Fuckers. Anger burned his veins at seeing them there, acting like it was nothing to have left Cara tied up in a flooding cave. If he hadn’t gone looking for her, or Mac hadn’t been able to track her… Shit. Forget Dez’s plan to question them; he should just fireball their asses where they sat.
Instead, he waved for Cara and Mac to break cover, and did his damnedest to harness some of the rage that snarled and snapped inside him. Because the plan wasn’t just to bring the traitors to justice; it was to keep Nightkeeper-winikin relations intact while doing it.
When Cara got up close beside him at the door, he said in an undertone, “They’re all at a central table. I’ll go in first; you stay behind me in case he panics and starts shooting.”
In the yellow illumination coming from the porch light, there was no mistaking the stubborn I’m in charge here set to her jaw. “That’ll make it look like I’m hiding. Nope, I’m going in first. You’ll just have to move fast if he threatens me.” She pinned him with a look, then lifted the sawed-off double-barreled shotgun she held across her body. “And remember, I’ve got this and you’ve got cuffs. Only use magic as a last resort.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” He didn’t like it, but he got it. A few days ago, the idea of a Nightkeeper blasting away at a bunch of winikin would’ve seemed ludicrous. Now it was far too easy to imagine, along with the political shitstorm it would create. “I’ll do my best.” He wasn’t promising any more than that. But he also wasn’t going to argue with her about going first, because she had a point. He needed to look like backup, not heavy artillery. So he eased open the door, which led to an entryway that would let them stay concealed for the first ten or fifteen feet. “After you.” His voice softened. “And, Cara?”
Her eyes went wary, then slid away from his. “Let’s just focus on the job, okay?”
“I was just going to say that I’ll be right behind you.”
“Oh.” Faint color touched her cheeks. “Thanks.” Then, without another word, she slipped through the door.
And as Sven followed with Mac at his heels, he put the other stuff out of his mind—or tried to—and brought up his magic to a background buzz, ready to defend or attack at a moment’s notice. Because right now, it didn’t matter what had happened between them or where they were going to go from here. All that mattered was not letting Zane and Lora hurt her again… and paying them back for their betrayal.
Cara’s heartbeat thudded unevenly as she crossed the short antechamber leading to the main hall. The adrenaline pumping through her body didn’t come entirely from anticipation of the coming showdown, but she couldn’t dwell on what was happening between her and Sven.
She had to focus on the here-and-now, and do her best to get through this confrontation—hell, call it what it was: an arrest—while keeping the rest of the winikin as intact as she could. Dez, the Nightkeepers, and, hell, the war effort and therefore the whole freaking earthly plane were counting on her to not let her people decompress.
The knowledge had her pausing just shy of the doorway and taking a deep breath that whistled in her lungs.
She heard Zane’s voice coming from the room beyond, though she couldn’t make out what he was saying over the belligerent staccato of U2’s Rattle and Hum. It sounded like he was joking, but his tone carried an edge that raised the hair on the back of her neck and made her feel suddenly trapped, drowning. Claustrophobia pressed in on her without warning, but she dug her fingernails into her palms and shoved it away, pissed that she’d given him that much power over her, even for a few seconds.
The anger cleared her head and unlocked her feet, though, and before she was aware of even having made the decision, she was through the door and beelining for her betrayer.
Zane’s back was toward her, like he’d been trying to prove that he didn’t need to watch the door, and Lora was staring so raptly at him that she didn’t notice Cara’s entrance. The others, though, caught sight of her immediately. She knew their names, knew their stories, but in that moment she didn’t see them as individuals; she saw a potential stampede. And as a rancher’s daughter, she knew she needed to deal with that or risk getting flattened.
Their party-reddened eyes went from her to Sven, and their expressions fired at his invasion of their turf. Some shouted; others surged to their feet and sent chairs flying.
Cara bellowed, “Freeze!” and fired the sawed-off from her hip, making her own ears ring and aiming way over their heads, going for shock value rather than bloodshed.
