Fury’s Kiss (28 page)

“What’s wrong?” Jackson studied the pallor of my skin and the lethargy of my movements. “I know last night took a lot out of you, but shouldn’t the rest and ambrosia have helped?”

“It’s not enough. Dealing with Perris and then swimming for so long in cold water, so soon after healing a gunshot wound… It was just too much. I’ve gone too long without a vengeance boost.”

“So you need to punish someone to get your strength back up?”

I nodded. “It’s a catch-22. The longer I go without avenging someone, the weaker I get. But the weaker I get, the harder it will be to avenge anyone.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very useful trait for a Fury to have.”

I wasn’t sure how to explain it in a way he could understand. “The Fury’s gifts to her hostess are incredible power, prolonged youth, and a noble purpose. The catch is that the hostess has to fulfill her mission—vengeance—to function.”

“So she can’t just wake up one day and decide she doesn’t want the job anymore.”

I nodded. “Right.”

“So there’s nothing you can do? You just have to find someone you can use when we get back to civilization and hope you can still take them by then?”

I shifted on top of the slippery surface of my sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable despite the sweat beading on every exposed inch of skin. “I can slow down my bodily functions enough to put myself into a state of dormancy if I have to. If I was captured or stranded somewhere, for instance.”

Jackson cushioned his arms behind his head and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Use me,” he said after a while.

“Excuse me?”

“Use me. You can take the energy you need from me.”

“No way.” I shook my head. “You need your strength for our swim tonight just as much as I do. Besides, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I can recuperate with just food and rest. You can’t.” Jackson paused, and then out of nowhere added, “And I’m the queen of England.”

“What?” I stared at him. Did he have heatstroke or something?

“No?” He looked over at me. “OK, try this. I’m…the Little Mermaid.”

“Jackson, what are you doing?”

“I’m lying. I thought maybe you’d be able to punish me for it and I could give you some of the energy you need.”

I smiled. That was so sweet. He was willing to subject himself to my Fury’s kiss to help me. And he was even willing to sound like an idiot to do it. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t work.

“Thanks, but little white lies wouldn’t be enough. Besides, your intention matters as much as what you actually do and it’s clear you’re trying to help.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

I shook my head. “I think I’d better just conserve what energy I have and try to get some more rest. Promise you’ll wake me when it’s my turn to keep watch?”

It wasn’t likely anyone would look for us at the Refuge, but it wouldn’t pay to be too complacent. We’d decided that one of us would stay on lookout at all times throughout the day. Though I suspected Jackson would be just as likely to let me sleep than wake me for my turn.

“Rest,” he said, not promising anything. “I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

I wanted to argue, certain he would shoulder the whole burden of standing guard, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. Unable to fight the need to hibernate, however briefly, I had to give in. I protested weakly as I drifted off, guilty about the hours of boredom Jackson would have to suffer in the close, hot air of our shelter, but he assured me he’d waited through worse. Finally, I settled deeply into a flat, dreamless sleep. When Jackson shook me awake hours later, night covered the island and a blessedly cool breeze stirred the air.

He tore down our lean-to, careful to leave everything as it had been when we first arrived, and we traveled overland until we reached the southern tip of the island. I waded away from shore until I was deep enough to dive under the waves, making sure to stay close to Jackson, and by the time we hauled ourselves out of the water on Nantucket Island, I was a nervous wreck. Visions of sharp fins and jagged rows of teeth had plagued me the whole way and I’d never been so glad to see dry land.

When we reached the island’s harbor, we ‘liberated’ a boat similar to the one Ty had used to maroon us on Monomoy and Jackson set a course for New Bedford. With a population of nearly one hundred thousand, it was close to Boston and would be big enough for us to hide in while we worked out our next move.

We reached the city just as the sky began to show the first signs of dawn and we crept into port at a low speed. We could have been from any one of the yachts moored just off shore at the Pope’s Island Marina, and as we pulled up at the wharf and climbed out there were few people around to pay us any mind. Jackson pulled a wicked, toothy knife that reminded me unpleasantly of Perris from his waterproof pack and bent down to puncture the rubber boat. He sliced gaping wounds in multiple places to ensure none of its air pockets would keep it afloat, then pushed it away from the dock. Unmoored and suffering mortal injury, it wasn’t long before the boat sank, weighed down by its engine. It would offer no clue as to our arrival.

“Let’s go.” Jackson stood and tugged a ball cap low to shadow his face.

I tugged my own cap down and tucked my braid into the collar of my shirt as we walked away. We passed a rack of brochures sheltered under the eaves of a touristy gift shack on the boardwalk and I grabbed one as we went by.
Discover New Bedford
, it shouted at me in bold print. Inside, it advertised that Herman Melville, author of Moby Dick, had called the city “the dearest place to live in, in all New England.” I looked for a street sign to orient myself in relation to the map printed on the back of the glossy pamphlet and saw we were on Union Street, heading into the center of New Bedford’s restaurants, shops and galleries.

The half dozen accommodations listed in the brochure ranged from a Mariott and a Day’s Inn to a few quaint B&Bs, one of which was named after old Melville himself. They sounded nice, but not the type of places where we could hole up unnoticed. Reading my mind, Jackson hailed the next cab that went by, a forerunner of the Friday morning rush that would be well under way before long.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked when we hopped inside. My stomach growled loudly, and I felt momentarily light-headed. I leaned against Jackson and kept my eyes downcast.

“We need a motel,” Jackson said. “Nothing too expensive. Away from the touristy spots.” He glanced down at me. “But take us through a drive-thru first. Whatever’s closest.”

I gave Jackson’s arm a quick squeeze of thanks as my stomach grumbled again, louder this time.

