Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

“This isn’t the end for us,” he said with new determination. “I won’t let it be. We’re going to do this, damn it. We’re going to win the war, right here, right now.” Tugging her to his side, he said, “Come on. Let’s get this intersection open.”

Suddenly aware of the solstice power that thrummed up through the stones beneath their feet and the banked energy of the others waiting to begin the spell, she turned so they faced the chac-mool side by side.

And, linked by blood sacrifice and the mated bond, they began the spell, doing it as it was meant to be done: together.

Myr was shaking as she came out of the vision. Because that was what it had been—a vision, sent from the gods. The spell hadn’t transferred her magic—it was still lodged inside her, still racing through the connection linking her and Rabbit. Instead, the spell had sent them back to the past and showed them the last few minutes before the old king had unleashed the Solstice Massacre. But how? Why?

“Jesus,” Rabbit rasped. “That was . . . are you okay?”

She blinked, somehow unsurprised to find that they were on their feet, holding hands in front of the winikin’s altar, just like the king and queen had been facing the huge chac-mool beneath the pyramid of Chichén Itzá. More, when she locked eyes with Rabbit, she saw a hint of Jag in him—just a blink and then gone, but it was enough. “You saw it, too,” she said. “You were there, in the king.”

He nodded. “He was so convinced he was right . . . and he was so damn wrong.”

“Asia knew. She had seen foreseen their deaths, but she stood beside him anyway, not because of the writs or his orders, but because she loved him and believed in him utterly . . . even though she was furious with him, too.”

“She wasn’t mad at the end.”

“No. Not at the end.” Was that what the gods—or the ancestors, or whatever force had guided the vision—had wanted them to see? That when the chips were down, true love conquered even the worst of mistakes? That mated pairs needed to go into battle united, no matter what they needed to forgive in order for that to happen?

Myr looked away from him. She couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t quell the heat in her blood that had come from the dream-kiss and the pressure of Rabbit’s fingers on hers. More than ever before, she wanted to lean into him, touch him, kiss him, and forget about the outside world, just as Asia had done.

“He loved her so much,” Rabbit’s voice was rough with emotion. “So damn much, and he didn’t know how to fix things with her, how to protect the people he loved and still do what the gods wanted.”

Breath hitching, she looked back at him, and found herself caught in the heat of his eyes. They were warm and alive, making her realize suddenly how locked down he’d been since his return. Now, though, there was a spark of the old impetuousness when he tugged on their joined hands and pulled her into him, against him. And when she made a muffled noise, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, I swear.”

It wasn’t okay, far from it . . . but she couldn’t make herself pull away from his body, his warmth, his scent. Her mind went blank, save for a deep-down whisper that said, Yes. This was what she had been missing; this was where she was supposed to be.

Only it wasn’t.

“Let go of me,” she said into his chest. But she held him close.

“I can’t. I’ve tried.” He rested his cheek on her hair and breathed her in. “We should’ve been like them. Partners. Mates. Together to the very end.”

“Rabbit . . .” She trailed off, knowing she should push him back. Instead, she pressed her face against his chest, so she could hear his heartbeat, thudding steadily with a rhythm that seemed to say, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

Was that what the vision was trying to tell them? That life was short? Warmth kindled low in her stomach, weakening her and telling her to take what she wanted now, before it was too late. And whether or not she wanted to admit it, that wasn’t just the sex magic talking. It was her body, her heart.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

She levered away, not to escape but to look up at him. There was a faint curve to his lips, which were so often—more these days than ever—set in concentration. “It was your smile,” she said before she knew she was going to. “That day in the tea shop, it was your smile I noticed first.”

He went still, not even breathing. But his eyes were locked on hers and the magic raced between them.

“You came in with Nate and Alexis to buy that ceremonial dagger from the Witch,” she continued, “but I didn’t really pay attention to them—they were just marks. Customers. Whatever. But you were different.” He’d looked fierce and capable, like he could handle anything. “And when you saw me, you smiled.” Just a quick grin, a “hey, hottie, whassup?” like she’d gotten a thousand times before . . . but one that had held empathy, along with a devilish glint that had made her want to see what would happen if he let loose.

“You were hiding behind some shelves.” His voice was thick. “You disappeared almost as soon as I saw you, but for those few seconds, it was like you were the only person in the room. Like the light was drawn right to you.” He paused. “After we left the shop, it was your face that stuck with me. Not just because you had a black eye, but because you looked lonely, angry, trapped . . . and for the first time in my life, it felt like I’d met someone like me.”

Myr’s heart bumped in her chest. They’d never really talked about their first meeting, at least like this, and that was probably the most romantic thing he’d ever said to her, damn him.

“You did,” she said through a throat gone tight with emotion. “I was. Oh, hell.” Her better intentions crumbled in that instant—or maybe they had already been most of the way gone, undermined by the vision and his smile, and remembering what it had felt like to be beaten down for so long . . . and then to suddenly have someone who gave a shit.

She didn’t know which one of them moved first, but they met halfway.

Spurred by magic, memories and the crazy desire that hadn’t burned out despite everything, she pressed her lips to his, opened her mouth to the plunge of his tongue, and clutched at his shirt as he kissed her.

Yes! said the burn of excitement that flared as his warm strength surrounded her and their bodies lined up, bumping and then pressing together from collarbones to thighs, and everywhere in between. Finally! said her libido as he growled low in his throat and changed the angle of the kiss. What the hell are you doing? said her better sense. But even though kissing him went against everything she’d been telling herself for the past ten days, she couldn’t make herself stop.

So she didn’t stop. Instead, she opened to him, twined around him, and moaned as the sizzling energy pumped from her to him and back again, racing through the connection she had hated before, but now couldn’t get enough of.

Then, suddenly, boom! The magic flared higher and hotter, not sex magic anymore, but spell-cast magic. It whipped around her, caught her up, sucked her in.

“Rabbit!” She clutched at him, fear surging as her senses pinwheeled and then accelerated, spinning faster and faster. Wind came out of nowhere, screaming suddenly inside the cave to buffet them, circle around them, suck at them.

She screamed as the tornado dragged at her, coming somehow from her and Rabbit’s magic. She couldn’t block it, though—the connection was wide open, the magic racing between them, and from there into the gaping vortex.