Nightkeepers

‘‘It’s my decision.’’

‘‘All due respect, no, it’s not, no matter how many times you say it.’’

‘‘Don’t use your cop voice on me,’’ he growled, eyes flashing.

She pulled away from him and sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Anger rising to match his, she snapped, ‘‘Then stop acting like a spoiled prince. Stop ducking the scepter and pretending that’s going to solve anything. You can’t have everything you want—life doesn’t work that way, not even yours.’’

She knew those were fighting words, but part of her wanted the fight, welcomed it. They needed to burn off some of the tension and anger, and if they ended up pissed at each other, it’d be so much easier to do what needed to be done.

But he didn’t fight back. He rose up and gathered her into his arms, holding her close. ‘‘I’m sorry, Leah. I can’t let you do what I know you’re planning.’’ He chanted a quick spell before she could react, and sleep rose up to claim her.

As the grayness rose up to claim her, she slurred, ‘‘Bastard.’’ Then she collapsed, knowing he’d catch her when she fell.

She was going to be pissed when she woke up, Strike knew, and there was a good chance she’d never forgive him for cheating her out of her revenge on Zipacna. But he’d rather have her alive and hating his guts than dead because she’d gotten caught up in a fight that wasn’t even really hers. So he carried her down to the lower level of the mansion, into the storeroom he’d already set up with a bed and chair, makeshift chamber pot, small refrigerator, and a pile of books.

It was the best he could do. And she was going to despise him for it.

‘‘I’m sorry, Blondie.’’ He arranged her on the bed and pulled a blanket over her against the cool of the lower level. ‘‘It’s better this way.’’ He would present himself at the altar beneath Chichen Itza and offer himself up to take the whole of Kulkulkan, severing the god’s connection to her and bringing all its magic into him. He would be both Godkeeper and Nightkeeper, sacrificing any hope of a future with her for the sake of her safety.

At least, that was the plan. Jade had better hurry up with the spell, though.

Bending, Strike touched his lips to Leah’s cheek, telling himself there’d be time later for them to work things out, for her to learn to trust him. But as he straightened and turned away, it sure as hell felt like he was saying good-bye.

Which was bad enough. Worse was stepping out into the hallway to find Jox standing there, arms crossed, expression thunderous.

‘‘Don’t start.’’ Strike locked the storeroom door with an old-fashioned padlock and stuck the key in his back pocket. Then he fixed his winikin with a look. ‘‘I want your word that she stays put.’’

Jox’s face creased. ‘‘Think about what you’re doing. Please.’’

‘‘I know exactly what I’m doing. Your word.’’ Strike’s chest went tight at the knowledge that this could be the breaking point of his relationship with his winikin, too. Dropping his voice, he said, ‘‘I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t believe. Please.’’

‘‘Your father believed in his course, too.’’

‘‘Your word. Or I lock you in there with her.’’

Jox tipped his head in the barest of nods. ‘‘You have my word. And my disappointment.’’

‘‘Noted.’’ Strike turned on his heel and headed for the stairs, feeling as if the whole world were against him, and not entirely sure he gave a shit.

When Leah awoke, for a moment she thought it was a new day, that she’d somehow made it through the equinox. Then she got a good look around and remembered what had happened in the bedroom. From there, she could easily guess where she’d wound up. Locked in the freaking cellar.

‘‘Goddamn it!’’ She launched herself off the folding cot and hurled herself at the door. ‘‘Strike! Don’t do this!’’

She grabbed the knob, twisted it, and gave the heavy panel a serious hip check.

And went flying out into the hall.

She stopped, stunned, standing in a dimly lit hallway, chest heaving while her brain scrambled to catch up. The door wasn’t locked. Yet Strike had clearly set the room up as her cell . . . which meant someone else had let her out. And she could guess who’d done it.

‘‘Thank you, Jox,’’ she said under her breath, though there was a bite of sarcasm to the words, because they both knew he’d done it so she could kill herself.

Fine, she said as she headed up the stairs as quietly as she could, keeping a sharp ear for any movement up ahead. But I’m not going out alone. If she had to die, she was damn well taking Zipacna with her.

He was going to be at the sacred chamber that evening—it was a given. Strike and the others planned to arrive two hours before the equinox, when the secret door leading down to the hidden tunnels opened up.

Well, she was betting on Zipacna being earlier than that. And she was going to be waiting when he did. Carter had it all set for her—her plane tickets were waiting at the airport, and the weapons and jade-tips she’d paid too much to have smuggled across the border were waiting in a storage facility near Chichen Itza. She just needed a change of clothes and her passport and she was good to go.

That is, until she, snagged her cell phone, and found a text message waiting for her, sent from an unfamiliar number.

Do you understand yet that the Nightkeepers must kill you to set their god free? Meet me in Pueblo Bonito if you want to live. And the bastard had the balls to sign it, Love, Vince, though he hadn’t used Vince’s phone.