Spellfire n-8

by Jessica Andersen

  She didn’t want to lose the moment, didn’t want to see the coldness in him. But when she looked up at him, she saw the man she’d been missing. “Oh, Jag.”

  The magic coiled around them, sparking the air red and gold as he moved in and locked his lips to hers.

  And his kiss . . . ahh, his kiss.

  I love you. His voice spoke through their mated bond, which was strong and true once more.

  The knots of fear and grief loosened as she leaned into him, feeling the rise of their own special mated magic. I love you, too, she sent back. I’m sorry I told you. I was trying to help.

  I know, and you did help, and that scared me, because it means I’m not as sure as I need to be that this is going to work.

  Maybe—probably—that should have worried her. Instead, it put them back on the same team, shoulder to shoulder. The fear wasn’t gone, but they were together. And that gave her the strength to break the kiss and look up at him. “I love you. What’s more, I believe in you.” She linked their fingers together. “I love you for the life we’ve had together and the children we’ve created. And I love you for being willing to make whatever sacrifice is necessary so they can live their lives without a war hanging over them.”

  His eyes were moist. “Asia . . .”

  “It’s okay. Really. I’m proud to stand beside you right now. That’s what’s important, in the end.”

  “This isn’t the end for us,” he said with new determination. “I won’t let it be. We’re going to do this, damn it. We’re going to win the war, right here, right now.” Tugging her to his side, he said, “Come on. Let’s get this intersection open.”

  Suddenly aware of the solstice power that thrummed up through the stones beneath their feet and the banked energy of the others waiting to begin the spell, she turned so they faced the chac-mool side by side.

  And, linked by blood sacrifice and the mated bond, they began the spell, doing it as it was meant to be done: together.

  * * *

  Myr was shaking as she came out of the vision. Because that was what it had been—a vision, sent from the gods. The spell hadn’t transferred her magic—it was still lodged inside her, still racing through the connection linking her and Rabbit. Instead, the spell had sent them back to the past and showed them the last few minutes before the old king had unleashed the Solstice Massacre. But how? Why?

  “Jesus,” Rabbit rasped. “That was . . . are you okay?”

  She blinked, somehow unsurprised to find that they were on their feet, holding hands in front of the winikin’s altar, just like the king and queen had been facing the huge chac-mool beneath the pyramid of Chichén Itzá. More, when she locked eyes with Rabbit, she saw a hint of Jag in him—just a blink and then gone, but it was enough. “You saw it, too,” she said. “You were there, in the king.”

  He nodded. “He was so convinced he was right . . . and he was so damn wrong.”

  “Asia knew. She had seen foreseen their deaths, but she stood beside him anyway, not because of the writs or his orders, but because she loved him and believed in him utterly . . . even though she was furious with him, too.”

  “She wasn’t mad at the end.”

  “No. Not at the end.” Was that what the gods—or the ancestors, or whatever force had guided the vision—had wanted them to see? That when the chips were down, true love conquered even the worst of mistakes? That mated pairs needed to go into battle united, no matter what they needed to forgive in order for that to happen?

  Myr looked away from him. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t quell the heat in her blood that had come from the dream-kiss and the pressure of Rabbit’s fingers on hers. More than ever before, she wanted to lean into him, touch him, kiss him, and forget about the outside world, just as Asia had done.

  “He loved her so much,” Rabbit’s voice was rough with emotion. “So damn much, and he didn’t know how to fix things with her, how to protect the people he loved and still do what the gods wanted.”

  Breath hitching, she looked back at him, and found herself caught in the heat of his eyes. They were warm and alive, making her realize suddenly how locked down he’d been since his return. Now, though, there was a spark of the old impetuousness when he tugged on their joined hands and pulled her into him, against him. And when she made a muffled noise, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, I swear.”

  It wasn’t okay, far from it . . . but she couldn’t make herself pull away from his body, his warmth, his scent. Her mind went blank, save for a deep-down whisper that said, Yes. This was what she had been missing; this was where she was supposed to be.

  Only it wasn’t.

  “Let go of me,” she said into his chest. But she held him close.

  “I can’t. I’ve tried.” He rested his cheek on her hair and breathed her in. “We should’ve been like them. Partners. Mates. Together to the very end.”

  “Rabbit . . .” She trailed off, knowing she should push him back. Instead, she pressed her face against his chest, so she could hear his heartbeat, thudding steadily with a rhythm that seemed to say, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

  Was that what the vision was trying to tell them? That life was short? Warmth kindled low in her stomach, weakening her and telling her to take what she wanted now, before it was too late. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, that wasn’t just the sex magic talking. It was her body, her heart.

  I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

  She levered away, not to escape but to look up at him. There was a faint curve to his lips, which were so often—more these days than ever—set in concentration. “It was your smile,” she said before she knew she was going to. “That day in the tea shop, it was your smile I noticed first.”

  He went still, not even breathing. But his eyes were locked on hers and the magic raced between them.

