Final Prophecy 05 - Blood Spells (18 page)

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Authors: Jessica Andersen

BOOK: Final Prophecy 05 - Blood Spells
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Heat flared as he took the kiss deeper. Magic hummed anew, wrapping around them both and making him think of the shell that had surrounded them in his vision-flash, and the sense that good things were waiting outside that shell, that things would get better, not worse, if he could manage to break through the barrier blocking him from the Triad magic.
Or was that just wishful thinking?
It doesn’t matter,
his conscience warned.
You don’t have a choice. And it’s time.
So he ended the kiss, stepped back, and held out a scarred palm. “Lie down with me?”
Her eyes held a shadow of resignation as she took his hand, but she smiled. “With a brothel bed like this, how can I say no?”
“At least it’s not heart-shaped. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t vibrate.”
“Color me disappointed.”
It
was
a ridiculous bed, all mirrors and black lacquered wood, topped with a scarlet brocade bedspread edged with gold braid, and a huge pile of gold-edged red pillows.
Somehow, though, it didn’t seem ridiculous. Instead, the red-gold of the bedding blended with the hum of magic that touched the air, intensifying as she stretched out on her side near the center of the plush mattress with one hand behind her head, one leg slightly bent, goddesslike in her nudity.
He stretched out opposite her for a kiss, then rolled onto his back and drew her with him, so she was cuddled up against his side with her hand over his heart, the two of them fitting together, puzzlelike. Their legs twined and he brushed his scarred calf along the softness of her skin.
Then, in unspoken agreement, they looked up into the big mirror that hung suspended over the bed. As their eyes met in the reflection, they touched the magic that hung thick around them, and together invoked the
etznab
spell.
The mirror wavered; the world around them went thin. And they slipped into memory together.
CHAPTER NINE
El Rey
Six years ago
 
