Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

She winced, but then nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I should work with it. Even if it can’t get through to . . . well, whatever that was, maybe I’ll finally get control of my visions.” Her attempt at a smile fell flat, though, as she pulled away from Lucius and forced her legs to carry her all the way to the altar.

Her heart tugged at the sight of the sledgehammer lying on the floor near a chunk of limestone that showed the curve of a cheek and one kind eye. She didn’t apologize to the chac-mool again, though, because she didn’t dare pray, not even to it. Not when she didn’t know who she was talking to anymore.

Where before the air had hummed with magic, now it was as flat and dead as the skull’s dull yellow eyes. Still, though, their facets seemed to watch her.

Do you dare? those eyes seemed to ask her.

“I already did,” she said softly. Then, steeling herself, she stuck a thumb in one ear hole and a finger in the nasal cavity, and lifted the skull from the last of the enclosing limestone, holding it like some sort of demented bowling ball.

Trying not to let the others see how much its cool, slick surface made her skin crawl, she tucked it under her arm and made for the door. And, as she headed down the hall toward the royal quarters and the childhood suite she’d redone as her own, she did her damnedest not to picture how the thing was going to be staring at her while she slept.

Then again, given what they’d just learned, nightmares were going to be the least of her problems.

“I won’t let you do it.”

Rabbit stopped at the sound of his old man’s voice, surprised to feel a bump of compulsion coming from the Boar Oath. He’d been so damn well behaved that he’d almost forgotten about the fucking thing.

He turned back on the pathway leading out to the cottages. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone that way—it wasn’t like he wanted to be back home right now. Not when every last square inch of the place would remind him of Myr and leave him wondering what the hell came next for the two of them. Should he go after her? Leave her alone? He didn’t have a clue. She hadn’t just been his first lover; she’d been his first everything. He didn’t have any practice with breakups, post-breakup hookups, or whatever the hell that had been last night. And it wasn’t like he could ask one of the others. They all had bigger, badder things to think about right now—like whether or not they’d been praying to the wrong gods all along.

Which left him and his old man squaring off opposite each other on the beaten-smooth footpath, with the sun coming down on them and no breeze to stir the dust. If they’d had revolvers, he would’ve been tempted to count down the draw.

Rabbit shoved his thumbs in his pockets but didn’t slouch, mostly because he knew it would annoy Red-Boar that he was a couple inches taller and wider. “You won’t let me do what?”

His old man closed the distance between them, got in his face and glared. “You will not revoke your allegiance to the sky gods. Do you hear me? You. Will. Not. Do. It.”

“Be interesting to see how that goes up against my oath to follow Dez’s orders, if he decides to follow Bastet’s lead.” But although Rabbit kept his voice level, he wasn’t nearly as in control as he wanted his old man to believe. Because suddenly the inner darkness was straining against his hold—twenty years of insults, anger and hatred jonesing to go after the man who’d raised him but hadn’t ever been any sort of father.

Red-Boar’s eyes flicked to the side, as if he was looking for witnesses. Then, in a low growl, he said, “That can be dealt with.”

The third order, Rabbit thought. Was the old bastard really so convinced of his own infallibility that he would use it to go up against the king? “Bullshit.”

“Don’t forget, I fucking own you, boy.”

Bile soured the back of his throat. “You own my bloodline connection. I’ll break it if I have to.” Pain sliced through him, racing from his forearm to his heart, as if the oath was warning him just how bad it could get.

Red-Boar’s eyes blazed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Fucking try me.”

The old man flushed an ugly, murderous red. “Back atcha, asshole. You do it and you’ll find out what it means to watch your woman die.”

Fury hammered through Rabbit in an instant, not coming from the dark magic, but welling up from inside the man he wanted to be, the one who’d fallen asleep last night with Myrinne in his arms. Because that was no idle threat. As far as Red-Boar was concerned, humans were little better than clever pets. Expendable.

He had his hands on his father’s throat before he knew it, lifting the old bastard onto his tiptoes and snarling, “You so much as go near her and I’ll fucking end you. Oath or no oath, you’re dead.”

Put. Me. Down.

The words shouted inside his mind and headed instantly for his central nervous system, short-circuiting the whole damn thing. His arms came down, his hands opened.

Red-Boar sucked in a ragged breath as he stepped back. And if Rabbit had thought before that he’d seen his old man in a rage, now he knew different. This was true rage, he thought. It was hatred.

Dark eyes narrowing to evil slits, his father sent into his brain: Choke. Yourself.

Rabbit’s mind fought, but his body obeyed the commands like a fucking puppet. His own hands closed around his throat and bore down hard, thumbs digging into the vital veins.

His vision went blurry almost instantly, though he didn’t know if that was real or the power of suggestion. He went for his mental blocks, tried to figure out where the old man was getting through, but couldn’t. Tried to cast a counterspell, but couldn’t do that, either. He couldn’t move his legs. Couldn’t move anything. He tried to . . . shit. What was he trying to do again? Panic had his heart thudding even as rage coiled inside him, useless against the magic.

He tried to break his father’s hold on his mind, tried to stay on his feet when he swayed and gray closed in from the edges of his vision.

Tried . . . to . . .

“Enough.” Red-Boar snapped his fingers and the compulsion was gone.

“You son of a bitch!” Rabbit lunged, but ran face-first into a shield spell. His nose crunched, making his eyes water. He reeled back, yelling, “Godsdamn it. I hate you!” like he was fifteen again.

His old man stood, implacable behind his shield. “I won’t have to go near her. You’ll do the job yourself.”

Fury roared through Rabbit, but he held it together, barely, because going off on the old bastard wasn’t going to change a damn thing. Glaring, he rasped, “I’d kill myself before I’d hurt her again. But first I’d kill you.”

“Or you could just fucking do as you’re told and we won’t have to find out which one of us has a bigger dick. And by the way, it’s me.”

A few months ago, Rabbit would’ve gone for a tape measure. Now, though, he wrestled the ugliness down, shoving it deep behind the enemy lines he’d drawn inside his head. Because what was he proving by being pissed? Nothing, except that he could be just as nasty as his old man.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I thought you were bad before. What the fuck happened to you on the other side? I thought death was supposed to give a guy some godsdamned perspective.”

To his surprise, his old man took a step back and exhaled a long, slow breath. “This is my perspective, shithead. I didn’t come back here to watch the Nightkeepers go off the godsdamned rails.”

That had just enough logic to pinch. Jamming his hands in his pockets, Rabbit shrugged impatiently. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m not in charge here, remember? You want to swing the decision, then talk to Dez. Whether you like it or not, he’s the king.”