The Death Skull: Relic Defender, Book 2 (8 page)

“Good to go?” he asked.

Not trusting her voice, she nodded, her gaze going anywhere but back to his face. Mari exhaled—not realizing she’d held her breath—as he sat back into his own seat. She shifted, her body sending out a message she’d been told was desire. During the centuries in Hell, she’d heard enough succubi and incubi speak about humans and their sexual proclivities but had never experienced them herself. Should she have been interested, she wouldn’t have lacked for partners.

Initially, being far too busy doing Lucifer’s bidding and fighting the Warriors of Light kept her from having any kind of intimate relationship. Then, when she’d followed Mikos, she’d been too occupied fighting the same demons she’d fought alongside. The fighting suited her fine—she preferred it that way. She didn’t want or need the type of physical contact the sex demons had described.

It didn’t matter what her traitorous body wanted. She was in control.

As if to mock her, the jet’s engines roared, sending vibrations singing through her body. Mari couldn’t stop the gasp of surprise. Her fingers clenched, the plastic armrests under her hands crackling like snapping sticks. Her gaze flew back to Jackson, who had returned to his own seat and was flipping through a colorful magazine.

“Take it easy, darlin’,” he murmured, not looking up from his reading. “Just normal sounds. Warming up the engines. Loading luggage, getting it all finalized and ready to go.”

Despite his reassurance, for the next few minutes, every time a thump or bump sounded from the plane’s belly, her stomach churned in response.
Infernal contraption.
How the humans could travel in such a primitive manner astounded her. Damn Michael for making her utilize this method of transportation. And damn her for obeying. Still wasn’t sure why she had. But then, she had chosen to follow and listen to Michael.
Ugh.

At least the seats Jackson had gotten were what he’d called first class. She’d seen the other seats. Seen the other passengers stuffed into them, elbow to elbow, thigh to thigh. Even Michael’s orders couldn’t have made her suffer the two-hour flight in those tiny boxes.

Another bump, this one rattling the plane walls. Mari gritted her teeth. Her fingers squeezed again. This time instead of hard, inanimate material, she encountered hard, smooth flesh. She looked down.

Her clenched fingers were wrapped around Jackson’s wrist. The feel of coarse hair rasped against her palm. How had she gotten hold of his arm? She didn’t remember moving her hands.

“Honey, if you squeeze any harder, my wrist will break.”

Her gaze flashed to his. A faint grin pulled at the corner of his lips. She snatched her hand back, rubbing her palm on her knee before placing the wayward appendage back on the armrest.

Jackson lifted his wrist, massaging it with his other hand, the wry tilt to his lips more pronounced. “Relax, Mari. You’re as jumpy as spit on a hot skillet and we haven’t even taken off yet.”

She was saved from making a reply by the arrival of one of the females wearing some sort of uniform. Jackson called them flight attendants—basically servants in the sky. He’d laughed when she’d named them servants, saying they’d argue with that definition. However, to Mari’s mind, it was the same. The blonde flashed a grin at Jackson, the white of her teeth practically blinding.

“We’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Can I offer you something…from the bar?”

The smooth, lilting tone of the woman scraped at Mari’s jittery nerves. Had that been a pause after something? The woman’s tongue swept across her full, crimson-shaded lips. Mari frowned. Lifting her nose, she took in a deep breath. Hmm. Lust leaked from the woman’s pores with a palpable scent.

“Sure,” Jackson drawled. “I could use something. Let’s start with a cold beer.”

Mari scowled. When the woman switched her heated gaze from Jackson to Mari, her eyes widened. Mari thought about ducking down to cover her own. Were they red? Resisting the urge to snarl at the woman, Mari shook her head.

The blonde whipped her gaze back to Jackson, smiled again. “I’ll be right back,” she purred and made her way toward the front.

He leaned over to watch the attendant, his green eyes alight with interest. When she disappeared, he turned back to face Mari. Before she could look away, he captured her gaze. One eye closed in a wink. “Gotta love first class.”

