Spellfire

by Jessica Andersen

  Her eyelids shuddered closed as he breathed her name and shifted to tongue the sensitive knot of flesh at the apex of her cleft, then intensified the strokes of his fingers to counterpoint the fading surge of her body. She gasped and arched into the strokes as intense pleasure overtook her in a second wave, one that spiraled up and up, amping beneath the relentless drive of his mouth and hands, and the sensation of being totally at his mercy. Totally connected to him. She came a second time, with a pressure and power that was shocking and unexpected.

  Magical.

  She felt invaded, taken, possessed. Always before, it had been give and take between them, and if she’d given more than she took—or allowed him to give in return—wasn’t that what guys wanted? This, though . . . this was different, unsettling. And so brutally erotic that she was left torn between holding him close and pushing him away as he kissed down her legs and stripped off her boots, jeans and panties. Then he reversed his course, nipping from her toes to her inner thighs, along her stomach and up to nuzzle at her breasts. He kept his full weight off her, but the bulk of his body dipped the mattress and pressed into her, against her, and the fullness of orgasm turned to an empty ache almost instantly.

  Then he shifted, slid up on the bed, and sought her mouth with a kiss that felt suddenly familiar and welcome. She knew this part, this rhythm.

  She purred against his mouth and curled her legs around his hips to rub herself against him in a cadence that was warm and wet, and promised wonderful things. She levered herself up, confident that now he would let her have her way with his body, with all that masculine skin and muscles, and with the huge, hard part of him that throbbed between her legs. “My turn,” she whispered into the kiss, and reached for him.

  He evaded and rolled fully atop her, pressing her into the mattress as he grinned fiercely down at her. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? It’s all your turn, all for you.” And then he kissed her with aching tenderness, sending a sliver of new, wondrous warmth through her.

  “But don’t you want—”

  “This is what I want.” He shifted, positioning himself so the blunt head of his cock slipped between her slickened folds and pressed at the entrance to her body. “You’re what I want.”

  Her body said “yes” before her mind could catch up—her legs parting and accepting him, curving so one heel slid up and crooked behind his knee. “I—” she began, but then broke off on a gasp when he thrust inside her in a single powerful surge, filling her and setting off a sparkling chain reaction of energy, power and pleasure.

  As she shuddered against him, he held her close, held her down and thrust into her with a sharp, bright pleasure that stripped away thought and left only sensation behind. She moaned and clutched at him, would have moved to counterpoint his thrusts, but he didn’t give her the leeway, didn’t give her any choice but to take, and take more. And gods. Oh, gods.

  Breathing became unimportant; self-preservation became unneeded, until the only thing that mattered was the pound of his body against hers, into hers. New pleasure gathered, surprising her. She would’ve thought she was done, spent—she’d come twice already, after all. But as another orgasm built, she arched up into his kiss, then pressed her cheek to his, her lips to his throat, and inhaled the scent of the two of them together.

  This. This was what she needed, what she had come to him for.

  “More,” she whispered against his throat.

  “Hell, yeah.” His voice was a passionate rasp, his grip on her hips inexorable as he shifted, held her, and intensified the tempo.

  Pleasure gathered within her, seeming suddenly huge and important, becoming the only thing she could think of, the only thing she could seek. She widened her legs, tipped her hips and—ahh, there. Fuck, yeah. There. She might’ve said the words aloud, because he growled low in his throat and slowed his thrusts, lingering at the point of contact, pressing into her within and without.

  “Oh.” She dug her fingers into the strong cords of muscle beside his spine, and the scars beneath her fingertips added a sharp poignancy to the moment as her body coiled in that perfect, breathless pause that presaged orgasm.

  She had almost lost him; they had almost lost each other.

  Tears stung her eyes as she came.

  The orgasm spiraled in and then flared out again, washing through her with a glorious, intense heat. She cried out—his name, a curse, a prayer, she didn’t have a clue what she was saying, only that it went on and on, almost blurring past pleasure to something stronger and more insane. He groaned long and low, gasped her name as he came. His hips pumped into her, his arms clamped around her, and he surged once, again and again.

