“Not stupid.” He covered her hand with his own, trapping the small statuette between them. “Brave and independent.” He tugged her closer. “And the woman I love. My mate. My queen.” He lifted his free hand to her cheek. “I love you. You have my heart, my soul, and my power. Please say you’ll stay with me forever. Promise me.” He held his breath when her eyes darkened and her lips turned down, and he could almost see her draw inward as she realized what he was asking—a bond, a promise, a commitment with no exit strategy. Maybe even, in her perceptions, a box to trap her.
Then her eyes filled, and she launched herself at him.
He caught her against him, his heart hammering when she said against his throat, “Forever. Because I love you. I love who you are right now, at this moment. And I’ll love you tomorrow, and next year, and, gods willing, the year after that. You’re it for me, you always have been. And I believe in you, in us. Whatever comes next, we’ll make it through together. I promise.”
She kissed him. Magic flared and his wrist warmed, and she gasped against his mouth. Shock hammered through him as he pulled away and they looked at their wrists, where they wore matching jun tans. Holy crap, he thought. Holy, holy crap. Suddenly, everything he had never dared want before was right at his fingertips. Doubt shivered through him for a second at the realization that the only other time he’d felt that way was when he was under the demon’s influence. But there were no whispers, no compulsion. There was only love and magic.
Reese grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down for a kiss. “We might not have been destined mates, but I’d say we more than earned these marks over the years.”
Not years, he thought, because for him it had been love at first sight. Someday, he would tell her that. But not now. “I was lost,” he said against her lips, holding her, hanging on to her. “Thanks for finding me.” They kissed again, long and deep, sealing their promise and tapping into the core of the Triad’s light magic within him. Power spun, coursing through him, charging the air as the ground shuddered beneath them.
“Go ahead,” she said, stepping away. “Do it.”
He faced the strange limestone throne as light magic raged within him and lightning lit the air above. Strike brought him the serpent staff, which seemed heavier than its weight when he took it. Aware that the others were gathered in a semicircle behind him, the sun god’s firebird was perched atop the temple, and a thousand villagers lay beyond, waiting for a miracle, he started fitting the compass artifacts into the clever twists of the serpent staff, which was a puzzle without looking like one.
He started with north, the white wind god, bringing the light of truth and integrity to the reign of the serpents. South, the yellow two-faced mask, would bring balance and completion. East, the red skybearer, would help him inspire, lead, and spark new ideas. And then finally west, the black star demon, who carried the power of the shadows and transformation. He expected to feel a kick of new power when he fitted the last one into place. All he felt was the weight of new responsibility twining through him, interlocking with the fealty oaths. And maybe that was the way it was supposed to be, he thought.
Pausing, he turned toward Reese and mouthed, “I love you.” Then, holding her eyes, he said the spell that Keban had beaten into him so long ago.
The four artifacts melted and swirled, running up against gravity to spread along the twisting staff, bleeding colors across a center of green. A sudden thunderclap came from the cloudless sky, and a roar of denial rose up from the ground. The air shimmered around the temple, and then turned dark. A tremor ran through him at the deep, ominous color, but then it shifted, becoming a pure glowing white, and then cycled through yellow, red, and dark again, before returning to white.
The rattle of dark magic disappeared. The ground stopped trembling, and deep in his gut, Dez knew that the prophecies had been fulfilled, the dark lord restrained. There would be no twilight for Lord Vulture this time.
For a second he thought it was all over. Then the white glow shimmered again, unfolding outward to reveal gray-green fog, and a figure within it: a nahwal, an ancestral being—this one with shining cobalt eyes and a ruby stud in one ear. Anna gasped.
“Father,” Strike said, his voice a pained rasp, his face etched with grief over what he was giving up— for himself, for his bloodline. But the nahwal smiled as he held up a stone scepter carved into the shape of a rampant, large-nosed god. Then he brought it over his knee. And broke it.
