The woman in her knew she was kicking a good man while he was down. The leader she was becoming said she had to know.
Now it was his turn to pull his hands away from their clasp, his turn to take a couple of steps back. He stood with his hands locked behind his back, his chin up, and his eyes looking past her as he said, “Don’t worry about me. I know how to soldier up.”
Her stomach knotted at his stark tone, and the knowledge that he’d never done anything to make her doubt his professionalism. “I know. I didn’t… Shit. I’m sorry.”
Chin dipping in an almost-nod of acknowledgment that didn’t reach his faraway eyes, he said, “Then I guess I’ll see you at the morning briefing. If you need me… Hell, I’ll just see you at the briefing.”
She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d saluted or waited for a dismissal, and was almost pathetically grateful he just turned on his heel and strode away, boot steps echoing in the corridor, then fading when he turned the corner for the winikin’s wing. Moments later, his door opened and then thunked shut, leaving behind an echoing silence.
Suddenly very tired, as if her exhaustion had just been waiting around for her to notice it, she leaned back against the nearest wall and concentrated on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and… Shit. How was she going to fix things now? Was it even possible? He might’ve played it off like they could just go back to business as usual, but there had been real pain in his face just now, real regret, disappointment, maybe even a hint of anger. She knew how it felt to want someone who didn’t want her back, and she hated like hell having caused him that pain. He was a good man, had been a good friend.
Freaking sparks, she thought bitterly, swiping a hand across her dry, burning eyes. It would’ve been so much easier if she could’ve wanted him.
Sighing, she pushed away from the wall and turned for her suite, only to be brought up by the feeling of a clammy hand on her ass.
Damn it, she had hot dogs tucked into her pants, and an apology to make to the last person she wanted to see right now.
She hesitated, sorely tempted to bag it and head back to her quarters. But that would mean admitting that he still had power over her, which he damn well didn’t. So, muttering a curse under her breath, she yanked the wieners out of her waistband and went in search of Sven, determined to get her thanks out of the way and prove that he’d long ago lost whatever spell he’d once cast over her.
Nightkeeper or not, he was just a guy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Despite her determination to just freaking get it over with, Cara almost wimped out twice on the way to Sven’s suite: once at the entrance to the mages’ wing, and again at his door. Caution said that she was too tired and raw to deal with this now, that she should call it a night and start over in the morning. But the longer she waited, the more important it would seem. A thank-you given in the moment was a toss-off; one twenty-four hours later meant she’d been stewing.
“Don’t be a wuss,” she muttered. And, clutching the hot dogs in a grip gone slippery with condensation, she knocked hard and fast.
“It’s open,” he called, voice muffled.
Blowing out a breath, she pushed through the unlocked door, stepped into the main living area of the three-room suite, and let the panel swing shut behind her. She hadn’t been inside his quarters since her return to Skywatch, and found that the hang-loose decor the place had sported four years ago—heavy on the surfboards, underwater pics, and treasure maps—had given way to a collection of canyonscapes and coyote motifs.
One of the two bedroom doors was open, and there were sounds of activity within. Through the door, she saw the corner of a bed covered with a rumpled dark blue comforter; a pair of jeans hung off one edge, with a holstered pistol tossed on top. The tableau—a still life done in denim and Glock—threatened to bring a jolt of heat, but she looked away. She had seen plenty of guns over the past nine months; this one wasn’t any different, and neither was the man. He was just another mage, fighter, and teammate. She owed him an apology, nothing more. So when she heard him coming out of the bedroom, she took a deep breath and turned back with her thank-you on the tip of her tongue—
And froze at the sight of him.
Wearing sweats that hung low on his hips, with a gray hoodie over his bare torso, unzipped, he wasn’t naked, wasn’t even showing her anything she hadn’t seen before. But it still made a hell of an impact.
