Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

Rabbit . . . who was no longer sworn to obey his king or keep from harming his teammates.

Rabbit . . . who hadn’t told her he’d made a deal with his father. And not one Dez would approve of.

“Gods.” She turned back to slide down the wall and sit on the ground while her head spun. “Oh, holy shit. What’s going on here?” And, more, what was she supposed to do about it?

Realizing that her recorder was still going, she clicked it off. Somehow knowing she had actual evidence made it worse, because logic, her instincts and just about every other piece of her sane and reasonable mind said she should take it straight to Dez.

Instead, pushing back upright on shaky legs, she headed for the cottage, hoping to hell she wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of her life. She had to, though; she just had to. This was Rabbit, after all.

Rabbit held himself stiff and still until he couldn’t hear his old man anymore, couldn’t sense the skin-crawl of Red-Boar’s presence. Then he took a huge, gaping breath.

Oh, shit. He was free. Not just of the Boar Oath, but from the threat of his old man sabotaging up the renunciation ceremony. More, he had managed to keep the vault intact while doing it. By the skin of his fucking teeth, granted—he’d missed his a.m. mental mortaring session, and the old man without fail dialed in to his inner Pissed-off Teenager. Add in the oh-holy-shit magic of the doomsday solstice, and he was seriously on the fucking edge.

He had managed it though. He’d held it together, and he’d maneuvered Red-Boar until the bastard had wound up exactly where he’d wanted him.

He had finally done something right.

“Thank Christ.” He rose, not quite steady, and rinsed the blood off his healed palms. The water was cool and somehow very real, making him conscious of the press of his boots into the floor, and the possibility that none of it would be around tomorrow if he didn’t keep doing things right. Sticking his head under the faucet, he took a drink and splashed his face. Then, knowing he had just enough time to hit the spare room and do some “ommmm”-ing, he straightened, finger-combing his hair back with the moisture, and—

His stomach dive-bombed at the sight of Myr standing in the doorway. Not just because his control was seriously shaky, but because her expression left no doubt that she had heard him and his old man.

She stepped into the kitchen and slammed the door. “Give me one reason not to tell the king what I just saw. And make it good.”

Fuck me. “Dez already knows.”

“He . . .” She leaned back against the door, expression going from confrontational to hurt, confused. “Did he order you to keep your mouth shut?”

“The two of us were the only ones who knew. And now you.” Which they both knew wasn’t the same thing. He could’ve told her, but he hadn’t.

“And he approved of you breaking the Boar Oath? Why?”

“I needed to trick Red-Boar into burning the last of the three orders before we got to Coatepec Mountain, or else I knew he would use it to make me defy Dez, or worse.” He paused. “He can’t let go of his gods, and I think it’s making him crazier than he started.”

“But you swore you’d stick with the sky gods. How is that not going against Dez?”

“I swore that I would refuse the false gods. As far as I’m concerned, the sky gods are the false ones, not Bastet, Osiris and the others.”

“You . . . damn. You’re right. Okay. Okay, yeah. I get it. But . . . shit, that was risky.”

“The wording was Dez’s idea.” But Rabbit was the one who’d pulled it off, using his old man’s fanaticism against him. If it hadn’t been for the sharp hurt in her eyes, he would’ve been feeling pretty damn proud of himself. As it was, he wished to hell he’d just told her. So much for him getting everything right this time.

He just hoped this wasn’t as bad as it felt. Not when just a half hour ago they’d been in bed together, almost talking about love, about the future.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Because he’s already threatened you. Because I was afraid you would get involved, get in trouble. Because I didn’t want you looking at him in full-on crazy mode and thinking that I have the same potential. “He’s a mind-bender. I didn’t want him picking up anything from you.” He paused. “I still don’t. Promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I swear I’ll watch out for him.”

Which just went to show that he wasn’t the only one who could twist a vow to suit himself. Frustration sparked, though he wasn’t sure if it was coming from him or the magic that hung thick in the air between them. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Myr. If anything happens to you—” He broke off, not wanting to imagine his world without her in it . . . or there being no world at all.

“I feel the same way,” she said softly. “But, Rabbit, you’re not giving me enough credit.”

“It’s not you who I don’t trust, Myr. It’s him.” And that was the gods’ honest truth.

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. Given the history between the two of you, I guess I can accept that. I don’t like it, but I can accept it.” She paused, then fixed him with a look. “Is there anything else you’re not telling me? Anything else that Dez knows that I don’t?”

Yes. No. Shit. He hesitated, then said, “I’ve had a couple of dreams. They’re like the vision we shared, with me in the old king’s head, you as the queen, and the two of us ready to open the intersection beneath Chichén Itzá.” When she drew back, stung, he added, “There wasn’t anything new in them, really.”

“Dez knows? Of course he knows,” she said, more to herself than to him. “That was why he asked me about my dreams.” Twin spots of color rode high on her cheekbones. “Damn it, Rabbit. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t intentional. It was just that what little time we’ve had together this past week, I’ve wanted it to be just us. Not the war, not even the magic. Just us.” That, and he hadn’t wanted her worrying that he was hearing voices again, and thinking back to what had happened before. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to think about it himself. She didn’t look worried, though. More like she wanted to drop him in the nearest cenote. “You’re mad.”

“I’m . . .” She blew out a soft breath. “I don’t know what I am. Part of me says that I’m the one who said we shouldn’t go back to the way things were between us, which means I don’t get to get pissed that you didn’t tell me everything that’s going on in your life. We’re just sleeping together, right?”

“Ah, baby—”

She held up a hand. “I’m not finished. Because here’s the thing—there’s another part of me that says the last time you hid things from me, it was a really, really bad sign. I’m trying not to worry that the same sort of thing is going on here.” Her eyes filled suddenly; her voice broke. “Tell me it’s not happening again.”

“Gods, no!” He pulled her into his arms and held on to her while she gave a token protest. “I promise. Any oath you want, any sacrifice. Phee is gone. Anntah’s gone. It’s just me, I swear.” Which was true. And it would be good enough, as long as he kept his shit together.

She held herself stiff against him for a moment, then softened on a sigh. “I know. Damn it, I know.” Her arms came around him. “I know you’re not that guy anymore, and it’s not fair for me to keep going back there when we’re supposed to be moving forward.”

“Shh.” He wrapped himself around her. “I don’t blame you. I should’ve said something.” When her body shook with a sob, he stroked her nape, her back, any part of her he could reach.