Earth, Sun, and Moon Saga Ch. 08

"Yeah, and what is?"

"It should be, 'How does a god walk in the body of someone dead?'"

"Yeah, I think I know the answer to that one. Undeath for life? Got it."

The fat tour guide looked at them, clearly confused. "Do you two know each other?"

"Anthony here touched me inappropriately when I was younger," Lenore said. "And like a true creep, he keeps showing up when I least expect it."

The tour guide's eyes widened looking from her to his colleague and then back to her.

"I-I guess I don't understand," he sputtered.

Anthony turned to his colleague. "Run along now, Francis. Clearly, this woman is unhinged. I'll escort her out."

"The hell you will," Lenore said. She was still keeping her voice low.

Francis backed away, looking confused and somewhat horrified at their interaction.

Anthony leaned toward Lenore, his words coming as a low growl. "Thank you for finding me. You saved me the trouble of tracking you down. We have unfinished business, you and I."

"I didn't get to say this the first time we met but get fucked."

"I thought you'd be disagreeable." Anthony looked around the exhibit. No one was paying them much mind. Lenore couldn't see James. "Come with me before you make a scene. I'll kill everyone in here to get what I need."

Lenore stiffened. "Go ahead. I don't care about them."

His grin widened again. "Yes, you do. You're a monster pretending you still have a soul. I watched you and your coven for a long time before striking. They were blood-thirsty fiends but you . . . well, you left your prey alive more often than not. You think you're not damned."

Lenore shook her head, barely able to contain the fear in her voice. "Why me? Why does it have to be me?"

Anthony chuckled. "That's right. Cower. You have no idea the lengths I've had to go through, the time I have waited, to be this close to completing my destiny. We will not be denied this time."

"We?"

"Come willingly or—"

James bumped into him from behind.

"Oh, sorry about that, dude," he said. "It's so dark in here, you know?"

Anthony, though interrupted, barely glanced in James' direction. "Quite alright, sir," he said, straightening up. His mask of politeness coming back automatically.

"I just had a question," James said.

"My colleagues will be more than happy to direct your inquiry."

James continued as if he didn't hear him, "Would silver weapons work on mummies? Are they like werewolves that way?"

Anthony rolled his eyes, momentarily turning away from Lenore. "That's an absurd question. They're merely well-preserved corpses, not werewolves."

"What about gods? Like that Anubis one? He's kind of like a werewolf."

Anthony looked at James with disgust. "They're nothing alike."

"I mean, they're both dog men. Right? They're sort of similar."

Anthony couldn't help but sneer at James. "Fascinating line of inquiry. Maybe Google it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am with another patron." Anthony turned back to Lenore, slipping one hand on her arm almost gently, but the menace was clear. "Now, where were we—"

"Just one more thing . . ."

Bearing his teeth, Anthony turned, "What—"

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Anthony was thrown backward, bright wounds blossoming across his chest as he fell.

Lenore turned.

James stood, hands curled around the pistol, still looking down the barrel.

A woman screamed. People started running.

When Anthony hit the ground, James reholstered his pistol and grabbed her hand.

"This field trip is over," he said.

***

The last time James killed a man, it had been approximately ten seconds after repelling from a helicopter to rescue a team of Navy SEALs whose mission had gone ass-over-teakettle. Half of their team was shot up but, thankfully, no one was dead. They'd been pursued to the extraction point where James and his fellow PJs were waiting to grab them. Ten seconds in and James was returning fire into a nearby building in a shithole part of that shithole country named Syria.

He hadn't even seen the face of the man he killed. He was just a muzzle flash in an open window that James lit up until the flashing stopped.

It'd been over two years since he'd shot at another person. And over three since he'd had a confirmed kill. He hadn't planned on shooting the vulpine-faced tour guide but it was clear he couldn't be separated from Lenore, even as James antagonized him. He didn't think normal rules of engagement applied to bronze-age gods.

He pulled Lenore through the exhibit toward the emergency exit.

"That dude was Anubis, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Lenore replied.

"Whew. I feel so much better. Glad I didn't just kill some rando."

There was a roar behind them, so loud it shook the walls. It did not sound human.

