Magic Unchained n-7

by Jessica Andersen

  That squared-off jaw got squarer. “Not this time. And, yeah, I know that following orders isn’t optional in the military but this”—his gesture encompassed all of Skywatch—“isn’t just an army; it’s a community. And you’re more than my superior officer, Cara. A hell of a lot more. Which as far as I’m concerned gives me the right—and, hell, the responsibility—to call bullshit on bad orders. I should’ve done that today. The winikin need you. And I… Shit.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but they were too far apart. “I wish I’d been the one. Not him.”

  A harder, hotter flush hit her and she almost blurted that it wasn’t like that with her and Sven, that he wasn’t the one, that nobody was. But just in time she caught that he was talking about being the one to rescue her. “You saved Lora and Sven saved me. It was teamwork, Zane, just like we practiced.”

  “Teamwork.” His lips twisted. “Is that what you call it?”

  Okay, she thought as a quiver worked its way through her stomach at the sudden heat in his eyes. He wasn’t entirely talking about the rescue, after all. “Zane…”

  “Is it because of him? The coyote?”

  “No.” Yes. “Absolutely not.” Maybe a little. “It’s because of me.” Which was true. She wanted more than she’d gotten in her life so far, and she was smart enough, disciplined enough, to know she couldn’t go looking for it while struggling to piece the winikin together.

  He took a step closer, narrowing the gap between them as he searched her eyes. Suddenly she was very aware that they were alone and off duty—or as off it as either of them ever got—and he was close enough to kiss her. Heat stirred, but it came from embarrassment rather than excitement. All she could think was, Please don’t try it.

  He reached out, took her hand, and raised it to press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft, his beard shadow a bristly scrape of contrast, and it was over before she felt anything more than relief that he hadn’t tried to kiss her for real.

  Without pulling her hand away, she said, “I can’t, Zane. I just… can’t. I didn’t ask for this job, but now that I’ve got it, I need to give it twice as much energy as I have, which means I’ve got nothing left for anything else, including a relationship, or even a hookup. That’s all going to have to wait until I’m done leading the charge.” She grimaced. “Then again, given the way the winikin are sniping at each other these days, Mendez—or, hell, the gods themselves—might just decide to replace me before then.”

  Which wasn’t something she’d ever said to anyone else before, had barely even acknowledged it herself. And once it was out there, she wished she’d kept it inside, because he hesitated, letting her know that he too had his doubts. But what if that was the right answer? What if she was doing more harm than good? What if—

  “You can do this.” Zane spaced the words for emphasis, still holding her hand in a grip that felt suddenly warm and solid. “The holdouts are going to get behind you. There’s going to come a moment when they’re going to rally, not because they’d rather be led by a winikin—any winikin—than a mage, but because you’re the right person for the job.” He paused. “That’s why you should’ve been the one hauling ass for the shield today while I stayed behind. And it’s part of why I want to be with you. I want to have your back, more than I do now. I want to be there for you, no matter what.”

  Her chest went tight. “I can’t… I won’t… Shit.” Breaking off, she pulled her hand away from his and pinched the bridge of her nose, willing back the burn of tears. “I’m sorry. I just can’t deal with this right now.”

  “That’s the thing, Cara. Don’t you get it? If you let me in then you won’t have to deal with things alone anymore. We can work together, be a team. Partners.”

  Part of her yearned with a fierce intensity she hadn’t felt since childhood, when things had been so much simpler, and saying, “I want,” hadn’t come with all the risks and conditions of adulthood. She wanted to be part of that sort of team; she always had. “I don’t think—”

  Seeing her waver, he moved in. And kissed her.

  At the touch of his lips, she sucked in a breath as a sudden rush of embarrassed heat turned her momentarily light-headed and had her grabbing for his arms. Encouraged, he deepened the kiss, shaping his mouth to hers and sliding in, tongue to tongue. And for a crazy second that went against everything she’d been telling herself for the past two days, ever since he’d revealed his feelings, something inside her said, What the hell, why not? His arguments were good ones, and she was so damn tired of being in charge.

