Dez nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to give them the room to do things their way, within reason. The way I see it, that’s our best chance of getting their full cooperation. And as far as the leadership goes, yeah, I want Cara in charge. She’s still the best choice, for all the reasons Jox picked her.” He paused. “But I want to put a Nightkeeper liaison in place, someone who’ll be a guiding hand, an advocate, that sort of thing.”
A prickle walked its way down the back of Sven’s neck. “Nine, corner pocket,” he said, indicating the shot with a wiggle of his pool cue. Then, casually, “You got someone in mind?”
“You.”
He had seen it coming, could see the logic, even. But he still missed his shot. And, as the nine ball rolled into near perfect alignment with the far corner, giving Dez a winning lie that a blind spider monkey couldn’t have missed, Sven’s hands went numb from his sudden death grip on the cue. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
Because I’ve dreamed about her, kissed her, want her. Because no matter how many times I tell myself we don’t make sense together, I’ve never been able to get her all the way out of my head. And because I know that no matter what happens between us, in the end I’m just going to let her down.
Dez lined up and sank the nine. “That’s the game. You owe me a hundred bucks… and an answer.”
“You’ll get the money,” Sven said slowly, trying to formulate a response that wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t all of the truth, either. Finally, he said, “As for the other thing… I’m a tracker, not a politician, and I do my best work on my own. I’m not saying I won’t do it—you’re my king and I’ll follow orders. I’m just thinking that plenty of the others would do a better job of liaison than me… and that I could probably be more useful somewhere else.”
The king took his time racking his stick before turning back to Sven with steady, serious eyes. “There’s no question I could use you off property. I’m sending a team down to the First Father’s tomb, and you and Mac could be a huge help there. But I’ve gotta ask… are you sure this is the direction you want to go?”
He knew, Sven realized with a jolt. Somehow, the king knew there was something going on between him and Cara—or at least the potential for it. And what was more, he wasn’t issuing a warning. If anything, he was offering them the room to let nature—the fates, the gods, whatever—take its course. Maybe he thought that the power boost of Sven’s pairing up would be worth the inevitable toll the relationship would take on rebel relations, or that sex magic might trigger in Cara the latent power he wanted to believe was inside the winikin. With Dez, it was hard to tell what he was thinking sometimes, and not worth asking. More, Sven thought he was dead wrong in this case. Even if he managed to win Cara over for real—and that was a big-ass if—there was no way the winikin would forgive and forget. The rebels would be pissed that their leader was messing with a mage, the traditionalists would be horrified that they were crossing social lines, and Cara would bear the brunt of their disapproval. More, he and Cara would both know that it was only a matter of time before his DNA kicked in and the restlessness came back. He could fight it for a little while, but in the end it would win—it always did—and he and Mac would take off without looking back.
And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to her.
“Send me south,” he grated. And, yeah, maybe he was running away again, but at least this time it was for a good cause.
CHAPTER TEN
The winikin could throw a hell of a party, and their celebration to mark the Nightkeepers’ defeat—albeit only in paintball form—was no exception. But as Cara nursed a beer from a corner stool at the end of the bar, she thought the revelry carried an edge of desperation. The training hall was too loud, full of people who seemed determined to have a good time but kept looking sidelong at one another like they were wondering how many of them were still going to be around next week, next month… and next year.
She keenly felt each of those looks, because she knew darn well that if they had gone into battle for real today, the answer would’ve been almost none of them, thanks to her. Worse, she wasn’t sure she could promise it wouldn’t happen again, because in the heat of battle, it had seemed like the exact right answer, the same way it had felt so very necessary for her to rebuff Zane. Yet those same instincts hadn’t so much as peeped a protest when she’d gone into Sven’s arms.
What was wrong with her? Was she in the middle of some sort of existential crisis, or had she always had shitty judgment and it just hadn’t really mattered until now? Because, by the gods, right now she wasn’t sure she should trust herself to pick a movie or order another beer. Especially given that the microbrew she’d chosen kind of tasted like feet.
