She blinked sleepily, fatigue coiling around her muscles.
He seemed so peaceful, lying there beside her as rain poured over their tent. But one thing she’d learned was even if things seemed peaceful—even for a stretched moment allowing you to forget—that didn’t mean it would stay that way.
She let her eyes close and drew in several deep, cleansing breaths. Tomorrow they’d reach his mother’s home and deal with whatever they found.
As her mind drifted between asleep and awake, a soft, beautiful voice broke through a brief pause in the violent storm. Zanya opened her eyes and listened to what sounded like a lullaby. When the tune drifted into the distance and vanished, she closed her eyes again. It was probably just fatigue mixed with wind from the storm, or maybe the beginning of a dream.
She reached out and lingered her chilled fingertips over his hand. Knowing he was there made the night a little less scary, and her a little less consumed by the grief still clutching her chest from her mother’s betrayal. His grip coiled around hers in his sleep.
With her eyes closed, the gentle voice returned, humming a sweet, lulling tune. Her stone hadn’t buzzed or shown any sign of alarm.
She quietly sat up, careful not to wake Arwan, and unzipped the entrance to the tent just enough to peek into the endless darkness.
The wind had died to little more than a breeze, but the rain was still falling in sheets. She peered outside, scanning the hillside and the area near the rock wall of the long-abandoned ruin.
A low growl caught her attention. Zanya’s gaze snapped to the right, where a pair of bright yellow eyes spied on her from a distance. She swallowed, her muscles frozen as she stared at the creature in silence. It could have been anything in the jungle, but from the looks of its reflective irises in the flashes of light, it was definitely feline.
It could have been Balam. It could have been something else entirely.
In a split second, the figure vanished into the jungle, and Zanya finally let out the breath she’d been holding. She zipped the tent back up and slipped into her sleeping bag, resolved to never look outside the tent at night—ever again.
***
Arwan
The next morning, Arwan opened his eyes to various jungle sounds. He turned his head to Zanya, who was still asleep beside him. Strands of dark, wavy hair splayed around her in every direction.
He sat up and unzipped the tent, squinting at the morning light. Though the storm had passed, the air was now chilled, leaving the jungle floor blanketed with a thick mist of fog. Perhaps it would lift as the day progressed, but with the canopy of trees and high levels of humidity, it would take at least a few hours.
He turned to Zanya and brushed hair away from her face, letting his fingers slide down the curve of her neck. She was like a sleeping angel—the closest to heaven his damned soul would ever come.
“Zanya.” He spoke softly at first, careful not to startle her awake. “We have to get moving.”
She groaned and pulled the flap of her sleeping bag over her head.
He smirked and tugged the fabric below her nose. She squinted at him, her eyes covered in a glassy sheen. “We have to wake up if we want to get to my mother’s home today.”
She pushed onto her forearms and inspected outside through the open tent door. “You mean your home?”
He paused, and then nodded.
“Is the storm over?”
“Yes.” He slipped on his socks and shoved his feet into tan hiking boots. “The ground will be wet and slippery. We have to be careful.”
She gathered her hair into a bun and secured it on top of her head. “I know.” She rubbed her eyes. “For more than one reason.”
He paused. “What do you mean?”
“I heard this weird voice last night. Like singing. And then I looked outside and saw eyes, I think from a big cat.”
“Singing?” It had to have been the wind, or perhaps her imagination playing tricks on her. But a big cat? The threats in Mexico were similar to what they’d be up against in Belize, which wasn’t good. Predators were plentiful now that they were isolated in the wild, and the reality was, they weren’t on the top of the food chain anymore. “We’ll keep an eye out while we’re hiking today.” Thankfully, he hadn’t smelled any large animals around, or noticed anyone nearby. Now that his senses were on high alert and in tune more than ever before, at least they’d have an indication if something were closing in.
Zanya nodded through a yawn. “Okay. Do we have any breakfast?”
He dug in his pack, pulled out a Powerbar and a bottle of water, and then offered it to her. “This will hold us over for a few hours.”
She sighed. “A breakfast for champions.” As she reached out to take the rations, her fingers drifted over his hand, leaving hot streaks across his skin. Her breath hitched and she stilled, watching him. He held her gaze, searching for any indication of what she was thinking in that moment. What she wanted, and more importantly, what she wanted from him.
Though their bonding was unexpected, now that they were united as one soul, he wanted more of her. But she had been through enough. He wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t move in until she was ready. That was how it had to be to earn her trust, and he’d be patient until that time came, no matter how difficult it was.
Arwan cleared his throat, pushing away the urge to cup her cheek and press his lips to hers. “You eat, and I’ll start to pack.” Zanya tore open the energy bar and bit off a chunk before offering him the other half. He shook his head. “You need it—”
“What? More than you?” She chewed a few more times before swallowing. “I’m the Stone Guardian, remember? If anyone needs the strength, it’s you.”
He chuckled. “Point taken.” Deep down, she was more advanced than he was in almost every way. She was faster, stronger, with every Riyata ability at her command and an enchanted stone to fuel her abilities. She was incredible, and she was his. He still couldn’t believe it. Not completely.