"So much for silver bullets."

"Hey," Lenore said. "Hang on to me. No offense but we need to move faster."

James didn't hesitate and threw his arms around her shoulders like a cape, clasping his hands together.

Then she ran.

For James, it felt like going from zero to sixty in about a quarter of a second. One instant they were at the entrance to the back stairwell, and the next they were outside at the rear of the building. She wasn't the Flash, but she was still fast as hell.

He barely registered the bright sunlight, however, before she collapsed under him.

"Ow. Fuck!" she cried out, spilling him on the sidewalk. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Lenore had lost her hat and sunglasses in their brief escape and was trying to pull the collar of her jacket over her head.

It had been overcast just an hour before but now there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

James rushed to Lenore and threw his own plaid jacket over her. He only caught a glimpse but her skin was sizzling.

"I got you. Can you stand?"

"Yeah," Lenore said. "That just took me by surprise. I'm fine. I'm fine. Fuck!"

He got her standing just as a police cruiser slid next to them in a rubber-tearing stop. Two officers leaped out, guns drawn, and immediately pointed them at James.

"Down on the ground!" The first officer yelled. He was a big guy, with tattooed arms, and a shaved head that screamed ex-military.

James complied, putting his hands up but pointing to the door behind him, "He's in there! He just started shooting people!"

The two officers traded looks but kept their guns trained on James.

The other officer, older and perhaps wiser, shook his head at his partner, the silent communication saying, 'This ain't our guy.'

"Are you injured?" The older officer asked, finally pointing his gun away.

James patted his own chest. "I don't think so. My girlfriend is having a panic attack though." He motioned to Lenore under his jacket. It was clear the cops didn't have a description of the gunman yet, but that would change quickly.

"Aw, are we going steady now?" Lenore whispered from under his jacket.

"Okay," the older cop said, "You two get to safety, we'll—"

There was a crash behind them from the same emergency exit they'd come through. James didn't have to turn to see who it was.

"What the fuck is that?" the younger cop screamed.

Anubis stood in the doorway.

In his true form he was over eight feet tall, with the long, lean musculature of an Olympic swimmer. The true horror, one that James had trouble processing even though he knew it was real, was the seamless transition between his human body and his jackal head. His ears were pointed back in the universal sign of canine aggression.

The sight of his otherworldly body, in broad daylight nonetheless, made James break out in gooseflesh. It was a primitive, base reaction.

The two officers opened fire.

Like James, they both carried Glocks and, also like him, they were excellent shots.

Anubis was showered with bullets, they even seemed to pierce his flesh, but he was unbothered by them. They might as well have been shooting pellets at him.

James turned to Lenore. "He's after you so get out of here. I'll try to hold him off."

He expected her to protest. He expected her to try to drag him away. But she simply nodded and kissed his cheek.

She made a quick sidestep and then was gone.

Anubis charged the officers as they stood between him and his quarry. He reached the younger officer first, grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him violently onto the hood of the cruiser. He didn't let go and, instead, tossed the cop aside where he hit the trunk of a nearby tree.

The older cop, his experience under stress showing, was reloading while calmly talking into his mic for backup.

"It's some sort of animal—"

Anubis batted him aside with a swipe of his long arm. The older cop went flying like he'd been launched out of a slingshot, hitting a parked car before collapsing.

James drew his pistol.

He had thirteen rounds left in this magazine. But they were all silver-coated.

Anubis stopped and regarded him, sniffing the air. "Step aside, mortal."

"Nah."

James opened fire.

During his military career, James Faraday had logged thousands of hours of training with a variety of firearms. Pararescuemen were considered the Special Operation soldiers of the Air Force and were tasked with the most dangerous combat rescue and recovery missions the United States military had to offer. The pistol was simply an extension of his hands, a tool so familiar that using it was no more novel than using a fork.

The first two rounds hit Anubis square in the chest, where his heart ought to be. The third hit him in the head.

Anubis' muzzle snapped back, his whole body fighting to stay standing.

The silver bullets were at least hurting him worse than normal lead.

James kept firing.

