Magic Unchained Read online

  He would have tried putting his own magic into them, but he was too damn woozy. He needed to eat something—not more chili dogs—and take some downtime to recharge before he attempted to summon the spirit, or send his own to the dark side of the barrier to speak with her again. And he needed to think things through before he tried any of it.

  His gut said she was the real deal, but the things he’d seen in that vision didn’t line up with what he knew of his old man. Not by a long shot.

  He’d always figured he’d been an accident, something that Red-Boar had kept around as a sort of sacrifice, a penance, just like the brown robes he had worn and the grisly self-sacrifices he had performed on the cardinal days, though he would never say why he was doing penance or what he was praying for. Now, though… Shit. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel.

  Even searching for his mother had really been about figuring out the limits of his magic, not finding some sort of model family at the end of the rainbow. But now… Gods, he used to be part of something. He’d had a real family once… and a brother. A twin, for fuck’s sake.

  All the times he’d felt jagged and unfinished, or turned to say something to someone who wasn’t there… well, it made sense now, because twins were sacred to the Nightkeepers, powerful.

  The hollow place inside him ached—for himself, for his mother, for Tristan… and, yeah, even for his old man. Because the guy in that vision sure as shit wasn’t the guy he’d grown up with. But at the same time, he knew the past wasn’t the most important thing right now, not with the war coming. Sluggish excitement stirred at the realization that if he could learn to use the stones to summon her again, he might be able to pump her for information about the dark barrier, maybe even the plans of the Banol Kax. And maybe, possibly, how he was supposed to become the crossover.

  Dragging himself upright with a muffled groan, he stuck the stones in separate pockets, righted the box, and used an ancient codex to scoop the other, garden-variety stone chips back into it. He knew darn well that Lucius would have an aneurism if he saw the one-of-a-kind-text-turned-dustpan routine, but his instincts were suddenly telling him he needed to work fast, with his pulse throbbing to a tribal drumbeat of, Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry! He was sweating by the time he’d put the box back where it started, stuck the codex back in its folder, and headed for the front of the library, zigzagging like a drunk.

  Beyond the racks, the library opened up to a workspace furnished with stone tables and benches. The walls were carved and windowless, and a single wooden door on the short side led out.

  As he lurched for the door, it swung open and Myrinne stepped through. He jolted at the sight of her, and at the slash of heat that cut through him—as always—when she came into the room. With her dark hair cut in a sassy, asymmetrical bob and her foxy face bare of makeup, wearing embroidered jeans and a pale yellow shirt that flirted up to show a gleam of jade at her pierced belly button, she looked young and fresh, and so damn beautiful his knees nearly buckled the rest of the way.

  Ah, baby.

  Longing stabbed, not because he wanted her right then and there—he probably would’ve passed out right the fuck on top of her if he’d tried anything—but because he wanted things to be back the way they used to be: the two of them against the world. Now they were just… different. Tenser, even if he couldn’t always put his finger on what was making him tense.

  Her face brightened at the sight of him, showing none of that strain. “Hey! I was just coming to— Gods!” She hurried toward him. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “I’m… Shit.” He took a step toward her, sagged, and slapped out an arm for balance.

  “Rabbit!” She got her shoulder under his, and managed to prop him back up. Once he was stabilized, she felt his face, then his forehead, her hand cool on his clammy skin. “You’re on fire!”

  “Not literally, thank fuck.” He let his cheek rest on the top of her head, let himself breathe in the knowledge that even when things weren’t quite right between them, she cared for him, worried about him, loved him. Which still seemed like a fucking miracle some days. “I’m okay,” he said into her hair. “Just overdid it after pulling so much magic earlier.”

  It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized he wasn’t going to tell her about the vision.

  And what the hell was that about?

  She frowned up at him. “You’re sure it’s just a crash? You didn’t get nailed by one of those animals, did you?”

