Blood Spells

side.

He knew it wasn’t fair for him to want her one moment and push her away the next. But he was having a hard time holding on to that logic now that they were in their own personal paradise, a place out of reality where they could steal a few hours of the past.

That was their mission, after all. Finding memories.

He paused outside the restaurant where he’d taken her for their first real date. “Can I buy you dinner?” It was a feeble joke; with access to a bankroll intended to fund an army, money was one of the few things the Nightkeepers didn’t need to stress about.

“Looks like it’s come up a few notches in the world.” What had been a midpriced joint offering a tourist- friendly selection of Tex-Mex and burger-and-fries staples the first two times they’d been in town now offered Mayan-themed fine dining with handwoven tablecloths and a had Zagat review in the window. She slanted him a look. “Think we’re underdressed?”

His jeans and button-down were casual, his boots practical, his weapons concealed. She, too, was subtly prepared for action in cargo pants, lace-up shoes, and a tight tank that accented the strong lines of her arms and torso, the generous curves of her breasts. Over that, she wore a clingy blue shirt against the cooler air of the rainy-season night. It clung to the contours of her body and was very soft when it brushed against him.

“Let’s find out.”

He tried not to think it was destiny that there was a cancellation in an otherwise booked night, allowing them to slip right in. He wanted to deny that it was fate when they were led to a table for two by the window, in the same spot where they had sat during their first date, and overlooking the place where he’d been standing the very first time he saw her.

“Want to start with a bottle or two of tequila?” she asked, her eyes lighting with wry amusement.

He snorted. “Getting drunk’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

They didn’t, though. Instead, they shared tamalon tutiwah—round, flat corn cakes with bean and pumpkin-seed filling poured into thirteen indentations evenly spaced around the circumference, representing the thirteen-month calendar of the Maya—followed by flavorful spiced snapper wrapped in banana leaves and baked in a clay pot. Dessert was fresh fruit swimming in lightly fermented pineapple juice, leaving them satisfied but not weighed down.

The conversation, too, stayed light, not because they were working to keep it that way, but because they just freaking clicked here.

They left the restaurant and headed toward the hotel with his arm across her shoulders, hers looped around his waist. “I wish—,” she began, but then broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“Yeah.” He tightened his arm in a half hug. “I know.” He wished too. He wished he knew why things seemed so different here than they did back at Skywatch, wished he knew what kept going wrong between them, and how to fix it. He paused, looking up at a storefront that looked familiar, yet not. “This was the bar I saw you coming out of.” Thanks to the etznab spell, the memory was fresh and new.

“Now it’s a souvenir shop.” A bell above the door tinkled as she pushed into the colorful, crammed space, tugging him along with her. “Come on. Let’s check it out.”

It was a night for bringing things full circle, after all.

They wandered through the shop, took turns trying on a blinged-out, green velveteen sombrero, and picked out a couple of hot sauces to add to Jox and Sasha’s collection.

As they headed to the counter, Patience paused at a display of brightly colored textiles, her face lighting as she touched a vivid purple scarf. “You go ahead. I’m going to look for—” She broke off, animation draining. “Never mind.”

Purple was Hannah’s favorite color, Brandt remembered with a dull twinge of regret, the kind he didn’t usually let himself feel. “You could get it anyway,” he said. “Save it for the day after.” That was what they used to call it, back when they still talked about being reunited with their sons and winikin on the day after the zero date.

Two years and four days. The number was never completely out of his mind, even when it was buried deep.

She turned away from the display. “If I went with that theory, the suite would already be crammed.”

“Yeah. Between birthdays and the wayeb festivals, it’s tempting to go a little crazy and fill the gap with stuff.” He didn’t bother pointing out that anything they bought now would be outgrown long before they saw the boys again. No need to twist that knife. He gestured with the hot sauces. “I’ll go pay out. Think about the scarf. She’ll always love purple.”

But as he moved past her, she gripped his biceps, digging in. “Wait.”

He paused. “Problem?”

“I didn’t know you thought about them like that.” Her expression hovered between wariness and confusion.

Although something deep down inside told him it was a bad idea, that given the uncertainty of the Triad magic, they should keep the status quo between them, he met her eyes and said, “There’s a midgrade book about coral reefs on the shelf near the door, packaged with a snorkel, mask, and fins.

That would be for Harry, because he’d love the book so much that he’d want to get out in the water and see all the critters for real. I’d get Braden one of the make-your-own Mayan drum kits in the back.

We could sneak in some history while putting it together, and he’d be into the potential for making noise.” He paused, throat thickening. “I miss them too.”

A single tear tracked down her cheek. “You never say anything.”

“Talking about it didn’t seem to help either of us. If anything, it made things worse.”

To his surprise, she nodded, accepting that. Or if not accepting it, then accepting that was the way he’d seen it. With a small, defiant chin tilt, she took the purple scarf off the display and headed for the checkout desk.

She didn’t say anything when he added the snorkeling gear and the drum kit to the pile on the counter.

In fact, neither of them said anything, really, as they left the store with their purchases and headed for the hotel. But he was entirely aware of her, of the way her body moved with a fighter’s economy of motion, but was still utterly feminine. The neon-lit darkness cast her face in light and shadow, making her look fierce and capable. Like a fitting mate to an eagle warrior. Like the woman he fell in love with, but had somehow lost along the way.

She glanced at him. “You’re staring.”

He should let it go. But he didn’t. “I wish I knew why we get along so much better here.”

Stopping, she turned to face him. “You know why. We both do. And we don’t have to talk about it.

Truly.”

She was offering him an out. They could check into the hotel, go upstairs, and they would probably make love, because the two of them made sense together in El Rey.

But he didn’t want the out. Not tonight. “Things went to hell after I got my warrior’s talent.”

According to Woody, his eagle ancestors had been tough, loyal, and almost always brilliantly successful at their jobs, as long as they stuck within their skill sets of math and engineering. They had also been workaholics, and had the highest rate of broken matings among the magi, largely because their talents so often took over their lives.

“You’re not the only warrior in the family.”

“Your bloodline is different. It didn’t affect you the same way.”

It was the simplest answer. And although it wasn’t comfortable—none of this was—it made sense within the magic, and gave him reason to hope, deep down inside, that he’d be able to put his life back together once the war was over.

But Patience shook her head. “Unfortunately, there’s another explanation.” She paused. “Why else would we have been crazy about each other from the night we met, right up until our talent ceremonies?”

Brandt frowned, not seeing it . . . until he did.

Oh, holy crap. The bloodline marks they had both gotten on that first—and forgotten—night had formed their initial link with the barrier. Their talent ceremonies had formed the second link, bringing them into their full powers. And in between those two events . . .