Holy hookup, Batman.
That was about all Brandt’s brain was capable of managing as he lay beside the underground lagoon, intertwined with Patience while their bodies cooled in the aftermath of some seriously hot sex.
How much of that had been about the two of them, and how much of it had been about his bloodline connection to whatever the hell was going on beneath El Rey? He didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to guess.
According to Wood, sex had been part of the magic on almost every level. In another lifetime, he might have thought the gods had meant for him and Patience to pair up like this. But he was out of that loop now, which meant . . . hell, he didn’t know what it meant, except that something had drawn him to her, and it was no coincidence that they had found the underground cave together, or that they had gotten down and dirty beside the sacred lagoon.
But what did it all mean?
When she stirred and let out a small, satisfied sigh, he tightened his arm around her and cracked his eyelids, trying to come up with an awkward-moment-after line that didn’t sound totally cheesy.
Then he got a good look around them, and all he could come up with was, “Holy crap.”
The fireworks were long gone, but the air still sparkled red-gold.
Magic.
Patience’s body tightened. “Oh. My. God.” Her voice was tinged with the wonder he saw in her face when their eyes met. Then her expression clouded. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t let you see this.”
Reaching out, she cupped his cheek and whispered three words in a language that should have been unfamiliar.
Except it wasn’t unfamiliar at all. It was a fucking sleep spell.
Shock hammered through him. Her expression fell when he didn’t go narcoleptic, and he could almost hear her thinking,
Why didn’t it work?
If he could’ve formed a coherent sentence, he would have told her it was because lower-level stuff like the sleep spell didn’t work on magi. But his thoughts were racing too fast for that. The questions bombarded him: Where the hell had she learned the spell? How had she known what the glitter-dust effect meant? She obviously wasn’t Maya, but—
Whoa.
He stared at her as the litany ran through his mind: The Nightkeepers had been big, fast, smart, and charismatic. And they were extinct. He was the last of them.
Unless they weren’t extinct.
And he wasn’t the last.
Excitement knotted low in his gut. What if that explained everything? What if he’d been
meant
to see her, meant to follow her and bring her to El Rey just in time for them to discover the doorway?
Granted, the chances of that were pretty fucking slim given his history. But the gods were low on options. And if the magic was coming back online now, with eight years to go before the zero date . . .
Holy. Shit.
His blood hammered as he held out his hand, cupping it palm up, and whispered the spell to call a foxfire. There was no surge in the magic, no kindling of the blue-white glow he had tried to summon, but in the wan illumination of Patience’s tiny, dying flashlight, he saw her eyes go wide.
She eased away from him. But she didn’t go far.
He sat up, conscious of the way the red-gold sparkles followed the motion, swirling on unseen currents. He held his breath, barely daring to hope, afraid that there was—had to be—some other explanation.
Hell, for all he knew, he’d gotten trashed and this was a really vivid dream. She could easily be his subconscious’s projection of his dream girl, all blond and blue, with a kick-ass, can-do attitude wrapped in a glossy package. And ever since he’d been a kid, he’d pictured himself wielding the magic of his ancestors, and imagined finding someone else like him.
The shock in her expression was giving way to speculation . . . and hope. She moistened her lips. “You’re not NA, are you?”
NA? Oh, she’d guessed he was Native American from his name. He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Then what
are
you?”
Her quiet question hung on the air, echoing in the vaulted cave and counterpointed by the slow drip of water falling from stalactites to the water beyond them. The world seemed to hold its breath—or maybe that was him, because he had the sudden sense that what he said next was going to change both of their lives. This was no dream, he knew; it was the real thing.
He said, “I’m the sole mage-born survivor of the Solstice Massacre.” He paused. “At least I thought I was.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Me too.”
An unfamiliar pressure expanded in his chest. This was real; it was actually happening. Patience was a survivor, just like him. “What’s your bloodline name?”
“Iguana.” The word wasn’t even a whisper, more a shaping of the lips. “My
winikin
changed it after the massacre, in order to keep us safe.”
His voice rasped when he asked, “Are there others?”
“Hannah thought we might be the only ones. The way the drop box for contact info is set up, she couldn’t tell.”
He nodded. “Woody said the same thing. I wanted him to crack the box and see if there were others, but he refused. Said he was sworn to keep us hidden until he was convinced it was time to reunite the Nightkeepers.”
It was the first time either of them had said the word, and it hung in the darkness, echoing in the sacred space.
Nightkeepers.
Their people. Their magic.
He’d been programmed from birth to believe in the unbelievable, to take it on faith that he had a higher destiny and the potential for magical skills that might or might not be needed, depending on whether the barrier stayed shut through the end of 2012. But belief and faith suddenly seemed insubstantial now that he was face-to-face—and naked—with another full-blood survivor, one who knew what he knew, who’d been raised, as he had, by an actual
winikin
.
It was impossible. Unbelievable.
But somehow it was true.
They stared at each other for a long moment, speechless. Finally, he swallowed hard. “I—” Wow, he didn’t know what to say to her, how to deal with the sudden realization that they were connected far more deeply than by the sex they had just shared.
Patience’s eyes darkened. “Gods. This must mean that the massacre didn’t seal the barrier after all.”
“Maybe.” He cupped his palm and watched red-gold swirl. “Maybe this is just . . . I don’t know. An anomaly.” But he had a feeling neither of them believed it.
She exhaled slowly. “I was supposed to leave this morning for a two-day island hop to Cozumel. Something told me I shouldn’t go.”
“I was supposed to leave yesterday for Chichén Itzá. Didn’t feel like it.”
“The gods wanted us to meet.”
It was a tempting thought—very tempting—but he shook his head. “I think it was more the equinox magic pulling us here. The gods aren’t my biggest fans.”
Her brows drew together. “For real?”
“For real.” He rubbed the numb patch of scar tissue high on his inner calf. “I’ll tell you about it, but not here, not now.” He paused. “I think we should try to jack in. If the power is back online and pulled us here together . . .”
When he trailed off, she nodded. “Yeah. We’re here for a reason. Which means I’ll let you get away with the not-so-subtle subject change. But don’t think you’re going to get out of explaining that little comment about the gods.”
“I won’t.” He’d never told another soul the whole wretched story, not even Woody, but he had to tell her. That was suddenly very necessary.
Reaching for her piled clothing, she dug in a pocket and withdrew a matte black handgrip that flipped open to reveal a five-inch combat knife. “You have a blade?”
He nodded, excitement sparking at the sight of the knife, and the challenging gleam in her eyes. “You didn’t check that with your luggage, did you?”
“Bought it when I got here. You?”
“Ditto.” He fished through his clothes and pulled out a butterfly knife that had looked cool at the pawnshop where he’d picked it up, but had taken some practice getting used to. Now, though, he was able to open it with decent flair to reveal a blade about the same size as hers, though his was edged on both sides and narrowed to a wicked point, while hers was wide and serrated on one side.
It wasn’t their potential as fighting weapons that mattered, though; it was their ability to draw blood sacrifice. No Nightkeeper walked around without a knife. It just wasn’t done—at least according to Woody. And apparently according to her Hannah as well.
He grinned at her and she grinned back, and magic hummed faintly in the air.
It hit him then, that his life had changed forever the moment he’d caught a glimpse of her coming out of that bar with her friends.
They weren’t just lovers. They were about to become teammates. And to a Nightkeeper, a fighting partner was so much more than lover.
Setting their knives aside, they dressed in unspoken accord, staying close to each other, not seeming to need words to communicate the basics. He was achingly aware of her, attuned to the way she moved like both a fighter and a woman, capable yet feminine, and entirely at home in her own body.
The fading penlight emitted a muted glow that made her look like an angel, while the fact that she carried a combat knife, and the suppressed excitement he saw in her eyes, called to something inside him.
Red-gold power flared, this time
inside
him, filling him with hot, hard purpose and an unfamiliar, almost atavistic possessiveness.
We’re meant for each other,
said something deep inside him, with a certainty that swept aside all other considerations.
Closing the small distance that separated them, so they stood toe-to-toe at the edge of the underground lagoon, he took her hands and lifted her knuckles to his lips in a gesture that should have seemed foolish, but didn’t.
“Before I saw you, I didn’t believe in—”
Love at first sight,
he was going to say, but the “L” word jammed in his throat, blocked by the part of him that knew he couldn’t go there.
Fuck me,
he thought as his emotions revved. What the hell did he think he was doing?
On one level, his analytic self knew he’d been caught by a surge of sex magic, and that he needed to freaking watch himself. On another level, though, he wished, more than ever before, that he could go back and undo what he’d done. But he had scoured the myths and magic of a dozen cultures looking for a way, and come up empty. There was no way out. And if the magic was coming back online, that was going to be a big fucking problem.
“You don’t believe in what?” She was gripping his hands, forming a link he didn’t want to break . . . but had to.
He lowered their joined hands, easing his hold. “I don’t think I really believed I would ever meet another mage, or that the barrier might come back online. We don’t know what’s going on, or what’s going to happen next . . . but I want you to know that I’ll do my damnedest to get us both through it safely.” Because the two of them being there together, on that night, couldn’t be a coincidence.
They both knew that wasn’t what he’d originally intended to say. She didn’t call him on it, though. Instead, she crouched to retrieve their knives, which lay side by side on the sand. Straightening, she offered him the butterfly knife, holding it by its two-edged blade. “That goes both ways, bucko. You’ve got my back. I’ve got yours. Deal?”
Their eyes locked and he nodded. “Deal.” But he intended to make damn sure he took the brunt of whatever came next. He’d been raised human enough to want to protect his lover, whether or not she wanted to be protected.

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