  No, he’d been bitten by something else: reluctance. He knew that if he told her about his mother and Tristan, she would start asking questions that he wasn’t ready to answer yet. More, she would push him on experimenting with the eccentrics using any means possible, including dark magic. She didn’t care that he’d promised Dez he wouldn’t try to reawaken the hell-link—as far as she was concerned, he didn’t owe the Nightkeepers anything.

  Shit, he just wanted some breathing room. He wanted her to keep looking at him like she was right now, with the glint in her eyes that said she was seeing only him, Rabbit the guy, not Rabbit the pyro, telekine, mind-bender, warrior, crossover, or what-the-fuck-ever.

  He caught her hands when she would’ve started patting him down, checking for injuries. “I’ll be fine; I promise. I just need some food.” And a few hours to process things. Because as his scattered brain cells started checking in for duty, he was realizing that he couldn’t tell the Nightkeepers about his vision, either. His mother was Xibalban, after all. The enemy.

  Under any other circumstance, keeping this shit all to himself would’ve felt way wrong. But as Myrinne guided him out of the library and into the passenger seat of one of the compound’s ubiquitous Jeeps, clucking and fussing over him as if she too had needed an excuse to let their recent bickering fall aside, it all felt very right. There was a new warmth inside him, singing soft, half-remembered lullabies and letting him know that whatever happened, he wasn’t alone anymore, not deep down in his heart. His mother’s spirit—and maybe even Tristan’s too—was watching him, watching out for him. And thank the gods for that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Wait up.”

  Cara winced at the sound of Zane’s voice behind her, followed by the heavy tread of his boots catching up to her in the hallway. She stopped, though, and turned back, surreptitiously tucking the package of hot dogs she’d filched from the kitchen into her waistband at the small of her back, beneath her shirt, where they pressed like cold, sweaty fingers.

  He had changed out of his funeral garb—she suspected they all had, wanting to put some distance between them and the attack—and was dressed down in fatigue pants and an army green T-shirt, with a blue button-down thrown over it and turned up at the cuffs. On one level she recognized that he looked good, with the button-down deepening the blue of his eyes while the tee showed off the iron-pumping physique beneath. On another level, though, she thought that his eyes were too dark, his muscling too heavy, his face too much on a level with hers, when she would’ve preferred lighter eyes on a leaner, taller man.

  And it was a really, really bad idea comparing him and Sven. Besides, there was no comparison, really. One wanted her, while the other wanted to ride to the rescue when it suited him. And she just wanted to do her job for the next three months or so, and then leave all this—and both of them—behind.

  “What’s up?” she said, angling her body so he couldn’t see the hot-dog bulge.

  His eyes searched hers. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Fine.” Even with him, she didn’t dare be anything but fine. Not if she wanted the winikin to follow her lead. “How are the others?” They had still been muttering over their forearm marks—and her lack of one—when Dez had called her to the royal suite to give her report on the attack.

  “They’re rattled. Scared. Wondering why the ward didn’t stop those things and what the hell else is going to go wrong next.”

  Was it a good thing or bad that he didn�
�t mention the marks? She tried to tell from his expression, but saw only his concern and a questioning empathy that silently prodded, Are you sure you’re okay?

  “I’m fine,” she said again, then realized he hadn’t asked the question aloud. Shit. Flushing slightly, she added, “Should we do a Bud-’n’-bitch?” The officially unofficial gripe sessions were held once or twice a month in the Nightkeepers’ old training hall, which the rebel winikin had appropriated and renovated into a rec room. Part town meeting, part drinking game, and with no weapons allowed, the sessions gave the winikin an opportunity to blow off steam in no-Nightkeepers-allowed privacy.

  He shook his head. “I think you should give it a day or two, see what the brain trust comes up with, and go from there. Besides, tonight might not be the best night to stick everyone in a room and throw alcohol in the mix.”

