Chapter 1

Copyright© 2016 by PuffDragon

Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Valerie Hall is a recent recruit to the DoD's "Pantheon," a top secret program for those who can teleport. She's working to take down a mysterious Russian general before he draws the US into open conflict with Russia, thus proving her worth in the Pantheon and keeping her from unspecified, but disturbing removal from society.

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Magic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Science Fiction   Extra Sensory Perception   Slow   Military   War  

Valerie Hall hadn't been on a date in a few years, but she was fairly sure they didn't usually end in manslaughter. That errant thought made it through her mind as she stared down at the blood staining her hands and soaking into her skirt. Behind her violently shaking hands, she could see the figure of her date, and would-be rapist, sprawled across the rain-soaked pavement.

She took one deep, ragged breath, then another. When a third came, deeper and more ragged than before, she realized she was about to hyperventilate. She held her next breath in, forcing herself to regulate her breathing. The immediate danger had passed and her attacker was sprawled across the concrete with pieces of broken beer bottle still clinging to his temple.

"Lucky hit," she muttered to herself. Their struggle had been brief and ended when she'd landed a solid blow to his temple, dropping him to the ground. The hit had shattered the bottle which had torn into her hands and his head. As adrenaline started leaving her, emotions flashed through her: anger, shock that this could even happen, and shame that she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary with her date.

Thoughts raced through her head, barely coherent. She had to call the police. She had to call an ambulance. She needed someone to come help him. She needed someone to get him away from her. Her throat ached where he'd tried to choke her with one hand while trying to force the other under her skirt. She looked at her hands again to see blood freely flowing from several small cuts, one with a piece of glass still jutting out. Maybe she needed an ambulance too. She shook her head, trying to corral her scattered thoughts.

She let the anger take over, letting the slowly building rage fuel her actions. She pawed through her purse, searching for her phone, not caring that she left bloody streaks. No luck, she spotted the phone crushed on the pavement next to the broken bottle she'd smashed into her date's head. Checking to make sure he hadn't moved, Val's hand darted to her date's phone and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I've ... I've been attacked, he tried to rape me," she stammered.

"Are you safe? Have you moved away from your attacker?" asked the cool, professional voice.

"I haven't moved away," shame and guilt caused her face to flush, "I hit him and he's on the ground. Uh, I hit him pretty hard, I may have killed him," she bit back a sob. "Oh god, what if I killed him?"

"Ma'am, what's your address?"

"I'm not sure," she paused, struggling to pull her thoughts into focus again, "The alley behind Santa Maria's, the restaurant on Barksdale Boulevard."

"Ok ma'am, I've got an ambulance and a police unit on their way."

"The police?"

"Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to move to the road. You need to get away from him and to where you can flag down the ambulance and police."

A low groan from the man on the ground made her yelp. Fear warred with relief, as she was sure she'd killed him. He lifted his left arm and it flopped almost boneless against his chest. The phone dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The red hot anger that had given her courage dimmed and fear took over again. She backed away from her attacker.

Val knew she couldn't stay there, what if he woke before the police arrived? She wanted to disappear, to sink into the wall, where he couldn't find her. She wanted to be home, safe in her apartment. She wanted to be warm, dry, clean, and safe. As she took in her next ragged breath, she Jumped.

In an instant, the dirty, dark alley was replaced with Val's living room. As soon as she appeared, she collapsed in a heap, nausea snaking through her belly. She clasped her still bloody hands to her abdomen, trying not to groan. She had no idea how she had gotten there. She took a depth breath, then another, quelling her nausea.

Slowly, she sat up and looked around. Val stared in open-mouthed shock at her surroundings. This was her apartment; she saw her shabby couch, her well-used ottoman, and her almost threadbare rug. Her hands had left two bloody smears where she had pushed herself up. A feeling of blissful numbness washed over her, as if her brain could no longer process what was happening and had simply stopped trying.

Standing, she walked to her bathroom sink now devoid of any emotion. Scarlet blood from her hands stained the water as she washed and tried to think. She shouldn't have left, she thought as she touched the piece of glass embedded in her hand. The logical choice would have been just to move out of his line of sight. She tugged the piece of glass out, wincing. She dried her hands and stared blankly at her face in the mirror. Her left eye was purpling, her round cheek swelling, and her neck bore angry red marks where she'd been choked. Her auburn hair was plastered to her head and her makeup streamed down her cheeks from the rain.

She shouldn't have left and needed to go back. Fear finally broke through the numbness of shock. A knot of anxiety twisted her stomach, how could she even explain how she got back to her apartment moments after calling 911? Fear that the police would arrive to find her gone and suspect that she was the aggressor raced through her. Sharp, gasping breaths echoed in her tiny bathroom. She held her breath again, trying to control her breathing once more.

"Strength," she told herself. Leaving the towel on the counter, she walked slowly to her kitchen. She had to go back and explain; if she could. Taking her keys from their peg, she asked herself, "Why did I even let him drive me?" Resolute, she took in a deep breath ... and jumped back into the dark alley.