Pain tore into Dez’s biceps, high up where the muscles intersected. He gritted his teeth, smelled burning flesh. Sacrifice, he thought, and held Strike’s eyes, saw agony as the hunab ku, the king’s mark, transferred from one to the other.
Something shifted in Dez’s chest, then in his head and heart. And, suddenly, he felt the fealty oaths and responsibilities truly interconnect within him, felt the mark stabilize on his arm, felt the weight of generations past and future weighing him down and buoying him up. He locked eyes with Reese, with his mate and queen, as he became king. Lightning flashed and both the nahwal and the Manikin scepter disappeared in the brilliant flare of light. And the air went still.
Dez crossed to Reese, took her hands, raised them to his lips, and whispered, “Thank you for making it here in time.”
She rose up on her tiptoes and returned the kiss, ramping the heat to a humming in his blood. “Thank you for turning down whatever the star demon offered you when you killed Iago.”
He went still. “How did you know?”
“I know patterns. And I know you.”
Yes, she did. Better than anyone ever had or would. And she still loved him, which was the fucking miracle. He drew her in, crushed his lips to hers, and took them under with a kiss.
Reese’s thoughts raced almost as fast as her blood as they kissed, but there were no reservations, no regrets. He was arrogant and imperfect, yet perfect for her. And he was the only man she had ever loved, would ever love. And loving him wasn’t a trap. She wouldn’t let it be. That was what she put into her kiss, and what she took back from him.
“Look!” Anna cried softly, pointing upward.
High above the temple, the cloudless sky had begun to glow. The firebird screamed, launched itself from the highest pillar and took wing, spiraling joyously up into the sky, trailing flames from its wings.
Leah gasped and sagged, nearly hitting the ground before Strike could catch her. There was another flurry as Alexis lurched against Nate.
And then, as a clarion trumpet call sounded from far away, Leah and Strike laughed with joy, their faces lifted to the sky. “Kulkulkan!” she cried, reaching up as if to touch a flash of red, a slide of scales, a glimpse of the creator god she had been separated from for so long. Then, suddenly, the temple pillars brightened, becoming colors—not the compass points this time, but the full rainbow. The glows lifted, headed skyward, and then shot straight up to where the firebird circled, wheeling and dipping.
“Ixchel,” Alexis whispered, her face alight as she was bathed in the rainbow light of her goddess.
“Look!” Sasha gasped. “More!” And it was true: high above, through the glowing gap in the sky, they could see a wing here, a flash of scales, clothing, jewels, and stones as the gods acknowledged their lost children.
Then, as the height of the solstice passed, the sky solidified, the glow disappeared, and even the firebird was gone, the sun shining brightly where it had last been.
Reese gripped Dez tightly, then sucked in an awed breath as the rainbow light drew back into itself, returning to the temple. As it hit the pillars, the stone shimmered and changed . . . and when the glimmer faded, where the undulating serpent had been, there were four columns, one at each compass point. Each of them was a jaguar, with Strike, Leah, Sasha, and Anna standing ranged in front of them, looking stunned.
In the center, a huge chac-mool altar arched over a linteled doorway that led into the earth. As they watched, the doorway shimmered and went solid, closing until the next cardinal day.<
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“Holy shit.” Reese breathed, gripping Dez’s hand tightly and getting a squeeze in return.
In sacrificing his kingship, Strike had won them a new intersection. The Nightkeepers had fulfilled the prophecies. And their luck had finally turned.
Dez whooped, lifted her, and spun her in a dizzying circle while cheers rose up into the sky. Tears glistened, crazy grins flared, kisses met and melded, and Sven’s coyote tipped up his nose in a joyous howl. More, movement rippled in a concentric pattern moving outward from the temple as the villagers began to stir. Dez tugged Reese so they could look over the edge to where a clamor of noise was suddenly swelling. The villagers weren’t makol anymore. But from the looks on their faces, they were sure as hell confused, headed toward terrified.
