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  As he said the last of it, lines of fiery pain burned across his palms and then caught, flaming blue for a moment before they guttered and died, leaving his skin scoured clean of ashes and blood.

  “By the Boar Oath, here is your first order,” Red-Boar said without preamble. “Obey your king without exception.” Rabbit felt the order take root, dig in, and twine itself into a hard little knot at the back of his head, where his magic used to be. It wasn’t painful so much as intrusive. Unsettling, knowing the threat was there. His old man continued, “By the Boar Oath, here is your second order: Do not physically hurt any of your teammates—Nightkeeper, winikin, human, it doesn’t matter. Don’t hurt them.” Which only went to prove that Dez had written the orders, because Red-Boar wouldn’t have bothered to add the humans and winikin.

  The second order settled itself in his brain, making him feel invaded, controlled. “What’s the third one?” Rabbit asked, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.

  “We’re going to save that one for now,” Dez said. But while the answer had come from the king, Red-Boar’s eyes glinted with satisfaction.

  Bastard, Rabbit thought, but squelched the anger. This was his punishment, after all. More, despite the oath, his onetime teammates were all looking at him with varying degrees of wariness and skepticism, warning that he still had a long way to go with them. All except Myrinne, whose level gaze said it didn’t matter what he said or did, she didn’t intend to trust him ever again.

  Ah, baby. He wanted to get her away from the others and tell her that he wasn’t that guy anymore, that he’d finally learned his lesson. But no matter how important Myr might be to him, she couldn’t be his priority right now. It didn’t take the Boar Oath to tell him that.

  So, focusing on Dez but talking to all of them, really—and especially her—Rabbit said, “I’ve taken the vow, and I damn well mean it. You don’t have to trust me, but the gods seem to think you need to use me . . . so let’s get started.”

  The king looked at him for a few seconds, weighing his sincerity. Then a gleam entered his eyes, and he nodded. “Well, then. Seems to me that we need to figure out how the magic works between you and Myrinne, what the crossover is supposed to do . . . and why the hell the gods want you on our side when all you ever seem to do is blow shit up.”

  * * *

  As the crowd in the sacred chamber started dispersing, Myr slipped out the back door and headed for an empty apartment wing–turned–storage area that had little to recommend it except a side door that would get her back to her quarters in the mage’s wing without having to stop and talk to anybody.

  In the deserted hallway, cloths were draped over sideboards and chairs, protecting them from stacks of boxed ammo and other gear, and dust motes hung in the air and swirled in the light coming from the curtain-hung windows. Her stomach churned as she walked, but while she’d skipped breakfast, it wasn’t hunger talking—it was her better sense, the part of herself she had learned to listen to over the past few months. Right now, it was telling her to get back to her routine and do her damnedest to pretend that nothing had changed . . . even though as of yesterday, everything had changed.

  “Myr. Wait up.”

  Damn. It was Rabbit’s voice, Rabbit’s bootfalls suddenly sounding in the hallway behind her.

  Which was partly her fault—she would have sensed him through the magic if she hadn’t blocked him so thoroughly, been so determined to ignore the faint tickle of warmth that had kindled at the base of her skull with his return.

  She stopped and turned back to face him. He halted a few paces away, eyes dark with lingering exhaustion, along with the pain of having just sworn himself under his father’s thumb. Refusing to feel sympathy, she said, “What do you want?”

  I want you, Myr. I came back for you. The words came in his voice and sent a shiver down her spine, but they weren’t real. They couldn’t be, not with the magic blocked off. But that meant they came from inside her, from the weak, wistful part of her that kept thinking how Michael, Brandt and Lucius had all overcome the influence of the dark magic to become better men—and mates—than ever before.

  But her smarter self said that Rabbit wasn’t any of those guys. He was the crossover. And the one thing they knew about the crossover was that he was supposed to wield both light and dark magic. Maybe he was channeling only his Nightkeeper powers right now, but that wouldn’t last. Soon, he would have to embrace the darkness again. And she didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he did.

  Eyes level on hers, he said, “I want you to know that I won’t hurt you, ever again. Even without the oath, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  Jamming her hands in her pockets, she scowled. “I’m not afraid of you, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang out, either. You said yesterday that you’d leave me alone. So how about you start now?”

  But he shook his head. “During the spell, the blood-link sent my old man’s power into me, but it didn’t flip the switch on my magic. You’re the only one who can do that, Myr . . . which is why Dez wants us to do some experiments and figure out what’s going on with my magic, the sooner the better.”

  “It’s not your magic.” Temper sparking, she slipped the ash wand from her pocket and felt a faint hum enter her bloodstream. “It’s mine now.”

  A flick of her wrist opened a nearby box of jade-tipped bullets. Even though she’d practiced endless hours with the magic, the move still sent a burst of energy and wonder through her. Telekinesis. Gods. Power flowed through her, thick, rich and glorious, and making her feel like she could do anything. Using her mind to direct the energy now, she plucked a single bullet from the box, sent it skimming through the air like a special effect in an unscripted movie, and then brought it to a halt, so it spun gently in midair between them.