He stayed crouched, stepping forward with every three rounds.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Anubis was thrown back against the cop car.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Bleeding wounds turned his bronze skin into a shirt of red. Anubis roared in pain.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

He slumped to his knees, his backward-bent canine legs splaying outward.

Crack! Click.

The slide shot back, and James had already ejected the magazine, his offhand pulling the second one from his belt. He slammed it home and released the slide.

But he held his fire.

He fought the urge to unload the entirety of the next magazine because, if he did so, he'd be out of ammo.

Anubis was a bloody, unmoving mess. Every bullet had hit its mark and he was covered in small holes. His snout was contorted in a snarl and his eyes were rolled listlessly in their sockets.

"What . . . are . . . you?" the god asked him, his eyes looking surprisingly human despite the jackal head. Blood oozed from his jaws.

"I'm nobody."

Plink.

The sound of a small piece of metal hitting the ground made James' blood run cold.

Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink.

James backed up.

The silver bullets were falling out of Anubis' flesh. He watched the wounds close as the metal was rejected, falling harmlessly to the pavement.

Time to fucking leave.

The screeching of tires turned him away from the ghastly sight. He expected another police car and was already trying to find the words that might explain just what the fuck was going on.

Lenore leaned out of the truck. "Need a ride, cowboy?"

***

Lenore was hurt and trying not to show it.

Daywalking was a hard-won skill that required a tremendous amount of energy in the best of circumstances. Even brief contact with sunlight could kill a fledgling vampire, and many of the newly turned met their fate that way. With concentration and discipline, Lenore was able to push herself further and further during the day. Overcast skies, clothing cover, hats, and sunglasses were all useful tools in mitigating the worst of it.

But Lenore had gotten a face full of direct sunlight without warning.

It had immediately caused burns. And while those had healed easily, Lenore felt her energy tapped.

She drove the Tacoma toward the marina, obeying traffic laws and trying not to call attention to themselves. They'd only narrowly escaped the parking lot of the museum as cops from all over the city descended on it.

James was practically facing backward in his seat, trying to see if they were being followed.

"I just got into a gunfight with an Egyptian god," James announced breathlessly. "This is fucked. I hurt him, I think. But it wasn't enough."

"Smart trick with the silver bullets," Lenore agreed. "Hope those weren't meant for me."

"Never," James said. "You were my inspiration though."

"Flirt."

The radio had just started chattering about the incident but the jockeys were bickering back and forth about whether the commotion at the museum was part of the protests that had been nearly continuous in the last several weeks or if the animal attack angle was more believable.

She parked at the marina and they hustled to the yacht with James carrying his bags and Lenore shielding herself with his jacket.

She stumbled while boarding. James steadied her with a free hand.

"You're injured," he stated.

"I'll be fine."

He didn't listen, helping guide her into the covered pilot house, and sitting her inside before unmooring the yacht for take off.

Lenore lowered the shades of the pilot house; a special feature she'd installed just for her. It allowed her to pilot the yacht even in the midday sun.

"I'll skipper," James said, stepping up to the helm, and not leaving room for her to argue.

James fucking Faraday was full of surprises it seemed.

He wordlessly steered the yacht out of the marina while Lenore watched from a nearby seat, a reversal of their arriving trip.

Once they were in the open water of the sound, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"So, that was fucked, huh?"

"It didn't go according to plan, no," Lenore agreed.

"You know, I thought I believed you. When you and your magical sisters told me that a literal ancient god was after you, I told myself I believed it. But, seeing him . . . well, now I believe it. Fuck."

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

James shrugged. "Would it be too sappy if I said this was worth it to get to meet you?"

"Totally sappy."

"Fine. I won't say that. Were you able to find his tether?"

Lenore shook her head. "He's not working alone. I found out that much." She related her conversation with 'Anthony' before all hell broke loose. "He said 'we' won't be denied. I don't think he was referring to the mummified priestess, wherever she is."

"Makes sense," James said, nodding. "Didn't he need a worshiper to bring him to Earth in the first place? Like that duke in London? He must've found someone like that again. Someone that could find another tether."

"That's the other thing. I think the priestess herself is a tether."

"What do you mean?"