Insufferable human.

The roar of the engine increased in pitch. With a slight lurch, the plane moved backward. This time, Mari kept her gasp muffled. A string of colorful swear words mixed with the vilest insults she could imagine directed at Michael and the man sitting beside her raced through her mind. On the armrest, her palms were slick with moisture.

To distract herself, her mind went back to Michael’s insistence that she travel with Jackson in a plane. It couldn’t be because the mortal couldn’t apport. She could take him with her, even though she’d have to get close to him. Her stomach tightened at the thought.

Still, why had Michael insisted she sit in a metal box while another mortal held her fate in his hands? And when he’d indicated time was of the essence? Despite recognizing her fears were baseless since she couldn’t die in this manner, she still didn’t like the idea someone else had control over her body. Was this behind Michael’s command? Control? It was always something with him.

The plane rumbled to a halt. The engine sound increased, the roar rattling the interior.

“Strap in, darlin’. We’ll be in the air quick as a wink.”

Mari sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe humans managed to get the unwieldy machines into the air. All the time she’d spent among the mortals, she’d never had to ride in one of the mechanical monsters. And after this, she didn’t intend to again, Michael be damned.

When the plane started moving, increasing in speed until the outside scenery began to blur at the edges, Mari felt her face blanch. Her back pressed into the seat. The clamor of the engines roared in her ears, deafening her to anything but the thundering sound rushing outside and rumbling under her feet.

Lucifer’s balls, she was going to die.

Chapter Six

Jackson had to say Mari’s name twice before she turned haunted eyes to him. Damn, she was terrified. Interesting. He didn’t think anything could terrify the warrior angel. Even her experience with the Mayans on the side trip the Archangel had sent her on was a mere drop in a lake compared to the horror in her eyes.

Time to step in.

When Jackson had her attention, he held up a packet of papers he’d managed to get before they’d left. “Did you read these?”

She shook her head. Her amethyst eyes widened, appearing like large, glittering jewels. At the edges, he caught a glimpse of faint pink, bordering on red.

Christ. Was she going to lose her glamour? He didn’t believe the other passengers would enjoy finding a red-eyed demon in their midst.

“Does this mean I get to be brains and you get to be brawn? I think I could handle you doing all the muscle work.”

When her eyes narrowed, he knew she got the barb. “I do not need to read those, human.” Her lips curled back in a slight snarl. “I know all I need to know.”

“Uh-huh.” Jackson felt the plane begin to lift, the shaking increasing slightly. He hastened to add, “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I’ll see if it matches what I learned?”

Her rose-colored lips curved upward. What would a real smile look like on her? Not the mocking, half smile she usually wore—and did now—but a full-on grin of pure amusement.

“No, you go ahead. I’m breathless with anticipation.”

His eyebrow rose. “Well alrighty then.” He flipped up the top sheet. “Nearest as I can tell, the particular skull we are after is thought to be one of thirteen actual skulls that possess magical powers and have healing properties.”

Mari frowned. Jackson was glad to see the red in her eyes fade and her fingers cease their death grip on the plane’s armrests. She didn’t appear to notice they were actually
in
the air. Bog her down with enough information and he figured they’d be halfway there before she fretted. That was his plan anyway.

“Michael didn’t mention other skulls,” she said.

“True enough, darlin’. You see, there are, but our little gem is the crowning glory of them all. Most of the skulls are thought to be nearly thirty-five thousand years old and the last remains of Atlantis. They aren’t as large as the one we’re after and not as perfect in construction and shape.”

Mari snorted. “Atlantis. Another fanciful belief humans choose to keep.”

Jackson tapped the papers on his knee. “So Atlantis didn’t exist?”

“Not in the way humans want to believe. The island was home to the Nephilim before God sent the forsaken place to Hell.”

“Nephilim?”