It worked. They froze. All except for Zane, who whipped around. For a second, there wasn’t even a spark of recognition in his face, as if he’d already wiped her from his memory banks. Then he got it, and blankness turned to astonishment and dawning horror.
“That’s right.” Cara leveled the sawed-off at the center of his chest. “I got out of the cave. Guess you should’ve killed me yourself after all, huh?” She was watching the faces of the others, and was relieved to see the anger and disgust that had been aimed at Sven and Mac now shift to confusion.
Zane sagged back against the table hard enough to make it grate a few inches across the floor. “That’s impossible. The gods led me there. They told me they would take you in exchange—”
“They didn’t tell you shit,” she said flatly. “You came up with all of it on your own so you’d have an excuse to take over the winikin. You and Lora both.”
As if that had been her cue, the woman in question gave a low, broken moan, then turned dead white as Mac came around and stood right by her with his teeth bared and his ruff bristling. A few of the others shifted uncertainly, but their glares were aimed at Zane and Lora, not the coyote or his master.
Cara, though, was very aware of Sven standing right behind and to the right of her, letting her handle things even though he probably wanted to tear Zane apart. She didn’t let herself think that it was very like what her younger, more idealistic self had imagined, with Sven as her destined mate and protector, and the two of them fighting to save mankind.
The reality was at once very close to that, and yet so very far away.
Zane’s eyes darted around the room, to her, to Sven, and then back to her. “Lies.” He hissed the word, then glanced back at the others. “What did I tell you? She wants to get me out of the way and bring her master on board as the leader of the winikin. It’ll be just like before the massacre—we’ll be no better than a drafted army. Cannon fucking fodder commanded by leaders who hide behind invisible shields.”
And even though only seconds earlier he’d all but admitted to attempted murder, a couple of the winikin looked at each other, then at her. She felt Sven square himself, and knew she had to defuse this, and fast.
Exhaling softly, she addressed the others, members of a herd that was suddenly thinking of stampeding again. “Zane lured me to the training grounds, knocked me out, and carried me to a cave miles outside the compound—one that he’s never told any of us about, even though it could be a valuable asset. There, he and Lora bound me to an altar and left me to die in the floodwaters.” She paused, not letting the memories come. They crowded close, though, choking her slightly as she said, “I would have died if Sven and Mac hadn’t come after me. They saved my life.” She paused for a beat. “But that doesn’t make him my master. My allegiance is to the winikin.”
“Then what’s with the ink?” Zane nodded to her wrist. “That’s not just the coyote’s mark. It’s his mark… and you weren’t wearing it when you went into the cave.”
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her look down to where her sleeve had ridden up. “I didn’t go in there voluntarily… And you said it yourself—the cave has coyote magic.”
He sneered. “So does the coyote mage.” To the others, he said, “You’ll see. She’ll bring him in on decisions, bit by bit, until one day we’ll wake up and he’s in charge. Meanwhile, she’ll be spreading her legs and giving up whatever he wants—”
There was a blur of movement, a cra
ck of fist on bone, and Zane flew back onto the table with his arms outstretched.
Cara gaped as Sven bent over him, fist drawn back for another blow. “Keep talking,” he warned in a low growl that Mac echoed from the other side of the table. “I dare you.”
Zane grinned to reveal teeth that were rimmed red with blood. “Go lick your own balls.”
“Insult me all you want,” Sven grated. “But not her, not like that.” His eyes raked the others. “And it doesn’t have a godsdamned thing to do with politics.”
The winikin didn’t react to that, but they also didn’t come to Zane’s defense. They just watched, stony eyed and rapidly sobering, as Sven dragged the other man up off the table and fished the cuffs from his pocket. As he started securing Zane’s wrists, he said down low, “If it was up to me, you’d be headed straight to Xibalba, do not pass go or collect dick. But the king wants Rabbit to ask you both a few questions, so—”
“No!” Lora exploded from her chair and lunged toward them. Mac yelped and grabbed for her with a flash of sharp teeth, but he missed as she came over the table and flung herself on Sven. He reeled back as she raked at him while screaming curses in a thin, high voice.