  Her inner muscles milked him, pulsing, pulsing . . . and then slowed.

  Everything. Slowed. Stopped. And then it was over.

  Only it was far from over, wasn’t it?

  Oh, shit, she thought as she turned her face away from him, grateful that he was collapsed against her, his heart thudding a heavy drumbeat. Ohhhh, shit.

  That had been way more than she’d been expecting, way more than she’d been prepared for. She’d wanted sex, but she’d gotten . . . gods, she didn’t even know what to call that, what to make of it. Yes, she was strong. But she wasn’t sure she was strong enough for this.

  “Rabbit,” she began, but then fell silent, because she didn’t have a clue what to say to him. Not after that.

  “Later,” he rumbled thick-voiced, already fading into his familiar postcoital coma. “We can dissect things later. For now, let’s just fucking enjoy it. Deal?”

  Yes. No. Shit. Don’t make this into more than it needs to be. “Deal,” she whispered.

  He was snoring almost before she’d gotten the word out, his big body going lax and warm around her. She couldn’t sleep, though. Not when . . .

  Darkness. Warm and wonderful darkness.

  Sometime later—more than an hour but less than the dawn—Myr startled herself by coming awake from a doze she hadn’t meant to slide into. She was tucked tightly against Rabbit’s warm bulk, with her arm partway across his chest and her hand on the steady beat of his heart. Their legs were woven together, their breaths coming in synch—at least they had been when she first opened her eyes. Now, though, her breathing quickened beneath a flood of heat, longing and disquiet.

  Gods. The things he had done to her, the things he’d made her feel. She’d never done that before, with anyone, hadn’t ever wanted to. And you enjoyed every minute of it, said her better sense, which had been pretty damn quiet up to this point. Question is, are you going to enjoy what comes next?

  Holding her breath, she eased out from beneath the covers, and tried not to shiver as the cold air hit her skin and raised goose bumps. Her nipples pebbled, serving only to remind her of his lips on them, his hands. New tingles erupted—of want, of need—but instead of drawing her back to the bed, they spurred her away. Padding on bare feet, she found her jeans and shirt, her boots and one sock.

  She slipped on the jeans and shirt, shoved the sock in her pocket and held the boots dangling in one hand as she looked back toward the bed.

  Rabbit slept on, undisturbed and magnificent, looking like he’d been cast in gold thanks to the flickering light coming from the white candle. She wanted to crawl back beside him and kiss him awake. She wanted to give herself to him, lose herself in him.

  Gods. What had she done?

  “Stop freaking out,” she said under her breath. “You got what you wanted.” She was the one who’d made the booty call. So what if he’d changed things up some? It shouldn’t be a big deal that he’d gotten her off rhythm and out of their routine, shouldn’t even matter that he’d taken over. It did, though. And that left her feeling far shakier than she liked as she headed for the door, moving silently on her bare feet.

  Behind her, Rabbit shifted and muttered something. She tensed but he didn’t wake up. He just rolled over onto his side and buried his face in her pillow.

  As she slipped through th
e door, she heard him mutter, “No, Myr. Don’t.” Seeing that he was talking in his sleep, she didn’t answer him. Besides, it was long past time for her to go.

  * * *

  Summer solstice, 1984

  Chichén Itzá

  “The dreams said that I’m the key, that I can win the war right here, right now,” Jag said as he and Asia faced the chac-mool. Magic thrummed, coming from the shimmering air above the altar.

  She took his hand. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Gods, was there anything more terrifying than knowing that? He wanted to order her away, wanted to hide her, protect her, surround her in freaking bubble wrap and know she was going to be okay no matter what. Instead, he grated, “Stay behind me. You’re in charge of our shield.”

  And then, facing the intersection, he tapped into the joined magic of his warriors, and began the second spell. Where the first had opened the portal connecting this world to the next, the second spell would break the barrier, then seal it forever.

