“What?” Reese said, leaning in closer.
Had she actually said that aloud?
“Link. With. Me.” That time she was sure of it, had actually made her mouth say the words she wanted. “Need. You. Both.” And her senses sharpened, bringing the real world more into focus, connecting her to herself, to her power. And, dimly, she saw the glimmering outline of a vision: two cobras, hissing and striking at each other inside a glowing dome. Get her there, something whispered. Now.
“Link up,” Lucius said. He pulled a combat knife and used the tip to score his palm along the scar line. “She must need a boost, and we’re the only ones here. She’ll have to make do with human blood.” He clasped Anna’s hand, over the cut that she, too, had made over old scars.
Power surged and the golden thread solidified inside her.
“Hand it over.” Reese took the knife, fumbling with the cut and then gripping Anna’s other hand.
More power. More solidity. The golden thread glowed, thrumming with the magic and calling to her. Take it. It will get you where you need to be if you want it enough. Remembering how Strike had described teleport magic, she reached out with her mind and touched the yellow thread. Grabbed on to it. And pulled.
Magic lurched, sending all three of them sideways in a stomach-jolting roller coaster. Then the familiar gray-green nothingness was whipping past them, a blur of incalculable motion that went on. And on. Too long, she realized. Panicking, she clutched the thread, only to have it dissolve suddenly. She screamed as the whip of motion curved in on itself, arcing in a tightening spiral, a whirlpool drawing them down into the formless gray that wasn’t quite the barrier, wasn’t anywhere else.
“Help me!” she screamed as the maelstrom sucked her down, taking the other two with her into the nothingness.
Coatepec Mountain
Strike jerked at the sound of a female scream, audible even over the burr of shield magic and buzz-swords, the screams of the makol and the roar of the Nightkeepers’ magic. He looked wildly around, didn’t see the source, but then felt a sick surge in his magic followed by a stomach drop of epic proportions. Then he heard words: Help me!
It was Anna’s voice.
“Anna!” he shouted, and bolted toward the sound.
“No! Rabbit, help me!” Leah grabbed his arm, slowing his mad charge.
“It’s Anna! She needs me!” He tried to free himself, but then Rabbit got his other side and the two of them dragged him back against a stone pillar and pinned him there.
The screams died out; reality returned. And he realized that he had started to head out into the makol. Leah was plastered against his chest, looking up at him, her eyes asking in silent agony, Is this it? Is this where it ends?
His head was suddenly pounding. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t get control. He hated this, wanted it to fucking stop. And by all that was sacred, he didn’t want to die. He wanted to stay with Leah, with the Nightkeepers. Gods, please not now.
Wrapping his arms around Leah, he held her close, leaned into her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ... I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine; he was losing it. “It was just—”
It happened again without warning: a stomach drop, a surge, a skitter of his malfunctioning ’port magic. Son of a bitch. Bile soured the back of his throat. But there was something else now, he realized. Because for the first time, the heavy thud of his heart was echoed in a thrum of magic, a tingle in his bloodline mark.
Rabbit was moving in to help, but Strike held up a hand. “Wait. Hang on. There’s something . . .” He trailed off as it connected.
He had been dreaming that he had lived the massacre through his father’s eyes, had heard whispers that weren’t his. Then there were the odd power surges, strange lesions in his mind, and the ghostly connection that he could almost feel but Sasha couldn’t track . . . Because a healer couldn’t track the blood-links of her own line. Oh, holy shit. It had been a blood-link all along. Anna’s subconscious had reached out to him through their shared DNA, giving him part of her injury and taking part of his power in return. He hadn’t known it, but he’d been helping her heal. And now she was in trouble.
“I’ve got to go after her!”
“What?” Leah tightened her grip. “What’s going on? Talk to me, damn it!”
“It’s the Triad magic.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss as excitement burst inside him. “I love you. And I’ll be right back, I promise.” Then, trusting that she had his back, always and forever, even when she thought he was losing his everfrigging mind, he left his body behind and sent his consciousness into the magic, into the neverwhen of transport leading to the barrier. He went in without a destination, without forethought, diving after the tingle in his blood and leaping straight into the storm.