Fresh out of the shower, he was using a white towel to rub his hair dry. It blocked his sight and muffled his words as he said, “Thanks for hooking me up with the grub, Carlos.” He lowered the towel, started scrubbing at his chest. “I couldn’t face going back out to the kitchen and— Oh. Cara. Sorry, I thought…” His eyes locked on her and he trailed off, and for a second it was like it had been earlier, with the rest of the world falling away and her perceptions coalescing to the two of them.
Play it cool, she told herself even as her skin prickled. Don’t stare. But she couldn’t stop herself.
His skin was the delicious golden color she remembered from his beach-bum days, when he’d been deadheading his way through life as a part-time surf instructor, part-time wreck diver, and full-time party animal. Now, though, he was also in fighting form, bulked up through his chest and shoulders, yet still swimmer-lean in the flat planes of his stomach and the ripped lines of the abs that arrowed toward the waistband of the sweats as if deliberately trying to drag her eyes lower.
He made a harsh noise at the back of his throat, then rasped, “What are you doing here?”
For a second her mind blanked. Then she sucked in a breath and said too quickly, “I came to thank you. Tempers got a little hot earlier and I never said how grateful I am for you and Mac rescuing me.” Exhaling and telling herself to slow down, relax, not make this into something more than it really was, she lifted the hot dogs. “These are for him.” She suddenly felt like an idiot, holding out a ten-pack of wieners as a peace offering.
He nodded, though. “He’s nosing around somewhere. I’ll give them to him when he gets back, and make sure to tell him they’re from you.”
“Good. That’s good.” She wasn’t even sure what she was saying, as if one part of her was automatically being polite while the rest of her stared at his chest, caught up in the unexpected intimacy of having him standing there in nothing more than socks and sweatpants, the resentment of knowing that he probably hadn’t given it a second thought. She told herself to leave, but instead headed for the kitchen nook, where she put the hot dogs in the fridge. Like the coyote cared if they were warm.
Then, telling herself she would make the gesture and go, she turned back to him and pulled a crinkling bag from her pocket. It was a package of Skittles, a smaller version of the ones they used to plow through during long winter nights, when she, Sven, Carlos, and her mom, Essie, had engaged in cutthroat tournaments of the patolli. The ancients had anted up with everything from gemstones and pottery to household furnishings, slaves, and sometimes even their own lives. Her family members had played for chores or a special treat, but most often, they had wagered Skittles.
Giving him the bag was a nod to the past they had agreed to leave behind, but somehow back in her quarters it had seemed like the perfect thank-you. So she held out the Skittles, grateful to see that he’d zipped his sweatshirt to his throat. “These are for you, from my private stash… unless you’ve outgrown crappy candy with one hundred percent artificial everything and zero nutritional value?”
His lips curved. “Hand ’em over.”
The almost-smile made him seem far too approachable. His chest might be covered now, but the sweats were worn soft and clung to the lines of his body, putting a twist in her stomach. And, gods, could she be more hormonal? He obviously didn’t share her problem—he was just standing there like it was no big deal for them to be alone together in his suite. Then again, for him it was nothing. And she needed to pull it together and remember that she wasn’t an idiot teenager anymore, or even the girl
who had left Skywatch when he told her to go. She had status and responsibilities of her own now, and they had nothing to do with him.
Steeling herself, she resisted the urge to toss the Skittles, and crossed the room instead, putting herself an arm’s length away from him as she held out the candy. “Thanks for rescuing my ass today. I would’ve been in serious trouble if you hadn’t been there.” She paused, then said softly, “I owe you one, Sven. You saved my life.”
He hesitated, then took the bag with a brush of fingertip-on-fingertip contact and moved back to hike a hip on the edge of the sofa in a casual sprawl that put their eyes on the same level for a change. He tossed the Skittles lightly in one hand for a moment, then sighed deeply, and said, “Shit. We’re off script again.”
“We’re… what?”
