Under any other circumstance, keeping this shit all to himself would’ve felt way wrong. But as Myrinne guided him out of the library and into the passenger seat of one of the compound’s ubiquitous Jeeps, clucking and fussing over him as if she too had needed an excuse to let their recent bickering fall aside, it all felt very right. There was a new warmth inside him, singing soft, half-remembered lullabies and letting him know that whatever happened, he wasn’t alone anymore, not deep down in his heart. His mother’s spirit—and maybe even Tristan’s too—was watching him, watching out for him. And thank the gods for that.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Wait up.”
Cara winced at the sound of Zane’s voice behind her, followed by the heavy tread of his boots catching up to her in the hallway. She stopped, though, and turned back, surreptitiously tucking the package of hot dogs she’d filched from the kitchen into her waistband at the small of her back, beneath her shirt, where they pressed like cold, sweaty fingers.
He had changed out of his funeral garb—she suspected they all had, wanting to put some distance between them and the attack—and was dressed down in fatigue pants and an army green T-shirt, with a blue button-down thrown over it and turned up at the cuffs. On one level she recognized that he looked good, with the button-down deepening the blue of his eyes while the tee showed off the iron-pumping physique beneath. On another level, though, she thought that his eyes were too dark, his muscling too heavy, his face too much on a level with hers, when she would’ve preferred lighter eyes on a leaner, taller man.
And it was a really, really bad idea comparing him and Sven. Besides, there was no comparison, really. One wanted her, while the other wanted to ride to the rescue when it suited him. And she just wanted to do her job for the next three months or so, and then leave all this—and both of them—behind.
“What’s up?” she said, angling her body so he couldn’t see the hot-dog bulge.
His eyes searched hers. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Fine.” Even with him, she didn’t dare be anything but fine. Not if she wanted the winikin to follow her lead. “How are the others?” They had still been muttering over their forearm marks—and her lack of one—when Dez had called her to the royal suite to give her report on the attack.
“They’re rattled. Scared. Wondering why the ward didn’t stop those things and what the hell else is going to go wrong next.”
Was it a good thing or bad that he didn’t mention the marks? She tried to tell from his expression, but saw only his concern and a questioning empathy that silently prodded, Are you sure you’re okay?
“I’m fine,” she said again, then realized he hadn’t asked the question aloud. Shit. Flushing slightly, she added, “Should we do a Bud-’n’-bitch?” The officially unofficial gripe sessions were held once or twice a month in the Nightkeepers’ old training hall, which the rebel winikin had appropriated and renovated into a rec room. Part town meeting, part drinking game, and with no weapons allowed, the sessions gave the winikin an opportunity to blow off steam in no-Nightkeepers-allowed privacy.
He shook his head. “I think you should give it a day or two, see what the brain trust comes up with, and go from there. Besides, tonight might not be the best night to stick everyone in a room and throw alcohol in the mix.”
“Yeah. Probably not.” Edging back a step, feeling beyond awkward with a pound of hot dogs stuck down her pants, she made a gotta go gesture. “Well, I’m going to—”
“He was right, you know,” Zane interrupted, and the sudden set of his jaw said that this was what he’d come to tell her.
She stilled. “He who?”
“The coyote mage.” That was Zane’s name for Sven and was said, as always, with a faint sneer, but the bulk of his anger seemed self-directed as he said, “I should have sent you ahead with Lora. I should have had your back.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t realized he had been close enough to overhear, wondered what else he’d picked up from her and Sven’s exchange. Carefully, she said, “I gave you an order and you followed it. You did the right thing.”
That squared-off jaw got squarer. “Not this time. And, yeah, I know that following orders isn’t optional in the military but this”—his gesture encompassed all of Skywatch—“isn’t just an army; it’s a community. And you’re more than my superior officer, Cara. A hell of a lot more. Which as far as I’m concerned gives me the right—and, hell, the responsibility—to call bullshit on bad orders. I should’ve done that today. The winikin need you. And I… Shit.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but they were too far apart. “I wish I’d been the one. Not him.”
A harder, hotter flush hit her and she almost blurted that it wasn’t like that with her and Sven, that he wasn’t the one, that nobody was. But just in time she caught that he was talking about being the one to rescue her. “You saved Lora and Sven saved me. It was teamwork, Zane, just like we practiced.”
“Teamwork.” His lips twisted. “Is that what you call it?”
Okay, she thought as a quiver worked its way through her stomach at the sudden heat in his eyes. He wasn’t entirely talking about the rescue, after all. “Zane…”
“Is it because of him? The coyote?”
“No.” Yes. “Absolutely not.” Maybe a little. “It’s because of me.” Which was true. She wanted more than she’d gotten in her life so far, and she was smart enough, disciplined enough, to know she couldn’t go looking for it while struggling to piece the winikin together.
He took a step closer, narrowing the gap between them as he searched her eyes. Suddenly she was very aware that they were alone and off duty—or as off it as either of them ever got—and he was close enough to kiss her. Heat stirred, but it came from embarrassment rather than excitement. All she could think was, Please don’t try it.
He reached out, took her hand, and raised it to press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft, his beard shadow a bristly scrape of contrast, and it was over before she felt anything more than relief that he hadn’t tried to kiss her for real.
Without pulling her hand away, she said, “I can’t, Zane. I just… can’t. I didn’t ask for this job, but now that I’ve got it, I need to give it twice as much energy as I have, which means I’ve got nothing left for anything else, including a relationship, or even a hookup. That’s all going to have to wait until I’m done leading the charge.” She grimaced. “Then again, given the way the winikin are sniping at each other these days, Mendez—or, hell, the gods themselves—might just decide to replace me before then.”
Which wasn’t something she’d ever said to anyone else before, had barely even acknowledged it herself. And once it was out there, she wished she’d kept it inside, because he hesitated, letting her know that he too had his doubts. But what if that was the right answer? What if she was doing more harm than good? What if—
“You can do this.” Zane spaced the words for emphasis, still holding her hand in a grip that felt suddenly warm and solid. “The holdouts are going to get behind you. There’s going to come a moment when they’re going to rally, not because they’d rather be led by a winikin—any winikin—than a mage, but because you’re the right person for the job.” He paused. “That’s why you should’ve been the one hauling ass for the shield today while I stayed behind. And it’s part of why I want to be with you. I want to have your back, more than I do now. I want to be there for you, no matter what.”
Her chest went tight. “I can’t… I won’t… Shit.” Breaking off, she pulled her hand away from his and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing back the burn of tears. “I’m sorry. I just can’t deal with this right now.”