Alaskan Fury

by Sara King

  “So, basically,” Herr Drescher ventured, “left to their own devices, these demons established a hierarchy, with these things at the top.”

  “Sounds about right,” Imelda said. She finished wiping down her ears and neck, then moved to her hands.

  “Does Zenaida know this?”

  Imelda’s hand hesitated at mention of the woman’s name. Remembering the pendant Zenaida wore beside the cross, Imelda said, “Yes.”

  “And these Furies…they are the same angels from the Bible?”

  Of that, Imelda was not yet sure. “All I know for sure,” she said, wiping down the pads of her fingers, “Is that they are very, very dangerous.” When she was finished scrubbing herself, she tossed the cloth back into the Ziplock and replaced the kit. She would dispose of her clothes in the nearest Wal-Mart garbage bin.

  Clean, Imelda now had time to think. There were certain words that the angel had used that still left her with tingles of unease. The angel had called herself her lord’s ‘greatest’ and his ‘shining star’ and his ‘Blade of Morning.’ Looking out at the djinni, who still stood alone like an ebony statue amidst the white drifts, watching them, Imelda said, “Herr Drescher, isn’t Lucifer also called the Morning Star?

  Drescher’s face twisted. “He is.”

  Imelda considered. The angel had insisted that she had been ‘perfect’ and she had ‘carried her lord’s light’ and had been ‘tossed out’ into the company of serpents. And, if the wear on her pendant was any judge, it had been some time ago. “What is the literal translation for Lucifer?” she asked softly.

  “Light-bearer,” Herr Drescher said immediately. Turning to her, he said, “Is this another test, Inquisitorin?” He winked at her. “Because I passed my entry exams years ago.” Then he winced. “Well. My roommate passed, anyway…”

  Light-bearer. Morning Star. Lucifer.

  …a sad, wolf-bitten magus with an anger problem? Imelda dropped her head into her hands, forcing back another migraine as she felt the thousands of possibilities begin to mill in her head like a white static fog. “Herr Drescher, I need to see my Padre.” She also needed another dose of her medication, but she’d flushed it down the toilet.

  “Of course,” he said. Herr Drescher began raising the collective lever with a gloved fist. The helicopter’s rotors began slapping at the air with magic-muted whomphs that made it barely louder than a lawn-mower.

  Magic. The Order used it in everything, all in the name of killing those who had it. Feeling sick, Imelda watched the ground lift away, felt the helicopter tilt forward as they headed up over the mountains.

  Chapter 15: Unfulfilled Wishes

  ‘Aqrab followed his magus at a sullen pace as she trudged up the rock-studded south face of one of the last, larger clusters of mountains in between the Alaska Range and their destination, ignoring him completely. She was still avoiding him due to the tantalizing results of their last serious bargain, and the fact that the Inquisitor had somehow cleaned herself of all three of Kaashifah’s Marks had left his little wolf in an overall ill temper.

  What was worse, she had been stalwartly refusing any good bargains ever since he had curiously brushed his fingers across the sensitive spot at the nape of her neck and made her collapse, shuddering, into his arms.

  Stubborn, willful little beast. After uncovering such an…alluring…secret, ‘Aqrab was desperate to get her into another bargain with him. The vision of her tawny body stretching and straining beneath him once more was blotting out all other thought, an image that had been seared into the back of his mind, leaving him perpetually hard and achingly uncomfortable, despite multiple attempts to get himself back under control.

  A Fury. Writhing in pleasure. Perhaps the gods were not as cruel as he thought.

  “I could just ask for something simple,” ‘Aqrab said, into her stubborn silence. “You haven’t eaten a good meal in too long, mon Dhi’b.” Over the last weeks, she’d been unwilling to let him so much as touch her, so ‘Aqrab had likewise refused to produce more than a tiny snack to tide her over, waiting for her to realize she was being ridiculous. It was, in ‘Aqrab’s opinion, taking much too long.

  “And I don’t need to, either,” she replied mulishly. But her gaunt form belied the truth of the matter. While her Fury did not need food, the Third Lander she carried had been devouring her, from the inside out.

  “Please mon Dhi’b,” ‘Aqrab sighed. “Don’t be stubborn about this. You are wasting away.”

