Final Prophecy 04: Demonkeepers

by Jessica Andersen

  “That, dear Jade, is entirely up to you.”

  The way he said her name reminded her of the man who had been her friend. But the unease that coiled through her warned that he wasn’t the man she’d known, wasn’t the man she’d volunteered to be with. He was suddenly so much more. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s a first.” There was a little sting in his words, though. How could there be?

  She wouldn’t have, couldn’t have known to brace herself for this. Anna had said he’d gained weight, that he’d been working out, but this bulk hadn’t come from protein shakes and free weights. “Magic.” The word escaped her on a sigh.

  Lucius spread hands that seemed wider than they had been before, their tapering fingers stronger. “That’s the current theory, that either I retained something of the makol, or I’ve gotten something of the Prophet. Either way, I’m a new man.”

  Not only that, she realized, he’d become the man his family had expected him to be, the one he’d always wanted to be. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he took in her response, the heat of attraction she didn’t bother trying to mask. But also the nerves. “I don’t . . .” She trailed off, blew out a breath. “I’m rattled. When I imagined how this was going to go, we were always in your suite in the main house, and you were, well, you.” She’d known what to expect, or so she’d thought.

  He covered the last half step separating them, so the tips of her outstretched fingers brushed the taut fabric of his tee. The foxfire that still glowed in her hand lit the shirt’s logo silver-blue. “Tell me what else you imagined,” he ordered, the words thrumming with sensual meaning.

  Feeling the small magic begin to drain her shallow power reserves, she let the foxfire go out, plunging them back into a darkness that shouldn’t have been as much of a relief as it was. But she didn’t drop her hand as the light faded. Instead, she flattened her palm against his torso, feeling the faint hollow beneath his sternum, along with firm flesh and a thick layer of muscle that hadn’t been there before. Heat traveled up her arm and across her body; her nipples tightened and her core was washed with a sudden tingling anticipation, like the moment before an orgasm. He was warm and solid, and the strong, steady beat of his heart pulsed beneath her fingertips. She was acutely aware of the press of her clothing against her skin, and the warmth of him, the scent of him, more potent than before, more masculine. “What I pictured was nothing like this,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him.

  “I imagined how it would be too, each day the makol held me trapped in the in-between. I imagined what I would say to you if I ever made it back, what I would do to you, with you.”

  The humid air went suddenly thin in Jade’s lungs, even though she had imagined the same things, only to have the reality fall far short, as it always did. “It’s only natural to lock onto some sort of goal,” she said, falling back into quasi-therapist mode when all her other options were too complicated, too revealing. “You needed to feel like you had something to come back to, something more personal than the war and the magi.”

  “Maybe.” Something hard and hot flashed in his eyes. “And you don’t need to worry about me getting clingy this time. I know this isn’t about a relationship, or love, or anything beyond expediency.”

  “It’s not . . .” she began, but then trailed off as he leaned in and her brain shut down: click, gone. One heartbeat she was thinking, and then the next, cognition disappeared and she became a creature of pure sensation. She felt the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her scarred palm, along with the warm strength of his chest and the play of strong muscle, and she suddenly wanted, with a pure intensity of being that she didn’t remember ever experiencing before. She wanted his body against hers, wanted them both naked and straining together, finding the power of flesh and fire. And in that moment, what had started as duty morphed to pure desire.

  His words feathered across her lips as he said, “Expediency or not, there’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves. Which brings me back to those fantasies I was talking about. They all started something like this.”

  He closed the last few inches separating them. And kissed her.

  Jade was dimly aware that a small sound escaped her, part surprise, part invitation. Whereas the old Lucius might have paused a moment, as if questioning whether it was really what she wanted, this new version of him bypassed the niceties and went in deep, long and wet, kicking the heat inside her even higher and sparking an inner moment of holy shit as she was assaulted by a barrage of sensations, both familiar and unfamiliar.

