Disclaimer: Jenny, Julian, the FG trilogy, etc. etc., belong to L.J. Smith. I'm just using them without permission.

A/N: Whew, it's been a while since the last update, huh? To everyone who's been reading and reviewing this from the beginning, I'm really sorry. School's just been getting a little hectic lately and I seem to be experiencing a shortage of time. And then I wrote the chapter, but I changed my mind about a really pivotal part of it, so… it was back to the blank page. But I promise not to take so long the next time. And without further ado, I give you… more Julian!




The Resurrection


Part 6



Jenny was feeling a little on the miserable side. All her expectations regarding their "reunion" had been shattered, as wholly and abruptly as dishes falling on some dingy diner floor. And now she was left staring at the remaining shards like the wide-eyed waitress in her first week on the job, wondering just how much was going to be deducted from her pay. Not to mention the mess and the cleaning involved.

She was beginning to have some serious doubts. For instance, what if this game truly was as impossible as Julian professed? Then all this—her apparent sacrifice—would have been for nothing. And it didn't help that Julian was doing nothing to motivate her in her desire to win. The prize, even if she somehow managed that, wasn't looking especially welcoming. Nor was he acting very hospitable.

Managing a discrete, sidelong glance in his direction, she found herself struck by something she had only vaguely noted earlier, a half-formed thought she hadn't allowed to blossom in her distraction. He seemed somehow... different. Still as dangerous, mysterious, and violently beautiful as ever—but also changed.

"Are you alright?" she asked suddenly. When he looked toward her, eyes sparkling like amethysts, she quickly elaborated. "You seem… edgy." It was true. She hadn't noticed before, but despite his nonchalant exterior, something was bothering him.

He took a while to answer, and when he did, there was almost a defensive quality to his voice. His tone was guarded, like he was unsure just how much to reveal. "I feel strange—different."

Jenny stared at him. "Different, how?" she asked slowly. Her loosely held flashlight turned in his direction, catching his features and painting his hair in a warm orange tint.

That perfectly sculpted mouth turning downward ever so slightly. Then he shook his head. Not dismissively, but as if he didn't quite know how to answer. "I just feel more—aware—of myself. I can feel everything. My arms, my legs... and they all feel heavier—"

He cut off suddenly and looked at her. He had stopped walking. Jenny knew that she hadn't entirely contained the growing sense of unease that she felt spawning from the pit of her stomach and outward. It wasn't easy keeping the guilty expression from creeping up on her face. Not when she was just realizing what was going on, and how largely responsible she was for it.

His eyes gleamed in the dim tunnel and he tilted his head slightly as he peered at her. "You know something." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," she offered hesitantly.

She wasn't eager to explain this part to him, because she suddenly had no idea how he was going to react. Oh, she had thought she'd known, that she had constructed the perfect little plan—the standard rescue operation, where they would forgive and forget all past difficulties and everything would be just wonderfully perfect. And of course she was wrong. Because she had somehow forgotten everything she had ever learned about Julian in all the time she had been forced into his company, and though she could blame it on the eight years that had passed between them, the truth was she had probably blinded herself to the truth, on purpose. Put on her rose-tinted glasses and forgotten the impossibility that was him.

She had made the most unforgivable of mistakes when it came to Julian. She had tried to predict how he would react. One could never make predictions—should never try to make predictions—when it came to Julian. His unpredictability was perhaps the only consistent thing about him.

"What is it? What's wrong with me?" There was no worry in his voice, and certainly no fear. But clearly, he wasn't pleased.

"Oh no, there's nothing wrong with you," Jenny rushed to clarify. "It's just that—something has changed. You have."

Julian brought his arms up, crossing them over his chest, and regarded her with an expression that could almost be termed amusement, except it was clouded in annoyance. "You're doing an astounding job of answering nothing. If that's what you were going for."

She took a deep breath and tried an approach. "You always said how lonely it was to have to watch from the shadows but to never be a part of the world that you watched." She paused there, partly for emphasis, and partly for confirmation. Julian stared back at her silently, his arms still resting in what was now appearing, more and more like a defensive posture, rather than the insolently relaxed pose of earlier.

Well, he didn't deny the statement, so she supposed that was confirmation enough. "If there was one thing you could change—once we got out of here—what would it be?"

The silence was deadly, but his voice even more so when he answered. "Don't play with me, Jenny. You've already seen how dangerous games can be."

She shook her head slowly, a sharp tug in her stomach demanding caution. In a softly earnest voice, she answered. "I'm not playing." A more direct approach was in order. "Would you still want to be a Shadow Man?" Something shifted in his eyes, and the hostility was replaced with curiosity. And maybe something more. "Or would you want to be human?"