  Rounding on him suddenly, her brown eyes livid, his magus growled, “If you’re so worried about it, djinni, put action to your words and grant me the boon of some real food.”

  ‘Aqrab’s hesitation was all she needed to turn infuriatingly on heel and continue to plow through the neck-deep crusted snow like a fool. “A djinni doesn’t grant boons, mon Dhi’b,” he growled at her floundering back. Especially when one had been robbed of his nightly entertainment for weeks in a row.

  She laughed, without looking back at him.

  “Oh, by your Lord’s sweaty balls!” ‘Aqrab cried. “At this point, I’ll trade a massage, mon Dhi’b. Stop being stubborn.”

  Over her shoulder, she sneered, “I saw the look you gave me, ‘Aqrab. You’re not going to be happy with a massage. The only reason you offer one is to put me back under your spell.” She gave him a sarcastic look. “After all. You wished for me. That makes me yours, doesn’t it?”

  ‘Aqrab slapped his face into his hand. “You are being unreasonable,” he said through his fingers.

  She stopped to glare at him. “But that is the way you see it, isn’t it?”

  “You are mine, yes,” the djinni growled. “But—”

  She interrupted him with a laugh and kept trudging up the slope.

  “But not even a wish can make someone love another,” he growled. “It cannot change emotions, mon Dhi’b.” Coming abreast of her, he looked down at her tiny form and said, “So while you are bound to me, I still have to woo you.”

  She laughed again. “We’ll see how ‘bound’ to you I am when I wish you to a dragon.”

  ‘Aqrab felt his knuckles tightening into fists. “Mon Dhi’b,” he growled. “I’ve done nothing to deserve that.”

  “Except give me three thousand years of Hell.” She was aiming towards what looked like a cleft in the rocks, high above. A cave, by the looks of it.

  “You can not tell me that the last three months were Hell,” ‘Aqrab retorted. “Tell me, truthfully, they were Hell and I will retreat to the firelands and not bother you again.”

  “They were Hell.”

  His breath caught in startled dismay. Then he narrowed his eyes at her, realizing her shoulders were much too tense, her back much too straight. “You enjoyed our bargains. You’re lying through your teeth.”

  She said nothing, and kept climbing.

  “What are you afraid of, mon Dhi’b?” he cried, out of desperation. “You act as if this is some great conspiracy on my part.”

  “And it isn’t?” she demanded, still floundering through the snow like a swimming camel. “You aren’t trying to bargain your way into my bed?”

  ‘Aqrab winced. “All I want is for us to see eye-to-eye,” he said.

  She laughed. “Not going to happen, djinni. I finally came to realize I’ve been eating of the forbidden fruit. I need to wean myself of the poison before I become addicted to it.”

  “You are starving yourself,” ‘Aqrab snapped. “That is foolhardy, considering what pursues us. You saw her. She’s a thinker, mon Dhi’b. Like a spider building its web. She’s going to weave us into a trap.”

  “Thunderbird said nothing’s tried to follow us after I sacked the helicopter,” she said blithely. “You saw it. She’s afraid of us.”

  “She dropped herself into our path wearing explosives, mon Dhi’b.”

  “She also said she stopped hunting us.”

  “Probably because they’re plotting a trap,” ‘Aqrab growled. “That’s what I would do, if I h
ad listened to you rant about bathing in my blood and my family’s blood and then casting our corpses into a sewer. While it was highly distracting, I’m sure, you gave her every reason to renew her attempts to kill us, mon Dhi’b.”

  She had nothing to say to that. Finally. He’d said something she understood. Leave it to a Fury to only understand death and strategy. Faced with the magus’s obstinance, however, ‘Aqrab was willing to latch onto any advantage he could.

  He gestured at her bony body, even then being consumed by the Third Lander in her veins. “Every hour you go without food, it weakens you more. You’re already bare bones. What are you going to do, a day from now, when they pop out of the snow ahead of us? When they shoot you full of silver? Or when you can’t walk the Void when they seek us out with in-for-red? You’re not only risking our lives, mon Dhi’b, but those of the phoenix and her mate.”

  His magus slowed to a halt on the slope above him. Reluctantly, she turned back to face him, glaring at him in silence.