Jerked off balance when Sven dragged at the half-attached cuffs, Zane stumbled and went down to his knees, but when he came up, he had a cuff dangling off one wrist and was holding the .22 he kept in an ankle holster. He aimed at the back of Sven’s head and thumbed the safety.
“Gun!” Reacting instinctively, Cara swung the sawed-off as hard as she could. She hit Zane’s hand and the small pistol went flying, but her grip slipped on the follow-through and the shotgun went off with a roar.
And all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As the shotgun blast echoed against the background music, one of the winikin shouted and went down, writhing. There was a frozen moment of shock—Cara’s, theirs—and then the others broke and, shouting in drunken fury, hurled themselves into the fight.
She screamed and stumbled back under the onrush, but tripped on something furry and went down. Mac yelped and skittered out from underneath her, then reoriented on her attackers and lunged with a deep-throated snarl. The coyote slammed into the closest—Sebastian, who was reaching for her with blazing eyes. The winikin staggered and shouted in pain as Mac locked onto his forearm with grim intent. Cara scrambled to her feet and fumbled with the shotgun, hands shaking as she tried to get two more slugs loaded. She dropped one, got the other one in, and brought up the weapon to—
“Freeze!” This time it was Sven’s voice shouting the command, and there was a punch of magic behind it.
The sleep spell took hold instantly, dropping all of the winikin except Cara. Their bodies went limp and they fell, some hitting the floor directly, others bouncing off tables or one another on the way down, so the music—it was the Battlefield Band now—gained a bass line of meaty thuds and scraping furniture, along with Mac’s surprised snarl as he tore free from Sebastian and darted out of range of the tree-trunk fall of his body, which was the last to land with a heavy thunk.
And abracadabra, the fight was over.
Or rather, Cara saw with dawning horror, this particular fight was over and a new one was just about to get started. Because this was a winikin catastrophe of epic proportions.
“Oh… shit.” Blood speckled the floor and cloyed the air, and the fallen bodies were strewn like the losers of a battle. But she was the real loser here.
She had shot Breece in the leg. Mac had mauled Sebastian’s arm.
And Sven had magicked the whole bunch of them.
There hadn’t been a case of magic being used against a true winikin since Scarred Jaguar press-ganged the prior generation into the Solstice Massacre. This wasn’t on that scale, granted, but the timing sucked.
Back on his feet now, standing among the fallen with Mac at his side, Sven glared down at Zane. His fists were clenched, his body tight, and when the music swelled in the background, he flicked a hand and killed the stereo from across the room.
The silence echoed louder than if he’d shouted something over the music. More, it made her viscerally aware of his power and shifted something inside her, setting aside her dread for a precious moment and forging a tight pressure in her chest. One that felt like… awe.
He could drop twenty men with a single word and silence music with a gesture. He could throw fire, cast an invisible force field, telepathically communicate with a hybrid coyote, and move things with his mind.… How had all that gotten commonplace in her head?
It was impossible. Amazing. Incredible.
She had grown up dreaming of being part of the Nightkeepers, and while she might not be a mage herself, she was allied to one, connected to one. And, for an hour earlier that day, she had been his lover.
Letting out a soft breath, she tried not to shiver as the sudden heat rushing through her clashed with the cooler air and raised goose bumps on her arms.
He glanced over, eyes dark. “Damn it, Cara, I—”
His armband pinged and Dez’s voice grated, “We heard shots. You’ve got ten seconds before we come in.”
Sven tapped the transmit button. “We’ve got everything under control now, but a couple of winikin are going to need to see Sasha.” With a magical talent for healing and manipulating life energy, she was the Nightkeepers’ answer to first aid.
“Ah, fuck me. How bad are the injuries?”
“Superficial, but they’re going to be pissed when they wake up. I, uh, had to knock out the whole lot of them.”
“Damn it.”
“It couldn’t be avoided. There was a situation.”
