Uncle Jayce, Michael thought as a few more pieces fell into place. He supposed that explained even more of Tomas’s control-freak ways, though it didn’t make him any easier to live with. “I’m not going to off myself now,” he said, letting the last word acknowledge Tomas’s instincts.
When he’d come to Skywatch, Michael hadn’t had a clue he was anything but a salesman with an eye for women and a good, if slightly shallow, heart. When Bryson had terminated him as an operative, Horn had used him as a guinea pig, splitting his halves so thoroughly, he’d thought his cover was really him. That is, until he’d jacked in for his talent ceremony, his bloodline nahwal had laid the warrior talent on him, and he got a hell of a “This is your life, Michael Stone!”
In the aftermath, hell, yes, he’d thought about killing himself. All he’d been able to think about was murder, reliving the Other’s kills over and over again. He’d eventually regained control, and had decided he could do the Nightkeepers more good than harm by staying alive. But still, it had definitely been an option.
Unlike the Christian viewpoint of suicide as a sin, in the Nightkeeper culture it was the act of greatest sacrifice to the gods, thereby earning a trip straight to the sky. Michael figured that, in his case, it might at least balance out the bad shit. But at the same time he couldn’t help wanting to think the gods really did have a plan for him, that they wouldn’t have let him get so far toward damnation without some reason.
Unless, of course, his destiny wasn’t in their hands anymore. The barrier had been sealed when he took Bryson’s job offer. It was possible he’d damned himself beyond the gods’ redemption long before the Nightkeepers were reunited, that he was laboring under ma jorly false delusions now. If that was the case, then Sasha had been meant for a different version of him—the one that had told Bryson to stick his job offer, that he was no killer.
Except he was a killer. And he hadn’t turned Bryson down.
He glanced over to the kitchen once again, only to see that Sven was no longer hanging all over Sasha. Instead, he was sitting at the breakfast bar opposite Carlos, downing shots in rapid-fire succession, amidst catcalls from the others. Jade sat nearby, working on a bottle of wine, apparently having also decided in favor of self-medication.
Michael glanced at Tomas. “You and Carlos already had that cooked up, didn’t you? You’re taking out the competition on both sides.”
The winikin lifted a shoulder. “You’re not perfect by a long shot, but Sven has some major growing up to do before he’ll know what to do with a mate. You, at least, know how to keep a woman happy.”
“Not necessarily,” Michael said, thinking of the parade of women who’d passed through his life, starting with Esmee, the FBI trainee he’d dated soon after leaving the academy. He’d hung onto her too long, not realizing that she was the first in a long line of women who would be hot on him at the beginning, then fade when they realized he couldn’t give them the deep emotion they sought. “Is that what you want me to promise? That I’ll give it a go with Sasha?”
But the winikin shook his head. “That’s between you two and the gods. I want you to promise that if you ever do think seriously about sacrificing yourself for the good of the Nightkeepers, or to quiet whatever it is that’s going on inside your skull, you’ll come talk to me first. Or if you can’t talk to me, you’ll talk to someone.”
Michael’s throat went dry. “That . . . Yeah. That I can promise.” He didn’t like that the winikin saw as much as he did. But at the same time, it shifted something inside him, something that said, If only.
If only he’d turned down Bryson. If only he’d taken his FBI training more seriously, made less of an ass of himself. If only he’d grown up sooner, like Tomas had wanted him to do. Damn it all.
The winikin nodded. “Thanks. Go on, then. I’ll pull together some food for you and leave it by the path.” He paused and nodded toward the kitchen. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”
Sasha, Strike, and Leah were chatting animatedly while wolfing down whatever Jox had put in front of them. Carlos and Sven were going strong on the shots. Nate and Alexis, Brandt and Patience had already decamped to their suites, no doubt to take advantage of the contact high from Sasha’s sex-
magic buzz. For a moment, Michael yearned. Because he did, and because the Other’s darkness stirred beneath the want, he turned away. “I’ll be outside.”
Tomas nodded. “Your call.” But his tone said, You’re an idiot.
When Sasha finally wound down enough that she thought she could sleep, she headed for her suite, feeling as if she were floating on feet that barely touched the floor.
Part of her euphoria came from the barely realized amazement of finding her family, finding that she was royalty—she thought that would become a reality over the next few days, not all at once.
Another part of the bubbling dizziness came from sheer exhaustion; she wasn’t just physically tired—
she was mentally drained, and felt like she’d been sucked dry of both thought and energy. She was dragged down by having seen what Ambrose had become, but energized by the promise that the scroll was somewhere inside the temple. And the magic that had come from Michael’s kiss hadn’t yet faded, though it had been hours.
Body tingling with the sensual awareness brought by sex magic, she jittered around her small apartment as the night deepened and the mansion quieted around her. She checked her herb family for their water status—all good—and straightened things in the kitchen and main room that didn’t need straightening. Her laptop failed to hold her attention, as did the paperbacks stacked beside the couch.
She thought about taking a shower, but it wasn’t until she vetoed the idea because it meant going through the bedroom that she admitted to herself what the problem really was.
She was horny. And not just a little. A lot.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t known what was going on out in the kitchen; she’d caught the looks, and the not-too-subtle jockeying for the mated pairs to get very near her, then slip away, bright-eyed and holding hands. She’d snorted inwardly when Carlos had waylaid Sven with a bottle, and suffered a pang when she saw Jade anesthe tizing herself similarly. The pretty brunette had silently toasted Sasha with her glass, and mouthed, Go get him, across the room, giving her blessing again, though Sasha had long known the coast was clear on that account.
No, the winikin and magi had conspired to make it easy for her and Michael to be together in the hormone burn of the aftermath. What they didn’t get, because they didn’t know, was that it wasn’t going to happen. Their exchange prior to the bloodline ceremony suggested that he wasn’t just pushing her away to be an ass. There was something going on with him, something dark and angry inside him that he didn’t want her to see. She didn’t know whether to give him the space he seemed so desperate for or talk to one of the other magi about it or what. But she knew one thing: She wasn’t signing on for anything long-term with a man who had both commitment and anger issues. She wasn’t Pim, damn it.
But what if it’s not long-term? she asked herself, moving restlessly around the space that was quickly becoming her home. What if it’s just for tonight?