  “You came in with Nate and Alexis to buy that ceremonial dagger from the Witch,” she continued, “but I didn’t really pay attention to them—they were just marks. Customers. Whatever. But you were different.” He’d looked fierce and capable, like he could handle anything. “And when you saw me, you smiled.” Just a quick grin, a “hey, hottie, whassup?” like she’d gotten a thousand times before . . . but one that had held empathy, along with a devilish glint that had made her want to see what would happen if he let loose.

  “You were hiding behind some shelves.” His voice was thick. “You disappeared almost as soon as I saw you, but for those few seconds, it was like you were the only person in the room. Like the light was drawn right to you.” He paused. “After we left the shop, it was your face that stuck with me. Not just because you had a black eye, but because you looked lonely, angry, trapped . . . and for the first time in my life, it felt like I’d met someone like me.”

  Myr’s heart bumped in her chest. They’d never really talked about their first meeting, at least like this, and that was probably the most romantic thing he’d ever said to her, damn him.

  “You did,” she said through a throat gone tight with emotion. “I was. Oh, hell.” Her better intentions crumbled in that instant—or maybe they had already been most of the way gone, undermined by the vision and his smile, and remembering what it had felt like to be beaten down for so long . . . and then to suddenly have someone who gave a shit.

  She didn’t know which one of them moved first, but they met halfway.

  Spurred by magic, memories and the crazy desire that hadn’t burned out despite everything, she pressed her lips to his, opened her mouth to the plunge of his tongue, and clutched at his shirt as he kissed her.

  Yes! said the burn of excitement that flared as his warm strength surrounded her and their bodies lined up, bumping and then pressing together from collarbones to thighs, and everywhere in between. Finally! said her libido as he growled low in his throat and changed the angle of the kiss. What the hell are you doing? said her better sense. But even though kissing him went against everything
she’d been telling herself for the past ten days, she couldn’t make herself stop.

  So she didn’t stop. Instead, she opened to him, twined around him, and moaned as the sizzling energy pumped from her to him and back again, racing through the connection she had hated before, but now couldn’t get enough of.

  Then, suddenly, boom! The magic flared higher and hotter, not sex magic anymore, but spell-cast magic. It whipped around her, caught her up, sucked her in.

  “Rabbit!” She clutched at him, fear surging as her senses pinwheeled and then accelerated, spinning faster and faster. Wind came out of nowhere, screaming suddenly inside the cave to buffet them, circle around them, suck at them.

  She screamed as the tornado dragged at her, coming somehow from her and Rabbit’s magic. She couldn’t block it, though—the connection was wide open, the magic racing between them, and from there into the gaping vortex.

  “We have to shut it down!” Rabbit shouted. “We need—” The tornado roar cut him off.

  Myr grabbed for her wand. It was gone, though, and the fire had been blown away. She slapped the panic button on her comm device, but the indicator didn’t light up; the magic was interfering with the signal, even with the transponder nearby. Rabbit yelled something, but she couldn’t hear him, didn’t understand. How had they gone from a kiss to this? Fear slashed—she was defenseless, vulnerable—

  No! She wasn’t giving up. Her wand might be gone, her backup faraway, but the magic was still inside her. Digging down, she fought to summon her powers, just like she would’ve if she’d had her wand and crystals, if she’d been surrounded by scented oils and sitting in front of a fire pit shaped like a five-pointed star. They’re just props, she told herself, and tried to believe it.

  Rabbit put his mouth next to her ear and yelled through the whirling whip. “Shields on three!”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t sure she could cast the spell. What other choice did she have, though? Sand blasted her skin, dragging her toward the funnel. They had to stop this!

  He counted it on fingers she could barely see. One . . . two . . . On “three” she cast the strongest shield spell she could summon, slamming the green-hazed magic into place around her body. And it worked! The force field materialized around her just as Rabbit cast his shield, which was fiery red, and crackled with tremendous power. The two shields met as they had a hundred times before when the two of them trained together—but where before they had melded together, now they repelled violently.

  Boom! Energy flared at the point of contact, and a huge explosion flung Myr across the cave. She landed hard and slid in the sand, screaming as something tore inside her—not in her body, but in her mind, at the base of her skull. The shield spell protected her from the shock wave and the pepper of rocky shrapnel, but it didn’t blunt the impact, which left her dazed and gasping for breath.

  She heard the sizzle of magic and Rabbit’s vicious curses, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t focus. Her head felt terrifyingly empty—had she banged it, injured it? No, this wasn’t pain, it was—Oh, gods. Her heart raced as she realized that she couldn’t feel their connection anymore. She couldn’t sense his emotions, his life energy or even the flow of magic between them.

  The separation spell had worked!

  Maybe it had been triggered by their kiss, maybe by something else, but it had triggered, giving him back his magic and breaking the connection between them. More, she had kept her own version of the Nightkeepers’ powers. The shield still surrounded her, and magic still pulsed in her veins. Relief and fierce joy hammered through her, brightening the threads of green flame surrounding her. She was a mage!

  “It worked!” Killing the shield, she lurched to her feet and turned toward him. “We— No!” Her heart stopped at the sight of the oily brown cloud pulsing around him.

