust any Templar.

That attitude had to change, if for no other reason than that his sister was Blended to a Templar and he would not have her treated like a pariah in her own home. Nor would Ram stand for it, and they could not afford to squabble among themselves” she stammered have better. Their unity was the one thing they had always had over the Templars, who were actually greater in number than the Politic. It was unity that had kept their heads above water in the face of those greater numbers.

“Let them come,” Jackson said. “I don’t suggest letting them in the house or near the women, but let them come as far as they will as long as they behave. Speaking of women, Max, where is Angelina?”

“Sleeping I imagine. It’s past midnight.”

Jackson had not realized it was that late. He had spent far more time than he had realized making love to Marissa. It had seemed so incredibly short … so not long enough. “Let’s not guess. Diahmond, Ahnvil, Ihron, please shift to human form. I don’t need Angelina walking around the corner and seeing you in your present forms. Max, head back toward the guesthouse and see to it she’s protected and that she stays away from the main house. I do seem to recall telling you not to leave her side.”

“What am I supposed to do, get in her bed with her?” Max might have sounded more put out if the idea clearly didn’t have merits in his estimation.

“Do refrain from that, too,” Jackson warned him. “She is going to be a part of this family, so it would be wise not to play where you eat.”

The statement made all eyes turn to him, each face staring at him in disbelief.

“But …”

“Let’s talk about it later,” Jackson said, glancing over to Diahmond. She was just as loyal to Hatshepsut as Ahnvil was to him. He knew that she would view him taking Marissa into his bed as an affront to her mistress’s honor. And without the details of what was transpiring, he could see her becoming offended on her mistress’s behalf. But since he didn’t have time to spin long yarns of explanation, it was best to avoid the topic altogether for the moment. Diahmond was very thoughtful, exhibiting an even calmness of approach that was not present in very many Gargoyles. They had been built for battle and for rough work, and with that came aggression and fortitude and very little inner peace to temper it. A Gargoyle’s temper was one of its greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. In a rage they were nearly unstoppable, stone juggernauts that
plowed through their enemies by the dozen … but that rage also blinded them to their moral compass, hazing the line between right and wrong.

They all waited until after Max hurriedly took his leave, all of their eyes trained on the dark reaches of the property in front of them. The landscaping was vast, from perfectly manicured to wild woods, and their potential enemy could come from anywhere before them.

“There,” Ahnvil said, unsurprisingly being the first to spy the hulking figure on the drive. Not via the woods or over the walls, but the drive, with its white stones making it a bright beacon through the dark.

Jackson didn’t wait any longer; he walked forward, the stones sharp beneath his bare feet and keeping him highly aware of his surroundings. That and almost ten years of being a cop. When he stopped, his phalanx of Gargoyles halted with him. Until Ahnvil suddenly changed form and leapt in front of Jackson, his huge bulk blocking Jackson’s view of the approaching stranger.

“Ahnvil!” he barked.

“Kamenwati,” Ahnvil snarled.

Kamenwati. Now he expression on his faceed. i understood Ahnvil’s reaction. To his right he saw Ihron bristle, his flesh turning to stone in a ripple of gray as he shook himself and snarled like a wolf in a pack, his blood running as high as his clansman. Of course any of them would bristle at Kamenwati’s closeness. After all, he was Odjit’s right arm. But for Ahnvil and for Ihron … Kamenwati was their creator. He had been the master of these hulking creatures and the gods only knew what humiliations and torments Kamen had forced upon his pet Gargoyles. Jackson placed a hand on Ahnvil’s arm, feeling the rigid, immovable mass of stone that he was. But he knew Ahnvil could feel him.

“I know this is difficult for you, my friend,” he said
softly, “but you must stand behind me and allow me to face him. There’s nothing to fear. I have the three of you at my back and he is alone. He would be very foolish to provoke us.” Although, he had often considered Kamen to be more than a little mentally unbalanced. Not necessarily in the avaricious, borderline psychopathic way that his mistress was … but not quite all there either.

Since there was no moving Ahnvil if he didn’t want to be moved, Jackson was forced to step around him, his relatively slighter build slipping between the wall that was Ahnvil on one side and Ihron on the other. He turned his back on the approaching figure just long enough to give them a harsh look.

“You are independent beings and far be it from me to tell you how you should feel, but I am still ruler here and if you wish to remain with us you must listen to the commands I give you, no matter how distasteful it may be to you in that moment. You are free to leave, of course, but until you take your touchstones elsewhere and bid me farewell you will adhere to my rules and my wishes.”

