shadows. Wearing her fatigue pants, boots, and an army green T-shirt, she looked more ready for a training run than a party, and her expression was all business. “Zane sent me to find you. He’d like a word.”
Damn it, really not now. It didn’t matter whether he wanted to call her out on what’d happened earlier, clear the air between them, or just talk strategy; she didn’t want to deal with him right now. But she couldn’t blow him off, either. So she nodded. “Where is he, inside?”
“No. Back down at the proving grounds.”
“The… Really?” Cara twisted around to look in the direction of the big steel-and-cement pyramid, which was just barely visible as an angular silhouette against the stormy night sky. Her hair blew across her face, moved by a gust that smelled of rain. “What’s he doing down there?”
“He said he had something important to show you.”
“He… Right.” Thus why he hadn’t hit her up on her wrist unit using an open channel, instead snagging a messenger he thought he could trust. He’d done similar things twice before, when his anti-Nightkeeper paranoia had gotten the best of him. Both times, the intel had been good, if not necessarily up to cloak-and-dagger standards. Interest starting to stir despite everything else, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go.”
“Alone.” Lora’s pointed look went to the darkness beyond the floodlights.
“What? Oh.” A faint flush touched Cara’s cheeks, though she hoped it was hidden by the dimness. Then again, she had also hoped that the others wouldn’t have noticed her furry shadow. “Mac won’t bother anyone. He’s just playing bodyguard.” And only because Sven was feeling guilty.
“If you say so.” Lora started back toward the training hall. “Do whatever you want. I’m just the messenger.” Duty done, she turned and headed up the stairs. Swinging the door open to emit a blast of noise and movement, she stepped through and was immediately swallowed up in the party.
As the door thunked shut, cutting off the clamor, thunder growled low on the horizon, followed by a soft whine from closer by.
Cara glanced over to where a pair of eyes glowed from the shadows. “You heard her.” Actually, she wasn’t sure how much the coyote actually understood of human speech when Sven wasn’t around. Sometimes it seemed like he looked straight into her and understood everything she was thinking or feeling, and then other times the information seemed to go right past him, unacknowledged. Kind of like a human male, really, when she thought about it, only this one had fangs and claws and would offer her a hell of a backup if she ran into trouble, no questions asked.
She had gotten used to having him around over the past few days, she realized with a sudden pang. Having him there made her feel safer… and it let her know that Sven was still around. And she shouldn’t need either of those things. She could take care of herself, damn it. An apology didn’t change anything, and neither did a kiss.
The coyote gave a soft whuff and advanced a step, so the light picked out the shape of his angular head and thick, furry ruff. His eyes seemed to plead with her not to send him away, but she needed to make the break and stick to it. She couldn’t let herself halfway depend on Sven and his familiar; it would hurt too much when they next took off.
So, even though Mac was giving her puppy-dog eyes, she pointed toward the main mansion and said, “Go on, Mac. Go back to him.”
His ears went flat; his eyes practically welled up.
Steeling herself, she shook her head. “No, Mac. You can’t follow me around anymore. Go on. Git.”
Hanging his head, he went a few steps, then paused and turned back. When she just kept pointing, he whined low in his throat, sounding like she was breaking his heart. But he slunk out of the light and down the pathway toward the mansion. Watching him go emptied her out and made her feel like total crap. But at the same time there was also an odd, hollow sense of satisfaction.
She could take care of herself, damn it, and she could handle whatever Zane wanted to throw at her. Maybe she couldn’t give him what he wanted on a personal level, but they both wanted the same thing when it came to the war. They would make it work somehow.
The weather was closing in fast, drawing the air tightly around her as she headed for the training grounds. The lights were off, the only illumination the unearthly luminance of the storm, until she dug out a small key-chain flashlight from her pocket and flicked it on. The feeble beam didn’t do much more than glint off a shiny bit of sand here and there along the path, making her wish for her night-vision goggles, but she knew the way and could make out the irregular shadows of fake temples and pyramids in the middle distance.
The rising breeze tugged at her hair and clothing as she continued onward, drawing her nine-millimeter in what had become a habit over the past few days. Don’t go anywhere alone without carrying your weapon, she’d been telling her people. And I’m not talking about in its holster. Now, without Mac ghosting at her heels, she took her own advice and kept her eyes moving, her senses sharp, though she wasn’t getting any bad vibes as she reached the edges of the training grounds. At least, not like she had right before the funeral. But the thought of the funeral brought a kick of instinct, because it had been stormy then too, and the demon creatures had come from fire and lightning. What if there was a connection? Could a storm weaken the barrier?
A scuff of movement to her right caught her attention, coming from a narrow alley between two low-slung temple-size buildings. Stopping just short of the main pyramid, she swung around. “Zane? Is that you?” The wind picked up suddenly, carrying a splat of raindrops that hit with staccato force, soaking through her shirt in an instant. “Ugh. Can we get inside somewhere?”
There was another scuffling noise, this one coming from the other side. Heart suddenly thudding, she spun toward it. “Damn it—”
A heavy weight slammed into her, drove her sideways, and sent her crashing into the pyramid stairs. She screamed as she hit and skidded down, scrabbling for purchase as she lost her grip on her gun, her flashlight, everything but the sudden fear that slashed through her.
Her attacker—heavy and human-shaped, though she couldn’t see in the darkness whether he was a man, a makol, or something else—pinned her against the sharp-edged staircase. “No,” she cried. “Help me! Help!”
She went for her panic button, but he jammed a knee on her forearm and tore her wristband off. Seconds later, something sharp pricked the back of her thigh, followed by the burning rush of an injection. She twisted and surged, but couldn’t break free, couldn’t get leverage, couldn’t do anything but scream, “No!”
The wind whipped to an answering howl and a splash of cold, stinging rain.
Disbelief ripped through her. Panic filled the empty spaces and overflowed, then went swimmy as the world fogged. She didn’t know whether it was a drug or a spell, but as she slipped under, she caught a glimpse of a hand and sleeve, the edge of a face, and not only saw the darkness of normal human eyes, but recognized them too. It wasn’t any demon. It was—
Darkness.
The storm hit hard and fast, going from the moan of wind to a machine-gun fusillade against the windows of Sven’s suite just as he finished packing—one knapsack, no bullshit, as usual.
“Shit.” He scowled at the moisture-pelted night beyond the glass, but didn’t have anybody to blame but himself that he was about to get his ass soaked on his way out to the winikin’s hall. He’d been stalling, alternating between the struggle to come up with a good way to tell Cara he was leaving… and the suspicion that she wouldn’t give a damn. And that, too, wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. So he dragged out an old, battered slicker that had migrated to the back of his closet, and headed into the storm.
It was pitch dark beyond the lighted pathway, which went slick and slippery under his boots as he fought his way into the teeth of the wind, feeling like he was reliving one of a hundred sea squalls, though this one on solid ground. When he reached the winikin’s hall, lightning flashed for a long three-count, showing him that the cacao grove was lying almost flat beneath the pounding rain, while the branches of the ceiba tree whipped the air above as if trying to protect the precious crop. The rain hammered down onto the steel panels of the training hall with a din that drowned out everything else.
The party was still going—he saw the door open and close, flashing orange-yellow light from within as two figures staggered down the stairs, holding each other up and laughing into the rain. Sven had seen them around but didn’t know their names. They quit laughing when he approached and ducked under the overhang that sheltered the doorway.
“This is a Nightkeeper-free zone,” one slurred, gesturing with a beer bottle that was down to the watery dregs, yet still managed to slosh onto his buddy. “Piss off.”