  ‘Aqrab’s heart began to pound, sensing the possibility of a bargain.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was strained, ‘Aqrab saw for the first time the extent of the burden that the lack of food had had on her. Her brown eyes were tired and anxious, having little of the ancient depth he was accustomed to. Her features were gaunt and lean, and she’d actually taken on the same skeletal look as the Inquisitor who had come to visit them two weeks ago.

  He also knew, however, that he was only going to get one chance, and if she found his offer unreasonable, it was the last bargain she would ever hear from him. In a rushed mental scramble, he wracked his mind for something innocuous, yet something that would satisfy his yearning for companionship.

  After a moment of consideration, he folded his arms over his chest and said, “Tickle me until I beg for mercy.”

  He watched as the Fury’s face cleared with surprise. Obviously having expected something much worse, she cocked her head at him, as if she had not heard correctly. “Tickle you.”

  He shrugged. “We’ve already established that I’m cursed with a djinni’s need for physical touch.” He allowed himself to grin slowly. “The question is whether or not, in your weakened state, you would be able to get me to beg for mercy.”

  She continued to watch him with the mistrust of a wild raptor. “Just tickle you.”

  “Tickle me until I beg for mercy,” he agreed. “That’s all I ask.”

  Glaring at him, she hesitated, then, haltingly, said, “I am…weaker…than I was. I might…lose.”

  ‘Aqrab caught himself before he sucked in a startled breath between his teeth. If she was already that far gone, she was probably having trouble standing. And, no sooner did he have the thought than he realized that her knees were trembling, her bony fingers balled into fists.

  Trying his best not to show his concern, lest his compassion give her reason to change her pig-headed mind, ‘Aqrab nonchalantly said, “If it would improve your performance, I could be convinced to produce a small meal beforehand, to give you the strength to properly do the job, mon Dhi’b.”

  He saw her hesitate, saw the desire in her eyes, obscured by a wall of wariness and shame. She glanced down, unfisted a hand, and stared at her shaking fingers for a long moment. Several moments passed, the only sounds that of the wind whipping across the white dunes of snow around them. It seemed like it took an eternity for her to say, “Let me hear the bargain. Then I will decide.”

  In a rush of excitement, ‘Aqrab pulled the full force of the Fourthlander Law into himself and felt his world start to spin and take on a violet hue as he boomed out his conditions, bound in Law. “I, Yad al-‘Aqrab, sand-singer of the Scorpion clan, firstborn son of Bakr al-Shihab, eleventh djinni Lord of the Fourth Lands, hereby offer a bargain to you, Kaashifah the Fury, Handmaiden to Ares, Warrior-Priestess of Horus, Angel of Vengeance, and Justice of the Battlefields: Using the power of the Fourth Lands, I will create a snack to sustain you, after which, you will tickle me until I beg for mercy, and, if you succeed in making me beg, I will deliver unto you a meal fit for a king. Do you accept?”

  Her eyes sharpened. “A snack?”

  “Something to hold you over,” ‘Aqrab said, as indifferently as he could. “I’ll derive more pleasure from the act if you are not being distracted by the Third Lander.” The last thing he wanted was for her to get it in her head that he was taking pity on her. He’d learned long ago that there was no surer way to earn her complete, irrational lack of cooperation than to bring her pride into play.

  His magus took a deep breath and let it out through her teeth. She turned and looked out over the white, windswept mountainside and considered in the long silence that followed. “All right, you damned word-weaving snake,” she finally said, “I accept.”

  ‘Aqrab’s breath left him in a whoosh with the dual impact of the two bargains at once. “You have reset your seven days—as agreed, so decreed, the bargain has been made.” He doubled over into the snow, giggling at the sky as he surfed the dizzying, exhilarating rush of Fourthlander power as it washed through him.

  The magus watched him giggle into the snow for a long moment, then with a slow, tentative grin, she shook her head and said, “Djinn.” She turned and continued her way up the mountain. ‘Aqrab found her later by following her tracks into the crevice for which she’d been aiming. It was, indeed, a cave, he realized. And a large one. Its tiny opening completely belied the vast, warm interior, leaving his magus without the need to expend her energy on their nightly sanctuary.