He took a bite of the energy bar. “Thank you.”
“Well…” She pushed her bag aside. “What’s mine is yours, right?”
He winked. “Absolutely.”
She paused, her smile widening. She blinked quickly, and the blush in her cheeks made his chest tighten. She let out a soft laugh, averting her gaze. “This is…” She ran her hand down the length of her arm and shrugged. “Strange.”
His smile disappeared and he lowered his head. Maybe it was too good to be true. “I’m sure you’re wondering how you ended up with me. I mean, how you ended up with someone like me.” He clenched his jaw. “Something like me.” His darker half clawed at his belly, consuming him from the inside out.
“Hey.” She touched his face and ran her thumb over his eyebrow, her fingertips lingering on his temple. The warmth of her skin cast his darker half back into submission. “I don’t know why the gods of Tamoanchan chose us to be bonded, but regardless of what you believe about yourself, they know you’re special. And so do I.”
He closed his eyes, memorizing the way her palm felt against his cheek. He’d go back to this memory when he was desperate for relief from being what he was—half underworlder, half Riyata. She was all he had now. His everything.
The scent of a familiar animal wove through the air, alarming his senses. He opened his eyes and looked toward the opening of the tent.
“What is it?” The light in Zanya’s chest winked on, and she sat back in silence, waiting for him to respond.
He drew in a breath through his nose, analyzing the scent. He cocked his head, tuning in to every sound, but locking in on just one—padded paw steps over the leaf-littered jungle floor and a low, passive chuff.
“We’re not alone.”
Chapter Five
Zanya
The cool rush of light in Zanya’s chest spread, saturating every cell of her body. Her light—the stamp of power marking her as the guardian—had illuminated on cue. If something was nearby, she had to be ready to figh
t. The light gave her more strength when using her abilities—if it came down to that.
“Is your stone telling you anything?” Arwan asked.
She blinked and looked down at her wrist, where her stone was kept in the leather bracelet her mother had given her. If there was danger nearby, her stone would usually be the first to alert her, but it hadn’t made a peep. “No, actually. It hasn’t.” She looked at him. “Why?”
He pulled open the flap to the tent and peered outside. “Because. I'm fairly sure it’s Balam.”
“Balam?” Zanya’s muscles relaxed and her light faded until it was gone. “Is Cualli here too?” The middleworld goddess had to be the source of the singing from the night before. It was a relief to know she hadn’t contracted some kind of weird jungle disease or hallucinated after an unintentional encounter with another dangerous plant.
“Come on. Let’s see why they are here.” Arwan combed his fingers through his hair and then stepped out of the tent, leaving her alone.
Zanya fitted on her socks and shoes, then flattened down her flyaways. If she were going to see Cualli and Balam, the least she could do was look halfway decent.
She followed Arwan out of the tent and walked to his side. He scanned the thick, green jungle. It was like a wall of leaves and vines—impossible to see into more than a few feet.
A loud flapping of wings made Zanya flinch. She spun to spot a great white owl with caramel feathers around its face perched on a branch over their camp. The majestic bird swiveled its head from side to side, examining them with large, round eyes.
Zanya took Arwan’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, Cualli.”
The owl spread its wings and launched from the branch, its feathers morphing into the figure of a tall, elegant woman with fair skin and blonde hair that draped down her bare back. Her feather-covered gown hid very little, though it was just enough to keep her from being nude.
Cualli walked toward them. New, supple grass sprouted from the jungle floor to cushion her every step. “It is very good to see you as well, guardian.”
“Zanya, please.” Sarian called her guardian. The term was never endearing after that.
Cualli gave a slight, regal bow of her head. “Of course.”
Arwan stepped forward. “Can you tell us how this happened?”
Cualli pouted her lips, as if she were puzzled. “What, exactly, half-breed?”
Though Cualli’s comment didn’t carry any hint of dislike, Arwan visibly cringed.
Zanya cleared her throat and took back control over the conversation. “I think what he means is…” She squeezed his hand. “How did we bond? Why?”
Cualli’s pouted lips spread into a soft smile. “It was fate.”
Zanya recalled the passage from the Mayan holy book, the Popul Vuh, and what it said about her and Arwan being destined for each other, though the reason was still unclear. If the gods of Tamoanchan wanted their souls intertwined, there had to be a reason. Underworlders and Riyata weren’t compatible…until now.
Balam sauntered out of the jungle in jaguar form, his tail flickering from side to side and his ears rotating to every sound. The cat’s spotted coat glistened under the rays of sun touching the jungle floor. He rubbed his muscular body along Cualli’s bare legs and chuffed, then hooked his tail around her calf as he passed, circling the group.
“Balam and I have come to congratulate you on your bonding.”
“Oh.” Zanya glanced at Arwan, who didn’t seem nearly as appreciative of their gesture. “Thank you.”
Cualli peered at Arwan. “Are you traveling to your mother’s home?” He nodded sharply, still unwilling to make eye contact. “Good,” she continued. “Balam and I can show you the way if you like. It is almost a day’s walk for a mortal.”
