‘‘I see them.’’ She frowned, wanting to support her brother’s born role but not willing to blindly follow tenets she’d learned as a child and walked away from as an adult. ‘‘I’m just not convinced history is always destined to repeat itself.’’
‘‘ ‘What has happened before will happen again,’ ’’ he quoted.
She waved him off. ‘‘Too easy. The world isn’t built on aphorisms and it doesn’t march to the beat of thousand-year -old prophecies. Think about it . . . Godkeeper issue aside, who would you rather have leading the charge, you and me or the rightful king and his mate?’’
‘‘His human mate, you mean?’’
‘‘She’s it for him,’’ Anna said softly. ‘‘Don’t you remember what that felt like?’’ The words brought a faint pang, because she’d found it with Dick, though she couldn’t say for sure they had it anymore.
‘‘Fine. Great.’’ Red-Boar turned his scarred palms to the sky. ‘‘Which just puts us in an even crappier position, because when it comes down to it, he’s going to choose the woman over the gods. We need to stop him from doing something really stupid.’’
‘‘Or you could trust him to make the right decision.’’
‘‘Look where trusting your father got me.’’
And she really couldn’t argue that. He and so many others had trusted Scarred-Jaguar to know what was right, and they’d died for it. Red-Boar might have survived the battle, but everything important that was inside him had been killed that night.
‘‘I won’t lead,’’ she said finally. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
He sat for a moment in silence, then nodded and stood. ‘‘I’ll let you rest.’’
She waited until he reached the door before she said softly, ‘‘Hey.’’
‘‘Yeah?’’ He looked back, his expression inscrutable.
‘‘Don’t do anything stupid.’’
‘‘Define ‘stupid.’ ’’
The trace of arrogance in his voice reminded her of the brash young warrior all the girls had sighed over, even after he’d married and become a father. More, she remembered how that had changed him, made him a man, even in her childhood perception. ‘‘Before you do anything, ask yourself whether you’ll be proud to own your actions in front of Cassie and the boys when you finally reach the sky.’’
Her only answer was the slam of the door at his back.
Leah slept poorly and woke the morning of the equinox feeling strung-out and twitchy.
It wasn’t just her conversation with Jox that had her on edge, though it hadn’t exactly been fun to have her lover’s defacto father tell her to do the world a favor and kill herself. There was something in the air, itching beneath her skin and making her jumpy. Restless.
Twelve hours and counting.
She opened her eyes to find Strike awake, propped up on one elbow, staring at her as though he was trying to memorize her and commit every last moment they were together to long-term storage in his brain. Or maybe that was what she was feeling.
‘‘We should talk,’’ she said, her voice raspy with morning huskiness.
‘‘Let’s not.’’ He leaned into her and covered her mouth with his, and though she knew it was a stall, she also knew it might be one of the last times they were together.
Opening her mouth to his kiss, she buried her fingers in his thick hair, hooked a leg over his hip, and offered herself to the moment, to the man she wished she could claim as her own. They strained together, touching, tasting, and the heat built as it always did when they were together. Only this time there was an edge of desperation— theirs, the god’s, she didn’t know. But she knew the end was near; she tasted it in the bold possessiveness of Strike’s kiss and felt it in herself—a sense of needing to take a piece of him with her.
Then he shifted against her, poised to enter her, and she saw the question in his eyes. Tears threatened as she nodded and he slid inside without protection, skin on skin, tacit acknowledgment that after tonight it probably wouldn’t matter whether she conceived.
It mattered right then, though. It mattered in the feel of him within her, the sense that she was truly taking him inside her and holding a piece of him close to her heart. She pressed her cheek to his as they moved and found their rhythm, drawing out the pleasure, delaying the moment when they’d have to deal with reality.
Soon though, too soon and yet not fast enough, the heat built; the tempo changed as he thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, pounding into her, racing with her to the peak. They came together with strangled cries and a rush of love so intense Leah almost closed her eyes against it, denying the emotion. But she didn’t. She kept her eyes wide-open, looking into his and seeing the love there. Seeing the heat and the mad glory of what they’d become together.
Then it was past and the heat faded. The world came back into focus around them. And there was no excuse not to have the conversation they were both dreading.
Drawing away from him, Leah touched his cheeks, his chin, the strong line of his nose. When he lifted a hand to do the same to her, she saw his forearm marks, stark black against his skin. She caught his hand and pressed her lips to the glyphs, kissed each one, then kissed the raised weal of the sacrificial scar that crossed his palm.
‘‘Leah,’’ he said, curling his fingers around to cup her face.
‘‘We need to talk about it.’’
‘‘There’s nothing to discuss,’’ he said, his voice going autocratic in a way that was necessary in Strike the leader, but set her teeth right the hell on edge in the bedroom.
‘‘Try again,’’ she said, lowering her voice in warning. Watch your step, Ace.
His eyes went cool, though she sensed the heat within him, knew it was a calculated move. ‘‘I’m going to try to bring the god through into me,’’ he said, like it was no big deal and the obvious choice. ‘‘Jade’s working on finding the transition spell as we speak.’’
Leah’s skin chilled even as anger flashed hard and hot in her veins. ‘‘And you’re just now mentioning this? What do the others think of the plan, given that, oh, there’s a good chance that you’ll turn into a makol? That’s why Nightkeeper males aren’t supposed to enter the Godkeeper ritual, isn’t it? Too much aggression in their psyches, running too close to the darkness.’’
‘‘It’s my decision.’’ But he looked away, not meeting her eyes.
‘‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’’ She grabbed his jaw and turned him to face her. ‘‘You’re not just a guy, Strike. You’re the frigging king.’’
‘‘I’m the king’s son,’’ he said, his jaw setting beneath her fingertips. ‘‘Until I take the scepter, the greatest sacrifice doesn’t apply.’’
‘‘Which doesn’t make it right for you to risk yourself like this.’’ She felt a panicked, trapped fluttering in her chest, a sense that this was history repeating itself all over again. And though she’d wanted him to care enough to buck the prophecy and fight the gods themselves for her, now that he was offering to do just that she saw the desire for what it was: a pretty dream, a selfish wish. It wasn’t a real option, wasn’t truly what she wanted him to do.
‘‘It’s my choice,’’ he maintained stubbornly.
‘‘No. It isn’t.’’ She leaned in hoping he’d listen. ‘‘Think about it rationally. If I . . .’’ She stumbled over the word ‘‘die,’’ found a neutral euphemism. ‘‘If I go before the equinox, Kulkulkan will be freed to return to the sky and you’ll have a chance to bring him or another god through to earth. Alexis could handle it, or Patience. Bonus with her, because she’s already got a Nightkeeper mate.’’
His eyes darkened and his voice went rough with the god’s anger, with his own. ‘‘You want to die?’’