Magic Unchained n-7

by Jessica Andersen

  “What happened here was stupid grandstanding,” she said bitterly, furious with herself for not seeing it at the time. “Dez wanted to show that the Nightkeepers are so powerful that a single unmated mage can control a whole room of winikin. He wants us to be able to rule ourselves… but only as long as we remember that he’s allowing us to.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought, but this was the clearest evidence to date. She shook her head. “I should have refused to be a part of this plan. More, I should’ve stopped it.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Sven’s voice came from nearer than she’d thought him, and she glanced up to find him standing close enough to touch her, though he didn’t. Instead, he held her eyes with an intensity that urged her to confide in him, to trust him.

  She could do that, she knew. But only to a point.

  “I think I got caught up in the idea of the two of us working together as a team, just like in the stories.” She hesitated, heart suddenly thudding, even though she knew what the outcome had to be. “I used to pretend we were gods-destined mates.”

  And there it was. The impossible.

  His hands moved as if to reach for her, but he restrained himself. “Then you have feelings too.”

  “Had,” she corrected, then sighed. “Maybe ‘have’ too. Who knows? It’s all so screwed up.” Strangely, the knots in her stomach smoothed out when she admitted it. If anyone had told her that morning that she’d be talking to Sven this way, she would’ve laughed them out of her suite and then taken her own temperature to make sure she wasn’t delirious. “It doesn’t matter, though. Not really.”

  “It could,” he said carefully. And the fact that his eyes slid away from hers let her know that it did matter, very much, to him. “We might be able to find a way.”

  Her stupid heart picked up a beat, but she shook her head. “I can’t risk it. Zane was right when he said that I can’t be connected to you—not as your servant and sure as hell not as your lover—and still be a hundred percent committed to the winikin.” She cut him a sharp look. “How can you even ask me to try? Doesn’t that go against your oath?”

  “The gods outrank the king.”

  A shiver tried to crawl down her spine. “Why is that relevant?” She lifted her arm, turning her mark to face him. “Because of this?”

  “Because of that. Because of the way the vision played out… and because maybe Zane wasn’t wrong about what the gods were telling him to do, just about what it meant.” He paused. “What if everything’s happened the way it was meant to? Or, failing that, what if the gods have fixed things so we’re back where we were supposed to be all along?”

  “The gods don’t acknowledge the winikin,” she said through lips gone suddenly numb. “They only talk to the Nightkeepers.”

  “Says who? It’s not in the writs, same as the part about the winikin not being able to do magic.” He leaned in. “Think about it. Scarred-Jaguar proved that he would do anything, say anything to keep control of the winikin. What if he—or another king like him—started those rumors?”

  “That’s…” Impossible, she wanted to say, but the word got stuck in her throat, because it suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.

  “The nahwal talked to you, not me,” he pressed. “And its message was about the First Father’s resurrection. The First Father made the winikin, Cara. Who better to remake them, bigger and better and able to fight the war?”

  A shudder took hold, making her nerves jangle. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

  “About wanting you? Years. About the gods being involved in it? It’s just now lining up for me.” He tapped his forearm, right atop the warrior’s mark.

  That particular magical talent allowed the warrior-magi to subsume their emotions during battle and gave them increased reflexes and strategic thought. It was that strategy-making at work now, apparently, but to what end? Was he truly trying to make sense of things, or was he finding the path of least resistance? Gods knew that had been his style growing up. “You’re looking for reasons to do what you want. Newsflash for you: ‘The gods made me do it’ hasn’t worked as an excuse since the massacre.” But even to her own ears, she didn’t sound sure.

  “I rarely need an excuse to do what I want.” And with that scant warning, he closed the distance between them, caught her against his body, and came in for a kiss.

  She could have backed away or held him off, probably should have. Instead she stayed put as he cupped a hand beneath her chin, tipped her face up, and fused his mouth to hers.

  Sparks caught, turned to flames. And just that quickly, the heat was back inside her, surrounding her, sweeping her up, and bringing an inner whisper of, Thank the gods. She didn’t want to have to think right now, didn’t want to try to interpret the signs or the gods’ intentions—if the magi hadn’t managed it in nearly four years of trying, why would she have any better luck?

  No, she wanted to sink into the kiss and dig her fingertips into the lean muscles of his upper arms as their tongues touched. And as his arms went around her and he lifted to his full height, so her feet left the floor and their bodies were plastered together every inch of the way, she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and purr into his mouth, wanted to strip him naked, lick him until she discovered which spots made him squirm, which ones made him groan.

  But she had to think, had to figure out for herself what came next. Because if she screwed up now, the ripples could affect both the winikin and the magi, and from there the war. The knowledge weighed on her, overcoming even the tingle of energy that had gathered beneath her coyote mark and the burn of red-gold sparkles that teased at her senses, hinting at the magic she had experienced back in the cave.

  She burned for him, ached to have him pounding inside her with no thought of today or tomorrow, only the now that they made together. Instead, she eased from the kiss and pulled away, levering her forearms against the flat planes of his chest until he lowered her to her feet once more.

