Nightkeepers

‘‘Let’s not.’’ He leaned into her and covered her mouth with his, and though she knew it was a stall, she also knew it might be one of the last times they were together.

Opening her mouth to his kiss, she buried her fingers in his thick hair, hooked a leg over his hip, and offered herself to the moment, to the man she wished she could claim as her own. They strained together, touching, tasting, and the heat built as it always did when they were together. Only this time there was an edge of desperation— theirs, the god’s, she didn’t know. But she knew the end was near; she tasted it in the bold possessiveness of Strike’s kiss and felt it in herself—a sense of needing to take a piece of him with her.

Then he shifted against her, poised to enter her, and she saw the question in his eyes. Tears threatened as she nodded and he slid inside without protection, skin on skin, tacit acknowledgment that after tonight it probably wouldn’t matter whether she conceived.

It mattered right then, though. It mattered in the feel of him within her, the sense that she was truly taking him inside her and holding a piece of him close to her heart. She pressed her cheek to his as they moved and found their rhythm, drawing out the pleasure, delaying the moment when they’d have to deal with reality.

Soon though, too soon and yet not fast enough, the heat built; the tempo changed as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, pounding into her, racing with her to the peak. They came together with strangled cries and a rush of love so intense Leah almost closed her eyes against it, denying the emotion. But she didn’t. She kept her eyes wide-open, looking into his and seeing the love there. Seeing the heat and the mad glory of what they’d become together.

Then it was past and the heat faded. The world came back into focus around them. And there was no excuse not to have the conversation they were both dreading.

Drawing away from him, Leah touched his cheeks, his chin, the strong line of his nose. When he lifted a hand to do the same to her, she saw his forearm marks, stark black against his skin. She caught his hand and pressed her lips to the glyphs, kissed each one, then kissed the raised weal of the sacrificial scar that crossed his palm.

‘‘Leah,’’ he said, curling his fingers around to cup her face.

‘‘We need to talk about it.’’

‘‘There’s nothing to discuss,’’ he said, his voice going autocratic in a way that was necessary in Strike the leader, but set her teeth right the hell on edge in the bedroom.

‘‘Try again,’’ she said, lowering her voice in warning. Watch your step, Ace.

His eyes went cool, though she sensed the heat within him, knew it was a calculated move. ‘‘I’m going to try to bring the god through into me,’’ he said, like it was no big deal and the obvious choice. ‘‘Jade’s working on finding the transition spell as we speak.’’

Leah’s skin chilled even as anger flashed hard and hot in her veins. ‘‘And you’re just now mentioning this? What do the others think of the plan, given that, oh, there’s a good chance that you’ll turn into a makol? That’s why Nightkeeper males aren’t supposed to enter the Godkeeper ritual, isn’t it? Too much aggression in their psyches, running too close to the darkness.’’

‘‘It’s my decision.’’ But he looked away, not meeting her eyes.

‘‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’’ She grabbed his jaw and turned him to face her. ‘‘You’re not just a guy, Strike. You’re the frigging king.’’

‘‘I’m the king’s son,’’ he said, his jaw setting beneath her fingertips. ‘‘Until I take the scepter, the greatest sacrifice doesn’t apply.’’

‘‘Which doesn’t make it right for you to risk yourself like this.’’ She felt a panicked, trapped fluttering in her chest, a sense that this was history repeating itself all over again. And though she’d wanted him to care enough to buck the prophecy and fight the gods themselves for her, now that he was offering to do just that she saw the desire for what it was: a pretty dream, a selfish wish. It wasn’t a real option, wasn’t truly what she wanted him to do.

‘‘It’s my choice,’’ he maintained stubbornly.

‘‘No. It isn’t.’’ She leaned in hoping he’d listen. ‘‘Think about it rationally. If I . . .’’ She stumbled over the word ‘‘die,’’ found a neutral euphemism. ‘‘If I go before the equinox, Kulkulkan will be freed to return to the sky and you’ll have a chance to bring him or another god through to earth. Alexis could handle it, or Patience. Bonus with her, because she’s already got a Nightkeeper mate.’’

His eyes darkened and his voice went rough with the god’s anger, with his own. ‘‘You want to die?’’

‘‘No!’’ she said quickly, then softer, ‘‘No. But I don’t want to live knowing everyone else’s days are numbered because of me.’’

‘‘How about having a little faith?’’

‘‘This is all about faith,’’ she snapped, hating that they had to fight about this, hating that each of their options was worse than the last. ‘‘I’m choosing to believe that the end of the world is coming, and you and the Nightkeepers are our best chance of stopping that from happening. I’m choosing to believe that there’s a flying- serpent god stuck somewhere between the earth and sky because I’m alive, and I’m choosing to believe my death will free it and give you the best possible chance of stopping the next stage in the countdown, or at least the best chance to bring other gods through and increase your powers to the point that you can beat the Banol Kax.’’ She blew out a long breath, trying to ease the pressure in her chest. Her voice cracked a little when she said, ‘‘If that isn’t faith, I don’t know what is.’’

He slid his hand from her cheek to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair and holding hard, as though he meant to keep her there and never let her go. ‘‘I’m talking about having faith in me. Trust me; I’ve thought this out. Having me cast the transition spell and bring the darkness through is the best answer. Then you and I are the Godkeeper together. Hell, I’m pretty sure I’m halfway there already—what is all this anger I’ve been dealing with if it’s not the dark side of Kulkulkan?’’

It’s you, she wanted to say. It’s your anger, your frustration. But instead she said, ‘‘Whether it’s Kulkulkan or not, the anger is a problem. It’ll make you skew too hard toward the darkness.’’

A muscle ticked at the corner of his jaw. ‘‘I’m strong enough not to turn makol.’’

‘‘You can’t know that, even if you had the spell,’’ she whispered, gripped with fear that his stubbornness and his ego would take him too far. ‘‘It’s too much of a risk.’’