Gray-green lashed at him instantly, slamming him in one direction and then another, flipping his consciousness end-over-end. But he wasn’t alone—he glimpsed something yellow-gold trailing nearby, sent himself after it, suddenly feeling strong and sure, and completely in control of his power and himself.
The teleport line was tangled around someone. Several someones. He caught the end, reeled them in even as he was buffeted by the blurring force of uncontrolled’port magic. Anna was clinging to the string, but so were Reese and Lucius, their terror palpable. Jesus gods, what was going on here? Doesn’t matter. Get them out of here.
He could do that. He touched his magic—suddenly strong and pure and perfectly in control—and returned to his body, taking them with him.
As the gray-green whipped past, he fell into a waking vision.
Footsteps moved away behind the king, the sound echoing off stone and bloodied water as he turned to face the lava monster. And as he raised his weapon, his heart was heavy with the realization that he had been wrong all along.
The king’s greatest sacrifice wasn’t his mate’s life, after all. And it wasn’t his own life, either.
And suddenly, Strike knew what the ultimate sacrifice was meant to be.
Then air whoomped away and they materialized in the middle of the firefight, scaring the shit out of the others and sending Sven’s coyote skittering between his legs, growling. Leah jumped back and went for her gun, then checked herself as it registered that Anna, Lucius, and Reese were tangled together at Strike’s feet, gasping.
Jade gave a low cry and rushed to Lucius’s side as he lurched up and then stumbled on his bad leg, his crutch nowhere to be seen. The other magi looked shocked as hell but stayed at their posts, holding the shield and keeping the makol in check.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Michael demanded as Sasha dropped down beside Anna, partly to check her over, partly to just hug her.
“They were pretty close to being lost for good in the barrier,” Strike answered, his voice breaking as his emotions threatened to overload from the weight of his father’s final revelation. But then, knowing the time for that would come, he focused on the here and now. He reached for Leah, caught her against him, and whispered into her hair, “It was Anna’s blood-link making me sick. We’re both okay now.”
She gave a glad cry and clung to him fiercely for a moment. “Thank the gods.” Her voice was low and fervent, her eyes wet. “But why are they here?”
“Because it’s a damn sight better than where they were.” Delayed reaction set in at the thought of how close the three of them had come to simply disappearing. Boom, gone. He dropped down beside Anna, balancing on his heels. “No offense, big sister, but what the hell were you thinking?”
Her eyes filled and she turned and clung to him, shuddering. “It was the only way,” she said. Her voice was nearly lost beneath the tumult of the battle, as the others fought to hold the makol line. But it was her voice. And that was her inside those eyes, for the first time in a long time. “I couldn’t get them all the way here,” she whispered against his neck. “I thought I could, but I lost the thread. And then I couldn’t find you.”
He held her tight. “That’s okay. I found you. But
why did you try it?”
“The serpent needs help.”
“No!” Reese screamed. Strike’s head jerked up as she slammed her fists into the serpent shield, face etched with horror. Inside the temple, Iago rose over Dez’s motionless body with the serpent staff raised for a killing blow. “Dez!” she screamed. “No!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bruised, battered, dizzy with blood loss, and close to dead, Dez thought he had crossed the boundary, that he was having a last sweet fantasy of Reese’s amber-whiskey eyes locking on him, her hands reaching for him, her voice calling him.
Time seemed to slow for a second as he rasped through his bruised throat, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry.” Sorry he hadn’t gotten it right the first time around for them, sorry this time had turned out to be too late. Sorry their timing always sucked.
Then he saw her mouth go round in a scream, time sped back up, and he knew it wasn’t a dream. She was there, reaching for him. Screaming his name even as another part of him whispered: Use me. I am and will always be a part of you.