Val staggered into the alley wall and clutched her roiling stomach. Her date still lay a few feet away in a pool of rain that was tinged with blood. His arm still lay against his chest and she guessed that he hadn't moved in the few minutes she'd been gone. Val's stomach turned again and when the police arrived a moment later, they found her on her knees dry heaving.


Val squinted down the alley towards a flashlight being shone on her. She shielded her eyes with one hand and dragged the other across her mouth. A second flashlight illuminated the man on the ground.

"Ma'am I'm going have to ask you to put your hands up where I can see them."

Val moved her hands up revealing her bruised face. She heard a muffled 'Jesus!' from the other end of the alley.

Two hours later, Val sat on a bed in the ER clutching her purse in one hand and a small bottle of painkillers in her other, freshly bandaged, hand. She stared at the stark contrast between her dirty hands and the crisp white sheets on the bed.

"Ma'am? Ms. Hall?" a voice asked with just a hint of impatience, as if they'd called her name a couple of times already.

Val's eyes snapped back to the officer who was taking her statement. "Yes? Sorry, what was the question?"

"You said this man," he looked at his clipboard, "Mr. Parker, was a coworker?"

"Major Parker," she corrected quietly, "Yes, he and I work together." She rubbed her temples with one hand. "We both work on base, for the same Commander, but in different offices."

"Alright, ma'am," he scribbled on a small business card and handed it to her. "This," he tapped on a hand written number, "is your case number. We've got your statement and you may use this number to press charges if you wish." He looked down the hall at his partner a few beds down and dropped his voice, "But don't press civilian charges," he said in almost a whisper.

"What?" she asked, shock jolting her back into the conversation.

"You have the option of pressing charges in military court or civilian. Don't use this number. You're both military, take it on base," his eyes drilled into her. "If you press charges on the civilian side, they'll slap him with three months in prison and he'll go back to his life like nothing happened. You do this on the military side and they'll chuck him in Leavenworth for a couple of years and then kick his ass to the curb." He gave a weary shake of his head, "Look, it's probably not my place, but I'm tired of seeing these fucked up pretty boys who think they can get away with shit like this. Please, just think about what I said."

She stared at him for a moment, "I will," she told him and took the card.

A cab dropped her at her apartment not long after she finished giving her statement. Val twisted the deadbolt into place with a reassuring thunk. She dropped her stained purse on the kitchen counter and chucked her house keys into a small plastic bin by the fridge. She opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and winced as she struggled to twist off the top. She took two long swallows as she walked into her small living room then stopped in her tracks.

Two bloody handprints marred her carpet. The nurse who had treated her told her to expect her memory to be fuzzy about the attack, that it was common for the brain to lock away memories of traumatic events. She had left the hospital sure in the knowledge that she had not, in fact, magically whisked herself away, that she was just suffering from a form of amnesia and her brain had simply filled in the gaps with nonsense.

Now two bloody handprints made her question that advice. She set her beer down and pushed at the handprints. They were short smears, but they matched the shape and size of her hand. She ran to her small bathroom and found the damp, slightly bloody hand towel on the sink, just where she'd left it.

Val leaned heavily on her sink. She had to clear her head and find a way to explain the last few hours. She decided on her standard decision-making process: step one, take a shower and wash away the grime; step two, call Dad. She flipped on her shower, staring at the towel while trying to convince herself that this couldn't have just happened.

Once she was showered and in her favorite pajamas, fleece pants and an old Appalachian State sweatshirt, she fired up her laptop, bringing up Facebook. With her phone shattered back at the restaurant, she would have to use other ways to contact her Dad.

Hey, Dad. You awake? She typed into the message box. She knew he was probably in his workshop, but if she was lucky he'd have his laptop on and open to play music as he worked.

Hey, Val, I'm in the shop. What's up? He responded after only a few seconds.

Need to talk, phone's busted and yes, I still don't have long distance on my home line. Can you call me?

Promise me you'll get long distance when we're done. Val could almost hear her Dad's parental concern seeping through the keyboard.

Yes, yes, fine! Just call.

Seconds later the phone rang. "Daddy?"

"Yeah, Val. What's going on? You sound rough," her father's deep voice drawled through the receiver.

"It's been a bad night. A really bad night."

"Ok, shoot."

"The short version?"

"Or the long version, whatever works for you, kiddo," he said.

"I accepted an invitation for a date this afternoon," she paused, knowing that would elicit a reaction.

"Alright! Way to go, Val! I'm glad to see you're finally getting back into the dating world."

"Don't cheer too hard, Dad. He ... uh..." Despite a very open and honest relationship, there are just some things you don't want to have to tell your father.

"Baby, did he hurt you?" her father asked as the silence stretched between them.

"He tried. I," she took a deep breath, "I stopped him. I hit him with a beer bottle and knocked him out," she said in a rush, a fresh wave of guilt washing over her.

"Jesus, Val. I mean," she could hear him take a deep breath. "Fuck. Are you ok? Did you call the police?"

