Spellfire

by Jessica Andersen

  Still, once she was back at Skywatch, alone in her suite, she checked her phone every thirty seconds or so until David’s e-mail came through. When it did, the ringtone made her jump and sent her pulse into overdrive.

  Her hand shook a little as she hit the key to bring up the message, and she made herself look away for a moment, partly to prove that she could, and partly to enjoy the anticipation. It was real. He was real, and he was interested in her for real.

  Finally, she blew out a breath and let herself look.

  Dear Anna,

  I hope this message finds you away from the doomsday craziness, perhaps even back in the States. Not that I want you gone, but I’d rather have you safe, even if it means I won’t have my favorite translator to call on, at least not in person. At least not right now. Granted, we’re safe here inside the zone, but the crowds are growing and small riots have already broken out beyond the perimeter. I’ve been out to tend some of the wounded, and I don’t want to see you among them. Please don’t make me.

  Ah, I’m messing this up, aren’t I? I don’t mean to be a downer, or to order you around. Blame it on the hours, I guess, or the frustration of knowing that although the virus has stalled, it did it on its own terms, and could, for all I know, kick back on at a moment’s notice. I hate that we’re not making any progress in curing it. Rosa is here with me right now, but there’s been no change. We’re just sitting here, waiting it out. But for how long? Will tomorrow really be the turning point? As much as I’ve tried to level off the doomsday rumors, it’s hard not to think that the tide is poised to turn. I just hope—pray, though I wouldn’t know what god or gods to pray to under the circumstances—that if things do turn around tomorrow, they turn in our favor.

  Blah, blah, blah, me, me, me. Like I said, I don’t mean to be a downer. So how about I move the heck on, and tell you something you don’t know, giving you one of the little vignettes we have begun to trade, which I look forward to more than you can know. You have started to show me a little of your life, and I respect you more with each small insight. I hope the same is true in reverse. Since I last wrote about my childhood, now I’ll give you a snippet of the present instead. Or, rather, the present I’d like to return to, for a day. A week. A month. However long I can manage.

  Which is the long way of saying that I’m attaching a picture of my cabin back home, where I go on the rare occasion that I can pull myself away from work. It’s small and basic—in fact, the amenities aren’t much better than here at the quarantine camp, come to think of it—but the views make me glad to be alive. I don’t know that I could live there full time, at least not at this point in my life—I need fast food and a challenge—but it helps me get through the dark times—like now—knowing that when they’re over, I can go there and just be.

  So have a look. I’m not sure what you’ll see in the picture, or even really what I want you to see. All I know is that I need a pick-me-up tonight, and wonder if you might not need one, too, so I’m sending you my happy place.

  Be well, Anna. Take care of yourself and watch out for the doomsday crazies.

  Yours,

  David

  It was the longest note he’d yet sent her, and the first that openly acknowledged that they were doing more than exchanging just updates on the virus and Rosa’s condition. Breathing through an emotion-choked throat, Anna read it twice, and found herself nodding as she read. Yes, I know. Yes, I feel the same way. Then she clicked on the attachment, and caught her breath. “Oh.”

  The picture showed David standing by a rustic cabin that was exactly as he’d advertised—small, simple and neat, with a lake edge nearby, a gorgeous mountain view and a huge sky spreading behind it. But although the scene was a postcard, she was far more interested in the man. His clothes were very much like the ones she’d seen him in when he was out of his scrubs—a long-sleeved shirt rolled up over his forearms, with worn jeans and battered boots. But although he was dressed the same, nothing else looked familiar.

  He was smiling broadly, looking relaxed and happy as he held up a stringer of fish and mugged for the camera.

  Looking at the picture, she yearned all over again, not just for the man she’d been getting to know, but for the same man entirely in his element. Or one of his elements. He hadn’t invited her to go with him, but the hope was there, she thought, between the lines. And oh, how she wanted to go.