She pursed her lips, seeming to struggle with what to tell him. “Children of fallen angels and human females,” she finally said. Her upper lip curled over the words. “Created by the Grigori, fallen angels, and shunned by humans and angels.”

“Ah. Kinfolk.”

“No, not kinfolk.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Some of the Fallen decided to take human wives. They taught their wives magic and how to enslave other Fallen and demons. When they had children, they produced giants that eventually began to consume humans.”

“Quite a family you have there.”

She glared, her eyes sparking under the low lights. “As I said, they are no family of mine. The ‘Atlanteans’ were not the beings of advanced technology and mysticism as the stories tell. They were evil in a way most humans can’t understand. I was there when God destroyed them. It was good they all died.”

He watched her for a minute. Sometimes he forgot how bloodthirsty she could be. Until he experienced it firsthand, like now—no remorse or sadness in her for the death of what amounted to her nieces and nephews. Just anger and disdain.

“Back to the skulls,” he finally said. “Various sizes of crystal stones were cut into the shape of a human skull. Many of these were found in codices, painted and modeled on pottery and carved into stone sculptures. Now our skull, the Skull of Doom, was allegedly found around 1926 by a seventeen-year-old, adopted girl. Her name was Anna Mitchell-Hedges—”

“Was?” Mari interrupted. “Skull of Doom?”

Jackson consulted his notes then nodded. “Yup. Was. She died in the seventies and the skull was left to a friend. Anna was in Lubaantun, an ancient Mayan city in Belize, with her adopted father, F. Albert Mitchell-Hedges—a famous English archeologist—when she supposedly found the skull under the debris of an altar.”

“Why was it called the Skull of Doom?”

“The tales say the Mayan priests used the skull to will death on their enemies. To sacrifice them to”—he paused and looked down—“er, Ah Chuy Kak, their warrior god.” His tongue tripped over the unfamiliar words.

He scanned the rest of the material then lifted his gaze. A brief flash of something like worry darkened her eyes and created lines in her forehead. Before he could comment on her reaction, her face smoothed into its usual ice-queen expression and she asked, “Is there more?”

Jackson contemplated her for a second then winked. “Looks like the whole thing was a fraud, though. Something in here about an auction at Sotheby’s in London and a bidding war between Mitchell-Hedges and the British Museum.”

“Wonderful. More human foolishness.” Icy disdain dripped from her words.

“One of these days you are going to have to tell me why you work to save human lives when you obviously think little of my race in general,” Jackson drawled, fighting the irritation that increased whenever she made snide comments about humans.

She’d been looking over his arm at the stack of pages. At his remark, she jerked her head up and pinned him with an intense stare. “I don’t have to tell you anything,
human
. My reasons, and my opinions, are my own.”

“Fine.” He leveled his own stare at her. “Then I’d take it kindly if you’d, at least while we are in this together, keep the human-bashing remarks to a minimum.”

Holding her glare, he waited for her reaction. She stiffened and a muscle in her jaw twitched. In a classic showdown right out of an Old West movie, she didn’t blink or drop her gaze. He could imagine her standing toe to toe—steel in her eyes and her body rigid—with the nastiest demon Lucifer had. By damn, the filly was tough.

But then so was he. She had yet to learn that.

Their gazes stayed locked, even when the fine flight attendant returned with his beer. He didn’t see Mari’s expression flicker even for an instant. When his eyes started to burn from lack of moisture, he thought for sure he’d lose this pissing contest. Just before his lids fell in a blink, the demon’s gaze faltered.

“Because we are working together, I will do as you ask. Afterward…I care little for what you want.” She looked out the window.

He saw her quick startled reaction to being in the air and her knuckles tightened once again on the armrest, but not with the same ferocity as before. To ease his burning eyes, Jackson blinked rapidly several times then picked up his beer. He gulped the cold brew, taking long and deep swallows. He eyed her profile. Despite her clenched fingers, her face was serene. She’d dropped her gaze first so he’d won. But what the hell exactly had he won?