She rolled the cool, sweaty bottle across her forehead, wishing she could call a time-out on her life.
“Hey!” Natalie appeared beside her, snagged an empty stool, and leaned in to give her a one-armed hug. “Congratulations again! You were awesome out there today!”
Cara didn’t shake her head in disbelief, but she sure as heck wanted to. If that had been real, you and JT both would’ve been goners. But that didn’t seem to be registering, or if it was, the winikin were shrugging it off. It was like today’s training exercise had been the catalyst they had needed to finally come around to wanting to believe in her… which would’ve been great, except that now she didn’t believe in herself.
Natalie’s face went from party-level exuberance to concern. “Cara? What’s wrong?”
“I need to get out of here.” She set her smelly-feet beer on the counter and slipped off her chair. “I want… Shit.” Her heart pounded and her eyes prickled with the threat of tears because she couldn’t have what she wanted, didn’t want what she was being offered, and couldn’t handle any of it. “I need to walk.”
Nat slid off her chair. “I’ll go with you.”
“No. Don’t.” Cara softened the refusal with a quick hug, then turned away before her friend could see that she was on the verge of sniveling. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cara—”
“I’ll be fine,” she said without turning back. “I just need some air.”
But once she was outside, she found that it didn’t help to lean back against the steel wall and breathe when the atmosphere was thick and heavy with another storm. The horizon was leaden, the stars invisible, and the fine hairs on her arms stirred with a static charge that reached inside her and made her want to move. Giving in, she started walking, not caring that she was running away.
“Cara?” The soft call came from behind her and brought her up short at the edge of the floodlit illumination from the training hall.
“Damn it, not now,” she muttered under her breath, but then schooled her expression as she turned back. “Yes?”
She had known it wasn’t Natalie from the voice, but was a little surprised to see Lora step out of the shadows. Wearing her fatigue pants, boots, and an army green T-shirt, she looked more ready for a training run than a party, and her expression was all business. “Zane sent me to find you. He’d like a word.”
Damn it, really not now. It didn’t matter whether he wanted to call her out on what’d happened earlier, clear the air between them, or just talk strategy; she didn’t want to deal with him right now. But she couldn’t blow him off, either. So she nodded. “Where is he, inside?”
“No. Back down at the proving grounds.”
“The… Really?” Cara twisted around to look in the direction of the big steel-and-cement pyramid, which was just barely visible as an angular silhouette against the stormy night sky. Her hair blew across her face, moved by a gust that smelled of rain. “What’s he doing down there?”
“He said he had something important to show you.”
“He… Right.” Thus why he hadn’t hit her up on her wrist unit using an open channel, instead snagging a messenger he thought he could trust. He’d done similar things twice before, when his anti-N
ightkeeper paranoia had gotten the best of him. Both times, the intel had been good, if not necessarily up to cloak-and-dagger standards. Interest starting to stir despite everything else, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go.”
“Alone.” Lora’s pointed look went to the darkness beyond the floodlights.
“What? Oh.” A faint flush touched Cara’s cheeks, though she hoped it was hidden by the dimness. Then again, she had also hoped that the others wouldn’t have noticed her furry shadow. “Mac won’t bother anyone. He’s just playing bodyguard.” And only because Sven was feeling guilty.
“If you say so.” Lora started back toward the training hall. “Do whatever you want. I’m just the messenger.” Duty done, she turned and headed up the stairs. Swinging the door open to emit a blast of noise and movement, she stepped through and was immediately swallowed up in the party.
As the door thunked shut, cutting off the clamor, thunder growled low on the horizon, followed by a soft whine from closer by.
Cara glanced over to where a pair of eyes glowed from the shadows. “You heard her.” Actually, she wasn’t sure how much the coyote actually understood of human speech when Sven wasn’t around. Sometimes it seemed like he looked straight into her and understood everything she was thinking or feeling, and then other times the information seemed to go right past him, unacknowledged. Kind of like a human male, really, when she thought about it, only this one had fangs and claws and would offer her a hell of a backup if she ran into trouble, no questions asked.
