“Out!” Leah ordered suddenly, making shooing motions that sent Sven’s coyote skittering with a low snarl. “There are fifteen doors in this room. Use them.” She had the room cleared in minutes.
He exhaled slowly. “I seriously love you.”
“Back atcha.” She flowed into his arms, pressed her face into his throat, and clung, hard.
He felt a fine tremor run through her, and held her tighter. “Hey. It’s okay, I’m not giving up, okay? I’m going to fight until . . . I’m going to fight. I promise.”
But as she tipped her face up to his and their lips met and melded, he heard that damn humming, and a soft whisper of: Fulfill the prophecies or suffer Vucub’s wrath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At the lower end of the firing range, the Nightkeepers had built a training ground peppered with fake ruins that mimicked the places where they did most of their fighting. The replica temples, stelae, and crumbling walls were mostly made of cinder blocks and plaster, and the big pyramid at one end was steel and cement.
Reese had always liked it there. It was the closest she could get to being back in a city. She sat atop the big pyramid, some three stories up, even though the sweeping view of the wide canyon, with its clustered buildings and out-of-place rain forest grove, made her ache for skyscrapers and gritty alleys, and the feeling that she was one among many, even when she was alone. Here, she was one of a chosen few; her actions, her choices, carried a different sort of weight.
She wasn’t going to run. Dez had pissed her off when he accused her of having a history of bolting rather than seeing things all the way through to their bitter end, but there had been a kernel of truth to it. Over and over again, she had gotten to a certain point in a struggle when the walls closed in, trapping her—with her parents and stepfather, with Dez, with her work in LA . . . and with Fallon—and each time she had gotten to a point where she just snapped and took off. Every. Single. Time.
Her entire life, people had called her stupid-brave or a variation on the theme, so it was a hell of a thing to realize that she was a coward when it came to her own life. This was different, though—her comfort level didn’t do much to tip the scales, given what was on the other side of the balance. So she would stay, and she would help the geek squad find the patterns they needed, help the warriors think more like street rats.
If the worst went down and Dez wound up fulfilling the serpent prophecy, she didn’t think he would survive it, not as the man he was now. Killing Hood—a truly vile soul the world had been better off without—had put him fully under the star demon’s spell. What would happen to him if he was put in a position where he was forced to—or worse, chose to—kill Strike and take possession of all five artifacts? She wrapped her arms around her body, though the sudden chill came from within. “That won’t happen,” she said aloud. At some point, the Doctrine of Balance would have to kick in and the Nightkeepers would catch a break.
But even as she tried to tell herself that Strike would pull through and the team would find some way to get the staff back from Iago and prevent Lord Vulture’s nuclear winter—and that was a hell of a laundry list, dragging at her forced optimism—she ached inwardly at the knowledge that Dez would still be named heir. It was inevitable. And, like an alcoholic taking “just one sip,” he would start the downward slide.
Unless he didn’t.
Over the past few weeks, she had learned to believe in the man he had become—a powerful yet self-controlled mage, a good soldier, and the kind of guy who would sneak her peanut butter cups when she’d had a bad day. She liked this Dez, respected him. He fascinated her, frustrated her, challenged her, and pissed her off. And she felt more alive than she had in a damned decade. Love was too simple a word for it—or maybe her onetime perception of love was too simple. Back then, she hadn’t had any doubts that they belonged to each other, and that they could make it work if they both tried hard enough. Now, her feelings for him were deep, dark, and unsettled. He may be addicted to power, but she was addicted to him—she wanted him, craved him, needed him. Or was that how love was supposed to feel? Maybe this crazy, insecure emotional roller coaster was normal. Maybe she needed to trust her feelings and the man he was today.
“Flip a coin,” she said softly. “Heads I’m fooling myself and heading for self-destruction. Tails he’s for real and history isn’t going to repeat this time.”
Moments later, a quarter pinged between her feet, took a crazy bounce, and went clinking down the pyramid steps to land somewhere on the packed dirt below.
There was a pause, then Dez said from behind her, “I pictured that going differently. And for the record, it was tails.”
Her skin heated; she hadn’t sensed his approach. Stalling, she leaned over and pretended to look for the coin, which was long gone. “Kind of symbolic, really.”
“Yeah. When it finally stopped, though, it was still tails.”
She looked back at him, found him standing there looking unbearably sexy in fatigue pants and a brown pullover, with a .44 in his belt and shadows in his eyes. “You can see it?”
“No. But I’m for real, and history’s not going to repeat itself this time.” He hesitated, though, and said, “Strike got the others on board for a sort of compromise. They’re not happy about it, but . . . if I agree to it, they’ll transfer their fealty oaths to me.”
Oh, she thought, breathing through a sharp stab of pain. “That′s . . . logical.” And it scared the piss out of her.
He sat down beside her. “I won’t have the full powers of a king, but it’ll increase our chances when we go up against Iago. Strike is afraid that whatever’s going on with him is going to spill over into the bonds if he doesn’t transfer the oaths.”
She put her head on his shoulder, very aware of his arm against her, and the place where he would wear the hunab ku if he truly became king. “I want to beg you not to do it, to ask you to run away with me . . . But this is too important.”
He took her hand, threaded their fingers together. “We’re important.”
“What I wouldn’t have given to hear that at eighteen.”
“But not now?”
“I like hearing it. But this is bigger than us.” Way, way bigger.
They both knew he would agree to Strike’s plan. He didn’t have a choice—they needed to attack Iago the moment he stepped foot back on the earthly plane, the king wasn’t fit to lead, and the prophecies said the task should fall to Dez. But the thought of him taking over the power of the fealty oaths put a nasty churn in her stomach.
“You thought about us running away together.” He paused. “So stay with me, instead. Give me a chance to prove myself to you.”
“It’s not . . .” She trailed off, because in a way it was about him proving himself. He needed to prove—not just to her, but to himself and the rest of the Nightkeepers—that he could handle power and tell the difference between temptation and a strategic move. He had to show them that he wouldn’t fall back under the star demon’s spell when the artifacts were put in play. If it came down to worst-case-scenario time between him and Strike, he needed to make the most honorable choice he possibly could, without any taint of self-service. And after that . . . No, she didn’t want to think about what would happen if he became king, or even if he just kept hold of the fealty oaths and became Strike’s heir.