  “Yeah. Probably not.” Edging back a step, feeling beyond awkward with a pound of hot dogs stuck down her pants, she made a gotta go gesture. “Well, I’m going to—”

  “He was right, you know,” Zane interrupted, and the sudden set of his jaw said that this was what he’d come to tell her.

  She stilled. “He who?”

  “The coyote mage.” That was Zane’s name for Sven and was said, as always, with a faint sneer, but the bulk of his anger seemed self-directed as he said, “I should have sent you ahead with Lora. I should have had your back.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t realized he had been close enough to overhear, wondered what else he’d picked up from her and Sven’s exchange. Carefully, she said, “I gave you an order and you followed it. You did the right thing.”

  That squared-off jaw got squarer. “Not this time. And, yeah, I know that following orders isn’t optional in the military but this”—his gesture encompassed all of Skywatch—“isn’t just an army; it’s a community. And you’re more than my superior officer, Cara. A hell of a lot more. Which as far as I’m concerned gives me the right—and, hell, the responsibility—to call bullshit on bad orders. I should’ve done that today. The winikin need you. And I… Shit.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but they were too far apart. “I wish I’d been the one. Not him.”

  A harder, hotter flush hit her and she almost blurted that it wasn’t like that with her and Sven, that he wasn’t the one, that nobody was. But just in time she caught that he was talking about being the one to rescue her. “You saved Lora and Sven saved me. It was teamwork, Zane, just like we practiced.”

  “Teamwork.” His lips twisted. “Is that what you call it?”

  Okay, she thought as a quiver worked its way through her stomach at the sudden heat in his eyes. He wasn’t entirely talking about the rescue, after all. “Zane…”

  “Is it because of him? The coyote?”

  “No.” Yes. “Absolutely not.” Maybe a little. “It’s because of me.” Which was true. She wanted more than she’d gotten in her life so far, and she was smart enough, disciplined enough, to know she couldn’t go looking for it while struggling to piece the winikin together.

  He took a step closer, narrowing the gap between them as he searched her eyes. Suddenly she was very aware that they were alone and off duty—or as off it as either of them ever got—and he was close enough to kiss her. Heat stirred, but it came from embarrassment rather than excitement. All she could think was, Please don’t try it.

  He reached out, took her hand, and raised it to press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft, his beard shadow a bristly scrape of contrast, and it was over before she felt anything more than relief that he hadn’t tried to kiss her for real.

  Without pulling her hand away, she said, “I can’t, Zane. I just… can’t. I didn’t ask for this job, but now that I’ve got it, I need to give it twice as much energy as I have, which means I’ve got nothing left for anything else, including a relationship, or even a hookup. That’s all going to have to wait until I’m done leading the charge.” She grimaced. “Then again, given the way the winikin are sniping at each other these days, Mendez—or, hell, the gods themselves—might just decide to replace me before then.”

  Which wasn’t something she’d ever said to anyone else before, had barely even acknowledged it herself. And once it was out there, she wished she’d kept it inside, because he hesitated, letting her know that he too had his doubts. But what if that was the right answer? What if she was doing more harm than good? What if—

  “You can do this.” Zane spaced the words for emphasis, still holding her hand in a grip that felt suddenly warm and solid. “The holdouts are going to get behind you. There’s going to come a moment when they’re going to rally, not because they’d rather be led by a winikin—any winikin—than a mage, but because you’re the right person for the job.” He paused. “That’s why you should’ve been the one hauling ass for the shield today while I stayed behind. And it’s part of why I want to be with you. I want to have your back, more than I do now. I want to be there for you, no matter what.”

  Her chest went tight. “I can’t… I won’t… Shit.” Breaking off, she pulled her hand away from his and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing back the burn of tears. “I’m sorry. I just can’t deal with this right now.”

  “That’s the thing, Cara. Don’t you get it? If you let me in then you won’t have to deal with things alone anymore. We can work together, be a team. Partners.”

