Running on Empty (Journeyman Book 6)

by Golden Czermak

  “Exactly,” said Adrienne quietly, barely nodding. She picked up her spoon but then let it drop back against the bowl with a clang.

  “That’s not to say he didn’t truly love us,” Joey said, tapping her hand gingerly.

  “Oh, I know that he did, and we still love him,” she replied. “There’s no doubt about it.”

  They talked more and though her soup had undoubtedly gotten cold, they continued at length about all sorts of things. Joey eventually got around to telling her about Ty’s meeting at headquarters and how the department heads were starting to implode. Adrienne wasn’t surprised to learn several of them were still trying to lead a hate campaign against the team and even the Council itself, though now she knew why her own meeting had been cancelled.

  Back on the dark deck, Ady finished reflecting on the day, shaking her head as she emptied her mug. Starting to feel the effects of the tea, she decided that it was time to go to bed. Stopping for a refill along the way, she reached her room about ten minutes later. There, she welcomed another set of hours inside, this time in bed with closed eyes and her head sunk deep in her pillow.

  A FEW HOURS LATER Adrienne started to become restless, wishing Xanax was mixed in with her chamomile. Tossing and turning, she finally reached over to grab another pillow. What she wrapped her arms and legs around happened to be much larger, harder, and invitingly warm. She snuggled against it, taking in a long draw of a familiar scent.

  “Do ya know where everyone is?”

  “J’s probably in bed…” she mumbled sleepily, “…Ty with Henry at HQ…”

  Such a wonderful dream, she thought, slowly opening her eyes. She smacked her lips, finding her mouth dry. Could use some water…

  The back of a man’s head faded into view, his mop of thick, black hair wild on the top of his head.

  Her eyes widened at the realization there was someone else in her bed, and she started breathing hard, and her heart was beating like she had run a marathon. Sitting up cautiously, she leaned over, one hand on her pillow, the other trembling as she brushed long strands of hair out of the intruder’s face.

  “G-Gage?” she whispered, looking down at him. The man sure looked like Gage, but there was something strange about him; different. “No… no, this can’t be.”

  He snorted and snored, causing her to jerk back. He shifted her way still snoozing, bringing one of his muscular arms out from under the covers; there wasn’t a trace of ink on it. Briefly glancing back at his face, the dashing scar left by the primal vampire back in Houston was also gone.

  What the fuck? she thought, heart leaping from her chest right into the back of her throat.

  Deftly she slid out of bed, Gage none the wiser. Crouching, she reached into a bag stowed beside the bed and pulled out a warded dagger, along with a small vial of holy water. The blade was sharp, reflecting the dim light from the window. She raised it defensively, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and yelled.

  “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”

  Gage awoke from the shouting, leaping instinctively out of bed, machete ready in hand. He stumbled, turning around in all of his naked glory.

  Adrienne glared at him with an awkward mix of shock, amazement, and alarm. Part of her wanted to rush him, hugging him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. The other part wanted to rush him too, making sure he couldn’t breathe by means of her dagger in his chest. Unreasonably, the former part was winning.

  The man standing in front of her was Gage in every aspect – looks, stature, attitude, and more – except he looked younger, without a trace of injury or ink on his skin.

  “Whoa there, darlin’,” he mumbled, seeing the fierceness in Adrienne’s eyes. He raised his arms submissively to each side, but holding firm onto his blade. “I know this is a shitload of what the fuck, and I'm a confused as hell myself. But take it easy and don't go all vampire slayer on me yet. I –”

  A splash of holy water hit his face, getting up his nose, followed by another that filled his mouth. He spat it out, staring at Adrienne blankly as what was left dribbled to the floor. He was irate, but definitely not a demon.

  “Refreshing…” he moaned.

  “Gage? W-what the hell is going on?” Adrienne asked, still in disbelief. Her dagger started to shake.

  “Death sent me back,” Gage said, looking down his abs.