  So she kissed him back.

  His breath hissed out when she softened against him, and he splayed his hands across her back high and low, making her suddenly aware of her own body in a way she hadn’t been in a long, long time. Their tongues met and separated with a rhythm that reminded her of the battle strategies that were becoming second nature: probe and retreat, probe and retreat, seeking a weakness in the enemy lines. Only they weren’t enemies and this wasn’t a battle, and his body was strong and solid, anchoring her. She let herself stay locked there—in his arms, in the moment. And if a small voice in the back of her head said she should pull back, hold off, make sure she knew what she was doing, she ignored it to feel the warm press of his mouth and arms, and the layers of muscle beneath his shirt where she gripped his upper arms.

  But that was it, she realized as the kiss went on and her brain kicked back in. She didn’t really feel any burning desire to let her hands roam away from his biceps and stroke the rest of him.

  No real desire at all, in fact.

  At the realization, What the hell turned into Oh, hell, and her stomach dropped. What was she doing? She knew this wasn’t going to work, had known it the moment he’d bared his feelings and her first reaction had been dismay, her second a profound wish that he’d kept it to himself. And the way her brain was racing as he kissed her now was further proof—as if she’d needed it—that they weren’t a match for the short or long term. In the dark depths of the night, she fantasized about a man whose kisses and touch blocked out rational thought and made the world disappear. Not one who made her feel all awkward, like her arms and legs weren’t angled quite right as she held on to him.

  She must have stiffened or made some sound, because he ended the kiss and drew away, his eyes searching hers. “And for the record, I’m not talking about just a hookup here. I never was. I want us to—”

  “Stop,” she said in a low, ragged voice. “Please stop.”

  He hesitated, his expression dimming. “You’re seriously not going to give this a chance?” His voice roughened with urgency. “We could be good together. Let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

  Temptation tugged once more, reminding her of all the times she’d watched the mated magi share a touch or a look, or make a less-than-subtle dash for their quarters hand in hand, and wished she could have what they had. She had tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of a couple—not just a friends-with-benefits thing like she’d had before, but a real couple—and know that there was always going to be someone on her side, ready to back her up if she needed it. Only now that she was being offered exactly that, she found she didn’t want it, not the way she had thought. She wasn’t sure if it was the timing, the man, or both, but even as her heart cracked a little and her instincts warned that she couldn’t risk alienating him, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Zane, but I can’t. I just can’t. I need”—sparks, she thought, but instead went with—“something different.”

  His expression flattened. “Something other than a man who cares about you, is attracted to you, and wants to help you succeed?” When she didn’t answer, he caught her hands again, his grip warm and sure. “You don’t have to answer right away. You can take some time, think it through, be sure you’re making the right decision.”

  “I am sure.” She reversed so she was the one gripping his hands, the one squeezing to make sure he was paying attention, because she wanted—needed—to have th
is be the end of the discussion. “Please listen to me, and believe me when I say that I’m very sorry—sorrier than I really know how to express—but this isn’t going to happen. I said no the other night and I’m saying it now, and I don’t need to take time and think it through. This is the right decision for me, and I’m going to have to ask you to respect that.” She paused. “I’m sorry, Zane; I really am. Not just because I’m turning you down, but also because now I have to ask you if we’re still going to be able to work together after this, or if I should start thinking about rearranging the command structure.”

  The woman in her knew she was kicking a good man while he was down. The leader she was becoming said she had to know.

  Now it was his turn to pull his hands away from their clasp, his turn to take a couple of steps back. He stood with his hands locked behind his back, his chin up, and his eyes looking past her as he said, “Don’t worry about me. I know how to soldier up.”

  Her stomach knotted at his stark tone, and the knowledge that he’d never done anything to make her doubt his professionalism. “I know. I didn’t… Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Chin dipping in an almost-nod of acknowledgment that didn’t reach his faraway eyes, he said, “Then I guess I’ll see you at the morning briefing. If you need me… Hell, I’ll just see you at the briefing.”

