Skykeepers

with the small fireball. Now, as then, he felt her touch as if she’d stroked his naked skin.

Sensation brought desire, kicking the magic higher, bringing an edge that hadn’t been there moments earlier. He nearly arched into the touch, almost purred with the pleasure, even as he told himself to let her go, move away, move on. Once they were back at Skywatch everything would be different. She wouldn’t need to be rescued anymore. She wouldn’t need him anymore, because although she might have dreamed him, the last thing she needed after living in darkness for the past year was a man who lived partway in the shadows.

Lips curving, pupils blurred with sex magic, she moved to stroke the chameleon shield again, but he caught her wrist. “Don’t,” he said. His voice came out harder than he’d intended, so he softened the order with, “Please.”

She met his eyes, and hers widened. “Michael?” Her voice held a faint tremor, but she didn’t pull away. He almost wished she would. More, he wondered what she saw in him, and whether it scared her.

It should, he knew, just as he knew damn well he should let her go. But the jagged, primal heat was unassailable, undeniable, compelling him to move in for another kiss. Somewhere in the back of his brain he told himself it would level off the energy that built within him, help him rein it in. But the moment their mouths touched he knew it was a lie. Heat blasted through him, tipping his balance and skewing his world off-kilter. And the magic—of the temple and the night, and the sacred sexual power that was suddenly laced with something more— rose up and swept him away. Magic roared in his veins, lighting his neurons with a howl of, Yes, yes, this one, mine ! as he slanted his mouth across hers, teased her lips apart and plunged his tongue inside, needing more from her, demanding more.

Far from pushing him away, she met him equally and then raced ahead of him, pouring herself into the kiss. He told himself to back off, that she was in the grip of new magic, that she didn’t have full control. But he couldn’t seem to make that matter as he lost himself in her.

Magic sparked red-gold in the air between them, revving his blood even higher. She felt it too; he could see it in her eyes, hear it in her shuddering inhalation. Then she reached down and cupped him through his combat pants, rubbing the line of his painfully hard erection.

She’s not in control , he reminded himself. And she doesn’t know why . He remembered how it had been for him right after he’d tasted Nightkeeper power—how the need for sex had been sharp and overwhelming, and nothing he could’ve walked away from. He told himself to back off, back away, that she wasn’t entirely rational. But although he’d been raised out in the modern world, with modern mores and ethics, he was a Nightkeeper by blood and magic, and some deeply primitive part of him argued that there was nothing wrong with magic-wrought desire.

Red-gold power crisped the air as she touched him again, shaping him through the tough fabric of his Kevlar-impregnated combat pants. “Gods,” he grated, dimly aware that the shield had gone red-

gold, shot through with other, unfamiliar colors. Darker hues to match the dark, edgy power that bit at the edges of his mind.

A warning bell sounded at the back of his brain, reminding him of the danger, the pilli. The creature that lived within him. But he was lost to reason; his universe had concentrated itself at the place where she was holding him, touching him. He was no stranger to sex—far from it. He loved women, loved the pleasure his body could give them, the moment of their orgasm, and his own. Yet despite all that, he’d been celibate since his talent ceremony more than a year ago, when the shock of gaining the warrior talent had busted through the hypnosis and drug-induced mental blockade, slamming Michael with lost memories and almost releasing the thing lurking within him.

If this bloodline nahwal hadn’t zapped him into an offshoot of the barrier, he might’ve slaughtered the other Nightkeepers then and there. The nahwal’s warning had echoed in Michael’s skull: Your past has put the balance of your soul too close to the darkness. Don’t touch the power it offers. And for gods’ sake, don’t lose control.

In the aftermath of that vilely nasty surprise, Michael had been a mess. He’d broken things off with Jade and had kept to himself ever since then. Now, though, those three hundred and however many days roared through his bloodstream now, heat and temptation howling for release. But not just any release; his blood and body were clamoring for Sasha—for the woman in the photos, the fighter who’d escaped from her own cell. He wanted her energy, wanted to take it inside himself and use it to light the dark corners of his soul.

He was vaguely aware of a half dozen gray-robes blocking open the damned doorway and taking up positions inside the chamber, looking out into the hallway. As if from a distance he heard radio traffic, reports that the other magi were just around the corner, but meeting heavy resistance from search parties bent on recapturing Sasha. But if Iago wanted her, why had he used her to bait the Nightkeepers into Lucius’s ambush? Why not just have Lucius himself call for help?

A half-realized thought gnawed at the edge of his consciousness, warning of something deeper, but it was quickly lost when Sasha kissed him again, then moved against him, restless with desire.

A hard-fought battle raged within his soul. The Nightkeeper warrior in him wanted to attack the gray-robes, helping clear the way for his teammates, and the man in him wanted to rip into them for what they’d done to Sasha. But at the same time he was brutally aware of the nahwal’s warning. He was already running too close to the edge of his control; killing could put him all the way over.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can,” he dimly heard Strike report. “Hold tight and keep the woman safe.”

I will, Michael thought with the force of a vow.

Magic hummed in his skull—a compulsion for sex, for orgasm, the feeling sharper than before, more protective. Possessive. He wanted to take her, make her his own. He wanted to keep her safe, kill for her, take his revenge on the men who had hurt her. He held the impulses grimly in check, but then she twined her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his in a blatantly carnal, openmouthed kiss.

And he broke.

Heart hammering, heat roaring through him on a wash of red and gold gone gray at the edges, he returned the kiss and dragged his hands down her curvy body as he pressed her into the wall, his body armor a hard barrier between them. He growled as he reversed the caress, bringing her shirt up so he could reach beneath. Her skin was warm and soft and so very alive under his touch. She was alive, arching and quivering, responding beautifully to him as he shaped the dip of her waist, the flare of her ribs, the curves of her breasts. She moaned as, beyond himself, Michael groaned and kissed her, tasted her, touched her.

Somewhere at the back of his brain, beyond the madness of lust and magic, a voice of reason was shouting, Abort, abort! Bad idea! She’d been Iago’s prisoner for a year, had to be in a fragile mental state. But there was nothing fragile about the feel of her as she pressed against him, demanding as much as she gave, and more. She raked her fingernails along his bare shoulders and arms, making him shiver with the raw power of his response.

The hot, jagged magic grayed his vision and brought a flash of a high wall with narrow gates inset near the top. Warning buzzers sounded, but he was too far gone within the heat and need to do anything but take the next kiss deeper, take them both higher. He was shaking with desire; they both were.

On the other side of the chameleon shield, he was dimly aware that the gray-robes had taken high and low positions on either side of the doorway, digging in to return the Nightkeepers’ fire.

Part of Michael wanted to drop the shield and open fire, taking out the gray-robes from behind. He wasn’t sure if that was his warrior’s talent talking, or a thought-thread coming from behind the wall, from that hated part of himself. But his priority was keeping Sasha safe. Which he was doing; with each kiss, each caress, the magic ramped higher, the shield grew denser and thicker, seemingly in proportion to his own hard, aching flesh.

He hissed as she loosened the Velcro waist straps of his body armor and reached beneath his tank to run her hands across his heated skin. She drew gentle, inciting trails across his stomach, along his sides, down his spine and then lower to latch onto his ass and pull him into her, anchoring them together at the point where he ached to connect them. He broke their kiss briefly to yank the armor off over his head, then tossed it aside and reached for her, so they were wrapped together, chest to chest, though still clothed.

Her sweetness surrounded him, seeped into him, humbled him. He chased kisses along her jaw and down her neck, heat racing through him as she shuddered and clung. A moment later she pushed him away, but only to create a space between them, room to reach for his pants, and work the fly without undoing his weapons belt. He