said with obvious gentility. But she didn’t direct the answer to him, instead aiming it at Marissa. “But there is awareness on a soulful level. He will sense your nearness. He will sense the state of your emotions. Also, it won’t do you any good to cover them up. He will sense it’s a façade.”
“So you put this Band-Aid on him. Repair the hole in his aura. How do you repair the severing of a soul’s tether?” Marissa wanted to know, her knuckles white as she subconsciously gripped Jackson’s hand with all the strength she could muster, as though loosening that hold in any way would allow him to slip away.
“Let me do this first. Then we will discuss the rest,” the Night Angel said softly, meeting Marissa’s eyes and holding her gaze with a compassion that clearly comforted Jackson’s beloved. Marissa finally let tears fall, let herself feel just how dangerous this was and just how close Jackson might be to death.
“He is everything,” she said. Then as if it were something different she said, “He is everything
to me.
”
Leo supposed both were true. Jackson/Menes was everything to their people, the strongest of his kind and the focal point of their political structure. Although Marissa/Hatshepsut was pharaoh in her own right, it was very clear that she had no interest in ruling without Jackson by her side.
The Angel nodded and leaned forward, resting a palm on Jackson’s forehead, closing her eyes for a minute as though she were seeking for something within herself. The closing of her eyes was eerie. It made her face seem like a void of black with no relief, save for the white of her arching brows and the snowy crescents of her lashes, just as it was eerie when they were opened, a stark glow of yellow in a setting of black.
At first he thought he couldn’t tell if she were pretty or ugly or strangely shaped to match her unusual coloring. But the longer he looked at her the more he began to clearly make out her features. She had full lips, like those of a child pouting with pique. However, there was nothing else childish in her graceful looks. Certainly not when those full breasts and curving hips were taken into consideration. She had an exotic sweep to her cheekbones, the rise of them exaggerated by the tautness of her drawn back hair. Her forehead was gently sloped, the line of her jaw sweeping softly into her chin, throat and neck.
She
was
pretty, he decided. Very much in her own way, and not just because she was a novelty. There was genuine beauty to her looks.
Otherwise, there was nothing delicate about her. She was athletic and strong and it lent power to the impression of vigor she was exuding. She knew what she was doing and was confident in her ability to do it. Much in the same way that he knew how to kill a man and had utter faith in his getting the job done the way it needed to be done.
In this mixed-up paranormal world he had been thrust into, it was good to know he still had the ability to size one of these people up. And though he had no proof one way or another, he forced himself to have faith he was reading her right, even though he really had no faith in anything at all. How was he truly to judge these things he could not understand? Things he didn’t want to understand. And yet, his lack of understanding frustrated him, made him feel helpless. It was a feeling he didn’t like. After all, what else did they know about her? Hell, did they even know her name?
“Faith,” she said, her chartreuse eyes flicking around to meet his.
He realized she was answering his question, a question he had not asked aloud. His entire body bristled in defense, his fists clenching tightly. “Get out of my head!” he bit off at her.
One white brow arched. “Who says I am in your head?” she countered.
“How else would you know I wanted to know what your name was?”
“And of course that means I was in your head.” Her head tilted ever so slightly as she ran that assessing gaze over
“So you put this Band-Aid on him. Repair the hole in his aura. How do you repair the severing of a soul’s tether?” Marissa wanted to know, her knuckles white as she subconsciously gripped Jackson’s hand with all the strength she could muster, as though loosening that hold in any way would allow him to slip away.
“Let me do this first. Then we will discuss the rest,” the Night Angel said softly, meeting Marissa’s eyes and holding her gaze with a compassion that clearly comforted Jackson’s beloved. Marissa finally let tears fall, let herself feel just how dangerous this was and just how close Jackson might be to death.
“He is everything,” she said. Then as if it were something different she said, “He is everything
to me.
”
Leo supposed both were true. Jackson/Menes was everything to their people, the strongest of his kind and the focal point of their political structure. Although Marissa/Hatshepsut was pharaoh in her own right, it was very clear that she had no interest in ruling without Jackson by her side.
The Angel nodded and leaned forward, resting a palm on Jackson’s forehead, closing her eyes for a minute as though she were seeking for something within herself. The closing of her eyes was eerie. It made her face seem like a void of black with no relief, save for the white of her arching brows and the snowy crescents of her lashes, just as it was eerie when they were opened, a stark glow of yellow in a setting of black.
At first he thought he couldn’t tell if she were pretty or ugly or strangely shaped to match her unusual coloring. But the longer he looked at her the more he began to clearly make out her features. She had full lips, like those of a child pouting with pique. However, there was nothing else childish in her graceful looks. Certainly not when those full breasts and curving hips were taken into consideration. She had an exotic sweep to her cheekbones, the rise of them exaggerated by the tautness of her drawn back hair. Her forehead was gently sloped, the line of her jaw sweeping softly into her chin, throat and neck.
She
was
pretty, he decided. Very much in her own way, and not just because she was a novelty. There was genuine beauty to her looks.
Otherwise, there was nothing delicate about her. She was athletic and strong and it lent power to the impression of vigor she was exuding. She knew what she was doing and was confident in her ability to do it. Much in the same way that he knew how to kill a man and had utter faith in his getting the job done the way it needed to be done.
In this mixed-up paranormal world he had been thrust into, it was good to know he still had the ability to size one of these people up. And though he had no proof one way or another, he forced himself to have faith he was reading her right, even though he really had no faith in anything at all. How was he truly to judge these things he could not understand? Things he didn’t want to understand. And yet, his lack of understanding frustrated him, made him feel helpless. It was a feeling he didn’t like. After all, what else did they know about her? Hell, did they even know her name?
“Faith,” she said, her chartreuse eyes flicking around to meet his.
He realized she was answering his question, a question he had not asked aloud. His entire body bristled in defense, his fists clenching tightly. “Get out of my head!” he bit off at her.
One white brow arched. “Who says I am in your head?” she countered.
“How else would you know I wanted to know what your name was?”
“And of course that means I was in your head.” Her head tilted ever so slightly as she ran that assessing gaze over
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