  She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d saluted or waited for a dismissal, and was almost pathetically grateful he just turned on his heel and strode away, boot steps echoing in the corridor, then fading when he turned the corner for the winikin’s wing. Moments later, his door opened and then thunked shut, leaving behind an echoing silence.

  Suddenly very tired, as if her exhaustion had just been waiting around for her to notice it, she leaned back against the nearest wall and concentrated on breathing. In and out. In and out. In and… Shit. How was she going to fix things now? Was it even possible? He might’ve played it off like they could just go back to business as usual, but there had been real pain in his face just now, real regret, disappointment, maybe even a hint of anger. She knew how it felt to want someone who didn’t want her back, and she hated like hell having caused him that pain. He was a good man, had been a good friend.

  Freaking sparks, she thought bitterly, swiping a hand across her dry, burning eyes. It would’ve been so much easier if she could’ve wanted him.

  Sighing, she pushed away from the wall and turned for her suite, only to be brought up by the feeling of a clammy hand on her ass.

  Damn it, she had hot dogs tucked into her pants, and an apology to make to the last person she wanted to see right now.

  She hesitated, sorely tempted to bag it and head back to her quarters. But that would mean admitting that he still had power over her, which he damn well didn’t. So, muttering a curse under her breath, she yanked the wieners out of her waistband and went in search of Sven, determined to get her thanks out of the way and prove that he’d long ago lost whatever spell he’d once cast over her.

  Nightkeeper or not, he was just a guy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Despite her determination to just freaking get it over with, Cara almost wimped out twice on the way to Sven’s suite: once at the entrance to the mages’ wing, and again at his door. Caution said that she was too tired and raw to deal with this now, that she should call it a night and start over in the morning. But the longer she waited, the more important it would seem. A thank-you given in the moment was a toss-off; one twenty-four hours later meant she’d been stewing.

  “Don’t be a wuss,” she muttered. And, clutching the hot dogs in a grip gone slippery with condensation, she knocked hard and fast.

  “It’s open,” he called, voice muffled.

  Blowing out a breath, she pushed through the unlocked door, stepped into the main living area of the three-room suite, and let the panel swing shut behind her. She hadn’t been inside his quarters since her return to Skywatch, and found that the hang-loose decor the place had sported four years ago—heavy on the surfboards, underwater pics, and treasure maps—had given way to a collection of canyonscapes and coyote motifs.

  One of the two bedroom doors was open, and there were sounds of activity within. Through the door, she saw the corner of a bed covered with a rumpled dark blue comforter; a pair of jeans hung off one edge, with a holstered pistol tossed on top. The tableau—a still life done in denim and Glock—threatened to bring a jolt of heat, but she looked away. She had seen plenty of guns over the past nine months; this one wasn’t any different, and neither was the man. He was just another mage, fighter, and teammate. She owed him an apology, nothing more. So when she heard him coming out of the bedroom, she took a deep breath and turned back with her thank-you on the tip of her tongue—

  And froze at the sight of him.

  Wearing sweats that hung low on his hips, with a gray hoodie over his bare torso, unzipped, he wasn’t naked, wasn’t even showing her anything she hadn’t seen before. But it still made a hell of an impact.

  Fresh out of the shower, he was using a white towel to rub his hair dry. It blocked his sight and muffled his words as he said, “Thanks for hooking me up with the grub, Carlos.” He lowered the towel, started scrubbing at his chest. “I couldn’t face going back out to the kitchen and— Oh. Cara. Sorry, I thought…” His eyes locked on her and he trailed off, and for a second it was like it had been earlier, with the rest of the world falling away and her perceptions coalescing to the two of them.

  Play it cool, she told herself even as her skin prickled. Don’t stare. But she couldn’t stop herself.

  His skin was the delicious golden color she remembered from his beach-bum days, when he’d been deadheading his way through life as a part-time surf instructor, part-time wreck diver, and full-time party animal. Now, though, he was also in fighting form, bulked up through his chest and shoulders, yet still swimmer-lean in the flat planes of his stomach and the ripped lines of the abs that arrowed toward the waistband of the sweats as if deliberately trying to drag her eyes lower.

