Jessica Andersen - Skykeepers

She halfway expected him to come back with something about getting lucky. Instead, he said, “Remember, you can bail at any point. I wouldn’t have called you today if you hadn’t volunteered, and if I didn’t think this might be our answer. Still, I want you to promise me that you’ll stop if it doesn’t feel right.”

Pulling back in surprise, she glanced at his dark silhouette. “But the writs say—”

“Fuck the writs,” he interrupted. “They might be a good rule of thumb, but they’re not perfect by a long shot, and over the past couple of years we’ve certainly proved that they’re not immutable. So now I’m telling you—hell, I’m ordering you—to make your own decision on this one. Take me and the others out of it. This is between you and Lucius.”

Jade drew breath to Whatever you say, sire him, but then stopped herself, thought a moment, and said, “With all due respect, that’s bullshit. There’s no way I can possibly take out all the other variables. I’m here right now because we’re out of other options. If we don’t get our hands on the library soon, we might not even make it to 2012, and we sure as shit won’t have enough firepower to defend the barrier. So you don’t get to tell me to take all that out of the equation, just so you can feel better about what I’m about to do. If it doesn’t bother me, then it shouldn’t bother you. And if it does, that’s not my problem.”

There was a moment of startled silence; then Strike said, “Huh.”

Jade didn’t know if that meant he was offended, taken aback, or what, but told herself she didn’t care. “What? You didn’t know I have a spine?”

“I knew. I wasn’t sure you did.” He made a move like he was going to touch her, but then stopped himself. Letting his hand fall, he said only, “Good luck, then. And remember the radio in case . . . well, just in case.”

Without another word, he spun the red-gold magic and disappeared in a pop of collapsing air, leaving her standing there thinking that the ’port talent was a hell of a way to get the last word in an argument. Not that they had been arguing, really, because they were both right: She couldn’t separate the act from the situation, but it was her choice. Strike had called only to tell her that the other magi and their winikin were out of ideas, and that a midday blood sacrifice channeling nearly the power of the full equinox had failed to trigger the Prophet’s power. Her response to the information was her responsibility. “So why are you still standing here?” she asked herself aloud.

“Perhaps because you’re wondering whether Strike and Anna were right to try to talk you out of this,” a familiar voice said from the doorway of the training hall, which was a pitch-black square against the building’s dark silhouette.

Jade’s pulse skittered at the sound, then started pounding hard and heavy as she heard the rasp of clothing, the pad of approaching footsteps. Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she said, “Eavesdropping, Lucius?”

“Considering that you’ve been discussing my sex life, or lack thereof, with the royal council, I’m not feeling very guilt-ridden.” The timbre of his voice was deeper and richer than she remembered, as though experience had lent new layers to the tone. The difference sent a fine shiver racing along the back of her neck.

It’s just Lucius , she told herself, as she’d been doing since she’d initially broached the sex magic idea to the royal council. For the first time, though, she wondered whether she’d sold herself on a lie.

Granted, human beings didn’t fundamentally change, not at their core. But what if the human being wasn’t entirely human anymore? Did the same rules apply? And what if he truly wasn’t interested in her any longer? Some of the things he’d said to her the night before she left for the university had dug in and taken root, continuing to sting long after the fact. She’d told herself he’d been lashing out, confused from the Prophet’s spell and stressed over the new pressures . . . but what if he’d meant every word?

Reminding herself that she could do this, that she had to do this, she said, “Part of me is glad you overheard. It saves me from explaining why I’m back. Although I can’t imagine the idea comes as a surprise.”

“I’d certainly prefer trying sex before ritual sacrifice,” he said, his tone carrying a very un-

Luciuslike bite. “And I understand the math. So, what does that make you . . . the Nightkeepers’ sacrificial victim?”

“Don’t be a dick. I’m a volunteer, not a victim.” But heat rushed to her face, and she was grateful that he couldn’t see her blush in the darkness. “I’m trying to help here, Lucius. If you want to turn me down, do it. But don’t make me into the bad guy because I’m offering.”

There was a long beat of silence before he exhaled, long and low. “I don’t think badly of you. And .

. . I don’t want to turn you down.”

Heat curled in her chest, then moved lower as her body awakened, seeming to suddenly realize what she’d been talking about all along. Sex. With Lucius. Although subsequent events hadn’t allowed her to dwell on the memories, their one spontaneous, somewhat rushed coupling in the archive had lit her up like nothing had done before, not even being with the far more polished Michael when the two of them had both been running hot with transitional hormones and their first taste of sex magic. Where Michael had been skilled and considerate, Lucius had been raw, teetering on the borderline of control.

Where Michael had held a portion of himself apart out of necessity, Lucius had been entirely there with her, making her feel as if there hadn’t ever been anybody else for him, never would be; that he didn’t see her as support staff, a backup, or a fill-in for what he’d really wanted.

Would it feel that way again? Only one way to find out , she told herself, blood humming suddenly in her veins. “Well . . . if I’m offering, and you’re not turning me down, why are we still standing here?”

Clothing rustled again as he closed the distance between them. His body heat caressed her lightly, bringing an answering stir of warmth within her. Touch me like you did that day in the archive , she wanted to say, but was afraid to because he’d told her flat out that his feelings for her had changed.

Tonight wasn’t about them; it was about the Prophet.

“Light a fox fire,” he said. “Just a small one.”

It was one of the few small magics she commanded, and one that had fascinated him, especially when she had sent it dancing from her hand to his and back again. Thinking that was what he wanted, that this was foreplay of a sort, she cupped one hand and used the power of the equinox to call the magic. A tiny light kindled, starting pinpoint-small and then expanding outward to a ball of cool blue flame that lit just her and Lucius. She looked up at him, smiling, expecting to see his remembered joy in the minor spell.

Instead, serious eyes looked at her out of a stranger’s face.

“ Gods! ” Jade jerked back, shock hammering through her. “Who . . . ? What the—” She broke off, realizing that he wasn’t a stranger, not really.

The man standing opposite her resembled Lucius, but he wasn’t for an instant the man she’d known.

He was perhaps what Lucius would have been if he’d gotten the big-and-burly genes of his brothers and father along with the tall-and-borderline-willowy set he’d inherited from his mother’s side.

Combined, they had yielded a frame that was only maybe an inch taller than that of the man she’d known, but carried twice the mass in muscle, all of it layered onto bone and sinew as though sculpted there. He was wearing new-looking jeans; she doubted his newly powerful thighs would’ve fit into the old ones. The T-shirt with the bar logo was familiar, but there was nothing familiar about the way the shirt stretched across his chest and arms, and hinted at a ripple of muscle along his flat abs.