Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

But Rabbit shook his head, expression set. “That’s not good enough. Not anymore. Maybe it never should’ve been.”

Nerves tugged at the knowledge that he was talking about their last few months together, when things between them had been strained even before the demoness made contact. “You don’t have to—”

“Yeah. I really do.” He reached out and took her hand.

“Hey!” She yanked away.

“Please.” He held out his hand, palm up to show both his forearm marks and his sacrificial scars.

“If you say ‘trust me’ I’m going to kick you where it hurts.” She was bluffing, though, trying to stay angry when she was suddenly all too aware of the new scars on his chest, arms and back. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, didn’t want to feel anything for him.

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to trust me. I want you to read me.”

“You . . . Oh.” The mind-bender’s talent was the ultimate human lie detector, after all.

“You don’t have to do it,” Dez said when she hesitated.

That decided it for her. “I’ll do it,” she said, reaching for him. She was determined to stand on her own and be a teammate that the others could rely on. She shuddered inwardly, though, when his fingers closed around hers, firm and warm.

He placed her hand flat against his chest, then covered it with his own. “Look inside me,” he ordered. “Believe me.”

She was acutely aware of the ridged scars beneath her palm, the steady beat of his heart beneath that. Through the mind-bender’s magic she could feel his urgency and forthrightness, along with a deep, pained exhaustion. She didn’t open herself any further to the magic, though; she really didn’t want to know what lay beneath that, and she sure as hell didn’t want to read his mind or experience his memories. Her own were bad enough.

So, blocking all but the surface emotions, she nodded, “Go ahead.”

“It’s not enough to say I’m sorry, not even close.” His voice vibrated beneath her palm. “But, I am sorry, Myr. I’m so fucking sorry for what I did to you. I’ve spent the past two months going over and over it again in my head, torturing myself with it, but in the end there isn’t really anything more I can say except that I’m sorry.”

The apology resonated, though.

Don’t, she told herself. Don’t trust him. Don’t believe in him. Don’t let yourself rely on him, lose yourself in him. Because that had been the worst of it, really. It hadn’t been until he was gone, until she had healed, that she stepped back and realized that she had gotten so involved in being the crossover’s girlfriend, she had stopped trying to be herself.

Pulling her hand away, she took a big step back, until she couldn’t feel his body heat anymore. “Apology accepted.”

His pale blue eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

“You’re not the only Nightkeeper to do shitty things under the influence, and now that I’ve experienced the magic firsthand, I get how powerfully it can affect the user. And like it or not, we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

The brave words rang hollow inside her, though, because it really, really sucked to realize it was the truth. Once upon a time she would’ve bloodied anybody who’d dared to imply that her and Rabbit’s relationship wasn’t the number one most important thing in the universe . . . but that relationship didn’t exist anymore. And, really, how much did a lover—or an ex—matter when they were facing the end of the world?

“So that’s it?” he said. “We’re done?”

“What did you expect?” snapped, suddenly very aware that they weren’t alone.

“I never expected to see you again. I thought I was going to die in that cave.”

Her heart twisted. “Damn it, Rabbit.”

“Sorry.” He cursed under his breath. “Sorry. I’m the bad guy here, not you. Never you.” He squared his shoulders. “Okay. That’s it, then. I guess I’ll need your help with the magic. Other than that . . . well, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Yeah. Okay.” They stood there for a moment that probably seemed longer than it really was. A dull headache thudded as adrenaline drained. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said softly, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it back.”

And she was, really. The anticipation had been worse than the actual event. Sort of.

“Thanks. And Myr?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you were the one who got my magic. Of anyone, I’m glad it was you.”

She just nodded, doing her damnedest to hold it together. He was really her ex now; it was really over. Which shouldn’t have hurt but somehow still did, warning that some part of her had hoped, deep down inside, that when Red-Boar found him he’d be the old Rabbit, quirky and unexpected, and so thoroughly in love with her that he made her feel like she could do anything.

Thing was, she didn’t need a lover to be strong. More, the man standing opposite her wasn’t the guy she’d been in love with . . . but he also wasn’t the angry, strung-out stranger he’d been at the end. He was both of those men and neither of them, a grim, scarred version with stark, honest eyes that had new shadows, new secrets. She didn’t know this Rabbit, didn’t know how to deal with him.

Just walk away, she told herself. Be smart this time, and just walk the hell away. And, forcing her feet to move, she did exactly that.

Rabbit hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d never expected to see her again. But in his deepest, most secret fantasies—the ones he hadn’t even really admitted to himself—he’d never pictured her walking away from him.

She still cared—he’d seen it in her face, along with the shadows that said she didn’t want to care. Which meant . . . shit, he didn’t know what it meant, but he knew he didn’t want to leave it like this. Couldn’t. He went after her, boots digging into the soft sand outside the ruin as she headed for the bogged-down Jeep.

But the moment he started down the incline, Red-Boar came out behind him and grated, “Hold it right there.” And the bastard backed it up with a shield spell that he cast like a damn cage.

Rabbit banged off the invisible wall, cursed, and spun back toward his old man. “Stay out of this,” he warned. “It’s none of your damned business.”

Red-Boar was alone; the others hadn’t followed, though Rabbit didn’t know what that meant. His old man cast a long enough shadow as it was, as he strode to where the shield enclosed Rabbit, then leaned in close to growl, “It’s entirely my damned business. The gods sent me back to make sure you do your duty, and that doesn’t have fuck-all to do with patching things up with your girlfriend.”

Rabbit’s jaw locked. “We were mates.”

His father shot a pointed look at his forearm, which was bare of the jun tan mark. “Listen up, boy, and listen good. We’re both here by the gods’ graces, and for only one reason: To figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do that’s going to tip the balance of the war, and then make sure you fucking do it. So you need to focus on what’s important, and she’s not it.”

Which meant Red-Boar didn’t know dick about the crossover’s supposed powers. “She’s got my magic.”

“Lucius will find a way to fix that,” Red-Boar said, flicking his fingers to dismiss the detail, and Myrinne.

“Do you dislike her because she’s human, because she’s got access to boar magic, or because she was mine?”

“Me? You’re the one who thought she was a spy.” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “She’s always wanted power, after all. Now that she’s got it, she doesn’t want anything to do with you. Funny how that worked.”