  He made a harsh noise at the back of his throat, then rasped, “What are you doing here?”

  For a second her mind blanked. Then she sucked in a breath and said too quickly, “I came to thank you. Tempers got a little hot earlier and I never said how grateful I am for you and Mac rescuing me.” Exhaling and telling herself to slow down, relax, not make this into something more than it really was, she lifted the hot dogs. “These are for him.” She suddenly felt like an idiot, holding out a ten-pack of wieners as a peace offering.

  He nodded, though. “He’s nosing around somewhere. I’ll give them to him when he gets back, and make sure to tell him they’re from you.”

  “Good. That’s good.” She wasn’t even sure what she was saying, as if one part of her was automatically being polite while the rest of her stared at his chest, caught up in the unexpected intimacy of having him standing there in nothing more than socks and sweatpants, the resentment of knowing that he probably hadn’t given it a second thought. She told herself to leave, but instead headed for the kitchen nook, where she put the hot dogs in the fridge. Like the coyote cared if they were warm.

  Then, telling herself she would make the gesture and go, she turned back to him and pulled a crinkling bag from her pocket. It was a package of Skittles, a smaller version of the ones they used to plow through during long winter nights, when she, Sven, Carlos, and her mom, Essie, had engaged in cutthroat tournaments of the patolli. The ancients had anted up with everything from gemstones and pottery to household furnishings, slaves, and sometimes even their own lives. Her family members had played for chores or a special treat, but most often, they had wagered Skittles.

  Giving him the bag was a nod to the past they had agreed to leave behind, but somehow back in her quarters it had seemed like the perfect thank-you. So she held out the Skittles, grateful to see that he’d zipped his sweatshirt to his throat. “These are for you, from my private stash… unless you’ve outgrown crappy candy with one hundred
percent artificial everything and zero nutritional value?”

  His lips curved. “Hand ’em over.”

  The almost-smile made him seem far too approachable. His chest might be covered now, but the sweats were worn soft and clung to the lines of his body, putting a twist in her stomach. And, gods, could she be more hormonal? He obviously didn’t share her problem—he was just standing there like it was no big deal for them to be alone together in his suite. Then again, for him it was nothing. And she needed to pull it together and remember that she wasn’t an idiot teenager anymore, or even the girl who had left Skywatch when he told her to go. She had status and responsibilities of her own now, and they had nothing to do with him.

  Steeling herself, she resisted the urge to toss the Skittles, and crossed the room instead, putting herself an arm’s length away from him as she held out the candy. “Thanks for rescuing my ass today. I would’ve been in serious trouble if you hadn’t been there.” She paused, then said softly, “I owe you one, Sven. You saved my life.”

  He hesitated, then took the bag with a brush of fingertip-on-fingertip contact and moved back to hike a hip on the edge of the sofa in a casual sprawl that put their eyes on the same level for a change. He tossed the Skittles lightly in one hand for a moment, then sighed deeply, and said, “Shit. We’re off script again.”

  “We’re… what?”

  “I was going to come find you, maybe get you to walk out to the back of the canyon with me.” Still staring at the Skittles, he tipped his head toward the window. “It’s a nice night.”

  Baffled, she followed his nod. The storm had passed without shedding a drop, leaving a high, dusty haze across the sky. It furred the stars and blurred the outline of the nearly full moon. “We can go if you want.”

  But Sven shook his head. “Nah. You’re here; I’m here…” A sad, tired smile twisted his lips. “Maybe the gods are trying to tell me to stop stalling.”

  Earlier, she had noticed the new lines between his brows and the seriousness in his storm-sea eyes. Now she saw shadows and an intensity that was nothing like his old chilled-out vibe. It brought a skim of surprise and nerves shivering through her, along with the reminder that she needed to stop thinking of him as the guy he used to be. Like her, he’d been through some serious crap over the past few years—heck, even the past few months. By all accounts, his and Rabbit’s efforts to contain and then eradicate the xombi virus had been gruesome work, and she had no doubt that he carried new scars, on the inside if nowhere else.