  Rabbit watched the bullet. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, Myr. We can work together, fight together, just like we did yesterday. I’m not asking for anything more.”

  “Yesterday was a fluke.” More, she didn’t want to fight with him, connected through the magic; it was too much like she used to picture, pretending they were both Nightkeepers, destined mates who went into battle as lovers and partners.

  Back then, she’d had the man and wished for the magic. Now she had the magic and wished the man would leave her alone.

  “I don’t think it was a fluke . . . and if it was, we need to know that, too.” He took another step toward her, so there were only a few feet—and a spinning bullet—between them. “Try it, Myr. Please. Drop the blocks and let’s see if the magic comes to me again.”

  “Damn it.” She didn’t want to, but what other choice was there? The Nightkeepers needed their crossover, and she had his magic. Or at least the good-guy half of it. “Fine. Okay. Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Gods, she hated this.

  Yesterday, the connection had formed spontaneously, unbidden. Now, she concentrated on the place at the back of her skull where she’d blocked the power flow. Stomach churning, she gestured with the ash wand and relaxed the mental blockade, releasing the eager-feeling magic.

  It flung toward him as if magnetized; she felt it go, felt it connect, and despair clawed at the confirmation that they were going to be joined more intimately than ever. She might have the magic inside her, but it wanted to be with him, would find a way to get to him, just as it had yesterday. A chill ran through her at the thought that it might leave her utterly. Please gods, no.

  “Ah, shit.” His face smoothed and filled as the magic entered him. “Good. That’s so fucking good.”

  And, without warning, the rasp of his voice reminded her of him saying her name as he came deep inside her, whispering praises, reverent curses. Lust surged suddenly, twisting inside her core and making her want. This isn’t the same, damn it, said her better sense. This isn’t about sex.

  But that was a lie, because the magic was almost always about sex. Lovemaking was a way to tap into the magic, and the magic invariably sparked arous
al between lovers . . . or ex-lovers.

  And, oh, shit, she was in trouble. Sweat prickled along her body at the sudden understanding that the mental connection wasn’t the worst of the danger. I can’t do this. Not if she was determined to stay away from him. The raw ache was too potent, too tempting.

  They had been good together, physically. Very, very good.

  Rabbit reached out with his mind and caught the bullet, then sent it spinning between them, faster and faster until it whined in the air and threw off red-gold sparks. His potent, masculine magic vibrated between them, reaching into her and making her yearn.

  Oh, no, she thought as their eyes met and she saw the rising heat in him. Hell, no. She tried to block the arousal, but couldn’t. It was coming from inside her, a sensual energy that curled in her core, pulsing and shifting, seeking an outlet. She wanted to close the distance between them, wanted to flatten her hand on his chest again and feel his heartbeat. She wanted to rub her thumb along his jaw, where last night’s shave had missed some bristles. She wanted—

  “No!” She yanked back a step, instinctively slamming the mental blocks into place.

  The magic winked out and the bullet fell to the floor, pinged off the hardwood, and skittered under a cloth-covered chair. That was the only sound, though. That, and the two of them sucking ragged breaths as the heat leveled off, then faded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence. “Shit. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course not. It was the magic. Sex magic.” There, she had said it.

  “It . . . yeah.” His eyes held a sheen of power, making his expression unreadable. She didn’t know what he was thinking, which put a stir of new nerves in her belly.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said. “There has to be another way for you to use your talents. Maybe your father . . .” She trailed off. “It won’t work, will it?”

  “No. You’re the one I need.”

  I don’t want to be.

  “You’ll be in control of the link. You can pull the plug any time you want.”

  “I’m not so sure about that.” Not after the way the magic had reached out to him. Not after the way her body had wanted to do the same damn thing.

  He looked away. “I hate putting this on you.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Bullshit.”

  That startled a laugh out of her, though it quickly threatened to head toward hysterical territory. “Well, when you put it that way.” But this wasn’t about blame, wasn’t even about the two of them, really. And it wasn’t like they had a choice. “Okay,” she said finally, “we can do this. We can find a way to work the magic together.” She could learn to block the sexual stuff, maybe. Probably. “But that’s it. Nothing else is going to happen.”

  She wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.

  He nodded, though. “Agreed.” He held out a hand. “Deal?”

  They shook on it. “Deal.” She pulled away as quickly as she could, wondering whether she was talking herself into something that would be a big mistake. But there was no running away from the end of the world, was there? And as for the sex magic . . . gods, she didn’t know how she was going to stop it—or, worse, endure it. “We’ll need to experiment, like Dez said. We need to figure out whether the connection has a cutoff range and how it really works . . . and we need to see whether we’re stronger if we work together.” She didn’t want to think about the possibility, not when she used to fantasize about being his true mate and fighting at his side, their powers joined.

  He searched her face. “You want to hold off until tomorrow, give it all a day to sink in?”

  Yes. “No.” That would be the coward’s move. “I’ll meet you out at the firing range in an hour.” She needed breakfast, needed to pull herself together. And most of all, she needed to find a way to armor herself against the sex magic. Because she and Rabbit might’ve had their problems before, but sex had never been one of them. And now, with the added connection of the magic . . .