“I was going to come find you, maybe get you to walk out to the back of the canyon with me.” Still staring at the Skittles, he tipped his head toward the window. “It’s a nice night.”
Baffled, she followed his nod. The storm had passed without shedding a drop, leaving a high, dusty haze across the sky. It furred the stars and blurred the outline of the nearly full moon. “We can go if you want.”
But Sven shook his head. “Nah. You’re here; I’m here…” A sad, tired smile twisted his lips. “Maybe the gods are trying to tell me to stop stalling.”
Earlier, she had noticed the new lines between his brows and the seriousness in his storm-sea eyes. Now she saw shadows and an intensity that was nothing like his old chilled-out vibe. It brought a skim of surprise and nerves shivering through her, along with the reminder that she needed to stop thinking of him as the guy he used to be. Like her, he’d been through some serious crap over the past few years—heck, even the past few months. By all accounts, his and Rabbit’s efforts to contain and then eradicate the xombi virus had been gruesome work, and she had no doubt that he carried new scars, on the inside if nowhere else.
Her inner winikin wanted to reach out and soothe him, feed him, take care of him. Her inner warrior, though, had her keeping her distance as she asked, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know if I’m fine or not right now, only that I’m better than I was before. Being down in those jungles, seeing things through Mac’s eyes as we tracked the xombis, and then making myself cut them down no matter what they said or did…” He scrubbed a hand across his face, though the move did nothing to erase the grimness. “Hell, Cara, those nights got long. And lying there, smelling the blood on me and Mac no matter how hard I scrubbed to get it off… Shit, it really made me think about my life and the mistakes I’ve made.”
Nerves coiled in her belly, coming from the knowledge that she wasn’t in any shape to deal with this. “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Do you want me to get someone? Sasha, maybe?”
“I don’t need a healer. I need you to listen. You said you owe me, but what happened today doesn’t even begin to balance things between us.” And the look in his eyes said he wasn’t talking about the here and now anymore.
Oh, no. Please don’t go there. Face flaming with a blush that pulsed higher with each beat of her thudding heart, she said, “We said we were going to move forward and not worry about the past, remember? A deal’s a deal.”
But he shook his head. “The deal was a bad idea. And I’m the one who owes an apology.”
“I don’t want…” She trailed off when her throat tightened and her eyes prickled with the threat of tears. “Damn it.”
He shifted as if to go to her, but then settled back and offered a hand, eyes darkening with remorse. “Shit, Cara. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not. I won’t.” She waved him off. “Give me a second here.” Because the thing was, she did want an apology; she always had. She’d just taught herself not to wish for things that weren’t likely to happen. And now… damn it, she was tired, her defenses low. Swiping at her eyes, she fixed him with a watery glare. “Do me a favor? Don’t do this unless you really mean it.” Because as much as she didn’t want it to matter anymore, it did.
“I mean it, I swear.” His words were low and fervent, and carried the force of a blood oath. “I’m sorry, Cara, for all of it. I get it now. I see how I fucked things up, not just with you, but with Carlos too, creating this sort of three-way mess labeled ‘shit we don’t talk about.’”
Her head spun and her feet felt far, far away from the rest of her, putting her into a very unreal this-isn’t-happening sort of place. But maybe after all these years it was happening. Maybe he was finally turning into the better man Carlos had always said he could be. “It hurt him badly when you left, you know.”
“I know. I was going to go see him first, but…”
Her lips twisted on a strange-feeling smile. “I blew the script.”
“Yeah. So I’ll start with the things I need to say to you, instead.” He reached out and took her hand, tugging her closer. The warmth of his skin and the solidity of his grip steadied her, bringing her back to reality as he said, “I’m sorry about what happened that day in the barn, Cara. I should’ve seen it coming, and I should’ve handled it better.”
Reality screeched to a halt around her. Wait. What?