Zanya stayed quiet. She’d let Arwan answer this once, considering this was his mother’s house.
It took him a moment, but he finally responded. “Yes, thank you.”
Zanya let out a breath, the tension in her muscles following close behind. Now, with Cualli and Balam traveling with them, there were sure to be fewer dangers. Cualli would fly ahead, and Balam would silently stalk through the jungle on all fours. With eyes in the sky and on land, the rest of the journey would be a cakewalk.
…Or not.
She’d forgotten her own first rule.
When things seem too good to be true, they usually are.
After an hour of hiking, the clouds opened yet again and let out sheets of rain, filling the river they’d been following for several miles. The rush of the white water against drowning river rocks mixed with the patter of rain against jungle foliage blended and morphed into white noise.
It didn’t stop coming all afternoon, making each step twice as hard, the rain soaking their clothes, filling their boots with muddy water, and putting poor Balam into a very grumpy feline mood.
The jaguar deity walked beside them, his head poised low and his shoulder blades rolling with every step. His spotted fur was matted, making his spots look more like blurry drops of a watercolor painting.
Arwan hadn’t spoken for over an hour. His features were still like stone and his brow furrowed, as if he had spent the duration of his silence in deep thought. Maybe it was the anticipation. That alone had put a knot in even her gut, let alone his.
Zanya sniffled and wiped rainwater away from her eyes. “How ya doin’ over there, Balam?”
The big cat gave a long, low growl and flicked his tail, spraying a rainy mist into the air.
She cracked a smile. “That good, huh?”
Arwan nudged her softly. “You may not want to irritate him.”
“Why? Worried he’s hungry?” Balam chuffed and shook his head, baring his teeth. Zanya laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s jaguar language for, you’re not my type.”
Arwan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Or, you’re exactly my type.”
Zanya suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “Don’t worry so much. I’m here to protect you.” She slowed her pace, peering down at the river with a watermill spinning under the current. “What is that?” She pointed upriver. It looked like the circular paddles on a large ferry, the blades slapping against the waves with every rotation.
Arwan pointed to the far left.
Zanya followed his gesture. Her lips parted. “Oh my god.” She stepped forward, examining a home built of solid stone, barely visible behind overgrown bushes and trees. The two-story structure stood on stone stilts, perfectly camouflaged from prying eyes. “We made it.”
***
Arwan
Arwan’s chest weighed heavier with every passing breath. He stood in a bit of shade, squinting at the stone pillars guarding either side of the entrance. The bottom level was open like some sort of carport, as if the home were built to stand high above floodwaters, or hide behind overgrowth of towering trees. Holding up the carport were some kind of stone totem poles, all covered in Mayan hieroglyphics, as if the home itself told a story.
What seemed like a Roman bath was built into the ground floor, beautiful and sparkling as if it had been cared for every day.
How was it possible the home was in such good condition after all this time?
The windows weren’t cracked.
The home was not overgrown.
His gaze drifted down to an unnatural arrangement of stones making a circle around the home.
Perhaps someone had been there…
“Arwan?”
He blinked and looked at Zanya. Her presence was the little familiarity he had. Though this was his childhood home, his memories of it were vague, and it was more of a foreign place than anywhere he’d ever been.
“Do you want to go in?”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “I don’t know.” He’d spent so many years fighting not to forget the smell of his mother’s cooking and the gentle sound of her voice pouring into every room, and now he couldn’t uproot his feet from the ground to take a single step toward t
hat goal. “Can I have a minute to go alone?”
Zanya’s smile vanished. “Oh.” She blinked. “I mean, sure. Yeah. Of course.”
He nodded and took a step forward. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Then I’ll call you.” The truth was, anything could be waiting for them inside. If anyone would step into a possible landmine of dark magic, it would be him.
Each pace brought him closer to his years spent there—his mother’s smile, the soft pattering of rain on the terracotta shingles, and the comforting jungle sounds that lulled him to sleep. The memories had been a blur for so many years. Now, with each pace, they flooded back, as if he hadn’t lost his home overnight, when his mother abandoned him at Renato’s house with hope for a brighter future.
When he reached the stone circle, he stopped, the toes of his boots at its edge. Mayan magic was powerful, and whatever the spell was, it would likely be broken as soon as he crossed the barrier. Good or bad, it was necessary to explore further.
He kicked a few of the stones out of arrangement, and the wind picked up in an unexpected gust, bringing the scent of wildflowers and honey. A ripple of magic carried through the air, washing over the house, and wiping away the faint shimmer that once blanketed the home.
“Hm.” He stepped over the barrier, sensing nothing else unusual. “A preservation spell.” Likely set by his mother before she left.
He walked to the edge of the textured stone floor of the open bottom level. He used to play there, in the shade, protected from the blistering heat of midday.
A Mayan hieroglyphic was etched into a darker colored stone in the center of the floor. Bright green moss had filled the lines of the carving, making it a focal point.
Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) Page 3
