Dawnkeepers

way he should’ve been doing all along. He powered to her, got above her, and then dived, matching her free- falling speed as the rocky, gray-black surface rose up to meet them.

At practically the last second he got ahead of her and swooped up, scooping her from the air. She shrieked and grabbed on, but then started struggling, trying to bail off. He didn’t get it for a second; then he realized she had no idea who—or what—he was. “It’s me!” he shouted, only it came out as a hawk’s cry.

But she stilled, lying flat on his back, hanging on to his feathers, pulling hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to keep her in place if things got tough. “Holy shit,” she said, voice rattling with fear, with shock. “Nate?”

Which pretty much proved she could hear him through the screeching, maybe because she loved him. Or at least she had; that might be open to some debate in about thirty seconds or so, he realized with a deep clutch of dismay. She’d been raised by the most traditional winikin of them all. What if she couldn’t deal with what he was?

“Wh-what’s going on?” Her voice shook; her whole body was trembling.

With fear of rejection lodged deep inside, knowing there was no time for fancy explanations, Nate put himself into a glide, his body somehow knowing just what to do even though his brain didn’t. “It’s a long story, obviously,” he said, “but the short version seems to be that I’m an asshole and a shape-

shifter, in whichever order you prefer. I’m the Volatile. And I love you.”

She went very still, letting him know she’d translated from “hawk” to English just fine. Then, moving slowly and keeping a death grip on whatever piece of him she could get hold of, she sat up and straddled his shoulders, hooking her legs into the thickened chain holding the medallion, and using the eccentric’s chain as a handhold. Then she leaned into him, getting out of the whip of the wind as she said, “Let’s do our job, Nightkeeper. We’ve got a barrier to seal and some demons to kick back to hell.

It’s like we agreed before: The other stuff doesn’t belong mixed-up with the gods.”

It wasn’t what Nate had hoped to hear, wasn’t what he’d said, and the hollow opening up inside his gut warned that he might not get what he wanted. Not being what he was. But she was right that they had a job to do and not much time to do it, so even though her response cut deep inside his soul, he screeched a battle cry of agreement. “Hang on!”

Then they were arrowing up toward the tear in the barrier, toward where the creatures of the underworld had gathered, waiting for the rip to reach the surface of their world, setting them free on the next.

Trumpeting the attack, Nate gathered his fireball magic, felt Alexis lean on her rainbow magic, and then together, as one, they dived into the battle they’d been born for.

Alexis was Ixchel and the goddess was she. They were one, woven together, the ancient entity working through her, guiding her magic as they neared the tear in the fabric of the universe and the enemy attacked.

The boluntiku lunged, snapping with razor-sharp teeth and claws, their lava-hot bodies vapor one moment, solid the next. But their form didn’t seem to matter to the magic; Alexis spread a loop of cool blue light and threw it at the one nearest the gap. The lasso whistled into the creature, impacted, and clung, burning cool against hot. The boluntiku arched and screamed in pain, clawing at the tether, alternating between vapor and solid as it thrashed. Steam rose, along with a hissing noise and a terrible smell as the light ate into the lava creature, cooling it to stone.

Within minutes there was a statue where the thing had been.

“Score!” Nate shouted. “Hang on; we’ll get those others out in front!”

Though the words were an avian screech, she heard them in her skull, her head translating what her heart wasn’t sure it could cope with. Even as she formed another loop, tightened her knees on her mount’s warm, solid neck, and they banked to meet the next attack, part of her struggled to deal with the fact that her mount and Nate were one and the same. He was a shifter. He was also the Volatile, who was her protector, not her enemy. And he’d said he loved her.

A day ago, even a few hours ago, she would’ve given anything to hear him say that. Even now, the words thrummed through her heart like a melody of color. But there was a discord within that song, a splash of warning, of fear and knowing that Nate’s being a shifter fit too well. It explained his fierce independence and dislike of following orders. It explained his need for freedom, for privacy, for his own space.

“Alexis, look out!” Nate’s shout warned that she’d been thinking too much, fighting too little. She jolted to awareness just as a fanged creature rose up out of nowhere and grabbed at her, getting an edge of her shirt before falling free. Nate jammed a wing tip down and spun, so his belly faced the demon as it screamed and slashed. And scored.

Nate howled in pain and they tumbled for a second before he recovered and beat for the sky once again, gaining altitude, though obviously laboring.

Alexis leaned into him, calling, “That bomb thing. Can you do it again?”

I’ll try. This time his response was purely mental, traveling along a bond she wasn’t yet ready to fully acknowledge or accept. She wrapped herself around him, following the link and opening herself to him, offering up to him all of the goddess’s power, and her own.

The fire magic spluttered to life around them, hissing and spitting and simultaneously gleaming with all colors and none. Holding on to the magic, he flew a wide arc around the five boluntiku closest to the barrier, and she tossed a loop of blue light that encompassed them all. Then, together, they threw his fire magic. White light flared, though softer than before, not a detonation so much as a firecracker. And when it cleared, the creatures had all turned to stone. The power drain, though, had been incredible.

Alexis’s body had gone numb, and her brain felt sluggish. Beneath her, the rhythm of Nate’s wings faltered and slowed, and his mental touch was weak. But though the lava creatures had been neutralized, the other demons weren’t far behind, and the barrier was almost completely torn—it could be repaired, but just barely, and she had to get there fast.

Even as she thought that, the black, tentacled creature that had pulled her through the barrier in the first place rose from the ground and planted itself squarely in front of the rip. For a second she thought it was going to dive through to earth. Then she realized it was waiting for her, planning to fend her off while the others escaped through the barrier.

Nate sent, What do you think?

I’m guessing the phrase “we’re screwed” isn’t very helpful.

A ripple of amusement came down the shared link, and his energy strengthened just a little, or maybe hers did. Not so much, he agreed, then sobered. You think your rainbow lasso trick will work?

I’m tapped. He’d used himself up getting to her, and saving her, and keeping them aloft.

It’ll have to, she thought in return, but really, the answer was no. When she came down to it, Ixchel was a goddess of peace, not war. But failure simply wasn’t an option. “Let’s go!” she said aloud, and kicked her heels into his feathered sides. “Git-up!”

That got her a beady, backward glare. I’m not a polo pony, princess. But then he obeyed, flattening his wings to his body and diving for the attack, and she was screaming and hanging on as tightly as she could while they dove through hell, headed for the Banol Kax.

The word “kamikaze” came to mind, as did the phrase “what the fuck are we doing?” but really, there wasn’t another option, wasn’t anything to do but die trying. So she tightened her grip and called on the rainbow magic, bringing it not from blood sacrifice, but by thinking about Izzy, who’d raised her the very best she’d known how to; about her mother, who’d given her life for the former king; about her father, who’d done his part by loving his family, simply loving them . . . and about Nate, whom she both loved and feared now, in almost equal parts. Not because she thought he’d hurt her intentionally—he was too much his own man for that—but because she needed someone who needed her, who loved her willingly and took joy in the fact. Not someone who resented the emotion, and spent as much time away from her as with her. She’d tried to take love on many conditions before and it hadn’t been enough. This time—the last time—it would be all . . . or it would be nothing.

Now wasn’t the time for those thoughts, though. It was the time for love, the time to bring things together rather than ripping them to pieces. So she concentrated on the good times, on the strong times. She thought of the angle of Nate’s jaw in the morning light and the feel of his skin against hers, remembered the taste of him,