  Part of her yearned with a fierce intensity she hadn’t felt since childhood, when things had been so much simpler, and saying, “I want,” hadn’t come with all the risks and conditions of adulthood. She wanted to be part of that sort of team; she always had. “I don’t think—”

  Seeing her waver, he moved in. And kissed her.

  At the touch of his lips, she sucked in a breath as a sudden rush of embarrassed heat turned her momentarily light-headed and had her grabbing for his arms. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, shaping his mouth to hers and sliding in, tongue to tongue. And for a crazy second that went against everything she’d been telling herself for the past two days, ever since he’d revealed his feelings, something inside her said, What the hell, why not? His arguments were good ones, and she was so damn tired of being in charge.

  So she kissed him back.

  His breath hissed out when she softened against him, and he splayed his hands across her back high and low, making her suddenly aware of her own body in a way she hadn’t been in a long, long time. Their tongues met and separated with a rhythm that reminded her of the battle strategies that were becoming second nature: probe and retreat, probe and retreat, seeking a weakness in the enemy lines. Only they weren’t enemies and this wasn’t a battle, and his body was strong and solid, anchoring her. She let herself stay locked there—in his arms, in the moment. And if a small voice in the back of her head said she should pull back, hold off, make sure she knew what she was doing, she ignored it to feel the warm press of his mouth and arms, and the layers of muscle beneath his shirt where she gripped his upper arms.

  But that was it, she realized as the kiss went on and her brain kicked back in. She didn’t really feel any burning desire to let her hands roam away from his biceps and stroke the rest of him.

  No real desire at all, in fact.

  At the realization, What the hell turned into Oh, hell, and her stomach dropped. What was she doing? She knew this wasn’t going to work, had known it the moment he’d bared his feelings and her first reaction had been dismay, her second a profound wish that he’d kept it to himself. And the way her brain was racing as he kissed her now was further proof—as if she’d needed it—that they weren’t a match for the short or long term. In the dark depths of the night, she fantasized about a man whose kisses and touch blocked out rational thought and made the world disappear. Not one who made her feel all awkward, like her arms and legs weren’t angled quite right as she held on to him.

  She must have stiffened or made some sound, because he ended the kiss and drew away, his eyes searching hers. “And for the record, I’m not talking about
just a hookup here. I never was. I want us to—”

  “Stop,” she said in a low, ragged voice. “Please stop.”

  He hesitated, his expression dimming. “You’re seriously not going to give this a chance?” His voice roughened with urgency. “We could be good together. Let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

  Temptation tugged once more, reminding her of all the times she’d watched the mated magi share a touch or a look, or make a less-than-subtle dash for their quarters hand in hand, and wished she could have what they had. She had tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of a couple—not just a friends-with-benefits thing like she’d had before, but a real couple—and know that there was always going to be someone on her side, ready to back her up if she needed it. Only now that she was being offered exactly that, she found she didn’t want it, not the way she had thought. She wasn’t sure if it was the timing, the man, or both, but even as her heart cracked a little and her instincts warned that she couldn’t risk alienating him, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Zane, but I can’t. I just can’t. I need”—sparks, she thought, but instead went with—“something different.”

  His expression flattened. “Something other than a man who cares about you, is attracted to you, and wants to help you succeed?” When she didn’t answer, he caught her hands again, his grip warm and sure. “You don’t have to answer right away. You can take some time, think it through, be sure you’re making the right decision.”

  “I am sure.” She reversed so she was the one gripping his hands, the one squeezing to make sure he was paying attention, because she wanted—needed—to have this be the end of the discussion. “Please listen to me, and believe me when I say that I’m very sorry—sorrier than I really know how to express—but this isn’t going to happen. I said no the other night and I’m saying it now, and I don’t need to take time and think it through. This is the right decision for me, and I’m going to have to ask you to respect that.” She paused. “I’m sorry, Zane; I really am. Not just because I’m turning you down, but also because now I have to ask you if we’re still going to be able to work together after this, or if I should start thinking about rearranging the command structure.”