  A stranger’s muscular arms banded around her, pressing her to a stranger’s wide, hard chest. But although the angles and pressures were different, and the smell and very energy of him were more potently masculine than before, she recognized the man she’d known in the earnestness of his kiss, his sense of focus. For a fleeting second, she thought this was what it must be like to kiss a first lover years later, after he’d matured. It was as if the old Lucius had been her high school sweetheart, not yet grown into his body, whereas the man who slid his hand up to her nape, gathered a handful of her hair, and used it to change the angle of their kiss, bringing it deeper and wetter—that man was the fully grown version of him, the fulfillment of the young man’s promise. Except that the Lucius she had known had been a man already, full-grown and genius-smart. Which meant . . . what? Who was holding her now?

  That thought brought a kick of nervous heat. Or maybe—probably—the heat came from the way his lips slanted across hers, the way his tongue touched hers, stroking, bringing sensations that were familiar, yet not. His bulk and strength both excited and intimidated her as he caught her up against his body, their clothing creating crazy-hot friction as he lifted her to her toes, letting her feel every muscled inch of him. She felt the hard ridge of his erection straining behind the fly of his jeans, and a spurt of hot, heady desire pounded through her at the thought of straddling that place, riding it, taking him within her. This was about the two of them now, about the pleasure they could give each other without expectations, hurt feelings, or recriminations. Heat flared in her bloodstream; she poured herself into the kiss as energy coursed through her—maybe magic, maybe pure lust; she wasn’t sure she knew the difference anymore, wasn’t sure she cared.

  On one level, she remained dimly aware that she was there for a reason, that the kiss was about far more than two people—former lovers, former friends—turning each other on. Yet at the same time it was just the two of them. Friction was a delicious incitement as he got a hand between their bodies and cupped one of her breasts, rubbing the nipple to a point while kissing her with the same raw intensity she remembered from before, yet bringing a response that was so much more than it had been. His new bulk made her feel small and delicate, while the focus of his concentration made her feel that she was, at that moment, the center of his universe.

  Yes, she thought as a moan hummed in her throat. Yes, there.

  She wasn’t thinking of the Nightkeepers now, wasn’t pursuing her promise to her king or her opportunity to be on the front lines of the war. Her whole world had coalesced to the sensation of his body against hers, the drag of his hands down her ribs and back up again, and the hard press of his mouth as they twined together and kissed, hot, wet, and deep. Her response spiraled higher; she fisted her hands in his hair, trying to get closer to him, plaster herself against him, hell, get inside the jeans and tee that barred her hands from the body she felt beneath. More, she thought. I want more. Or maybe she said it aloud, whispering it in one of the brief interludes when their lips parted for a breath. She must have, because moments later he broke the kiss and eased away.

  She was breathing hard, her heart pounding a mad race in her chest. He was breathing fast too—she could hear it, practically feel it even though they weren’t pressed together anymore. Peripherals returned; she could hear the faint rustle of leaves around them, feel the hint of coolness as the too- humid air brushed along her overheated s
kin. She felt more than saw when he held out a hand to her. “Come back to the cottage with me,” he said, the words seeming more a command than a question.

  A greedy knot of excitement lodged in her core as she ignored the faint warning still chiming deep within, and instead reached for his hand, twining her fingers through his. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Anticipation vibrated through Lucius as he guided Jade along the packed-dirt path to the cottages. Clustered together, the cabins formed what he thought of as a mage motel, relatively private, but cookie-cutter generic. Just now, the other cottages were empty. He’d noticed it as the dusk fell on the night of the new moon, and had guessed what the Nightkeepers were up to, and why. The knowledge had sent him out into the night to wait for Jade, because he’d wanted to approach her on his terms this time. Before, he’d fallen too hard, too fast, making the mistake of thinking yet again that the woman he was panting after was on the same page as him, relationship-wise.

  Not this time, though. This new and improved version of him wouldn’t make the mistakes of his other, weaker incarnation.