  Dark magic. She stumbled back, lifting her hands to ward off the sight, along with the realization that their bond had been blocking his hell-link. Now that the connection was broken, the evil magic was coming for him. “Rabbit!”

  She flashed back on the memories she’d tried so hard to forget, or at least move past. Only she hadn’t moved past them, she realized now. The terror was still there, the pain still fresh and sharp.

  * * *

  He burst into the cave, eyes brilliant with fury, and for the first time she was truly afraid of him. She didn’t know the man storming across the sand toward where she knelt over a small fire. His face was set, unrecognizable, and he had his ceremonial knife in one fist.

  “Rabbit.” She rose, holding out her hands. “Wait. It’s not anything bad. I’m just—”

  “Don’t!” he thundered. “No more lies!”

  “I’m not lying. I—” She screamed as the scented oil she’d been using to purify his eccentrics blazed suddenly red, and the stones erupted in twin sprays and winged to him, landing in his outstretched palm. Flaming oil burned her face, her arms, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror of suddenly hearing the rattlesnake rasp of the dark magic he’d sworn not to use anymore. Her throat closed, strangling her whisper of, “What’s happening to you?”

  Stuffing the stones into the pocket of his jeans, he advanced on her. “Were you going to destroy them right away, or were you going to summon her first? What were you going to do to her? Damn it, tell me!”

  Tears tracked down her face. “I wasn’t going to hurt anybody. I was just trying to help. After what you said about the stones, I got this idea—”

  His lips pulled back in a feral snarl. “This was what you wanted, right? You wanted me to use the dark magic again. But why? Who are you working for?” He leaned in to yell, “Damn it, what are you trying to do to me?”

  * * *

  Mercifully, the flashback cut out, leaving her bent over and gasping for breath, dizzied by the memory and the knowledge that it had gotten worse from there. And, more from the reminder that at one point, she had pushed him to rekindle his link with the darkness.

  She hadn’t understood what it meant, not really. All she had known was that the old Xibalban shaman had named him the crossover and said he would be the key to winning the war. She had been scared—of the end of the world, of the way things had been cooling off between them—and she had pushed him to experiment with the other half of the magic.

  Gods. She didn’t want to remember that.

  She could barely see him now; he was lost in the greasy brown mist. But then a blue-white light kindled within the cloud, and her heart leaped. It was a Nightkeeper’s foxfire, made of pure light magic. He was fighting the darkness!

  “Rabbit!” She surged forward, calling up her magic, not as a shield now, but as a fireball that crackled and seethed green. But could she launch it without frying him?

  “No,” he shouted hoarsely through the fog. “Don’t, Myr! I can do this.”

  Do what? She let the fireball fade, but kept her magic revved up. She couldn’t see him. But the darkness was threaded through now with sparks of red-gold.

  “What are you . . .” She trailed off, throat locking as she got it. She freaking got it. He wasn’t trying to fight the magic. He was trying to gain control of it. He wanted to reforge his hell-link and then shut the magic away, back behind the barriers that used to hold it. The ones that had failed before. “Dear gods.” Her voice was a whisper, her emotions a hard, hot ball lodged in her throat.

  The words from the children’s book shimmered in her mind: The Crossing Guard stands at the bridge between day and night. This was what the gods had intended; it was part of him becoming the crossover. Again, her head might’ve known that this needed to happen, but the rest of her hadn’t wanted to believe it. Her heart, stupid organ that it was, was clinging to two versions of him—one was the dark, dangerous mage she wasn’t supposed to trust, while the other was the man she’d spent the past ten days fighting alongside, the one who had kissed her just now.

  Who was he, really?

  “I can handle it.” Even as he grated the words, th
e red-gold sparks brightened and the dark fog began to thin. It wreathed around him, sliding along his body and then fading, until she could see his outline again, then the terrifying details—his eyes were rolled back, his face taut and haggard, like he was little more than skin stretched over a skull and animated by the dark magic that shifted and seethed within him. She could feel its poison, hear its serpent rattle.

  She took a step back without meaning to.

  He blinked, and suddenly he looked like himself again. “Myr, wait.” He reached out a hand, though they were too far apart for him to touch her. It wasn’t too far, though, for her to see the flash of red on his inner forearm.

  The trefoil hellmark had gone from black to scarlet. The hell-link was fully active.

  “No.” It was a whisper, a moan. A denial of everything they’d been through, everything that had gone wrong. Only she couldn’t deny the past, or the sight of the red hellmark.

  “Please, wait.” But the despair in his voice said he knew it was already too late.

  “I can’t.” Her voice broke on the words, which suddenly meant far more than she had realized. I can’t do this anymore, can’t trust you like this, can’t be around you. And, knowing there was no way they could go back, not now, not ever, she did what she should’ve done the first moment she saw the dark fog surrounding him.

  She turned and ran.

  * * *

  Rabbit didn’t let himself go after her—not to tell her that he’d blocked off the dark magic behind its old mental barriers; not to reassure her that he had it under control; and not to tell her that she didn’t need to be afraid of him. What was the point? She had every reason to fear the magic, and to fear him when he was under its influence.

  “Let her go,” he told himself, the words echoing hollowly in the cave.