  Yes, she could ’port herself there right now. But she didn’t want to go alone, and she didn’t want to cheat. She wanted to wait for him, to go there with him and see it through his eyes and her own.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warned, but it was already too late.

  So, knowing she was playing a potentially dangerous game, she sent the e-mail to her desktop and printed out the picture in full color, and then folded it and tucked it into the combat gear she would wear tomorrow. And for the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she wasn’t going to just be fighting against the enemy . . . she’d be fighting for something, too. A future. And, maybe, a new life.

  Gods willing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  December 21

  Six hours until the Great Conjunction

  Skywatch

  Myr woke when the sunlight shone on her face, all too aware that today was the day. She had been dreading this solstice for so long . . . but now it was hard to believe it was finally upon them.

  Yeah, she could’ve bailed to hide out in a bunker somewhere and pray, but that hadn’t been an option for her any more than it had been for Rabbit. They both believed in the Nightkeepers and the war . . . and Bastet’s message had struck major chords. So they were both still at Skywatch, both ready to renounce the sky gods, and then fight the kax and the kohan when the barrier fell.

  We might even die. She’d been trying on the concept for the past few days, trying to imagine how it would happen, what it would feel like. Sometimes picturing it made her weep, other times she just went numb. Right now, the terror was a dull throb.

  Maybe if she went back to sleep, when she woke up it would be tomorrow.

  Or not.

  Murmuring a protest, she turned her face into Rabbit’s warm bulk beside her, letting herself snuggle up against him a little tighter, with her head beneath his beard-shadowed jaw, her thigh over his.

  Yeah, she had stayed the night. So sue her.

  “Hey.” His voice was a warm rumble, his hand gentle when it skimmed up her arm to her throat, then to brush across her cheek. “Don’t.” It wasn’t until she felt the chill of cooling moisture that she realized there were tears on her cheek.

  “I’m not. I won’t.” She rolled away.

  “Don’t do that, either. Seriously.” He snaked out an arm, wrapped it around her waist and rolled her back into him in a smooth move that didn’t seem to take any effort for him, but wasn’t something she could fight. Not that she tried all that hard, because for a moment it almost felt like a regular morning, the kind they used to have.

  The kind she wanted to have more of.

  She had gone into this saying they had to keep it casual, that she wasn’t going to fall back into old patterns, but this wasn’t an old pattern—it was a new relationship, a new love affair. They spent their days together training, their nights together loving each other, talking about everything and nothing, holding each other, just freaking being together, a way they hadn’t before. And as the barrier grew thinner, their powers—and their feelings—grew.

  This time around, being with him didn’t make her weaker. It made them both stronger.

  So she let herself be snuggled back against his side, but poked him in the ribs. “You’re full of orders this morning, mister. Okay, what do you want me to do then?”

  “Pretty much just lie there,” he said with a chuckle in his voice as he rolled partway atop her, pinning her with his warm, sleepy weight.

  “Oh, that’s charming. Really.” But she arched beneath him, looped her legs around his hips, and ran h
er feet up the backs of his thighs while he settled against her, hard and ready for action. Her blood heated, then burned, because she was ready for him, too. More than ready. And where they had kept things to the darkness this past week, with no time for daylight trysts and her slipping away well before the dawn, now they could see each other in the morning light. It glowed in the air, haloing him with sparks of red, green and gold. His magic. Hers. Gods.

  The solstice was amping their powers already. But would it be enough?

  He kissed her deeply, rocking his hips against her so his hard flesh slid against the wet, wanting place between her legs. Moaning his name, she tried to set aside the fear, focusing instead on the man in her arms, the heat they made together, and the way her magic intertwined with his, making the air around them come alive.

  She kissed him, stroked him, and then curled around him and angled her body so he could slide into her, putting him exactly where they both wanted him to be. A sexy groan rumbled in his chest and he began the thrust, but then he stopped with just the tip of his thick cock inside her.