“There always is,” Dez said, sounding suddenly very tired. “Okay, we’re coming in.”
The next few minutes were organized chaos as the Nightkeepers poured into the training hall, looking remarkably unfazed by the scattered bodies.
Then again, they probably were unfazed, Cara thought, mind whirling on the strange, shivery currents that were suddenly racing through her body.
Dez muttered a curse, but it didn’t seem to be directed at anyone in particular, and he looked more resigned than angry as he said, “Give me the four-one-one.” Voice flat and careful, Sven made his report. When he was finished, Dez just shook his head. “Yeah. That didn’t go down the way I had hoped.” His eyes flicked to Cara. “You okay?”
She swallowed, then said, “I’m not hurt. As for repercussions… well, the fallout is going to start the moment these guys wake up.”
“Which we’re going to leave until morning,” Dez decided. “If we’re lucky, they’ll think they blacked out.” His eyes went to the two injured winikin, who were being field-patched for the ride back to the mansion. “Okay. Maybe not.”
Turning on his heel, he rapped out a string of orders to the assembled team: Zane and Lora were consigned to two of the mansion’s basement storerooms, which doubled as cells, the wounded were turfed to Sasha, and the others were dispersed to their beds to sleep it off. Things shifted into high gear for a few minutes, and then, with a pop of displaced air as Strike ’ported them back to the main house, the last of the group disappeared, leaving Cara and Sven standing alone in the training hall, amid what looked like the aftermath of a decent bar fight: one tipped-over table, a little blood, and a lot of knocked-over chairs.
She stared at the place where Zane had been lying, and the only thing she could think through the spinning in her head was that there should’ve been more actual damage. Some rearranged furniture wasn’t nearly enough. “Tell me that didn’t just happen,” she said hollowly. “Tell me I’m still dreaming.”
She knew she wasn’t, though. She hadn’t dreamed the cave, the crazy-hot sex, or his confession, and she hadn’t dreamed this.
He moved to her side and gripped her shoulder. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll deal with it.”
“We,” she echoed, finding that the word jarred.
“Sure.” He squeezed and let go, moving a few
feet away to flick a few chairs back upright—one with his foot, several more with his magic.
As before, the show of power stirred her juices. This time, though, there was also a jangling discord, a sizzle of warning. And as he put the table back into place with a gesture, the heat drained away, leaving behind a gruesome realization.
He wasn’t hers to desire, and they weren’t part of a “we.” She wasn’t a member of the Nightkeepers’ team, not really. She was supposed to be the winikin’s advocate… Yet she had fallen entirely under Sven’s spell, and hadn’t even noticed the change. Worse, when the time had come for her to get her justice against Zane and Lora she had hung back while Dez and Sven made their plan. Just like a good little servant.
Nausea pressed, forcing her to swallow hard.
How had it happened so fast? How had she not noticed? And how in the hell was she going to break the spell?
Pushing back her sleeve with a shaking hand, she stared at the coyote’s mark. “Is this what you want?” she asked, aiming the question at the gods, but a little bit at him too.
“What—” Sven began, but she cut him off.
“This shouldn’t have happened.” In hindsight there was almost no way the plan could’ve worked the way Dez had painted it. Even if they had managed to get Zane and Lora subdued without resorting to magic, there was no way a group of drunken, revved-up rebels would’ve let them walk out of there unchallenged. “We should’ve waited until they were back in their rooms and done it quietly.”
But what was twenty-twenty clear to her now hadn’t been before.
When Dez had proposed the plan, she’d nodded along, imagining the look on Zane’s face when she swaggered through the door with Sven right behind her. She didn’t know whether the urge had come from those long-ago superhero fantasies of hers, from some inherent ability of the bloodline mark to make her accede to the Nightkeepers’ king, from a deep-down urge to stay near Sven and try to figure out whether he really meant what he’d said back in the cave, or all of the above, and then some. All she knew was that she hadn’t been thinking about what was best for the winikin. Far from it.
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