He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and the silence tightened the air between them. For a crazy second that was as much a teenage flashback as anything, she imagined him crossing to her and going to one knee as he begged her to reconsider, to give him a chance. He didn’t move, though, except to glance in the direction of the spare room as if he’d heard something. “Go,” he said softly. “If you leave now, we can both pretend nothing happened.”
“Sven, I—”
“Just go.”
She swallowed hard, then nodded and headed for the door, feeling as if she were being carried there by someone else’s feet. Pausing on the threshold, she said without looking back, “You guys be careful out there, okay?”
“You too. Take care.” It was as much of a dismissal as a good-bye would’ve been.
Which was for the best, she told herself as she pushed through into the hallway. But as the door closed behind her, she had to swallow past panic and blink away tears. And when she headed for the shortcut leading through the winikin’s wing, she felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind.
As the door thunked shut, a low whine sounded from behind Sven.
“It’s okay, buddy.” He turned as Mac slunk in. He had been aware that the coyote had returned; he’d felt the change in the bond strength, and had caught a mental whiff of concern. Now, though, while Mac had his ears flat in sympathy, his pale green eyes were accusatory, seeming to say, Well, that didn’t go the way you planned, did it?
Okay, that was a stretch—Sven’s familiar communicated more in impressions and emotions than actual words—but the question hung in his mind as Mac came up beside him and nudged his hand. The coyote’s fur carried the scent of open air and high plateaus, and stirred something hungry and restless inside Sven even beyond the now-draining buzz of sex magic.
Hunkering down, he dug his fingers into Mac’s ruff for a good scratching, needing the contact as much as his familiar did right then, because, yeah, that hadn’t gone at all the way he had planned. My fault, he thought. He had put off talking to Carlos because he was still thinking over Dez’s request, and there was no way he could apologize on the one hand and spy on the other. But because he’d been stalling—on both making a decision and facing the difficult conversations—Cara had gotten the drop on him, and he had fumbled. Badly.
And then he’d kissed her.
A low growl rumbled in Mac’s chest, though Sven wasn’t sure if the coyote was picking up on the vibes or trying to get him to scratch harder.
He dug into the spot as he said, “That shouldn’t have happened. Seriously. What kind of a jackass am I? I apologize to her and then go right back and do it again.” Granted, he believed her when she said the kiss hadn’t scarred her for life—he’d been reaching on that one, had known it pretty much all along. And, yes, she had wanted the kiss, had asked for it, even… which was why he’d done it, really. Not because he’d wanted to help her out with her future comparisons, but because it had pissed him off. He didn’t want to imagine her with other men, hated the image of her walking away from Skywatch—from him—and not looking back.
Mac flinched and flashed his teeth, warning Sven that he was holding on way too hard.
“Sorry.” He eased up, scratched the spot on the big coyote’s shoulder where he’d dug in, and then stood. He was suddenly restless, feeling caged by the room and the situation—hell, by his own damn clothes. He wanted to pace and growl, wanted to race naked through the afternoon heat, wanted to snap his fingers and be on a beautiful beach with an uncomplicated hookup. That was how he was supposed to do things: no regrets, always looking forward to the next wave, the next port, the next adventure.
And now… shit, he didn’t know what was next.
Mac whined and shifted, picking up on Sven’s urges. Hell, maybe he was even contributing to them—he’d been restless and frustrated lately, constantly on the lookout for a female of his kind. Sven hadn’t been able to find others; heck he wasn’t even sure where Mac had come from. So, for the moment, at least, the coyote was riding the celibacy train. Which probably explained his fascination with Cara, and why he squirmed like an idiot puppy whenever he saw her.
“She brought you weiners,” Sven said, plucking the Skittles off the couch and jiggling the bag in his hand. The candies shifted and clinked like little stones, bringing memories of a wide-eyed girl who had hustled him out of his allowance and into doing her chores. That same girl—now a grown woman—had faced down hellspawn with nothing more than a MAC-10 and a ’tude. And then she had kissed him and walked away. Just like he needed to do.
“Keep an eye on her for me, okay?” he said to Mac, then repeated the order in thought-glyphs. The coyote wouldn’t be able to relay a detailed report or anything, but if she got herself in trouble, Mac would sound the alarm and hold off the attack… or die trying.
Whuffing as if to say, Finally! the coyote wheeled away and bounded out through the spare room. His mental touch faded with distance until it was just the thin tendril of background awareness, leaving Sven alone with his body still vibrating from Cara’s kiss.
He hadn’t remembered it being like that before; or maybe he’d locked the memory away with the other half-forgotten goals and dreams that had fallen by the wayside. He had a feeling there wouldn’t be any option of locking away these memories, though, not when he could still taste her on his lips and smell her on his skin. And what was he going to do about that?
“Not a damn thing,” he said aloud, hearing the words echo in his suite, which was bigger than he needed, yet still felt cramped.
And that was the problem—he needed his space and the freedom to roam… but he couldn’t have that and Cara too. Did he want her? Heck, yes, he wanted her; that was why he’d sent her away from Skywatch and why he’d made himself scarce when she came back. Only the distance thing hadn’t worked this time, because he’d still thought about her. Hell, he’d done more than think about her; he’d used her to beat back the shadows and clear his mind of the things he had seen and done, and to remind himself what he was fighting for. He had never planned on doing anything about it, though. And, damn it, he couldn’t do anything about it now, either, because he wasn’t any more likely to stick around than ever before… and if anyone deserved a man who would make her his absolute priority, it was Cara.
Which meant he needed to keep his hands—and his lips—to himself. Starting now.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cara plastered a neutral expression on her face as she hurried down the corridor of the mages’ wing. Don’t let it show, she told herself. Don’t give anybody a reason to guess what just happened.
“Sparks don’t change anything,” she said under her breath as she powered through an archway and along the polished wood riser that led around the outside of the mansion’s sunken great room, beelining for her quarters. It didn’t matter whether his inability to stick around was a bloodline trait or a personality flaw; it was a deal breaker. She didn’t want to chase him around the globe, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him to come home. Not that he’d asked her to. He hadn’t, and that should’ve been a relief. The fact that it wasn’t coupled with the tears that stung her eyes as she stalked the perimeter of the great room were proof enough that she needed to pull it together. Please, gods, just let me get back to my quarters without running into anybody. Especially not Zane or—