  He hoped.

  Raising his hands, he summoned the magic and let it rip, pouring the energy into the intersection as—

  Unexpectedly, horribly, red-orange light flared in the doorway behind him. And Asia screamed.

  * * *

  Rabbit jolted awake at the sound of a cry that wasn’t his own, yet echoed in his ears. The blue-gray of dawn was seeping in through the windows, and the other side of the bed was empty.

  Myrinne was gone, and he was having visions. This couldn’t be good.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  December 13

  Eight days until the zero date

  Skywatch

  As the sun hit its zenith overhead, Anna stood facing the chac-mool with a sledgehammer in her hands. The statue seemed to be looking straight at her, like it was asking, “What are you doing with that big-ass hammer? You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, are you?” And although she was the one who’d gotten the message about the true gods, the one who needed the magic that’d been promised, she couldn’t bring herself to take the first whack.

  Her hands shook. What if the skull wasn’t inside the altar? What if she’d gotten the message wrong?

  Gods knew she’d done it before—she’d sent the Nightkeepers after the resurrection skull with the promise of the First Father’s return, only to have the spell bring back Red-Boar in all his assholic glory. At the moment, he was over in the corner, arms crossed, glowering at Rabbit, who was ignoring him while darting glances at Myrinne, who shifted and looked away. They weren’t the only ones there, of course—the small room and the hallways beyond were crammed with bodies—but the three-way vibe was a bad sign. Then again, so was the tension that was strung bitterly tight throughout the sacred chamber.

  The Nightkeepers needed to go into the final week as a united force, yet here she was, about to bust up their ancestors.

  “I still think we should try some sort of imaging,” she said to Dez. “There are times when high tech is called for.”

  But he shook his head. “I think this is a time for faith.”

  Then why am I the one with the sledgehammer? She didn’t say it, though. Instead, she leaned forward, touched the chac-mool’s forehead with her free hand, and whispered, “Please forgive me.”

  Then, not looking back to see her own nerves and horror reflected in the faces of her teammates, she hefted the sledge over her head and brought it down right on the place she’d just touched. Metal met stone with a sickening CRACK that reverberated up the wooden handle to her hands, which stung as if she’d just opened a dozen sacrificial cuts.

  A jagged fissure slashed lightning-like down across one carved eye and then to the corner of the deity’s mouth, tracking like a tear.

  Somebody moaned; Anna didn’t think it was her, but she wasn’t sure.

  “I’m sorry.” She lifted the weapon again. “Sorry, sorry.” Another swing, another CRACK, another shot of burning pain, this time reaching up her wrists and singeing her marks. The fissure widened and one side of the chac-mool’s face slid down slightly, turning its beatific smile into a leer.

  Please gods, she whispered in her soul, but felt nothing—no lift of hope, no connection to the other side of the barrier, as if they had turned away from her.

  She couldn’t stop now, though, so she said the prayer aloud, heard it echo behind her, and swung with every ounce of her strength, both physical and magical. The sledge hit with a crunch, a different sound, a different reverb, and limestone fragmented, clattering to the stone floor as the side of the chac-mool’s face crumbled away.

  Where it had been, bloodred crystal gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the glass ceiling.

  “Oh,” Anna breathed, letting the sledge droop in her hands as she stared. The smooth ruby surface was huge and curved, and amber gleamed from the depths of a socket, a glowing yellow eye partially revealed.

  A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. It wasn’t an amulet at all; it was a life-sized crystal skull. And somehow, it had been there all along, hidden beneath a limestone shell.

  “Holy crap,” Dez said, voice low and reverent.

  Anna sucked in a rattling breath that burned in her lungs. “Okay, then. Crystal skull. Check.”

  The chac-mool looked decidedly Terminator-esque, with half its face still normal stone, the other gleaming red crystal, its glare not saying “What are you doing” anymore, but instead demanding “Get on with it.”