She frowned. “I don’t—”
“When you kissed me, my mind… I don’t know, it blanked. Shock, I guess.” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles as his tired-looking eyes softened. “But that’s no excuse for breaking your heart and then not saying I’m sorry. And I am. I’m just…”
“Sorry,” she said dully.
He exhaled. “Yeah.”
“You sure are.” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or kick him someplace extremely tender. Really, though, she was the one who deserved a swift kick, because for a minute or so there, she had actually thought he might have changed. And maybe he had, but only a little bit. Only enough to see that he’d played a major role in cracking her family apart, not enough to see that it had been his disappearing act that had done the damage. Instead, he was blaming it on a kiss. One that, although she hadn’t consciously remembered it in years, was suddenly there, front and center in her mind.
She was seventeen again, racing for the back barn and bubbling inwardly with the familiar refrain of “Sven’s home, yippee!”
The barn was cool with shade and smelled of first-cutting hay, forming a perfect backdrop for the sight of the glossy bay gelding craning around to nudge Sven, who stood at his shoulder, adjusting tack.
Cara stopped just inside the door and let herself stare.
He had his back to her and seemed bigger than he had even a few weeks ago, when he’d come home after his final exams, stayed a few days, and then headed off on a road trip with friends. Now, though, he had changed out of his college clothes—designer jeans and T-shirts advertising places she probably wouldn’t ever visit—and into real jeans and a smoky blue, long-sleeved button-down that she and her mom had gotten him because it matched his eyes. Not that he would care about the eye thing. He was a guy, after all, and guys didn’t notice stuff like that—or at least not the guys she knew.
Then again, Sven was nothing like those guys. They were goofy and immature, clowning around and trying to impress her and the other girls with their stupid stunts and lame-o jokes. Sven, though… from the moment he’d come back to the ranch this time around, she had seen right away how he was different, how he was bigger, stronger, smarter, just better than them, just like her father had always said. He was way cuter than the other boys too, with his stubby pirate’s ponytail and the easy grin that said he was good with life and life was good with him. More, there was a vibe of power around him, offset by the gentleness he showed as he stroked the bay’s nose, talking softly.
He’d always had a way with animals. Her father had called it a gift and grinned when he said it; he’d tried to get Sven interested in training the ranch dogs with him, and then the horses. Sven hadn’t stuck with either for long, far preferring machines that went fast and far, but he still rode now and then, sometimes l
oading up with enough gear to spend weeks out in the backcountry… which, she realized with a jolt, was exactly what the bay was wearing now.
“No!” The soft cry was out before she could call it back.
The gelding snorted as Sven whipped around. His eyes narrowed when he saw her standing there. “I thought you went into town with your mom.”
She sauntered across the packed-dirt floor, using the walk she and a couple of friends had practiced, the one that always got her asked to dance. When she was close enough to inhale the scents of horse and leather, and the hint of his college cologne being overridden by her mom’s laundry detergent, she planted her boots on the ground and her hands on her hips. “You were going to take off without even saying hello?”
“I’ll be back in a few days.”
“Bull. You’ve packed enough for a week. Longer if you’re planning on hunting.” And the scabbarded rifle said that was a good bet. Reaching out, she caught his hand and gave it a tug. “Stay. Please. It would mean a lot to Mom.”
“Just her?” Suddenly he was looking at her with a strange new intensity.
A hot flush climbed her face, though she wasn’t really sure why. “Of course not. I want you to stay too. And Dad—”
“I’ve already talked to him.” He turned away from her and pretended to adjust his rigging.
Of course he’d checked in, and of course her dad had told him it was cool if he took off. What else did she expect? The two of them were thick as thieves. She didn’t even bother being annoyed anymore; she was just grateful that she had her mother… who didn’t look right, wasn’t acting like herself, and had a doctor’s appointment for next week, though she’d sworn Cara to secrecy. Which was why she didn’t dare use it to convince Sven to stick around. Having him in the house, though, would put a gleam in her mom’s eyes.
Magic Unchained Page 7