He stared at her a second, and then she felt the shock—and disbelief—that rolled off him, as clearly as if he'd shouted it at her. "You couldn't have done that." His voice quiet. But it weighed on her heavier than the silence. "They wouldn't have agreed to that."

Her expression answered for her, and he shook his head, no. His face was disbelieving still—but not as disbelieving as it had been a moment earlier. And now that incredulity was less directed toward what she had implied with her words, but more to the connotations.

Tilting his head forward slightly, tendrils of the frost-colored hair swooped into his eyes, while the sooty lashes lowered and obscured his gaze from her. "Human," he murmured, though she heard his words clearly. There was no other noise to detract from them.

"Not yet. Or not entirely, I don't think so," she amended.

Staring up at her through the strands that hung like icicles, he raised one hand to rub his chin thoughtfully. "You don't think so."

Jenny ducked her head. Yes, she supposed she owed him a more thorough explanation of what he had become. What she had had him turned into. After all, how would she feel if Julian had dropped a bombshell like that in her lap and amended it with something as vague as 'I don't think so.'

"Well, I asked if you were human now, and they said 'almost.' That your runestave still had power over you. I suppose so that if we lose the game… they can control your fate."

He was taking it fairly well, and for that she was grateful. Maybe her earlier assumption had been right. Maybe this was what he wanted.

His eyes had taken on a distant expression, as if he were looking at her but seeing beyond. She brought her hand up tentatively, the fingers barely brushing one sleeve of his duster.

"Are you angry? Did I make a mistake?" There was an underlying heaviness to her tone.

Julian's gaze refocused on her and he studied her intently. The hand at his chin reached down and grasped the one she had extended. It was the one with his ring.

"Let's hope not."

She frowned but accepted the answer. It was less than what she had hoped for, but more than she'd expected. And just enough ambiguity to leave her wondering what it really meant.

But he wasn't angry and that was what mattered, right? She had laid that hand of cards on the table and his response had been relatively positive. Well, it hadn't been negative. Not entirely. Or else he wouldn't have spoken so calmly, or taken the hand she had extended, or been… caressing it the way he was?

Suddenly her attention focused on just what he was doing and she looked up into his eyes questioningly. How hadn't she noticed just how close he had gotten?

She had thought that a human, mortal Julian would be easier to deal with. That somehow his beauty and attraction would have dimmed a little, controlled. Maybe now she could stand to be around him without wanting to fall into his arms at sight. She had grossly miscalculated. Nothing about him had changed, in either appearance or demeanor. He was still the Julian she remembered—exceedingly difficult, complicated, and irresistible. Of course, she hadn't come to resist him, but since things stood so shakily between them, and considering they had just begun a game that was obviously dangerous enough to worry even him, now probably wasn't the best time to be exploring these kinds of feelings.

So why was she leaning into his touch? Why were eyes drawn to his mouth, and why was she tilting her head up to—

Abruptly, Julian dropped his hands and pulled back a few inches. The spell didn't snap, but it weakened enough for Jenny to be brought back to her senses. Or rather, it had allowed her to refocus her senses on everything that was not Julian. She would have been embarrassed at her overwhelming reaction to even his simplest touches—if it hadn't been for the muted desire she glimpsed in his eyes even now.

He didn't look as if he was going to speak, and silences like this were supposed to be more meaningful than she was ready to deal with. So she filled in the words for him, in wholly unsteady voice. "We should be going, right?"

He nodded once. "Unless we want to spend the rest of our lives—" he gave special emphasis here— "in this tunnel." Then he smiled at her, that familiar wolf-hungry expression that was almost a comfort to see. Almost. "Or at least we can think of more—interesting—things to do than talk."

Jenny took a step back, "Let's just keep going."

He gave a shrug, turned, and walked a few long strides. But then he stopped, so abruptly that Jenny almost walked right into him. Not quite; but still, they were close enough that they were sharing personal space.

She took a deep breath and noted the intoxicating scent of leather—to which she had always been especially susceptible—and managed in a too-flustered voice, "Can you flash the brake lights or something next time? That was a really close call there." Then she took a step, a very large step, back away from him. "And why exactly did you stop?"

Dark eyebrows raised, he gave her a look over his shoulder. "I'm not especially fond of walking into walls." Jenny moved a pace sideways and glanced at the scene before them. "Although, if you feel differently, be my guest." He gestured with one hand to the dark expanse not more than five feet ahead.