  She pulverized the other side with two well-aimed smashes. Chips of stone stung her face and arms, and clattered to the floor around her, but she didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just kept going as the other side of the skull emerged from the rubble, as if she’d stripped away the deity’s flesh to find the bones beneath.

  Then, hands burning with a strange mix of numbness and pain, she let the sledgehammer thud on the stone floor, and moved toward the ruby skull. Sitting atop the ragged neck stump it was macabre, grotesque, but it was the eyes that held her transfixed. The amber pulsed with a strange inner light, drawing her closer and closer.

  And suddenly, as if the knowledge had been inside her all along, she knew what she needed to do.

  “Tzo’o’keen,” she said softly. I am ready.

  Her magic closed around her, brushing along her skin and making her blood hum. It suddenly didn’t matter that she’d just desecrated the shrine where she’d been named, where her parents and her parents’ parents had been mated. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she was in the right place at the right time, that she was doing what she was meant to do.

  The skull glowed—red crystal, amber eyes. Was that power or sunlight? She couldn’t tell, but she also couldn’t look away. Tugging at her chain, she pulled the smaller yellow quartz skull free and cupped it in her hands, feeling it throb with a beat that wasn’t quite in synch with her pulse.

  “Anna,” Dez said, voice low and warning.

  “I’m fine. It’s fine.” She hoped. Deep inside her, though, fear sparked at the thought that she was about to break through the barrier inside her, the one that had blocked her talents all these years. But she couldn’t keep going on like this, blind and not good for much except transportation. So, not letting herself hesitate further, she whispered, “Tz’a teen ich.” Give me eyes.

  Throom! Twin beams of yellow light speared from the skull and straight for her. She jerked at the noise and flash, but held her ground as the air around her turned golden and strange.

  “Jesus,” Strike grated. “Back up, Anna. Back up and look!”

  For a second it was as if she was standing inside a ghost that was half again as large as she. She could see its head far above hers, its shoulders on either side of her. Then, shaking, she fell back another few steps, aware that the others backpedaled, too, keeping her front and center before the huge figure that was suddenly revealed.

  Awe raced through Anna as she faced an entity, a goddess who glowed golden from the tips of her feline ears to
the edges of her long white robe. Her head was that of a golden-furred lioness, her body that of a voluptuous woman, and her vivid blue eyes had the slitted irises and soul-searing stare of a huge cat. She didn’t blink, didn’t move; she looked alive, yet stood statue-still; looked real, yet was translucent. She was there, yet she wasn’t. She was a holograph. A projection. Something.

  Behind Anna, Lucius said, “Holy shit, it’s Bastet.” He said it like he was greeting an old friend, not an ancient goddess of the wrong religion. But that was exactly what they were looking at: Bastet, the cat-headed goddess who had protected the kings and the land of the living . . . in ancient freaking Egypt.

  There was a connection, of course—the Nightkeepers had lived alongside the ancient Egyptians for thousands of years until the pharaoh Akhenaton had outlawed the old gods and slaughtered their priests, including the Nightkeepers. The few survivors had escaped to Mesoamerica, where they discovered a land with far stronger magic and a much closer connection to their gods. There, they helped create the Mayan Empire, with pyramids and writing, and a religion that was so much closer to what their ancestors had believed.

  The Egyptian deities had come along millennia before the Mayan gods, it was true. But the Mayan gods belonged to the Nightkeepers.

  So why the hell was Bastet’s image coming from the ruby skull?

  “Say something, Anna.” The hiss came from Lucius, as did the poke in her ribs. He was crowded close behind her, breathing down the back of her neck like he used to when they did fieldwork together for the university, and she uncovered something strange and wonderful. That was Lucius, though. He loved information, discovery, and the sheer fucked-uppedness of life.

  Anna couldn’t share his enthusiasm, though, because she already knew that whatever happened next, it wasn’t going to affect just her. This was bigger than her. It was going to be freaking huge.