  “So, you actually died?” she asked somberly, as if her worst fears had been realized. “I thought that Dajjal had only taken you, like Joey, and that we could rescue…”

  “Yeah, no. He made mincemeat outta me pretty much right off the bat. Live and learn I guess. But it looks like Death was able to resurrect a pure body for me.” He traced a vein running across his stomach with one of his thick fingers. “Thank God I was lean at the time.”

  “Ok, you can't be Gage Crosse,” Adrienne said, rolling her eyes while lowering the dagger, but only slightly. “The Gage I knew was far from pure.”

  “Gee, thanks, I guess,” he replied with a smile, but quickly replaced it with a wince as Adrienne pinched herself on the forearm. “Um, Ady, this ain't a dream…”

  She didn't hear him, rushing toward him like a freight train. He took a few steps back as she reached out, grabbed hold of his nipple, and tweaked it hard.

  “Goddammit, Ady!” Gage shouted, rubbing at the soreness. “That hurt like a mother… It's me, okay? Jesus!”

  Gage's words didn't seem to slow her inspection one bit, hands rubbing on every square inch now that she was close.

  “I just have to make sure…” Ady said as he pushed him around to examine the back of him.

  “I bet you do,” he said cockily, flaring his lats like wings. The view was impressive.

  She stopped at the base of his neck, slowly massaging the space between his shoulder blades.

  “G, it's not there anymore,” Ady pointed out, saddened. “Your motto.”

  “Non Omnis Moriar,” Gage said subtly. “Guess I used up the last of my free lives.”

  Adrienne pressed the side of her face against his upper back.

  “Don't you ever leave me again…” she pleaded, her hands working to convince him as they followed the deep lines of his muscular back to the top of his ass. “I can’t go on without you…”

  Gage smirked, turning around slowly, and it became evident that it wasn't just his face showing how much he loved her. All of him was smiling.

  “I don't plan to, gorgeous,” he growled, tossing the machete into a chair by the wall, “ever again.”

  Adrienne bit her lower lip, clutching him at the base of his shaft. It was always too wide to fully close her hand, but that didn’t stop her giving it a slow and lengthy stroke, teasing out an ample amount of precum. Using it to glide her fingers around his head, probing waves of pleasure coaxed groans from deep inside him.

  Ever growing, Gage leaned forward, touching his lips to hers, tongues joining as their desires rose. He steered her back until they met the mattress, nudging her into the waiting softness. She was eager as he worked his large hands tenderly across her thighs, spreading them apart. He pulled her closer, standing, unyielding.

  “New body,” he said deeply, slapping his length twice against her stomach, “new fun. Time to see if monsters can still make you scream.”

  She panted, clenching firmly at the thought. His massive frame shifted into position, hands sliding up her legs until they grabbed hold of her ankles. Leaning back with shoulders huge, back wide, and abs like marble in the night light, he thrust his hips forward, hard as ever. Her wet skin invited him in, wrapping around each velvety inch, and her eyes rolled back as he pressed on.

  They both moaned as if it were their first time and he pulled those many inches back, only to drive forward again, then again, and again until a rhythm built. The way his skin pounded against hers made their hearts beat faster and hotter. Her eyes traced their way up his veiny abs, which tightened with each shove, crossing his inkless chest with all of its corded beauty on display. Yet it was when
their eyes met at the end of a lengthy stroke that Ady lost all control at the sight of those emerald pools, shuddering with delight.

  “Still no scream, darlin’?” Gage asked, huffing and sweating, pounding even harder at the end of his question.

  Ady lifted her arms, accepting him in balls deep and she let out a prolonged moan, telling him he still had work to do.

  He gladly accepted the challenge, releasing her legs and bringing his mountain of muscles down on top of her. Still inside, he rocked back and forth as he kissed her again, tasting the freshness of spearmint. Their twisted bodies mingled in a sensual dance, her arms wrapping around what they could of his back, her legs around his waist. On he went, working his broad strokes in her narrow passage; faster and faster until they were both again at fever pitch.

