hands clamped on her hips and his eyes brightened with heat and lust, and an edge of Hell, yeah. Bring it on, baby.
Blood racing, she leaned in to kiss him, letting her hips rise up as she did, so she slid up along his thick cock, until only the head was inside her. He groaned and tightened his grip, then groaned again when she slid back down. And again.
As the magic sped through her veins, she set a hard, fast rhythm. Her breath stuttered and then caught when she moved against him, around him, reveling in the slap and slide of flesh, but also the way his eyes stayed on hers, the way their powers mingled in the air surrounding them. “Yes,” she whispered, angling her hips to ride him just the way she wanted, with his hard flesh rubbing her center exactly right. “There. Yes.”
“Hell, yeah, there,” he grated, and shifted beneath her, surging up as she came down, the two of them racing together to the peak. She got there first, coiling and crying out as the orgasm gripped her tightly. It went on and on, wrung out by his thrusts and the glorious friction they made together as he hammered toward his own release and then came, gripping her hips and groaning as he thrust up into her again and again, prolonging the pleasure.
She stayed over him for a moment, shaking with the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Then she curled forward to press her cheek against his as the intense sensations faded away, leaving magic thrumming in their wake.
After a moment, he shifted, rearranging them so they were cuddled together with her face in his shoulder and her thigh thrown across his, almost exactly the way she had awakened. She kissed his stubbled jaw and inhaled the scent of their lovemaking, trying to imprint it on her senses. Trying not to let everything feel desperate and final.
He tightened his arms around her, his voice very serious when he said, “Myr, I want to tell you—”
“Not now,” she interrupted, lifting a hand to cover his mouth. Her heart bumped, because she knew what he wanted to say, knew that she wanted to say it back. “We’ll say it later. After.”
His eyes darkened, but after a moment, he nodded. Then he reached up, caught her wrist, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Are you sure?”
“No. But it’ll give us something to look forward to, something to fight for.”
“I’ll always fight for you.” It was low, intense, and carried the force of a vow. “Always.”
Her throat closed, so all she could get out was, “Same goes.” Then, because she knew if she didn’t leave now, she would still be there in an hour when they were due to meet up with Dez, she eased away from him. “I’m going to go shower and change. It just seems wrong to show up for battle wearing yesterday’s clothes. Talk about a cosmic walk of shame.”
“I’ll see you at the rendezvous?”
She swallowed hard at the thought that this could be the last muster, the last group teleport. “You bet.”
As she headed out of the cottage, she found herself memorizing the familiar rooms, the furniture, the memories of the good times they’d had there. Outside, she stared for a moment at the flower boxes she’d installed a few months after moving in with him. They held only dirt and a few dried leaves now, and the sight brought a pang.
You’ll be back, she told herself, and did her best to believe it as she headed down the path to the main mansion. Still, though, she couldn’t stop herself from turning for one last look.
She froze at the sight of Red-Boar gliding noiselessly up the steps to Rabbit’s cottage. As she sucked in a quick breath of surprise, he took a quick look around and—not noticing her in the shadows of the farthest cottage—slipped through the door without knocking.
Oh, that wasn’t good. Not good at all.
Flashing on an image of Rabbit being surprised awake by his crazy-ass father, Myr didn’t hesitate. She headed back the way she had come, moving fast and staying out of view as she heard the kitchen door shut. Don’t freak, she told herself. He’s probably just going to try and talk him out of renouncing the kohan.
Heart thudding, she eased up to the side of Rabbit’s cottage, near where the kitchen window was cracked to let in some fresh air. She heard Red-Boar’s voice loud and clear, suggesting he hadn’t gotten beyond the kitchen.
“I talked to Dez,” the old mage said, sounding more disgusted than usual.
“And?” Rabbit’s question was followed by the clink of a glass on the kitchen counter, then the glug of some milk or juice or something.
Okay, Myr thought. Red-Boar hadn’t gone after Rabbit in his bed or anything else particularly psycho- stalkerish, despite the robe and weird behavior. They were just talking. Which meant she was eavesdropping, which wasn’t cool.
She eased away, intending to slink into the shadows behind the next cottage over and head back to the mansion. But then Red-Boar said, “He refuses to do the right thing. So I’m going to do it for him.”
Myr’s blood iced. What!?
She wanted to jump up and shout the question, along with “the hell” and “do you think you’re doing?” Instead, with a sick mix of dread and guilt churning in her gut, she hit the recorder on her comm device, got it up as close to the window as she could, and peeked around the corner, knowing she would be hidden by the half- open blinds and the cottage shadow at her back.
She could just see the two of them, sitting at the table with glasses of OJ in front of them like it was a breakfast meeting. Since when did Rabbit and Red-Boar have breakfast together, or even freaking juice?
Rabbit eyed his father with a hard, steady gaze. “You know the deal.”
The breath froze in Myr’s lungs. What was he up to?
Red-Boar nodded. “Dez hasn’t left me any choice.” He held out his ceremonial knife. “Do it.”
“Fine.” Rabbit knocked back his juice, set the glass on the kitchen table and took his father’s knife. His expression didn’t change as he sliced his palms and let the blood fall on the table. Then, sounding flat, like he’d rehearsed the words over and over again his head, he said, “I swear that if you use the last Boar Oath to countermand the two orders you’ve already put on me, then I will refuse the false gods today.”
“No!” Myr whispered soundlessly as she felt the magic of the blood oath ripple in the air.
Red-Boar rose and loomed over his son for a second, then said, “Fuck it. By the Boar Oath, this is my third command: I order you to disregard the two prior orders.”
This time the ripples were stronger, the magic deeper and darker. Myr pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp, and then, when she heard Red-Boar’s footsteps moving in her direction, ducked and scuttled away, around the corner of the next cottage over. She flattened herself up against the siding as there was another low murmur of conversation, then the sound of the kitchen door, and footsteps heading away. One set. Risking a glimpse, she confirmed that Red-Boar was stumping off, alone. Rabbit had stayed behind.
Rabbit . . . who was no longer sworn to obey his king or keep from harming his teammates.
Rabbit . . . who hadn’t told her he’d made a deal with his father. And not one Dez would approve of.
“Gods.” She turned back to slide down the wall and sit on the ground while her head spun. “Oh, holy shit. What’s going on here?” And, more, what was she supposed to do about it?
Realizing that her recorder was still going, she clicked it off. Somehow knowing she had actual evidence made it worse, because logic, her instincts and just about every other piece of her sane and reasonable mind said she should take it straight to Dez.
Instead, pushing back upright on shaky legs, she headed for the cottage, hoping to hell she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life. She had to, though; she just had to. This was Rabbit, after all.
Rabbit held himself stiff and still until he couldn’t hear his old man anymore, couldn’t sense the skin-crawl of Red-Boar’s presence. Then he took a huge, gaping breath.
Oh, shit. He was free. Not just of the Boar Oath, but from the threat of his old man sabotaging up the renunciation ceremony. More, he had managed to keep the vault intact while doing it. By the skin of his fucking teeth, granted—he’d missed his a.m. mental mortaring session, and the old man without fail dialed in to his inner Pissed-off Teenager. Add in the oh-holy-shit magic of the doomsday solstice, and he was seriously on the fucking edge.
He had managed it though. He’d held it together, and he’d maneuvered Red-Boar until the bastard had