She had gotten used to having him around over the past few days, she realized with a sudden pang. Having him there made her feel safer… and it let her know that Sven was still around. And she shouldn’t need either of those things. She could take care of herself, damn it. An apology didn’t change anything, and neither did a kiss.
The coyote gave a soft whuff and advanced a step, so the light picked out the shape of his angular head and thick, furry ruff. His eyes seemed to plead with her not to send him away, but she needed to make the break and stick to it. She couldn’t let herself halfway depend on Sven and his familiar; it would hurt too much when they next took off.
So, even though Mac was giving her puppy-dog eyes, she pointed toward the main mansion and said, “Go on, Mac. Go back to him.”
His ears went flat; his eyes practically welled up.
Steeling herself, she shook her head. “No, Mac. You can’t follow me around anymore. Go on. Git.”
Hanging his head, he went a few steps, then paused and turned back. When she just kept pointing, he whined low in his throat, sounding like she was breaking his heart. But he slunk out of the light and down the pathway toward the mansion. Watching him go emptied her out and made her feel like total crap. But at the same time there was also an odd, hollow sense of satisfaction.
She could take care of herself, damn it, and she could handle whatever Zane wanted to throw at her. Maybe she couldn’t give him what he wanted on a personal level, but they both wanted the same thing when it came to the war. They would make it work somehow.
The weather was closing in fast, drawing the air tightly around her as she headed for the training grounds. The lights were off, the only illumination the unearthly luminance of the storm, until she dug out a small key-chain flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on. The feeble beam didn’t do much more than glint off a shiny bit of sand here and there along the path, making her wish for her night-vision goggles, but she knew the way and could make out the irregular shadows of fake temples and pyramids in the middle distance.
The rising breeze tugged at her hair and clothing as she continued onward, drawing her nine-millimeter in what had become a habit over the past few days. Don’t go anywhere alone without carrying your weapon, she’d been telling her people. And I’m not talking about in its holster. Now, without Mac ghosting at her heels, she took her own advice and kept her eyes moving, her senses sharp, though she wasn’t getting any bad vibes as she reached the edges of the training grounds. At least, not like she had right before the funeral. But the thought of the funeral brought a kick of instinct, because it had been stormy then too, and the demon creatures had come from fire and lightning. What if there was a connection? Could a storm weaken the barrier?
A scuff of movement to her right caught her attention, coming from a narrow alley between two low-slung temple-size buildings. Stopping just short of the main pyramid, she swung around. “Zane? Is that you?” The wind picked up suddenly, carrying a splat of raindrops that hit with staccato force, soaking through her shirt in an instant. “Ugh. Can we get inside somewhere?”
There was another scuffling noise, this one coming from the other side. Heart suddenly thudding, she spun toward it. “Damn it—”
A heavy weight slammed into her, drove her sideways, and sent her crashing into the pyramid stairs. She screamed as she hit and skidded down, scrabbling for purchase as she lost her grip on her gun, her flashlight, everything but the sudden fear that slashed through her.
Her attacker—heavy and human-shaped, though she couldn’t see in the darkness whether he was a man, a makol, or something else—pinned her against the sharp-edged staircase. “No,” she cried. “Help me! Help!”
She went for her panic button, but he jammed a knee on her forearm and tore her wristband off. Seconds later, something sharp pricked the back of her thigh, followed by the burning rush of an injection. She twisted and surged, but couldn’t break free, couldn’t get leverage, couldn’t do anything but scream, “No!”
The wind whipped to an answering howl and a splash of cold, stinging rain.
Disbelief ripped through her. Panic filled the empty spaces and overflowed, then went swimmy as the world fogged. She didn’t know whether it was a drug or a spell, but as she slipped under, she caught a glimpse of a hand and sleeve, the edge of a face, and not only saw the darkness of normal human eyes, but recognized them too. It wasn’t any demon. It was—
Darkness.
