The second order settled itself in his brain, making him feel invaded, controlled. “What’s the third one?” Rabbit asked, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.
“We’re going to save that one for now,” Dez said. But while the answer had come from the king, Red-Boar’s eyes glinted with satisfaction.
Bastard, Rabbit thought, but squelched the anger. This was his punishment, after all. More, despite the oath, his onetime teammates were all looking at him with varying degrees of wariness and skepticism, warning that he still had a long way to go with them. All except Myrinne, whose level gaze said it didn’t matter what he said or did, she didn’t intend to trust him ever again.
Ah, baby. He wanted to get her away from the others and tell her that he wasn’t that guy anymore, that he’d finally learned his lesson. But no matter how important Myr might be to him, she couldn’t be his priority right now. It didn’t take the Boar Oath to tell him that.
So, focusing on Dez but talking to all of them, really—and especially her—Rabbit said, “I’ve taken the vow, and I damn well mean it. You don’t have to trust me, but the gods seem to think you need to use me . . . so let’s get started.”
The king looked at him for a few seconds, weighing his sincerity. Then a gleam entered his eyes, and he nodded. “Well, then. Seems to me that we need to figure out how the magic works between you and Myrinne, what the crossover is supposed to do . . . and why the hell the gods want you on our side when all you ever seem to do is blow shit up.”
As the crowd in the sacred chamber started dispersing, Myr slipped out the back door and headed for an empty apartment wing–turned–storage area that had little to recommend it except a side door that would get her back to her quarters in the mage’s wing without having to stop and talk to anybody.
In the deserted hallway, cloths were draped over sideboards and chairs, protecting them from stacks of boxed ammo and other gear, and dust motes hung in the air and swirled in the light coming from the curtain-hung windows. Her stomach churned as she walked, but while she’d skipped breakfast, it wasn’t hunger talking—it was her better sense, the part of herself she had learned to listen to over the past few months. Right now, it was telling her to get back to her routine and do her damnedest to pretend that nothing had changed . . . even though as of yesterday, everything had changed.
“Myr. Wait up.”
Damn. It was Rabbit’s voice, Rabbit’s bootfalls suddenly sounding in the hallway behind her.
Which was partly her fault—she would have sensed him through the magic if she hadn’t blocked him so thoroughly, been so determined to ignore the faint tickle of warmth that had kindled at the base of her skull with his return.
She stopped and turned back to face him. He halted a few paces away, eyes dark with lingering exhaustion, along with the pain of having just sworn himself under his father’s thumb. Refusing to feel sympathy, she said, “What do you want?”
I want you, Myr. I came back for you. The words came in his voice and sent a shiver down her spine, but they weren’t real. They couldn’t be, not with the magic blocked off. But that meant they came from inside her, from the weak, wistful part of her that kept thinking how Michael, Brandt and Lucius had all overcome the influence of the dark magic to become better men—and mates—than ever before.
But her smarter self said that Rabbit wasn’t any of those guys. He was the crossover. And the one thing they knew about the crossover was that he was supposed to wield both light and dark magic. Maybe he was channeling only his Nightkeeper powers right now, but that wouldn’t last. Soon, he would have to embrace the darkness again. And she didn’t want to be anywhere near him when he did.
Eyes level on hers, he said, “I want you to know that I won’t hurt you, ever again. Even without the oath, you don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Jamming her hands in her pockets, she scowled. “I’m not afraid of you, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang out, either. You said yesterday that you’d leave me alone. So how about you start now?”
But he shook his head. “During the spell, the blood-link sent my old man’s power into me, but it didn’t flip the switch on my magic. You’re the only one who can do that, Myr . . . which is why Dez wants us to do some experiments and figure out what’s going on with my magic, the sooner the better.”
“It’s not your magic.” Temper sparking, she slipped the ash wand from her pocket and felt a faint hum enter her bloodstream. “It’s mine now.”
A flick of her wrist opened a nearby box of jade-tipped bullets. Even though she’d practiced endless hours with the magic, the move still sent a burst of energy and wonder through her. Telekinesis. Gods. Power flowed through her, thick, rich and glorious, and making her feel like she could do anything. Using her mind to direct the energy now, she plucked a single bullet from the box, sent it skimming through the air like a special effect in an unscripted movie, and then brought it to a halt, so it spun gently in midair between them.
Rabbit watched the bullet. “It doesn’t have to be all or nothing, Myr. We can work together, fight together, just like we did yesterday. I’m not asking for anything more.”
“Yesterday was a fluke.” More, she didn’t want to fight with him, connected through the magic; it was too much like she used to picture, pretending they were both Nightkeepers, destined mates who went into battle as lovers and partners.
Back then, she’d had the man and wished for the magic. Now she had the magic and wished the man would leave her alone.
“I don’t think it was a fluke . . . and if it was, we need to know that, too.” He took another step toward her, so there were only a few feet—and a spinning bullet—between them. “Try it, Myr. Please. Drop the blocks and let’s see if the magic comes to me again.”
“Damn it.” She didn’t want to, but what other choice was there? The Nightkeepers needed their crossover, and she had his magic. Or at least the good-guy half of it. “Fine. Okay. Fine, I’ll do it.”
Gods, she hated this.
Yesterday, the connection had formed spontaneously, unbidden. Now, she concentrated on the place at the back of her skull where she’d blocked the power flow. Stomach churning, she gestured with the ash wand and relaxed the mental blockade, releasing the eager-feeling magic.
It flung toward him as if magnetized; she felt it go, felt it connect, and despair clawed at the confirmation that they were going to be joined more intimately than ever. She might have the magic inside her, but it wanted to be with him, would find a way to get to him, just as it had yesterday. A chill ran through her at the thought that it might leave her utterly. Please gods, no.
“Ah, shit.” His face smoothed and filled as the magic entered him. “Good. That’s so fucking good.”
And, without warning, the rasp of his voice reminded her of him saying her name as he came deep inside her, whispering praises, reverent curses. Lust surged suddenly, twisting inside her core and making her want. This isn’t the same, damn it, said her better sense. This isn’t about sex.
But that was a lie, because the magic was almost always about sex. Lovemaking was a way to tap into the magic, and the magic invariably sparked arousal between lovers . . . or ex-lovers.
And, oh, shit, she was in trouble. Sweat prickled along her body at the sudden understanding that the mental connection wasn’t the worst of the danger. I can’t do this. Not if she was determined to stay away from him. The raw ache was too potent, too tempting.
They had been good together, physically. Very, very good.
Rabbit reached out with his mind and caught the bullet, then sent it spinning between them, faster and faster until it whined in the air and threw off red-gold sparks. His potent, masculine magic vibrated between them, reaching into her and making her yearn.