  Her eyes came open, and she found him braced over her, looking down at her. Expression tender, he stroked her cheek, brushing a few strands away from her forehead. “I’m glad you stayed. There’s nobody else I would want to wake up next to on a day like today. Only you.”

  Throat tightening, she said, “I needed this. I needed you.” Then she reached up, tugged him down, and poured herself into a kiss. Groaning, he shifted and slid all the way into her, filling her, stretching her and sending pleasure caroming through her. And for the next few minutes, he kissed her, held her, moved against her, stripped her down to need and sensation and then gave her more, thrusting hard and sure until her entire universe coalesced to the feel of his body inside hers, and the hum of magic that surrounded them.

  Spurred by the sudden, sharp desperation of knowing that this might be it, this might be their last time together, she surged up beneath him, twisting up and over to reverse their positions. As she rose above him, his hands clamped on her hips and his eyes brightened with heat and lust, and an edge of Hell, yeah. Bring it on, baby.

  Blood racing, she leaned in to kiss him, letting her hips rise up as she did, so she slid up along his thick cock, until only the head was inside her. He groaned and tightened his grip, then groaned again when she slid back down. And again.

  As the magic sped through her veins, she set a hard, fast rhythm. Her breath stuttered and then caught when she moved against him, around him, reveling in the slap and slide of flesh, but also the way his eyes stayed on hers, the way their powers mingled in the air surrounding them. “Yes,” she whispered, angling her hips to ride him just the way she wanted, with his hard flesh rubbing her center exactly right. “There. Yes.”

  “Hell, yeah, there,” he grated, and shifted beneath her, surging up as she came down, the two of them racing together to the peak. She got there first, coiling and crying out as the orgasm gripped her tightly. It went on and on, wrung out by his thrusts and the glorious friction they made together as he hammered toward his own release and then came, gripping her hips and groaning as he thrust up into her again and again, prolonging the pleasure.

  She stayed over him for a moment, shaking with the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Then she curled forward to press her cheek against his as the intense sensations faded away, leaving magic thrumming in their wake.

  After a moment, he shifted, rearranging them so they were cuddled together with her face in his shoulder and her thigh thrown across his, almost exactly the way she had awakened. She kissed his stubbled jaw and inhaled the scent of their lovemaking, trying to imprint it on her senses. Trying not to let everything feel desperate and final.

  He tightened his arms around her, his voice very serious when he said, “Myr, I want to tell you—”

  “Not now,” she interrupted, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. Her heart bumped, because she knew what he wanted to say, knew that she wanted to say it back. “We’ll say it later. After.”

  His eyes darkened, but after a moment, he nodded. Then he reached up, caught her wrist, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Are you sure?”

  “No. But it’ll give us something to look forward to, something to fight for.”

  “I’ll always fight for you.” It was low, intense, and carried the force of a vow. “Always.”

  Her throat closed, so all she could get out was, “Same goes.” Then, because she knew if she didn’t leave now, she would still be there in an hour when they were due to meet up with Dez, she eased away from him. “I’m going to go shower and change. It just seems wrong to show up for battle wearing yesterday’s clothes. Talk about a cosmic walk of shame.”

  “I’ll see you at the rendezvous?”

  She swallowed hard at the thought that this could be the last muster, the last group teleport. “You bet.”

  As she headed out of the cottage, she found herself memorizing the familiar rooms, the furniture, the memories of the good times they’d had there. Outside, she stared for a moment at the flower boxes she’d installed a few months after moving in with him. They held only dirt and a few dried leaves now, and the sight brought a pang.

  You’ll be back, she told herself, and did her best to believe it as she headed down the path to the main mansion. Still, though, she couldn’t stop herself from turning for one last look.

  She froze at the sight of Red-Boar gliding noiselessly up the steps to Rabbit’s cottage. As she sucked in a quick breath of surprise, he took a quick look around and—not noticing her in the shadows of the farthest cottage—slipped through the door without knocking.