  Which, he realized, watching her slump to a seated position against one wall, was probably a good thing, at this point. She had obviously exhausted her resources.

  “All right,” she said, gesturing tiredly at the floor in front of her. “Do whatever you need to do.” It was that bone-deep weariness, the defeat visible in every line of her face, that pulled on ‘Aqrab’s heartstrings enough to make him take pity on her.

  The meal that ‘Aqrab made her was technically larger than a ‘snack,’ but he had never specified a snack for whom, so he simply gave her enough food to temporarily satisfy a rather large dragon. Considering the sheer amount of food he put in front of her, he actually didn’t think she would hold up her end of the bargain, because it was certainly enough to satisfy, at least for a couple days.

  Thus, when he wandered over to an abandoned corner of the cave and lay down to face the wall and contemplate just how un-djinni-like the magus was beginning to make him, he was surprised to hear the sound of soft booted feet approaching on the stone behind him, a few minutes later. He rolled over to peer up at her. “Yes?”

  “That was a lot of food for a ‘snack,’” the magus muttered. She was wiping grease from her mouth with the back of her hand. Her brown eyes were filled with distrust…and grudging gratitude?

  ‘Aqrab shrugged. “You were hungry.” He rolled back to face the wall. The last time he’d gotten into the habit of granting boons with his bargains, the woman had filled his bed with the musk of another man. It was disturbing, at the very least. He was supposed to tame her. Not the other way around.

  He stiffened when he felt the magus kneel behind him, her knees brushing his back as they touched the floor. “You ready for this, djinni?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, puzzled. “You don’t need any more food.”

  And his heart skipped a beat when he saw her smile. “No. But it will be fun to make you beg.” And then she pounced, like a lion upon an elephant.

  ‘Aqrab screamed and flailed when the first thing she went for was his sides. Damn the woman for using her strength against him. He tried to roll away from the wall, to get better purchase, but her heavy body blocked his path, pinning him in place against the stone as inescapably as a mountain. Gasping, he thrashed underneath her, then breathlessly managed to scoot away on his back, out of range of her hands, using his longer arms to keep her at bay.

  Which was, he discovered, a mistake. As soon as he gave her ea
sy access to his arms, her vicelike grip tightened on his wrists and lifted them out of the way, giving her full access to his stomach.

  “Nooo,” ‘Aqrab cried, when she simply sat on him, pushed his torso to the ground, and held his arms out of the way, exposing his ribs and armpits. He twisted in vain, trying to free himself, but she was using the wolf, her eyes glowing a soft yellow, the very slightest hint of ebony fur slipping from her skin as she held him there, pinned. Though she had lost weight during her weeks of obstinance, she still had to weigh at least three hundred pounds, over two-thirds of which was wolf, and all of which was pressed solidly into his abdomen as she reclined forward over him, a leg on either side, keeping him from rolling away from her.

  “So,” she asked, as she traced her fingers under the muscle of his chest, down the side of his torso, “are you going to beg?” She grinned down at him, her face filled with predatory glee as he squirmed.

  “You’ll have…” he panted, writhing under her as she tickled, feather-light, his lower ribs, “to do better than that.”

  The Fury raised an ebony brow. “Oh?” She dragged her tiny fingers upwards, towards his underarms.

  ‘Aqrab, unable to withstand what he knew was to come, twisted to the half-realm.

  Kaashifah thudded through him to the floor where he had been with a startled grunt. At the same time, ‘Aqrab lunged to his feet, twisted back into the First Realm, and threw himself atop her.

  “Not fair!” she screamed, as his weight slapped her bodily to the floor. Though he knew his advantage wouldn’t last long, he started tickling her from above.

  To his surprise, she laughed—laughed—and rolled out from under him. Before she could press her advantage, ‘Aqrab quickly scrambled away from the wall.

  Panting, eyes bright with excitement, his magus grinned at him from a crouched position. “I think I’ll go for your feet…” She brushed her disarrayed black locks out of her eyes and leapt at him again.

  There was something…unnerving…in having a woman the size of a malnourished child pin him down with all the effortless ease of a void-titan, despite his best efforts to squirm free. ‘Aqrab had to cheat to keep her from getting him to beg.