spell?
Pushing back her sleeve with a shaking hand, she stared at the coyote’s mark. “Is this what you want?” she asked, aiming the question at the gods, but a little bit at him too.
“What—” Sven began, but she cut him off.
“This shouldn’t have happened.” In hindsight there was almost no way the plan could’ve worked the way Dez had painted it. Even if they had managed to get Zane and Lora subdued without resorting to magic, there was no way a group of drunken, revved-up rebels would’ve let them walk out of there unchallenged. “We should’ve waited until they were back in their rooms and done it quietly.”
But what was twenty-twenty clear to her now hadn’t been before.
When Dez had proposed the plan, she’d nodded along, imagining the look on Zane’s face when she swaggered through the door with Sven right behind her. She didn’t know whether the urge had come from those long-ago superhero fantasies of hers, from some inherent ability of the bloodline mark to make her accede to the Nightkeepers’ king, from a deep-down urge to stay near Sven and try to figure out whether he really meant what he’d said back in the cave, or all of the above, and then some. All she knew was that she hadn’t been thinking about what was best for the winikin. Far from it.
“What happened here was stupid grandstanding,” she said bitterly, furious with herself for not seeing it at the time. “Dez wanted to show that the Nightkeepers are so powerful that a single unmated mage can control a whole room of winikin. He wants us to be able to rule ourselves… but only as long as we remember that he’s allowing us to.” It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought, but this was the clearest evidence to date. She shook her head. “I should have refused to be a part of this plan. More, I should’ve stopped it.”
“Why didn’t you?” Sven’s voice came from nearer than she’d thought him, and she glanced up to find him standing close enough to touch her, though he didn’t. Instead, he held her eyes with an intensity that urged her to confide in him, to trust him.
She could do that, she knew. But only to a point.
“I think I got caught up in the idea of the two of us working together as a team, just like in the stories.” She hesitated, heart suddenly thudding, even though she knew what the outcome had to be. “I used to pretend we were gods-destined mates.”
And there it was. The impossible.
His hands moved as if to reach for her, but he restrained himself. “Then you have feelings too.”
“Had,” she corrected, then sighed. “Maybe ‘have’ too. Who knows? It’s all so screwed up.” Strangely, the knots in her stomach smoothed out when she admitted it. If anyone had told her that morning that she’d be talking to Sven this way, she would’ve laughed them out of her suite and then taken her own temperature to make sure she wasn’t delirious. “It doesn’t matter, though. Not really.”
“It could,” he said carefully. And the fact that his eyes slid away from hers let her know that it did matter, very much, to him. “We might be able to find a way.”
Her stupid heart picked up a beat, but she shook her head. “I can’t risk it. Zane was right when he said that I can’t be connected to you—not as your servant and sure as hell not as your lover—and still be a hundred percent committed to the winikin.” She cut him a sharp look. “How can you even ask me to try? Doesn’t that go against your oath?”
“The gods outrank the king.”
A shiver tried to crawl down her spine. “Why is that relevant?” She lifted her arm, turning her mark to face him. “Because of this?”
“Because of that. Because of the way the vision played out… and because maybe Zane wasn’t wrong about what the gods were telling him to do, just about what it meant.” He paused. “What if everything’s happened the way it was meant to? Or, failing that, what if the gods have fixed things so we’re back where we were supposed to be all along?”
“The gods don’t acknowledge the winikin,” she said through lips gone suddenly numb. “They only talk to the Nightkeepers.”
“Says who? It’s not in the writs, same as the part about the winikin not being able to do magic.” He leaned in. “Think about it. Scarred-Jaguar proved that he would do anything, say anything to keep control of the winikin. What if he—or another king like him—started those rumors?”
“That’s…” Impossible, she wanted to say, but the word got stuck in her throat, because it suddenly didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.
“The nahwal talked to you, not me,” he pressed. “And its message was about the First Father’s resurrection. The First Father made the winikin, Cara. Who better to remake them, bigger and better and able to fight the war?”
A shudder took hold, making her nerves jangle. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“About wanting you? Years. About the gods being involved in it? It’s just now lining up for me.” He tapped his forearm, right atop the warrior’s mark.
That particular magical talent allowed the warrior-magi to subsume their emotions during battle and gave them increased reflexes and strategic thought. It was that strategy-making at work now, apparently, but to what end? Was he truly trying to make sense of things, or was he finding the path of least resistance? Gods knew that had been his style growing up. “You’re looking for reasons to do what you want. Newsflash for you: ‘The gods made me do it’ hasn’t worked as an excuse since the massacre.” But even to her own ears, she didn’t sound sure.
“I rarely need an excuse to do what I want.” And with that scant warning, he closed the distance between them, caught her against his body, and came in for a kiss.
She could have backed away or held him off, probably should have. Instead she stayed put as he cupped a hand beneath her chin, tipped her face up, and fused his mouth to hers.
Sparks caught, turned to flames. And just that quickly, the heat was back inside her, surrounding her, sweeping her up, and bringing an inner whisper of, Thank the gods. She didn’t want to have to think right now, didn’t want to try to interpret the signs or the gods’ intentions—if the magi hadn’t managed it in nearly four years of trying, why would she have any better luck?
No, she wanted to sink into the kiss and dig her fingertips into the lean muscles of his upper arms as their tongues touched. And as his arms went around her and he lifted to his full height, so her feet left the floor and their bodies were plastered together every inch of the way, she wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and purr into his mouth, wanted to strip him naked, lick him until she discovered which spots made him squirm, which ones made him groan.
But she had to think, had to figure out for herself what came next. Because if she screwed up now, the ripples could affect both the winikin and the magi, and from there the war. The knowledge weighed on her, overcoming even the tingle of energy that had gathered beneath her coyote mark and the burn of red-gold sparkles that teased at her senses, hinting at the magic she had experienced back in the cave.
She burned for him, ached to have him pounding inside her with no thought of today or tomorrow, only the now that they made together. Instead, she eased from the kiss and pulled away, levering her forearms against the flat planes of his chest until he lowered her to her feet once more.
He didn’t let go of her, though. “Tell me you feel it.” His eyes were dark, his voice an aroused rasp.
She told herself to lie, but nodded anyway, mouth drying to dust by the heat that seemed to spin from her body to his and then back again.
“This kind of chemistry isn’t something you find every day,” he said. “It doesn’t just happen. It means something.”
Which, if true, meant that her search for future fireworks might be a long one. Trying not to let that possibility—and the twinge of dismay that came from thoughts of moving on—bog her down, she said, “Maybe, maybe not. But guess what? The gods aren’t my masters any more than you are.” Somehow, that didn’t twinge nearly so hard, which couldn’t be a good sign.
“Christ, Cara.” He glanced at the sky as if expecting a bolt of lightning, which might have been funny if it hadn’t made her chest ache.
“Wrong religion.” She took a deep breath and pressed a hand to her stomach, where a sudden churning suggested she wasn’t as comfortable with heresy as she’d first thought.
The winikin might not get messages from the gods, but they prayed to them all the same. And it wasn’t like