The driver gave us a knowing glance in the rearview mirror, no doubt thinking I was too embarrassed to meet his eyes. The late hour and our lack of luggage told him we weren’t planning to check in for long, and I imagined such requests were common in his line of work.

I concentrated on the driver’s hands and called up the sixth sense I’d used at Spyder’s. It would be just my luck to get into a cab with another homicidal maniac behind the wheel. But compared to the revelers I’d seen at the bar, the man had only an average amount of blood staining his hands. I would give him the benefit of the doubt. After taking us through the requested drive-thru, we pulled up to an anonymous little motel and Jackson paid in cash. While he went to the office to get a key, I plugged all the change we had into the vending machines outside and amassed an armful of snack food to go with the burgers and fries.

When Jackson returned and let me into our room, I was unsurprised to see that it looked like every other cheap motel room I’d ever been in. The bedspread was a shiny nylon-poly blend and I knew there would be a New Testament in the bedside table if I cared to look. I walked past Jackson and peeked into the bathroom. It was clean enough, though the tile was cracked and the grout was crumbling.

“You take the bed,” Jackson said when I returned to the main room, indicating the sagging double mattress. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“We just spent a whole day stranded on an island together and nothing happened,” I pointed out. “I think I can manage to control myself.” I was glad now I hadn’t let him say anything when Ty had left us on the island the night before. Clearly, he hadn’t had a change of heart after all.

“I’ll take the floor,” he insisted.

“Yeah, like that makes sense. We both need to be in the best shape possible to confront a serial killer with magic powers, and you want to spend the night tossing and turning on the floor.” I eyed the questionable green of the carpet. “Not to mention what you might catch from that thing.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

Finally, I threw up my hands. “Fine! Sleep on the damn floor if you want to. I’ll try to restrain myself from jumping you in the middle of the night. Sorry I asked you to give me a little credit for being able to resist your manly wiles.” I pulled off my ball cap and headed for the bathroom. Washing the salt and sweat out of my hair beat standing there arguing with Jackson over the stupid bed.

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson’s words stopped me as I reached the doorway to the bathroom, and I turned to look at him. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s me.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve wanted nothing to do with me since we first met. Sure, maybe I’ve got one or two redeeming qualities, but you’ve never allowed yourself to see me as anything more than some floozy at a bar. It might make it too hard to push me away if you did, right?”

He crossed the room and pulled me against him. “Does it feel like I’m pushing you away now?”

I lashed out at him, pushing him away. “So what? Your dick gets hard and I’m supposed to take it as a compliment?”

I could admit to myself that I loved him, but he was making it awfully hard to like him.

“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met.” He looked down into my eyes and his strong hands gripped my upper arms. “Look at what you’ve done these past couple of days. And you’ve never complained, just kept on going…Hell, you took a bullet to save a little girl’s life. I don’t think there’s anything you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.”

I didn’t know what to say. He pulled me close again, and then I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. Breathless, I looked up at him and he kissed me, claiming my mouth. I fisted one hand in his T-shirt, drawing him closer, and wrapped my other arm around his broad shoulders.
Oh God, yes.
I was reminded momentarily of our first kiss at the Stardust Motel, but pushed it out of my mind. That kiss had been nothing more than lust, an irresistible hormonal connection sparked by my evolving biology.

But this was something different. This time, the connection was real, forged by what we’d been through and survived together.

Jackson devoured me and I tilted my hips forward, aching to feel the hard ridge of his cock against me again. I was already aching for him when he palmed me.

“Bed. Now,” he said thickly.

I had a better idea. “Shower. Follow me.”

I pulled his head back down to meet my hungry mouth and pushed him into the bathroom. I broke contact just long enough to turn on the water, then jerked the shower curtain into place and stripped off my clothing in record time. I stepped under the spray and beckoned for Jackson to join me. He wasted no time in getting rid of his own clothing, and joined me in the cramped space. Somehow, I didn’t mind the lack of room.

He ran his palm over my hip and up my rib cage, re-tracing the path taken by the rivulets of water gliding over my naked skin. I gasped when his thumb found my nipple, and I arched into his touch. I reached for his hard cock and closed my hand around it, swirling my own thumb around the slick head. Jackson groaned as he nuzzled my neck, and I slid my hand over his erection, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm designed to torture him. He reached down to slide two fingers inside of me and found me wet and ready. He slid them in and out slowly, matching the pace I’d set, teasing me like I’d teased him, then pulled out to work my clit. I cried out as he found my most sensitive place, and a shock wave raced through my body, radiating out from my center.

“Tell me how you like it,” he growled as he spanked my pussy lightly. The slight sting of each blow increased my pleasure.

“Just like that,” I managed to gasp. I grabbed his hand and guided it back to my slit. He rubbed my opening gently.

“Like this?”

I moaned.

He rolled my clit between thumb and forefinger. “Or like this?” I held onto his shoulders as my knees buckled, digging in with my fingertips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Or maybe like this.” He knelt down and pulled me forward to taste me, swiping his tongue over the place his fingers had teased a moment before. I let my head fall back into the spray from the showerhead as my climax took me, and my knees would have buckled if Jackson hadn’t held me steady. When it was over, he rose to kiss me again, and I tasted myself on his lips as I breathed raggedly.

He guided my hand down, and he was still as hard as ever. I lifted one foot up to wrap my leg around him, opening myself for him, and I guided him forward. I held onto the curtain rod with one hand for balance and grabbed his hip with my other hand, urging him forward. He rubbed the head of his heavy shaft against me, nudging me in a way that sent fire racing up my spine. I hauled him forward and he slid into me fully as I looked into his eyes.