“I’ve got this,” Rabbit said. He turned to Dez. “Cheech and his brothers are out there—I can feel his echo. They’ll help me translate.”
“And me.” Myrinne put herself next to him.
Dez nodded. “Keep in touch, let us know if you need anything, blah, blah.”
Rabbit’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Dez lifted a shoulder. “I don’t have the history with you that the others do. And”—he glanced down at Reese, eyes softening—“I’m learning to deal with the person standing in front of me, not the one I remember, or think I remember, from before. So, yeah. That’s it. Try not to make me look like an idiot.”
“Will do.” Rabbit grabbed Myrinne’s hand and headed into the milling crowd.
Reese watched them go, instincts pinching. “Are you sure about that?”
“No. But I can’t blame him for what he might do.” He watched Rabbit a moment longer, then turned to the others. “Time to head home.” He looked at Strike. “Can you handle it?”
Strike grinned and held out his hand to Anna. “We’ve got this one. No more misfires. Promise.”
Reese was laughing as she linked fingers with Dez, lifted up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his, so they were kissing while the world lurched sideways, went gray-green, and the Nightkeepers headed back to Skywatch.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
One month later
Denver
“I still can’t believe it.” Reese spun in a wide circle, hands outstretched, head tipped back so she could take in the transformation.
Warehouse Seventeen was being rehabbed into Skywatch North.
Local crews and contractors crawled over the place, shouting questions and answers, and wielding power tools that sounded like makol buzz-swords, but creating rather than killing. The charred warehouse ruin had been stripped back to its girders and was being rebuilt, not just to its former questionable glory, but into an entirely new incarnation, with three tiers of offices and bedrooms surrounding a central atrium that was open to the sky through tinted glass panels. The Nightkeepers’ ceremonial objects and armaments would be put in later. For now, it was all about bringing the building—and the neighborhood—up several notches.
Standing a few feet away with his hands in the pockets, Dez raised an eyebrow. “Can’t believe I bought the place, can’t believe how far the renovations have gotten, or can’t believe that I did it on the sly?”
“All of the above.” She stopped spinning and grinned at him, her heart catching at the sight of her man. Her mate.
Wearing jeans, combat boots, and a brown bomber that hid his marks and his .44, he looked as tough and capable as always, but there was more now. The heavy weight of his responsibilities had added new lines to his face, new tension in his jaw. But those were balanced by the glow that lit his eyes when he looked at her, crossed to her, and brushed his lips across hers.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He was warm and solid, someone she could depend on. Someone they could all depend on. Not that the two of them didn’t argue—they fought like banshees, probably always would. But he listened to her now, and when he didn’t, she was tough enough to beat her side of things into his thick skull.
They were making it work.
“This is a fabulous surprise,” she said, still reeling from how quickly her morning had gone from his, “I’ve got something to show you,” to a quick ’port hop that had landed them in the middle of Warehouse Seventeen—the place where they began. She shot him a quick look. “You’re not worried about being recognized?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Nate and Carter took care of the paperwork, so the cops won’t be able to find anything outstanding on me. Besides, it’s been a few years, and people see what they expect. When they look at me, they’ll see the latest city guy to jump on some grant money, not the very former—and very dead—cobra de rey.” He paused and shifted, hunching his shoulders a little. A faint shadow crept into his eyes. “And, ah, this isn’t the whole surprise.”
The shadows—worry? nerves?—didn’t trigger the oh shit they would have before. Now his expression just made Reese wonder what he was up to. “Am I going to like the rest of it?”
“I sure as hell hope so.” He pulled his cell, checked the time. “You mind poking around on your own for a few minutes?”
She waved him off. “No problem. I’m sure I can find some trouble to get into.” But as she watched him head off toward the east entrance, she murmured, “And you’d better not be getting yourself into any trouble.” No matter how much she loved him, believed in him, she couldn’t stop the skim of nerves. Something was up. Something big. And she couldn’t see the pattern.