"He said that a dedicated priest would sometimes pledge their body to a god so that god could walk the earth. So I think the priestess, Ty-Tenophet, is a tether for another god. Anubis isn't trying to resurrect some old priestess, he's trying to resurrect another god."

James sighed deeply again, absorbing that piece of information. "Who?"

"Well, in her life, she was the high priestess for Bastet. So that's the obvious choice."

James nodded. "I read the posters. She's a goddess of fertility and family. Likes cats. I just don't get the why of it all. Why her? Why now? And also, why you? Aren't there other vampires out there he could go after?"

Lenore shook her head. "I don't think it was personal before. But it is now. He's not my biggest fan."

"The feeling is mutual."

Lenore regarded him as he steered. She'd never met a human like him before. She felt the words bubbling out of her before she could stop them. "Hey, so . . . you were right. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I really fucked up."

James shrugged. "I wouldn't go that far. We made do with what we had to work with. I certainly didn't expect him to attack us in the middle of the day."

"Still, I'm . . ." Lenore sucked at apologies. "Thank you for protecting me. The last person that stood between a god and me died doing so. You're very brave."

James flashed her a smile and shrugged. "Nobody messes with my girl."

Lenore laughed despite herself. A sudden fatigue, sharp and almost painful, cut her laughter short.

"You're still hurt," James said, matter-of-factly.

"It's nothing."

James just looked at her, clearly not agreeing.

"I'm not . . ." she began. "Okay, I'm a little hurt." It was hard to admit that. "Being out during the day takes a lot from me. Direct sunlight can injure me."

"Can it kill you?"

"Why are you so interested in what can kill me?"

"If you were allergic to peanuts, I'd ask if you carried an Epi-pen. If you did, I want to make sure you had it on you."

"Your concern for me is appreciated. And, yes, sunlight can kill me if I'm out in it too long. But it would take hours."

"No beach vacations for us then?"

"Beaches are lovely at night."

"No argument there. So, what can I do to help you?"

Lenore knew what he was offering. Last night he'd refused to let her drink his blood. He'd been firm about it too, establishing that as a boundary between them. But it seemed her being injured trumped his own comfort.

She knew if she asked, he'd say yes.

Damn it.

No, she couldn't do that to him. She wouldn't do that to him.

She moved closer while he steered, turning his face toward hers, and kissed him deeply. And, gods, why did he always feel so warm? Kissing him reminded her of how cold she was.

"You can let me thank you for saving me back there," she said when they parted.

"Mmm. Any time."

"I would like to feed on you."

He nodded as if expecting this and held out his wrist to her.

"That's not what I had in mind." Lenore sank to her knees in front of him. "You ever get blown while steering your date's boat?"

"One time I was steering a boat that got blown up. Does that count?"

"No."

"Then no."

Lenore rubbed the front of his pants, hoping that his growing erection would entice him to shut up. She could practically taste the nervous energy coming off him. It was funny: in the moment, fighting a literal god of the dead, he'd been steadfast and fearless. Now, he was jittery, almost anxious. She figured most men would have full-blown panic attacks after seeing what he did. A little anxiety was nothing.

But his body responded well to her touch and soon he was sporting a solid erection.

She undid his jeans; first the top button and then the zipper. She didn't bother pushing his pants down, instead just pulled his boxers down to release him.

His prick felt hot in her hand and her lips were around it as soon as she released it. She sank down on it, intoxicated by the warmth of the blood that lay just under that thin barrier of skin.

"Arrg," James moaned. "I don't know what god to call out but that feels divine."

Lenore buried herself to the hilt, letting his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickle her nose. She didn't technically need to breathe so she could keep him in her throat as long as she wanted.

When he made no move to actively face-fuck her, she took it upon herself. She released him until the tip of his cock almost left her lips before plunging down again.

Giving head was usually a power move for Lenore: a way of putting her prey in a vulnerable position, causing them to let their guard down.

James was different.

Because of course he was.

He ran his fingers through her hair with one hand, the other making slight adjustments to the helm. His focus was split between her and navigating the yacht and she was the one that felt vulnerable in this position. Like he was doing her a favor by allowing her to suck him off.

That vulnerability was intoxicating. She wanted more.