A last spurt of energy flared through him. He had lost his knife and his muscles were quivering, but as Iago swung down, he lunged up, jamming his fist into the Xibalban’s solar plexus, holding the star demon so the pointed statuette protruded between his fingers. The statuette drove up and in as the serpent staff cracked into his shoulder. He felt sickening pain. But Iago, too, was hurt.
The Xibalban reeled back with a high, keening scream that was neither human nor makol. A wave of darkness rolled over Dez as he pulled the star demon out and stabbed his enemy, over and over, sticking him in the gut until the final blow when he left the bitch inside his enemy’s abdominal cavity. Ichor ran over his arms, hot and acrid.
Iago went down hard, flat on his face. He began regenerating immediately, but not as fast as before; the star demon was slowing the process. The solstice thrummed in Dez’s bones, and he was suddenly conscious of the ominous rattle of dark magic, just at the threshold of his serpent’s hearing, coming from the stones that made up the temple itself. Which was a big “oh, shit” because it made him think he was going to be standing right on top of a hellmouth real soon. Or maybe a vulture’s nest.
Time was running out. He couldn’t stop now.
Dragging himself to his feet, he found his knife where it had skidded beneath the throne. He hefted it and looked at Reese, who still stood pressed up against the shield, watching him. He didn’t know how she had gotten there, or what her presence meant for the two of them, but Jesus, gods, he didn’t want to do this in front of her. Not again. Her lips moved; he couldn’t read them, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t have a choice. Feeling suddenly empty, he turned to where Iago lay facedown, halfway regenerated. Movements automatic, heart heavy, he got a hand across the Xibalban’s forehead, pulled back his head, and carved a wicked slash across his throat.
Ichor fountained, mixed with blood. And he was back in the nightmare.
It was gruesome work. He clamped his teeth together and didn’t look at her—couldn’t bear it—as he sawed off the ajaw-makol’s head, then flipped him, cut away his body armor, and carved a deep furrow below his ribs, where the skin had started to knit around the earlier wound. Steeling himself, he punched through the diaphragm and jammed his hand up inside Iago’s chest. Broken ribs scraped his knuckles as he felt for the beating fist of his enemy’s heart, found it, and yanked it from its moorings.
He recited the banishment spell through gritted teeth.
Nothing happened.
“No!” he shouted as his heart plummeted. “Godsdamn it, no!” Darkness clouded his vision; rage suffused him. He lunged to his feet, ready to shout at the sky, to curse the gods to—
He saw Reese. She was just standing there with her palms pressed to the shield. And her eyes shone like they used to, with the look that said: you’re my hero, my cowboy. It had to be an illusion, a delusion. But it pushed back the darkness far enough that he could see the light again.
“Motherfucker.” He dove for Iago, jammed his hand back inside, fished around, and found the star demon. You are the Triad mage, she whispered the moment he made contact. And he is a warrior of your bloodline. Take his powers and his knowledge as your own. His is yours. Everything is yours.
Green washed his vision for a second and he could feel the powers buzzing just beyond his reach as the offer came clear. He was the Triad mage; he could take the talents from a dead mage of his bloodline, and Iago was certainly that. What was more, he could do so many things with the Xibalban’s magic. He could open the intersection at El Rey; he could teleport; he could borrow the talent of any other mage he touched. And the Xibalban’s skull harbored the demon’s memories as well as his own; he knew spells the Nightkeepers didn’t. With him as part of the Triad, Dez would be . . .
The guy I don’t want to be, he thought, looking up at Reese and feeling his heart turn over and then settle with the good, solid weight of decision.
“She’s mine.” He gave a convulsive yank, pulled the statuette out of Iago’s corpse, and sent it skittering away. “You’re not.”
Something wrenched inside him—a tearing pain in his heart and head, like his magic was being ripped away as the demon dug in her claws and fought. But he didn’t give in to the pain; he wasn’t going to let her fuck up his life this time. Gritting his teeth and forcing the words through the agony, he repeated the banishment spell.
