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.
Expression hollowing, he said, “I’ve tried to stay put, Cara. I swear I’ve tried. But the bloodline wins every time.” He paused, his expression flattening. “It’s no accident that I’m the only unmated Nightkeeper. Your dad told me once that the coyote magi didn’t usually have gods-destined mates. A few had familiars, like I do, but when it came to mates they tended to swing, no harm no foul; have your fun or even your kids and then move on.”
She winced, but said, “That’s not your style.”
“Isn’t it? I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted past the one-month mark.”
“You didn’t leave any kids behind.”
He shrugged. “Different time, different culture.”
“You’re—” She bit off “not that guy,” not because it was untrue—coyote or not, he was a better man than that—but because she suddenly realized she had somehow fallen into winikin mode. She was soothing him when she really wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him until his perfect teeth rattled. But that was even worse, because it shouldn’t matter to her. He wasn’t her charge, wasn’t her responsibility, and he sure as hell wasn’t someone she should be wanting to make promises to her.
This was a mistake. She should’ve left the wieners and Skittles in the hall, then knocked and bolted like it was some sort of apologetic practical joke.
Before she could make an excuse and escape, though, he said, “The main thing I’ve figured out is that since I can’t change who I am, the best I can do is apologize and try my damnedest not to hurt anyone else.” He paused, then reached out to her. “I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me, Cara. Please forgive me.”
She hesitated, torn by the part of her that still thought he could’ve gone against his nature if he’d truly wanted to. But in the end it didn’t matter, did it? She was getting the apology she’d never expected, the one she’d told herself not to need. So she took his hand. “Apology accepted. And thank you.”
She’d meant to shake on it, but before she could make the move, he lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles. And although he’d probably meant it as a more-than-a-handshake gesture, it became far more than that in the moment his lips touched her skin.
Heat seared from the point of contact, racing inward, tightening her chest and stealing her oxygen. Her head spun as all her perceptions suddenly focused on the pressure of his fingers, the soft warmth of his mouth, and the startlement in his eyes as they flew to hers and then darkened, letting her know that she wasn’t the only one feeling the unexpected sizzle.
“Don’t,” she said. Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she wasn’t really sure which one of them she was talking to.
“I won’t. I’m not. I didn’t mean… Shit. I’m sorry.” But although he lowered their hands, he didn’t let go. Instead he tugged her closer, so she was standing in the vee of his legs, near enough that she could feel the heat from his body.