  Oh, that wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  Flashing on an image of Rabbit being surprised awake by his crazy-ass father, Myr didn’t hesitate. She headed back the way she had come, moving fast and staying out of view as she heard the kitchen door shut. Don’t freak, she told herself. He’s probably just going to try and talk him out of renouncing the kohan.

  Heart thudding, she eased up to the side of Rabbit’s cottage, near where the kitchen window was cracked to let in some fresh air. She heard Red-Boar’s voice loud and clear, suggesting he hadn’t gotten beyond the kitchen.

  “I talked to Dez,” the old mage said, sounding more disgusted than usual.

  “And?” Rabbit’s question was followed by the clink of a glass on the kitchen counter, then the glug of some milk or juice or something.

  Okay, Myr thought. Red-Boar hadn’t gone after Rabbit in his bed or anything else particularly psycho-stalkerish, despite the robe and weird behavior. They were just talking. Which meant she was eavesdropping, which wasn’t cool.

  She eased away, intending to slink into the shadows behind the next cottage over and head back to the mansion. But then Red-Boar said, “He refuses to do the right thing. So I’m going to do it for him.”

  Myr’s blood iced. What!?

  She wanted to jump up and shout the question, along with “the hell” and “do you think you’re doing?” Instead, with a sick mix of dread and guilt churning in her gut, she hit the recorder on her comm device, got it up as close to the window as she could, and peeked around the corner, knowing she would be hidden by the half-open blinds and the cottage shadow at her back.

  She could just see the two of them, sitting at the table with glasses of OJ in front of them like it was a breakfast meeting. Since when did Rabbit and Red-Boar have breakfast together, or even freaking juice?

  Rabbit eyed his father with a hard, steady gaze. “You know the deal.”

  The breath froze in Myr’s lungs. What was he up to?

  Red-Boar nodded. “Dez hasn’t left me any choice.” He held out his ceremonial knife. “Do it.”

  “Fine.” Rabbit knocked back his juice, set the glass on the kitchen table and took his father’s knife. His expression didn’t change as he sliced his palms and let the blood fall on the table. Then, sounding flat, like he’d rehearsed the words over and over again his head, he said, “I s
wear that if you use the last Boar Oath to countermand the two orders you’ve already put on me, then I will refuse the false gods today.”

  “No!” Myr whispered soundlessly as she felt the magic of the blood oath ripple in the air.

  Red-Boar rose and loomed over his son for a second, then said, “Fuck it. By the Boar Oath, this is my third command: I order you to disregard the two prior orders.”

  This time the ripples were stronger, the magic deeper and darker. Myr pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp, and then, when she heard Red-Boar’s footsteps moving in her direction, ducked and scuttled away, around the corner of the next cottage over. She flattened herself up against the siding as there was another low murmur of conversation, then the sound of the kitchen door, and footsteps heading away. One set. Risking a glimpse, she confirmed that Red-Boar was stumping off, alone. Rabbit had stayed behind.

  Rabbit . . . who was no longer sworn to obey his king or keep from harming his teammates.

  Rabbit . . . who hadn’t told her he’d made a deal with his father. And not one Dez would approve of.

  “Gods.” She turned back to slide down the wall and sit on the ground while her head spun. “Oh, holy shit. What’s going on here?” And, more, what was she supposed to do about it?

  Realizing that her recorder was still going, she clicked it off. Somehow knowing she had actual evidence made it worse, because logic, her instincts and just about every other piece of her sane and reasonable mind said she should take it straight to Dez.

  Instead, pushing back upright on shaky legs, she headed for the cottage, hoping to hell she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life. She had to, though; she just had to. This was Rabbit, after all.

  * * *

  Rabbit held himself stiff and still until he couldn’t hear his old man anymore, couldn’t sense the skin-crawl of Red-Boar’s presence. Then he took a huge, gaping breath.