she narrowed her eyes, he added, “I can sense the carving.”
She nodded tightly, spun the wheel, and sent them overland.
The next few minutes passed in a shuddering blur as they chased the winikin along a series of fire access roads that eventually joined the main road, where Reese muscled the heavy vehicle onto the tarmac and accelerated, two-handing the steering wheel as the odometer edged past ninety.
Dez stared at her badass pixie profile, the hard line of her jaw. And wished to hell he could have a do-over. “You came after me.”
That was all he could think, that she had somehow figured out that he was alive, gone searching for him, and been recruited by the Nightkeepers. But why had she been looking? He would have thought she’d be glad to let him stay dead.
“I was hired to find you,” she corrected coolly, staring straight ahead and handling the dark curves with grim proficiency.
“Oh.” Which put a different spin on things. Due to the Triad magic, Strike wouldn’t have been able to find him with magic, so the king must’ve gone old-school and hired the only bounty hunter he’d ever met in person. Then, once he figured out that she and Dez had a history and she knew most of the Nightkeepers’ legends, he’d brought her into things all the damn way. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
“Wrong religion, Mendez. Or so I’m told.”
“Reese—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Are we gaining on him?”
Focus. Prioritize. “Yeah. Look for a right up ahead. He’s off the main road.” He didn’t know how he knew that.
She accelerated around the next turn. “Good. This baby will out off-road the crap out of his POS rental in a—shit!”
He barely had time to curse at the sight of the empty rental car parked across the fucking road right in front of them. Then they were on top of it, going too fast to stop. Reese locked the brakes as they flew toward the dust-covered sedan. But it wouldn’t be enough.
“Grab something!” he snapped, shooting a hand across the cab and pulling her seat belt extra tight as he called on his drug-depleted magic for a half-assed shield spell that crackled to misfiring electric life.
They hit with a slewing jolt of impact, a roar of destruction, and the muted gunshots of the airbags that thwumped into them from the front and sides. Dez’s head snapped on his neck and he tasted blood. Keban’s abandoned vehicle flew off the road and into a shallow ditch on one side, but the Compass caromed the other way and headed straight for the guardrail that marked off a steep embankment. Beyond was only darkness.
Reese’s eyes locked on his for a second; he saw a flash of grief and heard her voice crack when she said, “It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”
“Story of our lives. Hang on.” Spitting blood in sacrifice, he shouted, “Pasaj och!” A deeper barrier connection slammed through him, lighting him up and pouring out of him in a surge. He did his damnedest to fill the vehicle’s interior with shield magic as the Compass hit the guardrail, peeled through it, went airborne for a few seconds . . .
And fell.
CHAPTER FIVE
The SUV plummeted and hit with a bone-jarring impact, but instead of pain and the crash of breaking glass, Reese found herself surrounded by a sizzling noise and a whirl of lightning arcs. The blue-white strobes of Dez’s shield magic—which wasn’t like anything else she had seen in her five-day crash course at Skywatch—showed a rocky embankment that fell away from them on a steep slant, with jagged rocks at the bottom, trees beyond that. Not good.
Then the Compass bounced and all she could do was hang on white knuckled as the vehicle slewed sideways and rolled—wham, wham, wham—three dizzying revolutions that spun her head over ass and left her fighting for breath. They landed upright—thank Christ—and skidded down the incline, finally thudding into a pine tree that splintered and rained needles on them, but held.
It fucking held. And in doing so, it saved their lives.
In an instant that seemed to take forever, the crash chaos faded and the world went still.
And Dez’s magic skimmed across her skin like a caress.
She closed her eyes, trying not feel it, to feel him sitting way too close beside her. By the time she left Skywatch, she had almost convinced herself that this was just a job, that she was doing what anyone like her would do given the chance to be part of the whole save-the-world thing.
But that was bullshit: This was about Dez, pure and simple. That was where anything “simple” ended, though, because she didn’t have a clue if she’d come after him to get some sort of final closure, because she still felt like she owed him, because Strike said the Nightkeepers needed him, or because some weak, perpetually nineteen-year-old part of her wanted to believe he had gone back to being the boy she had loved.
It almost hadn’t mattered, either, because she’d nearly killed both of them doing the high-speed-chase thing. She was supposed to have outgrown this shit. All of it.
“Reese!” He dragged off his belt, took his knife to the airbags, slapped on the overhead light and loomed over her, his eyes worried and so damn familiar they peeled back the years in an instant. “Gods. Are you okay?”
She swallowed hard and whispered, “Yeah. I’m fine.” But she was suddenly having trouble breathing, and it wasn’t because of the crash.
Intellectually, she had accepted that he was alive, that he had come into his full powers, not just as a warrior but as a Triad mage. And the five days she had spent at Skywatch had helped her get over her awe—or most of it, anyway—when it came to the Nightkeepers she had grown up dreaming about. The magi were big and glossy, yes, and they had powers she didn’t. But on another level, they were normal people. Sasha shared her sweet tooth, Alexis had a thing for shoes, and Nate had kicked her ass twice on Grand Theft Auto before admitting that he’d been a game developer in his previous life. Strike was more distant, and seemed troubled, but she had gotten him talking baseball one evening and he’d seemed grateful for the diversion. Over the past week the magi had become acquaintances, some even friends, and she had thought, Okay, I can do this. I can deal with seeing Dez.
But she couldn’t, she realized now. Because thinking about seeing him again wasn’t the same as actually seeing him again.
She hadn’t been prepared for the way the Triad spell had rendered him hairless, like his bloodline totem. His scalp was sleek instead of trimmed to stubble, his jaw unshadowed, his brows smooth. Where the sleeve of his jacket rode up as he leaned over her, his muscular forearm gleamed in the dashboard lights, which caught the edge of his bloodline mark: a gape-mouthed, plumed serpent. And she hadn’t been braced for that. She hadn’t been expecting him to be wearing army surplus that looked far more like the second-hands they had scrounged as kids than the slick designers he had worn in later years. And she sure as hell hadn’t been prepared for the way the years—or maybe the magic?—had honed his wide cheekbones, ridged nose, and sardonic mouth. How, when he lifted a hand to touch her cheek as if needing to prove to himself that she was really there, the fine tremor in his hand would make her heart shudder.
“Damn it, Dez,” she said. She wasn’t sure whether she would have invited him closer or warned him away, because her throat locked.
The moment spun out between them.
Then a car roared by up on the road, snapping her back to reality. The engine noise didn’t change and there was no flash of brakes—the driver had either managed to miss the signs of a crash, or was pretending to—but the next one might not. “We can’t stay here,” she said softly.
He started to say something, then thought better of it and nodded instead. A shadow shifted across his expression, distancing him; it was his warrior’s talent coming on line, she thought, blunting his emotions and shifting his priorities. Or maybe she just wanted to think that.