"Wait a minute," she protested, walking around him toward the obstacle. "This was not here before." Her hand touched the solid form, feeling the smooth rock beneath. "Was it?" A trick? Some sort of illusion—and it wasn't really there at all. Maybe, beyond it the tunnel continued.

Nothing was ever quite what it appeared to be when it came to the Shadow Men.

She rapped her knuckles abruptly against it. "Ouch!" Harder than it looked. Or, maybe, as hard as it looked—and that was the problem.

To his credit, and Jenny's slight relief, Julian did not laugh as he took the injured hand in his own. "Real enough, don't you think?" he inquired, rubbing the red skin with his thumb.

No, he didn't laugh, not out loud, but his words were fairly dancing with amusement.

Jenny glared. "Well, I don't see you doing anything about it." She yanked her hand away from him, rubbing the knuckles as if that would somehow help the pain to disappear faster. "Doesn't it strike you as the least bit suspicious? I mean, if the wall was there the whole time, shouldn't either of us have noticed it before now?"

"So maybe it wasn't there before," he replied easily.

She watched him quietly. Was there something that she wasn't getting? Or was it him who just couldn't comprehend their situation. Spend too much time on the other end of the rifle and you're bound to find it difficult to think like the deer. "Why doesn't this worry you? This is a dead end," she threw down the words emphatically. "And if what you told me about this place is right, then neither one of the tunnels should end like this. They should both lead somewhere."

He reached out a hand and touched the wall lightly, and drew back almost wonderingly, rubbing the tips of his fingers with his thumb. Almost distractedly, he spoke. "And this bothers you because?"

Letting out a sigh of aggravation, she rolled her eyes upward. "Because what if this is the right way? What if this is the way we're supposed to go?" Then she placed her hands on her hips and bit out, "Will you please pay attention?"

Frowning, he stepped away from the barrier. "I am paying attention," he pulled his hands back and shoved them into the pockets of his coat. "But you understand this all very new to me. I can't help that I'm feeling a bit—overloaded."

There was a strangely sullen set to his mouth that made her think perhaps it wasn't enjoyment he was experiencing. He seemed unsettled, and given his present circumstances, she could hardly blame him. Jenny let out a long breath of air, forcing her irritation down. Teamwork was what it was all about, right? Neither one of them was getting out of here without the other, so it was best if they didn't keep stepping on each other's toes. Well, she would do her part. But there were no guarantees when it came to Julian.

"Is it really that different?" she asked quietly. She remembered how things had seemed so changed after the first game—everything sharper, clearer, more real. People had said she had changed, and maybe she had. Her outlook certainly had.

But over time she had grown used to it, and in a sense her awareness had faded. Maybe she still saw things differently from how others did, but the newness of it was gone. It was just a part of her now. And she couldn't imagine what it might be like for Julian.

"Nothing seems the same," he answered, his voice soft. His eyes fairly swam with electricity as they shifted to her face, then to her hair, where his outstretched hand was now reaching. For some reason, when she saw the movement, she didn't stop him. Long strands of the honey blond pooled into the space between his fingertips. "Well, nothing I've tried so far," he amended solemnly. "But there's still a lot left to try."

Now his hand had drifted over to her cheek, so soft a touch, it lulled her. His fingers were so smooth, so warm. In some recess of her mind, she was surprised by how warm—his flesh had always seemed so cool before, like marble carved to life.

Her eyes fluttered closed without permission and her head tilted back ever so slightly. And he was tilting it back, pulling her forward until his breath warmed her ear as he whispered. "I'm up for a little experimentation. What about you?" The other hand was resting at her waist now, hovering like a butterfly to take flight any second. He pulled her even nearer.

But something broke inside Jenny then—abrupt and without warning. She had strength enough to resist. Leaning forward so her own lips were as close to his ears as his to hers, she brought her hands up and rested them on his chest. In a soft but steady voice, "Maybe you should go solo first, before you try it with a partner."

Then she used all the strength she could muster and shoved him. She overshot.

Not that one could blame her. There was a time when she would have stood a better chance of breaking down a brick wall with a single push than of moving Julian. But she should have foreseen that with his diminished strength, coupled with the fact that she had caught him so completely off-guard, the scale would have been better balanced in her favor.

Still, it shouldn't have been a problem. At worst, he would have fallen into the mysterious dead end wall, sustained a few minor bruises, and a slightly more bruised pride.

That's what should have happened. But it didn't.

Instead, he fell right through the wall.

That shouldn't have happened, or so Jenny thought. And judging by the wild blue light that claimed Julian's eyes as he plunged, backward into the yawning black gape—he agreed.


TBC