  Gage lost control, roaring as he climaxed.

  “Oh God!” Adrienne screamed, his last stroke sliding right to home, sending a fire exploding through her body. Her toes curled and she shook, her nails digging in to leave the first scratches on his fresh skin.

  That seemed to recharge Gage, who continued to churn until he worked himself up into a final frenzy, bursting with satisfaction when he got off for the second time.

  “God damn,” he said, pulling himself out. “Ya got me good.”

  Rolling off to the side, he buried his face in the sheets and she stared joyfully at the ceiling. As they lay there together, panting in sweaty piles of bliss, Adrienne still twitched in her core with agonizing pleasure. It was evident from all they had been through that the two of them –even managing to return from death itself – were eternally bound to one another, their very souls entwined. They didn't know how or for what purpose, just that it felt right.

  “Darlin’,” Gage mumbled. “I just got the craziest idea.”

  Adrienne muttered something indecipherable. She giggled that she was having such a hard time forming the words, trying again.

  “D-damn you, Gage Crosse,” she managed to say softly, yet still unable to move. “I bet I know exactly what this crazy thing you have planned is, and to that I say: it’s about damn time.”

  Gage would have replied about how much he agreed, and that they could take care of it in the morning – after everyone got over the shock of seeing him walking around on the ship. But instead, he was already fast asleep, his snores the only thing keeping Adrienne from sinking into more overbearing silence.

  She smiled, glancing toward him, not minding one damn bit.

  MORALE WAS AT last on the rise, like the morning sun outside the muddy windows, having spent far too much time skirting rock bottom.

  “Perhaps those idiots in maintenance will actually listen to my requests now and wash the bloody windows,” Henry mumbled in reference to his new position over not just one, but all the labs, having taken over Davidson’s role after the old department head unexpectedly resigned the previous morning.

  Each passing speck and smudge drove his OCD into irrational territory, so he buried his face in the documents he was carrying to avoid having to look at the grime. However, it also meant he wasn’t watching where he was going, nearly colliding with two incoming workers as his feet swept him out of the labs toward the elevators.

  “Pardon me!” he apologized, tapping the call button several times. “Busy day!”

  The issues at headquarters caused by the divide between the Council and Departments seemed to be on the mend, most of Robinson’s already paper thin support giving way to reason or, like in Davidson’s case, early retirement. It had all gratefully come crashing down after Robinson’s diatribe at Ty's inquisition, something that should never have escalated to that level in the first place. The tumult shone an irrefutable light on the situation, highlighting how foolish it was for them to be fighting amongst themselves, especially since the enemy was so close to victory. That wasn't to say Robinson and Sullivan weren't still trying to cause ripples for their own personal gain and interests, but those attempts were a far cry from the waves they had managed to generate before.

  The elevator dinged and slid open. Henry jumped in the empty carriage, directing it toward the entrance hall. After a lift change and another few minutes, he was standing outside the entrance to the Council chamber. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the doors.

  “Come,” said a muted voice from inside, and Henry pushed the door open with his polished automaton.

  Three of the seven members were present, looking up as the door creaked to see who had entered. By the looks on their faces, Henry’s arrival must have been unexpected. He felt all eyes on him and even though he knew everyone – having been in the chamber many times before, including his first day at headquarters – he found himself concerned, even distraught.

  “Ah, Mr. Abington,” Drogir growled from his seat at the conference table, “what brings you here this morning? Something of importance?”

  Timothy Randall was seated beside the gargoyle, giving Henry a welcoming grin to lessen some of the tension noticeably stretched across his face. He could tell Henry was hoping more of them – if not all – would be there to receive whatever information he was bringing.

  “Apologies for the lack of attendance this morning,” said Tim. “Evans was not feeling well – bit of bad blood so to speak – so down in the hospital wing with Dr. Ross. Tyrol and Quileth are off dealing with another one of Robinson’s… great irritations. As for Jane, she is taking a well-deserved respite this morning, but should be here by noon if she is whom you need to see. Oh, and by the way, congratulations on your new position as Department Head, Henry. It couldn't have gone to a more deserving fellow.”