  Gods. She didn’t know if she could handle this, not really.

  She would have to find a way, though. Somehow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Chichén Itzá, Mexico

  Anna could’ve told Dez that finding more info on the crossover was going to be far easier said than done. She and Lucius had already combed the Nightkeepers’ library for references, and it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing Google could help with. So they were back to the drawing board.

  In a more perfect world, the Nightkeepers could’ve asked their itza’at seer to tell the future for them . . . but Anna was their only itza’at, and her inner eye was busted.

  Sighing, she eased back on her heels and let the skull-shaped seer’s pendant drop back below the neckline of her tee. The magic flowed out of her, dissipating quickly because she hadn’t managed to call a vision, hadn’t managed to summon any of the old, blocked-out memories that she suspected were clogging her magic. Hadn’t managed to do anything, really, except waste her energy teleporting to the ancient ruin in the hopes that being there would shake something loose.

  Granted, there wasn’t anybody around to see her fail yet again . . . but, really, that wasn’t a good sign either. Up until four or five weeks ago, the Mayan ruins of Chichén Itzá had been crawling with sightseers pretty much from dawn until after dusk. Now, though, the region was in the throes of an infectious outbreak, the area quarantined and the park off-limits.

  The quarantine had allowed Anna to teleport directly to the ancient site rather than try to sneak in through the Nightkeepers’ hidden tunnels. And it had given her the run of the place, so she could climb up inside the Pyramid of Kulkulkan, touch the ancient carvings of the Skull Platform, and dangle her feet over the edge of the Cenote Sagrada and feel the power that wafted up from the perfect circle of green water a hundred feet below, where the ancient Maya had made untold sacrifices to appease the gods.

  Now, though, as she wiped the blood off her nearly healed palms and tucked her knife away in the tough cargo pants she had worn with a cobalt blue T-shirt that nearly matched her eyes—fieldwork garb just in case someone saw her—she was too aware of the echoing emptiness of the ruins, where it seemed not even the ghosts were stirring.

  Damn it all.

  Exhaling, she folded her copies of the three torn pieces of notepaper that contained all that was left of the super-secret itza’at seer’s ritual and tucked them into her battered knapsack. An old friend, the knapsack had been with her since grad school. It had seen her through countless digs and field studies, and nearly two decades at the university, along with marriage, divorce, magic, the Triad spell and onward, all the way to now, with the Nightkeepers running out of time.

  As she slung the battered knapsack over her shoulder, she tried not to think that it had been her companion more consistently than anything else in her life.

  Well, that and the crystal skull amulet. But it wasn’t as if she’d had a choice when it came to the seer’s skull. “Keep it with you,” her mother had said right before leaving to attack the intersection, her eyes bright with what Anna had thought was excitement but had probably been tears. “I’ll show you how to use it when I get back.”

  Only she hadn’t come back—none of them had. They had all died in the tunnels below Chichén Itzá, leaving behind a dozen surviving children, one grumpy-assed old mage, a handful of winikin, and the mandate to save the world in 2012 but no clue how.

  Instead of reaching for the amulet or begging for help—been there, done that—Anna sighed and turned to head back the way she had come.

  She found herself facing a man who most definitely wasn’t a ghost, but seemed like he’d appeared out of thin air without any magic.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .” Her words trickled off when her instincts kicked in, telling her not to say too much to the guy, who just stood there, eyebrows hitting his shaggy hairline.

  At about six foot and one eighty, he wasn’t m
uch taller than she. With brown hair, faded hazel eyes and an aquiline nose that had a bit of a once-upon-a-time-broken left-hand crook to it, he looked reassuringly forty-something and human. His bush pants and scarred boots were much like her own, and his open-throated shirt had a medical logo embroidered on the pocket.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was smooth and mellow, with the faintest hint of an accent—British? Australian? She couldn’t quite place it, but it tagged him as nonlocal, while the logo said he was part of the outbreak response. Which made him official, and therefore someone she needed to handle carefully.

  She was tempted to say she was a Red Cross volunteer or something, and use the opportunity to pump him for info on the progress—if any—the humans were making against the xombi virus. Gods knew the Nightkeepers hadn’t been able to make a dent against this wave of the cursed disease, which was part magic, part biochemical and wholly vile. They had tried, but there had been too many hotspots popping up all at once, warning that the barrier was on the verge of collapse, the demons amassing to pounce. The Banol Kax had sent their hellspawn virus to create a chaos that would be ripe for their plucking, and damned if it wasn’t working.

  Dez had pulled the magi off the virus and made a few calls, tipping off the CDC to the disease and what little the humans could do to manage it—which amounted to quarantining the hot zones and restraining the infected people so they couldn’t pass the soul-stealing disease, rabieslike, by biting others.

  Since then, the Nightkeepers’ info on the virus had been limited to news crawls, blogs of varying degrees of hysteria, and the occasional stealth drop-in, and Anna had heard the king muttering just the other day about needing some on-the-ground intel. But something about this guy warned that she didn’t dare try pretending to be part of the volunteer force and risk getting caught in the lie. Better to go with the truth.