  He didn’t let go of her, though. “Tell me you feel it.” His eyes were dark, his voice an aroused rasp.

  She told herself to lie, but nodded anyway, mouth drying to dust by the heat that seemed to spin from her body to his and then back again.

  “This kind of chemistry isn’t something you find every day,” he said. “It doesn’t just happen. It means something.”

  Which, if true, meant that her search for future fireworks might be a long one. Trying not to let that possibility—and the twinge of dismay that came from thoughts of moving on—bog her down, she said, “Maybe, maybe not. But guess what? The gods aren’t my masters any more than you are.” Somehow, that didn’t twinge nearly so hard, which couldn’t be a good sign.

  “Christ, Cara.” He glanced at the sky as if expecting a bolt of lightning, which might have been funny if it hadn’t made her chest ache.

  “Wrong religion.” She took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, where a sudden churning suggested she wasn’t as comfortable with heresy as she’d first thought.

  The winikin might not get messages from the gods, but they prayed to them all the same. And it wasn’t like these were mythical figures; they were real. Three months ago, when several smaller members of the Banol Kax had broken through the barrier and attacked the Nightkeepers’ summer solstice ritual, she had watched in awe as Strike, Leah, Alexis, and Sasha had summoned the gods they were bound to. The plumed serpent Kulkulkan, the firebird Kinich Ahau, and the rainbow goddess Ixchel had combined forces to drive the demons back to Xibalba. Then, as the solstice waned, they had returned to the sky in trailing comets of light and color.

  It had been beautiful. Moving. And scary as shit, because it had driven home to Cara just how far off she was from the reality she’d grown up with, and just how dangerous this new reality was going to get over the next bunch of months.

  The gods were real, they were part of the war, and the Nightkeepers were their servants on earth. That was powerful stuff. But at
the same time, it just wasn’t in her to follow blindly.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said after a moment. “Maybe we’re part of some big cosmic plan, and maybe the gods are trying to team us up. But if the Nightkeepers have proved anything over the past four years, it’s that we’ve all got free will even in the face of a full-on prophecy… And this isn’t anywhere close to being a full-on anything.”

  Her skin cooled where it had been heated by the warm press of his body, but inwardly the heat remained. If anything it ramped up when sparks kindled in his eyes and he leaned closer to say, “It is for me.”

  “Stop it.” She slapped a palm on his chest and shoved. It was like trying to push over a building, but he obliged by backing up a step. “Just… stop playing me, Sven. I need to think this through.”

  His expression tightened. “This isn’t a game.”

  “Isn’t it?” Suddenly she saw part of what had made the warning bells go off inside her from the very beginning of his confession, though she’d been too wrapped up in other things to see it clearly until now. “What do you want to have happen here?”

  He took another step back, this time without the shove. “What do you mean?”

  “Spell it out for me. And be specific.” Part of her quailed at the idea that she was talking to a mage—to Sven—like this. But another part ached at the hint of what the hell? in his expression. Because with him, “What the hell?” was almost always followed by, “I’m outta here.”

  But his lips firmed and he moved back into her space. Took her hand. And said softly, “I want you, Cara. I want us to be lovers, teammates.” He didn’t quite say “mates,” but it was more or less implied.

  More or less. “How?” she asked, and the single word echoed in the silence.

  “What do you mean?” It was the second time he’d said it, making her wonder whether that was his fallback, his way of making the other person do most of the work when the conversational going got tough.

  “When I was ten, I wanted a pet dolphin, but I couldn’t make the logistics work. The way I see it, finding a way for the two of us to be together without totally screwing up the balance of power here wouldn’t be any easier than keeping a bottlenose on a Montana cattle ranch. So what’s the plan? Should we go to Dez and get his take on it? Just stand up in the middle of dinner and announce that we’re a couple and everyone else has to deal? Sneak around and hope that nobody figures it out? What?”

  His eyes slid away from hers. “The gods—”

  “I’m not asking the gods. I’m asking you.”

  Mac whined low in his throat, looking between the two of them with an anxious doggy expression. Cara knew exactly how he felt, but she couldn’t back down now. Maybe she would have a few years back, but not anymore. Not when she was responsible for a broken army that badly needed to be mended.

  “What do you want from me?” The question was low, sounded almost dragged out of him. Yet he was still trying to turn it back on her. She didn’t think he knew he was doing it, really. It was just the way he was wired.

  Like a coyote, she thought with an edge of bitterness that hurt to feel. “I don’t think there’s any way we could keep an affair casual, not under the circumstances. So I want to know exactly how much I would be risking, what I’d be giving up if I decided to be with you the way you want. And I want to know what you’d be giving up in return.”

  His head came up; his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  And there it was: not just the third repetition of his favorite question, but the shock and oh, hell, no expression of a golden boy who had gotten what he wanted all along, too often without any cost. Well, not this time.

  “If you want to be with me, then you’re with me, no holds barred.”