The storm hit hard and fast, going from the moan of wind to a machine-gun fusillade against the windows of Sven’s suite just as he finished packing—one knapsack, no bullshit, as usual.
“Shit.” He scowled at the moisture-pelted night beyond the glass, but didn’t have anybody to blame but himself that he was about to get his ass soaked on his way out to the winikin’s hall. He’d been stalling, alternating between the struggle to come up with a good way to tell Cara he was leaving… and the suspicion that she wouldn’t give a damn. And that, too, wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. So he dragged out an old, battered slicker that had migrated to the back of his closet, and headed into the storm.
It was pitch dark beyond the lighted pathway, which went slick and slippery under his boots as he fought his way into the teeth of the wind, feeling like he was reliving one of a hundred sea squalls, though this one on solid ground. When he reached the winikin’s hall, lightning flashed for a long three-count, showing him that the cacao grove was lying almost flat beneath the pounding rain, while the branches of the ceiba tree whipped the air above as if trying to protect the precious crop. The rain hammered down onto the steel panels of the training hall with a din that drowned out everything else.
The party was still going—he saw the door open and close, flashing orange-yellow light from within as two figures staggered down the stairs, holding each other up and laughing into the rain. Sven had seen them around but didn’t know their names. They quit laughing when he approached and ducked under the overhang that sheltered the doorway.
“This is a Nightkeeper-free zone,” one slurred, gesturing with a beer bottle that was down to the watery dregs, yet still managed to slosh onto his buddy. “Piss off.”
“Shut it,” his slightly more sober friend advised, then blinked rapidly, trying to focus his reddened eyes on Sven. “C’n I help you?”
“You shut it,” Beer Bottle said, elbowing Blinker. “We don’ have to help ’im.”
“I’m juss bein’ polite.” Blink, blink. “Nothin’ wron
g with that, izzere?”
“Absolutely not,” Sven said. “Could you tell Cara I’d like to talk to her out here?” Then, not wanting anybody to get the wrong idea, he tacked on, “I have a message for her.” Which he did, sort of.
Beer Bottle sneered. “Whassa matter? You don’t want to go inside?”
“Do you blame me?”
The sneer flattened, then got a little confused. “Well… no.”
“I don’t want to make trouble; I just need to talk to Cara. Please.”
Blink, blink. “She’s not in there.”
“She’s not—” Sven let out a breath. “Where did she go?”
“Dunno. Saw her leave, though.” Blinker did the blinkety-blink thing, then added helpfully, “It was a while ago.”
“Did you— You know what? Never mind. Thanks.”
Beer Bottle scowled and jabbed an elbow at Blinker. “I tol’ you not to help him.”
“Nothin’ wrong with bein’ polite.” And they were off again, wobbling around the same conversational circuit as Sven popped his hood and jogged back out into the rain, leaving them to it.
He was just about to head back to the mansion, thinking he’d missed her, when a faint tickle hit the edge of his mind, a pulse of agitation. “Mac?” He stopped in his tracks and opened his mind to their bond.
Instantly, thought-glyphs seared themselves across his mind, seeming ten feet high and glowing red-hot: Emergency! Come now! Danger! Comenowcome!
Gut knotting even as his body spun toward the signal, which was coming from the firing range, he sent back: What? Who?
Followfollowfollow! was paired with a glimpse of the main pyramid of the proving grounds.
I’m coming! Catching that Mac was poised to bolt after something—or someone—Sven sent an emphatic: NO. Wait. Then he put his head down and booked it, adrenaline shrilling through his body as his warrior’s talent came online, juicing his magic and getting him ready to fight. A foxfire spell lit the night around him, though he didn’t remember calling it. Was it more of those demon creatures? Something worse? He wasn’t getting images from Mac anymore, just fury.
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