"Yeah, been to the hospital already. They took my statement and gave me a case number."

"Good. Good. I'll make some calls for you tomorrow, find you a good lawyer for when you press charges," he said heatedly.

"It's ok, Dad, I can do that myself."

"I know baby, I'm just-" he stopped, voice catching in his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you," he whispered.

"Dad, I was on a date. What was I going to do, have you come along as chaperone?"

He gave a short laugh. "Well, it's been a few years since you've gone out, maybe that isn't such a bad idea." Val laughed, but he continued, "Baby, promise me you won't let this get you down. That you won't let it be another four years before you date again."

She smiled, but it was fleeting. "I won't, Dad. I just-" she stopped, she didn't feel like dragging up the past just yet. "Dad, here's the weird part-"

"That whole thing wasn't the weird part?" he interjected.

"Yes. No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "Look, this is going to sound ridiculous but," she took a deep breath, "just after I dropped the cell phone, I ... well, I had a cowardly moment. I wanted to run away, to be back in my apartment."

"No shame in that, girl," he said but Val could hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"But Dad, I did go to my apartment."

"You drove home?"

"No, I went but ... well, I think I just ... jumped there. Like, instantly." She shook her head at how messed up her night was turning out to be. There was silence on the line. "Dad?"

"Ok, look, baby, you had a really rough thing happen. You probably just imagined it, blacked out and drove yourself home, and the shock of everything is playing tricks on your mind."

"No, Dad," she insisted, her anger returning, "I didn't even drive there and I'm pretty fucking sure I'd remember calling a cab!"

"Look, honey," her Dad sounded frustrated and tired, "you know that can't be real; you had to have imagined it. I know how you react to traumatic events, this is a little bit like before."

"Dad! It's not like four years ago. I'm not imagining this," she said heatedly. "God, I just wish I could show you," she said, taking a deep breath ... and jumped into her father's wood shop.

The scent of wood shavings invaded her nostrils and lights brighter than her bedroom lamp made her blink. Relief flooded through her, she wasn't crazy.

"Christ on a crutch! Val?" Her father's voice came from across the room. "Sweet baby Jesus, Val. What in the hell?"

"Uh, I guess I didn't black out?" she offered, giving him a smile that was half-smug and half relieved.

"Oh baby girl," he said and wrapped her in a fierce hug, "You're poor face ... and neck!" He touched her cheek gently then held her away from him, searching for any more damage. "You take this bastard to court and get his ass locked up so I don't have to beat him to a pulp." In twenty six years Val had only seen her father cry twice, at her mother's funeral and right then.

"I'll be fine Dad," she said wearily, "And I'll probably go through the military courts. I'm going to talk to my boss first, but the cops seemed to think that military would punish him more than the civilian courts."

Her father nodded his agreement.

"I just don't know how I did this. It's just so weird."

"Yeah, I'd say this is the weirdest thing I've even heard of." He looked at her with furrowed brows. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

"About the last time?"

"Yeah, that was uncalled for. You handled that as well as anyone could. No one knows how they'll handle grief. You did ok, kid."

She gave him a deliberately blank look, "Yeah, ok."

There was a long moment of silence. "So, should I get my keys?"


"To drive you back? How are we going to get you home?"

"Uh, I was kind of hoping to go back the way I came."

"Think you can?"

"Yeah, I just sort of," she paused, searching her memory, "took a deep breath and went."

"Ok baby. Give it a try, but call me so I know you made it home."

"I'll call tomorrow after I get a new phone." She gave him a worried look.

"Click you heels and say 'there's no place like home'?" he offered.

Val snorted and gave him a half grin, "We'll see if that works."

"Get long distance service!" He grumped at her and pulled her into a hug.

"Fine, Dad." She gave him one last squeeze, "Ok, let's see if I can get back." She took a deep breath, concentrating on her living room. They both suddenly appeared there.

"Holy hell, girl! What did you go and bring me for?" he asked.

"I didn't!" Her head spun slightly. "Hold on to my arm," she took a deep breath and they both jumped back to her father's wood shop. "Well, I guess I can jump us both back and forth."

"Yeah, no kidding, kiddo!" He gave her a stunned look.

She smiled back then her smile faded. "Look, Dad, we can talk more about this later, for now, this should probably stay a secret. I'm not really sure what all this is about, but I don't want to be the feature of the week on Weekly World News or something, right next to Elvis doing the pas de deux with aliens from Roswell."

"Yeah, I'll keep it to myself." He gave her arm a final squeeze and stepped back with a slight frown, "Get some sleep girl, lock your doors, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

She smiled at him and nodded, "Tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you, too."

She took a deep breath and jumped back to her apartment alone. As soon as she arrived, a wave of nausea swept over her and she staggered, sagging onto her couch. She felt suddenly weak as if the flu had come on all at once, leaving her shaking and exhausted on her couch. Her hand groped along the back of the couch and pulling her afghan down she fell into an exhausted sleep.

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