He turned to look back at Kamenwati, whom he had heard come to a halt several feet away. And that was when he saw the blood-soaked man Kamenwati held against himself. He was so drenched and caked in the stuff that he almost seemed like he had been thickly painted with it, making every part of him unrecognizable.

“I bring this man to you, for I believe he is yours and you call him friend,” Kamen said, sounding as though he were in pain and out of strength himself. “But he is near death, so come and fetch him quickly.”

The words made Jackson freeze in place for all of a heartbeat.

Leo.

Leo!

With a roar of fury Jackson ran forward, barreling into Kamenwati, ripping away his grasp on Leo even as he drove him into the stone drive, their bodies crunching over it as they slid to a stop. Jackson pulled his weapon out of pure habit, pushing up on his position across the other man’s chest and shoving it into his eye socket.

“I don’t give a fuck how powerful you are, you son of a bitch. This bullet will put an end to you in two seconds at this range. Now you tell me what the fuck is going on here or I swear to god …” Jackson wanted to scream a thousand things at the bastard, but there was nothing coming out of him. He found himself pressing his weapon hard against the Templar’s eye socket while he looked over his shoulder at Leo’s crumpled form. Diahmond had moved to him and was lifting him into her arms. She nodded to Jackson and he knew she would bring Leo somewhere safe and take care of him until Jackson was done where he was. Ahnvil had moved closer to Jackson once more, in full grotesque form, his vast wingspan overshadowing them, making him a black force interrupt” she stammered have bettering the brightly moonlit night.

Jackson turned back to Kamenwati, focusing all of his attention on him, trying to put Leo’s dance with death out of his mind until he could indulge in it.

“You will explain yourself,” he hissed, leaning in close so he was staring straight into the other man’s eyes.

“It is self-evident,” he said softly, as if completely unconcerned. No. Not unconcerned. Resigned. “And I would beg you for that bullet myself,” he went on. “But I do not have that right any longer. I’ve set loose an incredible evil on this earth, Menes. In seeking a cure for my mistress I—”

“Your mistress is dead,” he spat.

“It might have been better if she were,” he said. “Then none of this would have mattered. Take the bullet from the gun, etch my name upon it, and you may use it once my crime has been rectified. Make me that promise and I will stand beside you against the worst evil you could ever know.”

It was Ahnvil’s hand on his shoulder that made Jackson realize he was shaking with the urge to pull the trigger, a bloodthirsty instinct he would never have thought himself capable of. They, both Jackson and Menes, prided themselves on their sense of fair justice. To want to do this thing so coldly and so eagerly was a stunning experience for them both.

“You will forgive me if I demand a better explanation,” Jackson hissed into the other man’s face. It was streaked with Leo’s blood, he realized, and he could smell the pungent tang of it rising off his clothes.

“Make me that promise, Politic, and I will tell you everything you need to know.”

The cold and vast emptiness in Kamenwati’s voice made Jackson hesitate for a beat and for the first time he really heard what Kamen was asking of him.

“Done.” He said it sharply but with all the fierce sincerity he could manage so that Kamen knew he meant it. He pulled back, snapped the clip lock on the gun, letting the clip drop onto Kamen’s chest. He racked back the slide of the .45, releasing the bullet in the chamber with a snap, the small metal projectile bouncing into the air. He caught it then slapped it down onto Kamen’s breastbone, digging the metal down under his barely leashed strength. “It’s yours now, Templar. Hand it to me when you are ready and I’ll gladly take your life.”

Kamen reached for the bullet, his arm and fingers obviously weak and shaking. He took the bullet in his
hand, finding a fierce store of strength to clench it in his fist.

“Don’t renege on this, Politic pharaoh,” he said, the words more a plea than a command. Jackson had never seen him like this and didn’t know what to make of it. His rage was faltering under his confusion. “If we don’t die in the battle that is coming, then I will want this, make no mistake.”

“You’ve heard his word,” Ahnvil said sharply. “It may mean nothing to you Templars, but Menes does not fall away from his promises.”

I promise you, my love, that I will be right behind you
.

The last words Menes had spoken to Hatshepsut during her final moments of her most recent mortal life echoed into his mind.
No
, Jackson thought,
we do not make promises we do not keep
.” she stammered have better