losing his everfrigging mind, he left his body behind and sent his consciousness into the magic, into the neverwhen of transport leading to the barrier. He went in without a destination, without forethought, diving after the tingle in his blood and leaping straight into the storm.
Gray-green lashed at him instantly, slamming him in one direction and then another, flipping his consciousness end-over-end. But he wasn’t alone—he glimpsed something yellow-gold trailing nearby, sent himself after it, suddenly feeling strong and sure, and completely in control of his power and himself.
The teleport line was tangled around someone. Several someones. He caught the end, reeled them in even as he was buffeted by the blurring force of uncontrolled’port magic. Anna was clinging to the string, but so were Reese and Lucius, their terror palpable. Jesus gods, what was going on here? Doesn’t matter. Get them out of here.
He could do that. He touched his magic—suddenly strong and pure and perfectly in control—and returned to his body, taking them with him.
As the gray-green whipped past, he fell into a waking vision.
Footsteps moved away behind the king, the sound echoing off stone and bloodied water as he turned to face the lava monster. And as he raised his weapon, his heart was heavy with the realization that he had been wrong all along.
The king’s greatest sacrifice wasn’t his mate’s life, after all. And it wasn’t his own life, either.
And suddenly, Strike knew what the ultimate sacrifice was meant to be.
Then air whoomped away and they materialized in the middle of the firefight, scaring the shit out of the others and sending Sven’s coyote skittering between his legs, growling. Leah jumped back and went for her gun, then checked herself as it registered that Anna, Lucius, and Reese were tangled together at Strike’s feet, gasping.
Jade gave a low cry and rushed to Lucius’s side as he lurched up and then stumbled on his bad leg, his crutch nowhere to be seen. The other magi looked shocked as hell but stayed at their posts, holding the shield and keeping the makol in check.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Michael demanded as Sasha dropped down beside Anna, partly to check her over, partly to just hug her.
“They were pretty close to being lost for good in the barrier,” Strike answered, his voice breaking as his emotions threatened to overload from the weight of his father’s final revelation. But then, knowing the time for that would come, he focused on the here and now. He reached for Leah, caught her against him, and whispered into her hair, “It was Anna’s blood-link making me sick. We’re both okay now.”
She gave a glad cry and clung to him fiercely for a moment. “Thank the gods.” Her voice was low and fervent, her eyes wet. “But why are they here?”
“Because it’s a damn sight better than where they were.” Delayed reaction set in at the thought of how close the three of them had come to simply disappearing. Boom, gone. He dropped down beside Anna, balancing on his heels. “No offense, big sister, but what the hell were you thinking?”
Her eyes filled and she turned and clung to him, shuddering. “It was the only way,” she said. Her voice was nearly lost beneath the tumult of the battle, as the others fought to hold the makol line. But it was her voice. And that was her inside those eyes, for the first time in a long time. “I couldn’t get them all the way here,” she whispered against his neck. “I thought I could, but I lost the thread. And then I couldn’t find you.”
He held her tight. “That’s okay. I found you. But why did you try it?”
“The serpent needs help.”
“No!” Reese screamed. Strike’s head jerked up as she slammed her fists into the serpent shield, face etched with horror. Inside the temple, Iago rose over Dez’s motionless body with the serpent staff raised for a killing blow. “Dez!” she screamed. “No!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bruised, battered, dizzy with blood loss, and close to dead, Dez thought he had crossed the boundary, that he was having a last sweet fantasy of Reese’s amber-whiskey eyes locking on him, her hands reaching for him, her voice calling him.
Time seemed to slow for a second as he rasped through his bruised throat, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry.” Sorry he hadn’t gotten it right the first time around for them, sorry this time had turned out to be too late. Sorry their timing always sucked.
Then he saw her mouth go round in a scream, time sped back up, and he knew it wasn’t a dream. She was there, reaching for him. Screaming his name even as another part of him whispered: Use me. I am and will always be a part of you.
A last spurt of energy flared through him. He had lost his knife and his muscles were quivering, but as Iago swung down, he lunged up, jamming his fist into the Xibalban’s solar plexus, holding the star demon so the pointed statuette protruded between his fingers. The statuette drove up and in as the serpent staff cracked into his shoulder. He felt sickening pain. But Iago, too, was hurt.
The Xibalban reeled back with a high, keening scream that was neither human nor makol. A wave of darkness rolled over Dez as he pulled the star demon out and stabbed his enemy, over and over, sticking him in the gut until the final blow when he left the bitch inside his enemy’s abdominal cavity. Ichor ran over his arms, hot and acrid.
Iago went down hard, flat on his face. He began regenerating immediately, but not as fast as before; the star demon was slowing the process. The solstice thrummed in Dez’s bones, and he was suddenly conscious of the ominous rattle of dark magic, just at the threshold of his serpent’s hearing, coming from the stones that made up the temple itself. Which was a big “oh, shit” because it made him think he was going to be standing right on top of a hellmouth real soon. Or maybe a vulture’s nest.
Time was running out. He couldn’t stop now.
Dragging himself to his feet, he found his knife where it had skidded beneath the throne. He hefted it and looked at Reese, who still stood pressed up against the shield, watching him. He didn’t know how she had gotten there, or what her presence meant for the two of them, but Jesus, gods, he didn’t want to do this in front of her. Not again. Her lips moved; he couldn’t read them, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have a choice. Feeling suddenly empty, he turned to where Iago lay facedown, halfway regenerated. Movements automatic, heart heavy, he got a hand across the Xibalban’s forehead, pulled back his head, and carved a wicked slash across his throat.
Ichor fountained, mixed with blood. And he was back in the nightmare.
It was gruesome work. He clamped his teeth together and didn’t look at her—couldn’t bear it—as he sawed off the ajaw-makol’s head, then flipped him, cut away his body armor, and carved a deep furrow below his ribs, where the skin had started to knit around the earlier wound. Steeling himself, he punched through the diaphragm and jammed his hand up inside Iago’s chest. Broken ribs scraped his knuckles as he felt for the beating fist of his enemy’s heart, found it, and yanked it from its moorings.
He recited the banishment spell through gritted teeth.
Nothing happened.
“No!” he shouted as his heart plummeted. “Godsdamn it, no!” Darkness clouded his vision; rage suffused him. He lunged to his feet, ready to shout at the sky, to curse the gods to—
He saw Reese. She was just standing there with her palms pressed to the shield. And her eyes shone like they used to, with the look that said: you’re my hero, my cowboy. It had to be an illusion, a delusion. But it pushed back the darkness far enough that he could see the light again.
“Motherfucker.” He dove for Iago, jammed his hand back inside, fished around, and found the star demon. You are the Triad mage, she whispered the moment he made contact. And he is a warrior of your bloodline. Take his powers and his knowledge as your own. His is yours. Everything is yours.
Green washed his vision for a second and he could feel the powers buzzing just beyond his reach as the