Luminous green flashed like sheet lightning, the ajaw-makol crumbled to greasy ash, and thunder cracked in the temple, detonating a green-tinged shock wave that smashed away and down, tearing through the serpent shield. Reese cried out as she was thrown backward and slammed into the ground. The shock wave flattened the Nightkeepers, rolled through their shield, and plowed into the makol lines, rippling through them as luminous green winked out and the villagers collapsed, unconscious.
The pain vanished, leaving Dez hollowed out. But he didn’t give a shit.
“Reese!” He grabbed his fallen knife, and bolted for her, all too aware that the dark-magic vibrations beneath his boots were getting steadily worse.
She lunged up off the ground as he reached down for her, and they slammed together, mouths fusing. He dragged his hands down her body to grip her hips, hold her to him, then back up to band his arms around her, lifting her up against his body. “You’re here,” he said between kisses. “Thank the gods you’re here.” He pulled away to look into her eyes. “You’re my compass, Reese. My sanity. I promise you that—”
She clapped a hand across his mouth. “No promises. I don’t need them, because I trust you. I believe in you. What’s more, I believe in us.”
The hollowness the star demon left behind began to fill back in with another kind of greed. He leaned into her. “Thank Christ. I thought I had lost you. I thought—”
A jolting shudder ran through the ground beneath his feet and the sound of grating stone suddenly surrounded them with a harsh rattle of magic, like the tail of a giant rattlesnake gearing up. Beneath that, he heard a terrible stone-on-stone screech that sounded like a giant bird. A vulture. Gods.
“Take the staff,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Become the serpent king.”
He spun to find Anna standing there. Only it wasn’t the Anna he had known for the past year—instead of the fog he’d gotten all too used to seeing in her eyes, he saw clarity. Wisdom. Prescience.
“Where did you come from?” But before she could answer, her words sank in and his gut clutched. “Shit. Is Strike—” He broke off when he saw him standing strong and tall, with his arm around Leah’s waist, looking better than he had in months.
“It’s a long story that we don’t have time for,” Strike said. “But you still need to do this. You’re the king we’re going to need for this war.”
Dez wasn’t sure how his heart was still beating, given the ice in his veins. “I won’t sacrifice you, damn it.”
“You don’t have to. You already killed your
rival. I’m giving you this of my own free will, as demanded by the thirteenth prophecy.” Tears gleamed in Strike’s eyes. “There is no greater sacrifice for a king to make than to give up his throne on behalf of his bloodline. After today, the jaguars will no longer be the royal house.” The ground shifted, trembled. “The serpents will.”
Jesus gods. This wasn’t happening. Dez closed his eyes for a moment, growing even colder when Reese moved away from him. He turned toward her. “Reese—”
She was holding out the star demon. The idol wasn’t covered with ichor anymore; it had dematerialized along with the body. But it oozed with Iago’s psychic stink.
For the first time, instead of being swamped with possessiveness, he was vaguely repulsed. “I don’t want it.”
A smile broke across her face like the dawn, though her eyes stayed serious. “I saw. You beat her just now. You used the demon to kill Iago, but you didn’t let it use you. But . . .” She took his hand, flattened it out, and dropped the statuette in his palm. For the first time in a decade, it didn’t feel like anything other than an artifact—cool, smooth, with a buzz of power. There were no whispers, no words. “She’s part of the staff, just like shaking things up is part of being a good leader. She balances off the others. You can’t have light without dark, or else it’s all just one big twilight.”
Like the twilight Lord Vulture would bring if he didn’t take the serpent staff and fulfill both the thirteenth and serpent prophecies. The ground trembled with another birdlike shriek of stone-on-stone that had the others checking their weapons.
Reese closed his fingers around the idol. “I’ve overreacted to so many things over the past couple of weeks because I was scared of what I was feeling, scared of how much more you could hurt me than you did before. And I was so busy being scared, I forgot to trust myself, especially when, deep down inside, I knew you weren’t the guy who became the de rey anymore. You’ve beaten that part of yourself, just like you beat the star demon. I should’ve seen it, should’ve believed that sooner, but I didn’t. Stupid of me.”
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