  Henry responded with an erratic nod, simply managing to say, “Thank you, Tim.”

  Allete Popov was seated further down the table, close to the end. Her creamy dress sparkled faintly in the growing light.

  “You look disturbed, Henry,” she observed, the brightness in her face unable to challenge the surliness of his. “Please, tell us what information you have.”

  “I…” he began, “I believe that have actually found Dajjal’s location. The carnage is… indescribable.”

  Timothy’s bushy eyebrows crinkled as his steely gaze fell to the tabletop. Allete pressed her back into the chair while her fingers tapped against her soft lips. Drogir was, as usual, enraged.

  “Where is that filth?” the gargoyle rumbled, rising from his seat. His stony wings juddered with anger, a once slow burning fuse all but gone these days. Henry felt that at any moment, great boulders would be hurled his way straight out of Drogir’s eyes.

  “By all accounts, he is in Austria,” Henry replied at once, a chair rising out of the carpet, covered with its pattern. Henry took a seat. “Villach to be exact. From there we expect Dajjal to head in a southeast direction toward…”

  “Bulgaria, and from there on to Megiddo,” Allete stated. She cast a glance Timothy’s way with an aching ripple in her heart. Dajjal’s forces would be going directly through her country… her home.

  “Precisely,” Henry said regrettably, looking back at Drogir. “We’ve verified his presence in triplicate, beyond the obvious bloodshed. Proximity wards have been triggered, demon signs are off the charts, and our most irrefutable method of detection is back in use: the Compass.”

  “It works once again?” Drogir asked, a hint of glee showing.

  “Yes,” Henry confirmed, “lucky for us it seems Dajjal has grown quite cocky. He no longer has a need to hide himself behind illusion barriers or other protective spells, and whatever powerful enchantment he managed to set up that blocked the Compass is now down. It is once again able to lock onto the Solomon Six in his possession without trouble…”

  “That's excellent news for us,” Timothy said, noticing that Henry had paused. He was looking up at the ceiling. “What more is there?”

  “The Compass…” Henry resumed, shifting in the surprisingly comfortable chair. “Ah, they've adjusted the spell; about time. Oh right, the Compass. It's certainly locking onto
the items Dajjal has in Europe, but apparently, he doesn't have them all.”

  Timothy was confused, scratching at his gray hairs. His forehead was creased far more than usual.

  “But the reports we received indicated that Gage was…”

  “Captured, yes,” Henry interjected, surprisingly excited by the statement, “and we assumed Dajjal had collected all six artifacts from him. He already had the Crown and Gage went in with the rest. It would seem that’s not the case; one of the Solomon Six showed up here in New York.”

  The three councilors looked at him in shock, as if Henry had told them he had a leprechaun fetish.

  “One is here in New York? Did the Odyssey crew just fail to report it?” Drogir questioned, his voice stern but not irate.

  “They've been through quite a lot in recent days, no doubt about that,” Henry replied. “But the New York signal appeared earlier today. Indeed it appears to be on the ship – the trace line crosses 252 Front Street.”

  “We’ll send word to the Odyssey and have them look around,” said Timothy. “If it’s there they’ll find it and let us know what we have back in the toolkit. In the interim, back to the subject of Dajjal. Are we planning to let him continue his rampage across Europe before we engage him? I know that Jane is wanting to focus on recovery and aid, but surely blood spilled is on our hands as we stand around and let him?”

  “I agree,” Drogir growled.

  “You forget,” Allete interrupted, “Dajjal has the Ring of Dispel. No magical attacks are going to work against him – making the Omega weapons on the airships useless. We really do not have the time to search for fundamental spells that could pierce that shield. Our efforts should be focused on the final battle and how to counter his forces.”