meant to make him choose. But once it was out there, she couldn’t call it back. She could only wait and hope, knowing that if he really cared for her, even a little, he would—
“I can’t.” The two words sliced through her, as did the regret in his eyes as he let go of her and held his hands out at his sides in surrender, or maybe apology. He might’ve had those hands all over her only a few moments earlier, but now he seemed a zillion miles away. His expression was closed, his jaw set. “I’m sorry, Cara. I just… can’t.”
Catching the bay’s reins, he headed for the door, walking stiffly.
“You’re leaving?” She hated that her voice cracked on the last word, hated that she was all churned up, her emotions running right near the surface of her soul and threatening to overflow. “Just like that?”
“It’s past noon already,” he said without looking back. “I need to get going if I’m going to make the high pastures before dark.” But although that was what he said aloud, the subtext was all too clear: Nice try, but it’s not enough. I’d rather be out there alone than in here with you.
Which was the story of her life, really. Her father didn’t want to spend time with her, so why should Sven? And her mother… A sob caught in her throat, then broke free as a harsh, bubbling sound.
Sven stopped. Man and horse were silhouetted in the wide doorway, with the rolling hills behind them topped by a gorgeous blue sky. It should’ve been a postcard. Then again, if it had been, she would’ve torn it up. She didn’t need this, didn’t need him. Shouldn’t need anybody. It would be so much better that way.
“Christ, Cara… don’t cry.” He took a step back, but then stopped and just stared at her. With the light behind him she couldn’t see his expression, but that was probably for the best. The last thing she wanted was his pity.
“Go.” She waved him off. “Just go, damn it.”
He hesitated… and then turned away, climbed on the rangy bay gelding, and headed for the hills, like always. Only this time he never really came back.
CHAPTER SIX
The memory faded, leaving a wistful ache behind. But despite Sven’s apparent belief that their kiss had rocked her world—and not in a good way—it hadn’t really changed anything for her. It had—for her, at least—been just another good-bye, another disappointment.
“It was never about the kiss, Sven.” Her voice sounded rusty, as if she’d been silent far longer than she thought. Sure, maybe she had used the memory of those sparks as a benchmark for other kisses, other men, but her excitement that day had been more about being seventeen and outdoing her friends than it had been about him.
His fingers tightened on hers. “I made you cry.”
“I was seventeen. Lots of things made me cry.” Like being scared about her mom and not having anyone to talk to, lean on.
“That time it was my fault,” he insisted. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back, and I sure as hell shouldn’t have taken off like that. You can’t pretend things didn’t change between us after that.”
She pulled her hand away. “That’s because you were never around!” She hadn’t meant to yell it, but suddenly couldn’t dial down the volume. “You missed every birthday, every holiday, every big event. And when Dad wanted to blame someone for you being gone, since he couldn’t blame himself, he blamed me. If you want to make that about the kiss, then go ahead. I don’t care, because I know the truth, which is that you’ve always lived in your own world, and it has nothing to do with geography.” Making herself stop before she said something she’d regret, she blew out a breath. “You don’t get to run away from home and still be part of a family, Sven. It doesn’t work that way.”
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
She expected a denial or—worse—pity and an argument. Instead, after a too-long pause while his eyes darkened with sorrow, he sighed and said, “Yeah. Shit. I know. I was just hoping…” He shifted, tried to shove his hands in his pockets, didn’t have any, and settled for hitching his thumbs in his waistband, which made his sweats slip precariously. “I guess I was hoping that the kiss was the problem between you and me, because that was something I did, which means I could promise to never do it again. As for the other, hell, yes, I’m sorry, Cara. I’m sorry for not being around enough when your mom was sick, and I’m sorry I didn’t come back for the funeral. Most of all, I’m sorry that I haven’t ever been someone you could count on.”
Her throat tightened. “I never asked you to be that guy. In fact, I don’t need that guy—I can take care of myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to, not all the time.” His eyes shifted, and for an instant she saw the same heat she’d seen that day in the barn. This time, though, it came from a different kind of frustration. “You deserve someone who’ll look out for you the way you always look out for the people around you, someone who’ll put you first and foremost, who’ll be there for you no matter what.”
Zane had said nearly the same thing, but where his words had put her on the defensive, Sven’s brought a burn of tears that forced her to blink too quickly and remind herself that he wasn’t actually offering. “Sven…” she began, but then trailed off, unable to find the words when her emotions were too big, her defenses too low.
“I wish I could’ve been that guy for you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
It was the apology she had wanted, needed from him. Or so she had told herself over the years. Yet she found herself whispering, “But?” She heard it in his voice, could see it in his face.
He exhaled. “I can’t promise to change. I want to say that I’ll be there for you… but it would be a lie.”
She didn’t know when the angry heat had faded. All she knew was that she was suddenly cold, almost numb. “Because of the writs.” The Nightkeepers’ code spelled out a mage’s duty to act first for the gods and mankind, then his king and the other magi and on down, with family near the bottom of the list.
He shook his head. “The writs aren’t the problem. I am. I can’t… I’m just not the kind of guy who sticks around. And as much as I wish I could change that—and by the gods, I do; I swear it—I can’t make myself stay put.” He spread his hands. “This is who I am.”
It was stupid to be surprised or annoyed, yet she was suddenly both. “Bullshit. That’s a cop-out. People can change if they really want to.”
“You’re thinking like a human. Be a winikin instead.” He tapped his forearm, where he wore the talent marks that said he was a warrior-translocator, capable of fighting, strategizing, and moving things with his mind. Most prominent, though, was the glyph designating him as a member of the coyote bloodline, with an additional circle and numerical dots representing his bond with Mac. “The bloodline stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. The jaguars are stubborn, the eagles obsessive, the harvesters nurturing, and the coyotes… Well, the coyotes are loners, Cara, and footloose as hell.”
“That’s…” Bullshit, she wanted to insist, but couldn’t. Because all of a sudden, Sven’s behavior—and her father’s refusal to blame him for it—crystallized in a way it never had before.
The lean ranginess she had always admired in him, the faint air of wildness that clung to him no matter where he was or what he was wearing, yeah, that was pure coyote. And although the bloodline characteristics had always seemed like a convenient excuse, she’d seen other aspects of the magic at work. Hell, she’d experienced it herself. Given that she’d suffered a string of low-grade illnesses that had vanished the moment she set foot back inside Skywatch, who knew what other tendencies were programmed in at the DNA level?
What if his inability to stay put and deal with real-life problems hadn’t been self-centeredness so much as an inborn need to roam? What then?
As if she’d asked the question aloud, he said, “I didn’t know I was a coyote when we were younger. All I knew was that I’d rather be out in the backcountry than at home, and then, once I was away from the ranch, it was easier to keep going than it was to turn back… at least until I wound up here.” He indicated Skywatch and the box canyon surrounding them. “I’ve done my damnedest to stick it out. Learning to use the magic helped, I think, and swearing fealty to the king… But once Mac and I bonded, the restlessness came back. When I’m here, I feel caged in, claustrophobic.” He stretched his limbs, as if even that light layer of clothing was too restrictive. “Hell, even on the outside, I can’t stay in one place too long.”
“You could fight it,” she said softly, though the words brought a twinge from her winikin self.