  He glanced over as they walked. In the dim light coming from his cottage, her face was a pale oval of smooth, pearlescent skin and features so perfect they could have come from a Victorian cameo. The darkness robbed her eyes of color, but his mind filled in the delicate sea-foam green that matched so well with the sacred stone she was named after. She was Nightkeeper-tall, only a few inches shorter than the six-four he’d recently attained. But where Alexis, Patience, and Sasha often moved with aggressive swaggers, Jade always seemed to glide, serene and elegant and wholly feminine. Maybe it was because she, like Anna, commanded a talent more cerebral than the warrior’s magic, but the comparison ended there. Where Anna was reserved, Jade was open and giving; where Anna wanted to escape her duty and destiny, Jade wanted to be more than her bloodline role. And where Anna stayed away, Jade had come back when the magi needed her. When he needed her, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, or make the call.

  Her straight, dark hair was longer than it had been before, an empirical reminder of the five, almost six months that had elapsed since he’d last seen her. But he had needed the time to put himself back together on his own terms. He hadn’t wanted to be her patient, didn’t want her to see him the way she did her old clients, with a mixture of empathy and secret inner horror. He’d wanted to be stronger than that, tougher. He’d worked out, hour after hour, forcing himself through increasingly punishing routines as he fought to reclaim his body from the weakness that had plagued him in the wake of the makol’s exorcism. In doing so, it seemed that he’d triggered something else, something that had made him progressively bigger and stronger. Magic, she’d said, and she was probably right; he’d discussed that possibility with Strike and the others as they had tried to figure out how to unlock the Prophet’s powers. But the question remained: If he’d internalized a connection to the psi barrier that powered the Nightkeepers’ magic, thereby gaining some of their physical traits, why the hell couldn’t he connect to the damned library? He was perfect for the job; what Mayanist wouldn’t give his right nut to get his hands on an artifact cache of the library’s reputed scope? More, he knew how to read the glyphs and interpret the inscriptions, knew what the Nightkeepers needed. He just had to get into the pocket of the barrier where the library had been hidden . . . but so far that had been a big-ass fail.

  He’d shed blood onto the Nightkeepers’ sacred altar and the First Father’s tomb. He’d prayed to gods deafened by the skyroad’s destruction. He’d attempted to uplink with Strike and the others during the spring equinox. Hell, he’d even whacked off onto the damned altar—all that had gained him was an unceremonial mess. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that the next step was Jade. He’d been making plans to go after her, but the royal council had beaten him to it. And as he’d stood in the shadows, eavesdropping, he’d known he wasn’t going to turn her away. He was going to love her as he should have done before—with pleasure and without strings. And, gods willing, he’d find his way to the magic that had become his through accident rather than bloodline destiny.

  The man he’d been before would’ve paused at the cottage door to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind on the short walk. The man he’d become shouldered the door open, tugged her through, and kicked the panel closed behind them.

  His living space began with a small kitchen that was neat and organized-looking, more because he ate up at the mansion than because he was either neat or organized. Not pausing there, he led her to the room beyond: a decent-size TV room that was more his style—or lack thereof. The upholstered sofa and chairs, the glossy coffee and end tables, and the kitschy retro Western lamps had been there when he moved in, and were hell and gone more upscale than the hand- me-downs and garage-sale specials of his shared student apartment back at UT. But the leaning piles of books, the drifts of note-scribbled printouts, and the oversize flat-screen jacked into a high-powered laptop were all reminiscent of his student days. So, too, was the image showing on-screen: an enlarged photo of a Late Classic-period Mayan painting. Glorious and vivid, it caught Jade’s attention immediately.

  “Wow.” She let go of him, moved to the TV, and raised a hand to trace the stylized figures of six men arranged in an asymmetrical pattern, two on the left, four on the right. All done in profile, as was the Mayan tradition, they faced a dark sphere that was set off center on the panel. The man closest to it was kneeling in supplication, while four of the others stood near him in postures of protection, or maybe aggression. Those five wore elaborate, feather-worked headdresses made from the skulls of jaguars and coyotes, along with protective shielding that covered only one side of their bodies. There was even more asymmetry in the painting itself, created by the sixth figure, who stood at the far right, apart from the others. Wearing a musician’s loincloth and lacking a headdress, he held a conch shell to his lips. Glyphs emerged from the crude instrument as though they were musical notes, though no such scheme had been identified for the ancient Maya—or, for that matter, the ancient Nightkeepers. The paint colors ranged from pale mauve through rusty red to charcoal black. The earthy hues reflected on Jade’s face as she frowned at the text, trying to parse out the glyphs.

