It wasn’t fucking fair.
At the appointed time, Rabbit sat outside the winikin’s cave for a good five minutes before he managed to make himself get out of the damn Jeep. He didn’t want to be here. More, he wished he could forget the way he’d acted the last time he’d been at the cave, wished he didn’t see the parallels. And he wished to hell his knuckles weren’t throbbing like a bitch from punching his damned fridge when he got Dez’s message.
It was a dumb fucking idea to go around punching appliances, no matter how pissed off he was. More, he couldn’t let himself get pissed off, not like that. For a few minutes, he’d felt like the guy he used to be, the one who’d lashed out without thinking, doing major damage. He needed to be better than that, damn it. He needed to control the part of him that used to take over and make him do dumb things—not the stripped-down creature he’d become while imprisoned, but the angry, unloved kid who wanted to set the world on fire and watch it burn.
Or maybe the two were flip sides of the same anger.
“Pull your shit together,” he muttered. He owed Myr his absolute best self, even today. Especially today.
He hated that it had come to this, hated that she was going to be the one making the sacrifice when she deserved the magic a hell of a lot more than he did. He hated it . . . and he respected the hell out of her for making the call. She would be dreading the mind-meld that the spell required, he knew, and was determined to make it as easy as he could for her, just as he’d done his damnedest to quell the raw gut punch of lust that had nailed him every time he had gotten near her over the past week and a half.
It was his problem that he couldn’t be satisfied with what he’d gotten back already, his problem that he wanted more, wanted her, with a churning desire that was equal parts magic, lust, history and fascination with the stronger, sleeker, glossier woman she’d become . . . and one hundred percent Not Happening.
It was also past time for him to get his ass down there. Bad enough he was supposed to take her magic, worse to make her wait on him.
He had parked on the bank of the wide wash, where flash floods created a huge river and filled the cave when the rains came. It was dry now, so Myr had parked with her Jeep’s nose stuck into the cave mouth, no doubt partly so it could act as a transponder, partly so the trick door—a huge stone slab that was geared to uncertain magic—couldn’t slide into place and trap them inside.
As he got out of his vehicle and headed down there, kicking up pebbles and sand with his worn boots, he remembered all too well the fury that had carried him into the cave the last time, the anger and betrayal that had blasted through him when he’d seen her there with his eccentrics. Phee’s lies had been whispering in his head, stroking the rage and chaos inside him until he’d let it loose.
Not again. Never again.
Taking a deep breath, he brushed past her Jeep and stepped into the darkness. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, for the cave to come clear around him as a circular space with a sandy floor and ancient paintings of animals overhead. In the center, near a plain, unadorned stone altar, Myrinne sat cross-legged in front of a small fire that she’d laid in a circle of stones.
Heat seared low in his gut and punched beneath his heart, but he weathered the blows like he’d endured the ’zotz’s lash, by telling himself he was getting what he damn well deserved. More, he was trying to give her what she deserved—the respect of a fighting equal and the room to do what she needed to do, even when it wasn’t what he wanted.
The air carried hints of ginger, patchouli and vanilla, making him think of the candles she used to light in her college dorm room, back when things had been so much easier than they were now, though they’d both thought them complicated as hell. It was only a couple of years ago, but it felt like a fucking lifetime. Since then, he’d been to hell and back; he’d destroyed villages, led battles and killed xombis; he’d aged a decade in a year; he’d lost one king and gained another. And, though he wouldn’t have believed it possible back then, he’d lost Myrinne.
She looked up at him now, eyes dark and determined, and if there was an answering flare of heat deep within them, it was quickly gone.
Ah, baby. He wanted to tell her that she could trust him, that he wouldn’t hurt her ever again. And yet he didn’t dare make any promises when his knuckles were bruised with temper and the end of the world lay ahead of them. So he didn’t say a damn thing. Instead, he crossed to her, boots thudding hollowly on the dried mud.
She watched him approach, expression unreadable. The small fire darkened, though, turning more green than orange, and the smoke thickened and turned bitter, coating the back of his throat.
He drew breath to speak, but she forestalled him with: “How about we skip the conversation and go right to the Vulcan mind-meld.” It wasn’t a question.
Exhaling, he said, “Yeah, sure. If that’s what you want.” He told himself to leave it at that. Couldn’t. “Shit, Myr, I—”
“Don’t. Let’s just get this over with.” She pointed to the opposite side of the fire. “Sit.”
He sat, assuming a cross-legged pose that mirrored hers. “You’ve got the spell?”
“Yeah. Here.” She handed him an index card with the Hooked on Phonics version of the ancient Mayan incantation. “I’ll unblock your magic and we’ll both jack in. After that, we say the spell, and . . . well . . .” She looked away.
Before, she had forbidden him from mind-bending her, going so far as to have him put mental blocks in there and teach her how to use them to keep him out. And she had, right up until the moment when she’d realized he had lost himself to Phee’s lies. Then, to save herself, she had let him in and showed him that she wasn’t working for the demons . . . he was. He hated that he’d forced her to that point, hated that he’d hurt her. And he hated that he was about to do it again.
He waited until she looked at him, until their eyes met and held over the fire. “Seriously, Myr. I’m sorry about this.”
Anger flared in the depths of her eyes. “Yet here you are.”
“King’s orders.”
“Right. Because you’ve never gone against orders before.”
“Hello, Boar Oath.” Though he hadn’t really bumped up against it yet, wasn’t sure what would happen when he did. For the moment, he wasn’t having trouble following his old man’s orders.
The look she shot him said she knew it. “You want this. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Myr . . .” He didn’t want to go there, didn’t want to have this fight. Her glare said she wasn’t backing down, though, so he said, “I agreed to this because we need to figure out the crossover’s powers. Not because I want to take the magic away from you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And?”
She knew him too damn well. “Fine. I’m also doing this because when the barrier comes down, the Banol Kax are going to be gunning for the crossover. And I don’t want you standing next to me when that happens.” Not when he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shield her and still do whatever it was the gods needed him to do.
Her expression flattened. “I don’t want you protecting me.”
Quelle surprise. Because if he’d learned anything over the past week and a half, it was that she didn’t want anything from him anymore. “Deal with it. This is one of the few things I can do to protect you, whether you want it or not. I just wish to hell we could break the connection without you losing your magic.” He knew better than to think she would wait tamely behind the lines—she’d be going into battle with or without the magic. Given that, he’d far rather have her fully armed. Unfortunately, the spell Lucius had found was very specific—it would return the magic to its rightful owner.