He repeated that over and over again as he carried her through the tunnel. By the time he reached the lagoon cave and dropped the burned-out torch at the edge of the water, he didn’t know how he’d gotten there, didn’t know the name of the woman in his arms or why they were both wearing ripped, dirty clothing that stank of blood. Instinct had him washing away the worst of the gore in the lagoon before he carried her back up the stairs and out of the pyramid, which looked solid once again when he turned back, looking for . . . what?
He couldn’t remember. He just knew that they couldn’t stay in the park after dark, so he followed the path out the back way, and trudged up the beach, past a scattering of motionless partyers who had passed out after the fireworks.
When he hit the street and a couple of guys loped up to make sure they were okay, gut instinct had him playing “still drunk from last night.” He wobbled and slurred, “I’ve got to get us both back to the hotel.”
One of the guys—red-eyed and hovering on the borderline between last night’s drunk and tomorrow’s hangover himself—offered to help.
By the time Brandt and the blonde were up in his room, and he’d thanked the Samaritan with a twenty to buy himself a few rounds, he was barely conscious. It was all he could do to strip them both, crawl into bed beside her, and fall the hell asleep.
If he was lucky, everything would make sense when he woke up.
CHAPTER TEN
December 19 Two days until the solstice-eclipse Cancún, Mexico Patience awoke with her cheek pillowed on Brandt’s shoulder and one leg thrown over his. As always, his body temperature had crept up to “furnace” overnight, making her too hot, but she hadn’t moved away as she slept, didn’t want to move away now. Instead, she cuddled into him, pressing her lips to the smooth, tough skin of his upper arm as she slid her leg higher along the satin-slick sheets and—
Satin?
Pulse jolting, she opened her eyes to find herself looking into a wall of mirrors that showed her initial surprise, then the way her eyes clouded as memory sledgehammered her with so many long-
forgotten truths that she wasn’t sure what to think about first.
She made herself roll away from him, not letting herself feel the loss of warmth. “Wake up, big guy. We fell asleep.”
“We wh—? Huh?” He blinked awake and locked on their reflection over the bed, and his face went through the whole surprised-then-remembering sequence she’d just been through. He cleared his throat.
“Oh. Well.”
“We should get dressed,” she said too quickly, latching on to the practical details when the thought of dealing with the other, larger pieces of the puzzle made her palms sweat. “Jade and the others will be here soon.”
Taking the slippery top sheet with her, she headed for the shower, trying not to make a big deal about snagging her scattered clothes along the way.
“Patience.”
His quiet word stalled her in the bathroom doorway. Taking a deep breath, she turned back.
She lost the breath she had just taken.
He sat cross-legged in the center of the mattress, bare-chested, with the bedspread tossed casually over his lap. His hair was tousled, his eyes still carried a blur of sleep, and the mirrored reflections behind him showed the strong curve of his spine. Her body still hummed from their raw sex of the night before; the thought of it brought a clutch of desire low in her abdomen, a blush of moisture to her cleft.
But last night hadn’t been about them; it had been about the place, the magic, and the memories.
Loving him now, in the light of a new day, would be something entirely different.
He held out his hand, but she took a step back, shaking her head.
“I can’t,” she whispered, the words little more than a breath.
His expression tightened. “I just want to talk.” But he let his hand drop.
Her heart twisted. “We knew,” she said softly. “From almost the very beginning, we knew we were both Nightkeepers.”
“Yeah, we did. Until Werigo blocked the memories.”
She told herself to focus on the pieces that mattered to the next forty-eight hours. But the words slipped out. “It was such a relief to think that I wasn’t going to be alone anymore.”
“We were together after that,” he pointed out. Which was true—instead of an awkward morning-
after walk of shame, they had ordered breakfast. Three months later, they were married.
“Not the way we should have been.” As magi. Partners.
“Maybe not. But they were good times.”
It hit her then, what knowing all along would have really meant. They would’ve come clean to their winikin right off the bat, might’ve even gotten married, not in the furtive-feeling ceremony they’d had, but with full Nightkeeper pomp. Then after that, they would’ve been in training, fully immersed in the world of the magi. And, knowing firsthand that the barrier wasn’t completely sealed and the end time was a real threat, she probably wouldn’t have gotten pregnant . . . and Harry and Braden wouldn’t exist.
“I—” She broke off, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Oh, gods.” She was sorely tempted to take the bathroom escape route, but they owed each other better than that. She didn’t look at him, though, as she said, “If it hadn’t been for Werigo’s spell, we probably wouldn’t have had the boys. And, gods forgive me, sometimes I think it would’ve been easier if we’d come into this as strangers, or as lovers but not parents. I don’t regret having Harry and Braden, never that. I just wish . . .” She trailed off. “I wish I knew which parts have been pieces of the gods’ plan, and which have been our choices.”
“I would’ve picked you out of the crowd with or without the magic,” he said softly. “You dazzled me then, both as a man and a mage. I’m still dazzled by you now. More so, even, because you gave us Harry and Braden.”
Patience swallowed against the hard, hot lump of emotion that narrowed her throat. “But will you still feel that way back home?”
To his credit he didn’t lie. But the regret in his eyes hurt just as much as the lie would have.
The burble of her phone was almost a relief at that point. She pawed through her clothes, pulled out her cell, and checked the new text message. “Jade and the others are downstairs.”
“They’re early. You want to tell them to grab a table someplace quiet and we’ll debrief while we eat?”
She shot off the return text and fled to the bathroom, where she took a quick shower and pulled herself together.
Ten minutes later they left the room with only a messy bed and steamed-up bathroom to show that they had been there. She paused for a last look back as he held the hallway door for her. The mirrored decor wasn’t any less cheesy than it had been the night before, but she felt a pang at leaving it behind.
“We won’t forget this time,” Brandt said quietly.
“No, we won’t.” But as they headed downstairs to meet the others, she found herself wondering whether it would be enough for them to remember that first night. She felt so far removed from the person she’d been back then, so far away from the awestruck wonder of discovering the magic and fighting at her lover’s side, that she couldn’t see how the memories could help fix a damned thing.