  He nodded cautiously. “I don’t want anyone else. I haven’t in a long time.”

  Part of her took those words deep inside, held them close. “That matters, Sven. It does. Truly. But it’s not what I’m talking about.” She paused and took a deep breath, knowing they were on the tipping point. “I need to know that if we start this and I take the hit with the winikin, that you’re not going to take off and leave me to clean up the mess.”

  He exhaled like she’d gut-punched him. “You want me to promise to stay.”

  “In blood. With witnesses.”

  White edged the rims of his eyes, though his face had otherwise gone to the neutral, reserved expression he wore in battle. Another fallback. “I don’t… I think… Shit. Can’t we just keep things casual?”

  Her heart cracked and bled a little, though she had known what his answer would be. He might be unreliable in some ways, but she trusted many other things about him, including his honesty. Granted, he’d been known to lie to himself, but that wasn’t the problem here. He knew what she was asking… and he wasn’t going to promise it to her.

  She sighed and rubbed the heel of her hand across her sternum, over the achy spot. “If it were just the two of us on a beach somewhere, then hell, yes, we’d keep it casual.” She tried for a smile. “I’d probably just be using you for the great sex anyway.”

  His grin was equally weak. “Too bad we’re not on a beach.”

  The ache intensified. “Yeah. Too bad.”

  He hesitated, then closed the small distance between them and kissed her forehead, murmuring, “If I could promise to stick around for anyone, it would be you, Cara. Only you.”

  Tears prickled, but she closed her eyes and willed them back. “Shit. Don’t say that.” Part of her, though, had needed to hear it. “Just go, okay? I need some time alone.”

  After a long, drawn-out moment, he said, “You’re armed?”

  “Yeah. Got my wristband too. I’ll be fine.” She tensed, expecting him to say something more and both needing and dreading it.

  But all he said was, “Mac. Protect.” And then, with a scuff and the sound of boot steps, he walked out.

  It was a long moment before she opened her eyes, another before she swiped away the moisture that clung to her lashes. She looked at Mac, then away, because she couldn’t stand the sorrow and sympathy in his pale green eyes. Which left her looking at the now deserted training hall, empty and dispirited with the leftovers of a party that felt like it had spanned two lifetimes, maybe three.

  “Guess that means the next step is picking up the pieces and doing some damage control,” she said to the coyote.

  Problem was, she didn’t know which pieces of the damage she was supposed to be controlling, which ones she was supposed to be letting loose… and, damn it, there wasn’t anybody left that she trusted enough to ask for advice.

  Or was there?

  “Shit,” she said on a sigh, staring down at her forearm mark while her chest went hollow and funny-feeling. Because whether she liked it or not—and she really, really didn’t—she needed to talk to her father.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  September 16

  Five days until the equinox; three months and

  five days until the zero date

  Sven awoke to the smell of bacon and an inner sense of discontent, and couldn’t immediately place either of them.

  For a second he flashed back to lying in the Mexican highlands, sprawled restlessly half-off a folding cot, staring up through gauzy bug netting at the ceiling of a pop-up tent pitched in one of a hundred temporary campsites. There, the smell would’ve been the stink of charred bodies, the discontent the residue of his work. Now, as he blinked up at the white-painted ceiling and slowly turning overhead fan, he got that he was in his room at Skywatch, and the smell was definitely bacon. It took him another groggy, magically hungover moment to place the discontent.

  Cara. Oh, shit.

  His heart gave a painful squeeze and part of him wished he were back down south breathing xombi dust. Because he’d really fucked things up this time.

  So much for being a better man. A better man wouldn’t have said anything unless he knew for real what he wanted and that he could get it without s
crewing things up even more than they were already screwed. Which, as she had pointed out, was impossible.

  At the time—in the cave, in the aftermath—it had seemed utterly imperative that he tell her he had feelings for her. Now, though, in the light of day he knew that even though he couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t wanted her, he could’ve made it another three months without saying anything. And he damn well should have, because he couldn’t promise to stay.

  Everyone she had ever cared about had left her: him by running away, her mother by dying, Carlos by being more winikin than father. She deserved someone who would stick by her and put her first and foremost, always. And that sure as shit wasn’t him.

  He tossed an arm over his eyes. “Cocksucking hell.”

  “Good. You’re awake,” Carlos’s voice said from the doorway.

  Shit. The bacon. Dragging his arm off his face and his body upright, Sven faced his winikin, who was a familiar sight standing in his bedroom door with a tray of food and a half scowl. What wasn’t at all familiar, though, was the twinge of unease brought by the sight.

  He’d never before broken a promise to Carlos; and while Cara’s age wasn’t the factor it had once been, he knew damn well that Carlos would still be pissed at them for crossing what he considered a sacred line. Not to mention, Sven realized with a kink of fatalistic amusement, he’d never before faced off against the father of a girl he’d hooked up with, and sure as hell not the morning after, naked.

  Carlos was all business, though. “The king sent me to get you moving. He wants to see you in his quarters as soon as you’re up and functional. He’s talking to Cara now.”