by the time they were halfway through the loop, the panic had started to drain. As it did, she became acutely aware of the big man who walked beside her, matching his strides to hers, giving her the room she’d wanted, yet providing a solid, reassuring presence she was far too tempted to rely on. Their bare arms brushed as they walked, and the contact brought a hum of energy and pleasure.
Heat shimmered between them; she almost imagined she could see it . . . then wondered whether she could.
Although Ambrose had been downright nasty to the few boys she’d tried bringing home, he’d been forthright about Nightkeeper sex magic, treating it as a natural extension of power. Now, as Sasha walked beside Michael and felt desire and temptation spin between them, those lessons broke through, perhaps explaining some of what had happened the night before.The words “power boost” and “gods-
destined mates” filtered through to her conscious mind, though she did her best to ignore them, knowing it would be far too easy to talk herself into something that would not only excuse the fact that she’d had sex with a complete stranger about ten minutes after they met, but also suggested there might be the possibility—hell, a mandate—for a future between them.
Still, she was jarringly, achingly conscious of his body, of the way he walked, the way his muscles played one against the next. “I didn’t believe you,” she said, feeling like it needed to be said. “I thought you were part of some elaborate, overfunded role-playing game that had somehow turned real for the people inside it.”
He was silent for a moment before he said, “In a way, it’d probably be better if that were the case.
At least then we wouldn’t be looking down the barrel of a three-year countdown with no fucking clue what we’re supposed to be doing.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how much of it she wanted to know, how much of it she could handle just then. So she walked. And in walking, she stared up at the sun. As she’d noticed before, it was a strange, orange-yellow color.
Michael followed her gaze. “It’s like that all over the world. Nobody knows what’s wrong with it,” he said without her having to ask. “There are theories, of course—pollution, lack of solar flares, changes in magnetism— you name it, there’s someone out there arguing in favor of it as a theory. But nobody knows for sure.”
“Is it . . .” She trailed off, not yet ready to shift her paradigm so far as to ask about the pending end of the world. “Did Iago do something, or the
“We don’t know. We need more information, and we’re out of options.” It was an indirect nudge, a subtle interrogation.
“I don’t know where the library is,” she said. But for the first time, the tightness in her chest and stomach came not from the hated question, but from a new understanding of the situation, and its urgency.
At the end of the age, the 2012 prophecy held that the magi would number in the hundreds, that they would form an army powered by the might of the gods. Instead, there were, what, ten or so of them?
And if she was reading their forearm marks correctly, only Leah—a human—and Alexis wore the marks of the Godkeep ers who were supposed to be the keys to the end-time war. In the absence of manpower, they must have gone looking for spell power, only to find their repository gone.
“How about you tell me what you do know,” Michael said, “and we’ll go from there.” Once again, she had to wonder if she’d really seen that flash of darkness within him. There was no sign of it now; that was certain.
“I hadn’t been close to my father in more than eight years before his death,” she answered, “so when Iago first asked me about a hidden library, it wasn’t an effort to play dumb, because honest to God—gods, whatever— I’d never heard of it. When Ambrose was in one of his manic phases, I couldn’t get him to shut up about the Nightkeeper crap.” She paused, wincing. “No offense. Anyway, if he’d known about a library back when I was still living with him, he would’ve told me. I’m sure of that much.” More, he would’ve insisted that she become involved. “At first I thought the library itself was just another part of the mythos.”
“I take it something convinced you it was real?”
She nodded, exhaling a long, slow breath.“A few weeks after Iago grabbed me from the temple, he brought me one of my father’s journals. It wasn’t dated or signed—they never were—but I recognized the writing style.” Or lack thereof. When Ambrose was on one of his Nightkeeper rants, his scholarly acumen devolved to repetitive babbles and fragments of things that she now realized might have been actual spells. “In it, he mentioned swimming through some sort of cave system toward where he thought the library should be, and instead finding a scroll. On it was a spell he couldn’t use. He took it and hid it. He didn’t say where, not even a hint.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. The rest of the entries were a combination of lecture notes, complaints about his students, and . . . well, ravings, really.” She met his gaze squarely. “Ambrose had mental problems. I don’t know if it was a true split personality. More likely, he was manic-depressive. He existed day to day on a decently functional balance, especially when he was at the university. But at home or in the rain forest, when something set him off, he was . . .” She trailed off, uncomfortable with the words that came immediately to mind, such as “impossible,” “off his rocker,” or Pim’s favorite, “fucking nuts.” Ambrose had been a demanding, sometimes cruel man. But apparently not all of what she’d dismissed as ravings actually had been. So in the end she went with: “Difficult.”
Michael’s expression had gone shuttered as she’d spoken of Ambrose’s problems. Or maybe he was simply disappointed that she’d gotten so little from the journal. “Are you absolutely sure none of what he wrote, even the rantings, contained clues to where he hid this scroll?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I went over and over the journal, and told the red-robes all the places I could think for them to look.” She shrugged, though the movement didn’t even begin to encapsulate the months of pain and terror, which still existed within her, even though they’d been blunted by a mind-
bender. “I’m sorry. That’s all I’ve got.” She wasn’t just talking about information, either. As she’d been talking, the adrenaline that had sustained her to that point had drained suddenly, leaving her feeling wrung out, strung out. “Honestly? If I knew where to find the scroll or the library, or anything that would’ve helped lead the Xibalbans to either, I would’ve told them months ago,” Michael’s eyes flashed, his voice going rough. “Then he would’ve killed you months ago.”
“There were days that would’ve been a relief.”
She wasn’t aware of him moving, had no warning before he was suddenly in her space, gripping her arms and leaning in, eyes blazing. “
Her first thought was relief that although he was furious, there was no sign of any darkness from him. Her second was even simpler: It was desire, hot and hard, revving her body from zero to want in an instant.
His eyes locked on hers and his breathing went ragged. Heat crackled in the air around them, along with a faint thread of music, as though someone had cranked up a stereo out on the pool deck. But too much had changed for her, too quickly. That morning she had wished she could have gotten to know Michael in the “real” world. Now that her real world had been replaced by his, in a paradigm where their being lovers didn’t seem so out of the question, where did that leave them? Where did she want it to leave them?
She didn’t know, and she couldn’t figure it out while he was touching her. Suddenly stepping closer didn’t seem like such a smart idea. She eased away, tugging to free her hands from his. When they didn’t tug, she said softly, “Michael, let go.”
For a second something flashed in his eyes—a hard, angry expression so at odds with the man that she froze in shock. Then it disappeared and he jolted in place, looking down and seeming surprised to see that he was gripping her hands.
“Gods, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He released her and stepped back with deliberate care, holding his hands out in an
The air around them stilled; the music faded. Something seemed to shimmer on the air for a moment, as though he’d just made a silent promise. “Not ever?” she asked, trying to tell herself the sinking in her gut wasn’t disappointment.
