It was a travel thread, she knew. In life, the ghost had been a teleporter. Or was it a ghost at all? Because suddenly it felt as though the Triad magic had captured a piece of Strike inside her, too. Which should have been impossible.
Link with me, the magic whispered.
“What?” Reese said, leaning in closer.
Had she actually said that aloud?
“Link. With. Me.” That time she was sure of it, had actually made her mouth say the words she wanted. “Need. You. Both.” And her senses sharpened, bringing the real world more into focus, connecting her to herself, to her power. And, dimly, she saw the glimmering outline of a vision: two cobras, hissing and striking at each other inside a glowing dome. Get her there, something whispered. Now.
“Link up,” Lucius said. He pulled a combat knife and used the tip to score his palm along the scar line. “She must need a boost, and we’re the only ones here. She’ll have to make do with human blood.” He clasped Anna’s hand, over the cut that she, too, had made over old scars.
Power surged and the golden thread solidified inside her.
“Hand it over.” Reese took the knife, fumbling with the cut and then gripping Anna’s other hand.
More power. More solidity. The golden thread glowed, thrumming with the magic and calling to her. Take it. It will get you where you need to be if you want it enough. Remembering how Strike had described teleport magic, she reached out with her mind and touched the yellow thread. Grabbed on to it. And pulled.
Magic lurched, sending all three of them sideways in a stomach-jolting roller coaster. Then the familiar gray-green nothingness was whipping past them, a blur of incalculable motion that went on. And on. Too long, she realized. Panicking, she clutched the thread, only to have it dissolve suddenly. She screamed as the whip of motion curved in on itself, arcing in a tightening spiral, a whirlpool drawing them down into the formless gray that wasn’t quite the barrier, wasn’t anywhere else.
“Help me!” she screamed as the maelstrom sucked her down, taking the other two with her into the nothingness.
Coatepec Mountain
Strike jerked at the sound of a female scream, audible even over the burr of shield magic and buzz-swords, the screams of the makol and the roar of the Nightkeepers’ magic. He looked wildly around, didn’t see the source, but then felt a sick surge in his magic followed by a stomach drop of epic proportions. Then he heard words: Help me!
It was Anna’s voice.
“Anna!” he shouted, and bolted toward the sound.
“No! Rabbit, help me!” Leah grabbed his arm, slowing his mad charge.
“It’s Anna! She needs me!” He tried to free himself, but then Rabbit got his other side and the two of them dragged him back against a stone pillar and pinned him there.
The screams died out; reality returned. And he realized that he had started to head out into the makol. Leah was plastered against his chest, looking up at him, her eyes asking in silent agony, Is this it? Is this where it ends?
His head was suddenly pounding. He couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t get control. He hated this, wanted it to fucking stop. And by all that was sacred, he didn’t want to die. He wanted to stay with Leah, with the Nightkeepers. Gods, please not now.
Wrapping his arms around Leah, he held her close, leaned into her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ... I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine; he was losing it. “It was just—”
It happened again without warning: a stomach drop, a surge, a skitter of his malfunctioning ’port magic. Son of a bitch. Bile soured the back of his throat. But there was something else now, he realized. Because for the first time, the heavy thud of his heart was echoed in a thrum of magic, a tingle in his bloodline mark.
Rabbit was moving in to help, but Strike held up a hand. “Wait. Hang on. There’s something . . .” He trailed off as it connected.
He had been dreaming that he had lived the massacre through his father’s eyes, had heard whispers that weren’t his. Then there were the odd power surges, strange lesions in his mind, and the ghostly connection that he could almost feel but Sasha couldn’t track . . . Because a healer couldn’t track the blood-links of her own line. Oh, holy shit. It had been a blood-link all along. Anna’s subconscious had reached out to him through their shared DNA, giving him part of her injury and taking part of his power in return. He hadn’t known it, but he’d been helping her heal. And now she was in trouble.
“I’ve got to go after her!”
“What?” Leah tightened her grip. “What’s going on? Talk to me, damn it!”
“It’s the Triad magic.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss as excitement burst inside him. “I love you. And I’ll be right back, I promise.” Then, trusting that she had his back, always and forever, even when she thought he was losing his everfrigging mind, he left his body behind and sent his consciousness into the magic, into the neverwhen of transport leading to the barrier. He went in without a destination, without forethought, diving after the tingle in his blood and leaping straight into the storm.
Gray-green lashed at him instantly, slamming him in one direction and then another, flipping his consciousness end-over-end. But he wasn’t alone—he glimpsed something yellow-gold trailing nearby, sent himself after it, suddenly feeling strong and sure, and completely in control of his power and himself.
The teleport line was tangled around someone. Several someones. He caught the end, reeled them in even as he was buffeted by the blurring force of uncontrolled’port magic. Anna was clinging to the string, but so were Reese and Lucius, their terror palpable. Jesus gods, what was going on here? Doesn’t matter. Get them out of here.
He could do that. He touched his magic—suddenly strong and pure and perfectly in control—and returned to his body, taking them with him.
As the gray-green whipped past, he fell into a waking vision.
Footsteps moved away behind the king, the sound echoing off stone and bloodied water as he turned to face the lava monster. And as he raised his weapon, his heart was heavy with the realization that he had been wrong all along.
The king’s greatest sacrifice wasn’t his mate’s life, after all. And it wasn’t his own life, either.
And suddenly, Strike knew what the ultimate sacrifice was meant to be.
Then air whoomped away and they materialized in the middle of the firefight, scaring the shit out of the others and sending Sven’s coyote skittering between his legs, growling. Leah jumped back and went for her gun, then checked herself as it registered that Anna, Lucius, and Reese were tangled together at Strike’s feet, gasping.
Jade gave a low cry and rushed to Lucius’s side as he lurched up and then stumbled on his bad leg, his crutch nowhere to be seen. The other magi looked shocked as hell but stayed at their posts, holding the shield and keeping the makol in check.
“Where the fuck did they come from?” Michael demanded as Sasha dropped down beside Anna, partly to check her over, partly to just hug her.
“They were pretty close to being lost for good in the barrier,” Strike answered, his voice breaking as his emotions threatened to overload from the weight of his father’s final revelation. But then, knowing the time for that would come, he focused on the here and now. He reached for Leah, caught her against him, and whispered into her hair, “It was Anna’s blood-link making me sick. We’re both okay now.”