  Lucius shook his head. “Don’t bother; the writing doesn’t make any sense. The current theory is that the artist was illiterate, and just copied a bunch of cool-looking glyphs off nearby inscriptions or whatever else he had on hand. It’s just gibberish.” He didn’t say why he’d been studying the painting, why it was important to him.

  Under other circumstances, with another woman, talking translation would’ve spoiled the mood. With Jade, though, it served only to heighten the sense of intimacy provided by the small, quiet cottage and the rust red light. They shared a love of language, and although he couldn’t honestly say he was more attracted to her brains than her body, the two together had made a hell of an impression when he’d first met her. Or rather, once he’d gotten past her habitual reserve, which came across as shyness, but he’d learned was her way of hiding in plain sight. He’d long ago realized that they each suffered from their own cultural conditioning, though hers had come from a too-demanding winikin and a set of writs rather than family dysfunction.

  “There’s something . . .” She trailed off, still frowning at the glyphs, but then she shook her head and turned back to him, her expression going from intrigue to warmth with a hint of nerves. “Never mind. That’s not what we’re here for.”

  “True enough,” Lucius agreed, trying to keep it casual, because she’d made it clear that was what she wanted. But at the same time this wasn’t just about sex for either of them. There was a far larger goal, one that hung over them, weighing on him as it had for nearly half a year now, though now edged with a sharp sense of anticipation. Determination. He was getting his ass into the library, whatever it took. And if that meant that the Nightkeepers’ needs and his own desire to be part of things wound
up getting mixed together with the desire he felt for Jade—had felt for her from the first day they’d worked together—then that was part of the Nightkeepers’ culture, wasn’t it? Sex was magic, magic was power, and power could save the world.

  Reaching out to Jade, he recaptured her hand. Satisfaction kicked through him as his fingers enfolded hers, locking on with easy strength. Rather than growing awkward as his body had increased in size and mass, he’d lost the sprawling clumsiness that had plagued him his entire life. It was as though his brain and synapses had been designed all along for this larger body, and hadn’t known how to tone it down for the scrawny, too-tall beanpole he’d been. Tightening his fingers on hers, he tipped his head toward the other side of the TV room, where a short hallway branched off. “The bedroom’s this way.”

  But she tugged him back toward her, lips curving when their bodies bumped. “Let’s stay right here.” She nodded to the screen. “I want it to be like it was before, only better.”

  In a flash, he remembered being with her in the inner, most secure room of the three- room archive buried deep within the mansion. He remembered kissing her almost desperately, thrusting into her against the backdrop of the ancient writs, which were displayed in flat cases on three sides of the tiny room, with their elaborate glyphwork and painted illuminations highlighted by museum- quality lighting. Back then, he’d been fighting time, fighting the lure of the makol and the song of dark magic in the air. Now he was fighting to gain the power that was his by right of spell and sacrifice. In that, he realized, the ancient backdrop was a fitting one. “Right here,” he agreed, drawing her into him.

  She looped her arms around his neck, using the leverage to draw herself up his body, onto her tiptoes. “Right now,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He kissed her, feeling the play of lips and tongues in a way he never had before, as though his neurons had changed along with the rest of him, becoming more sensitive, more ready to fire the signals of sex. Heat arced across the point of contact with an almost physical force, jolting through him, lighting him up. He’d been hard since before they’d even kissed out by the training hall, but now he filled to bursting, straining uncomfortably in his jeans. He slid his arms around her, caught her up against his body, and was acutely aware that she might be tall, but she was delicate and fine boned, and so much smaller than he’d become. Fierce protectiveness welled up inside him, an unexpected surge of emotion he squelched before it could begin, reminding himself of the rules she’d set before, the ones he needed now.