Skywatch
Sven hurled a fallen cacao branch, arching it high over the picnic area to bounce crazily on the packed dust. “Go get it!”
Mac yipped eagerly as he bounded after the toy, racing with a loose-limbed abandon that Sven could feel in his own bones. It stirred him up, making him feel restless. Or rather, more restless. He had been increasingly edgy ever since he had returned from helping out down at Skywatch South—aka Coatepec Mountain—where Anna, Lucius, and Natalie were excavating several ruins near the reborn jaguar palace, in the hopes of figuring out how their ancestors had used the site, and how it would fit into the coming war. Besides being an intersection, that is.
It had been dirty, backbreaking work, and right now he probably should be exhausted. Instead, he and Mac were walking the perimeter of the compound for the second time that morning.
The coyote brought the stick back to him, eyes dancing.
“Fine. But this is the last time.” Shaking his head, Sven cocked his arm to throw it up by the pool—
And the long-range alarms went off with a high, unearthly shriek.
Seconds later, JT’s voice came through his armband. “We have incoming. There’s a baby Hummer in the front, followed by—shit, buses? What the fuck?”
Adrenaline kicked through Sven. “I’ll be right there. Update the others.”
He was the only mage on-property right then; the others were scattered on various assignments. But with two teleporters in action now, there would be backup on site within a few minutes. He just had to hold out that long. Mac stayed right beside him as he bolted up through the mansion, grabbed a shotgun off the rack of spares near the door, and burst out the front. Magic washed over him as JT opened up the ward to let him through, then again as the winikin closed it behind him.
There was a dust cloud hazing the horizon, growing larger and more distinct, then becoming the shadow of a vehicle. Several vehicles—an H3 with heavy tint on the windows, pimp-style, and two gray-painted buses that had probably hauled school kids in a former life.
What the fuck, indeed.
Sven cast a shield spell around him and Mac as the H3 rolled up too close to him, the driver and passenger visible only as silhouettes behind the tint. He made a show of checking the gun, figuring he’d hold the fireballs until he got a better idea of the situation, or his backup arrived.
The driver ’s door opened and a man got out—a late-thirties soldier type with a brush cut and shades, wearing jeans and a USMC sweatshirt. He was
n’t real big, but he was plenty capable looking. And he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about Sven, the shotgun, or the low, rumbling snarl coming from Mac. Instead, his lip curled as he gave them an up-and-down. “Oh, joy. A coyote.”
Sven got the feeling he wasn’t talking about Mac.
As the passenger door opened, he bristled and said, “Who the hell—” His words died as he got a look at the H3’s other occupant. He got two syllables out: “Cara.”
Mac yipped with joy and bounded over to her. She greeted him like an old friend, which might have struck Sven as being odd, if his brain hadn’t just vapor locked. He hadn’t seen her since that day on the dock, hadn’t been able to find her thereafter. She had disappeared. Now, it seemed, she had reappeared. With friends.
She was wearing a long silver-gray coat that brushed around her ankles as she walked, parting to show dark pants and stiletto boots. Soldier Boy started forward but she waved him back, so she was alone when she faced Sven, hidden behind her dark shades. “We’re here. Where do you want us?”
Sven looked beyond the H3 to the buses, saw the outlines of people in every row of seats. “Who are . . .” He trailed off, felt his jaw drop. Couldn’t pick it up. “Those are JT’s rebels?”
“Actually, they’re my rebels now,” she said, with a quiet thread of steel in her voice that had his attention snapping back to her, had him seeing that her red-painted mouth and the square set of her shoulders were nothing like those of the woman who had come down off that boat to talk to him.
“Glad you made it,” Strike said unexpectedly. Sven glanced back to find Leah, Sasha, and Michael backing him up, shot Mac a dirty look for not warning him they were there.
Michael nodded to Cara. “Welcome back to Skywatch.”
“We’ll see,” she said softly, then gestured to the main gate. “Can we come in?”
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