Jessica Andersen - Spellfire

She had lived here with the Nightkeepers for almost three years. She had trained with them, fought with them, sometimes argued with them, and while she might not have appreciated all of them—or their rules—right off the bat, they had been far more of a family to her than she’d ever had before.

Rabbit’s arm tightened around her. “We’ll still see each other on the Cardinal Days.”

The mention brought another stab of regret. She almost didn’t want to try it, didn’t want to know, but she made herself cup her hand, palm up, and whisper, “Pasaj och.”

There was a faint lift beneath her heart, but there was no magic.

It was really gone.

“Not gone,” Rabbit said, as if he could still read her thoughts. He rubbed his roughened cheek on the top of her head. “It’ll still be there if we need it.”

“And different isn’t bad,” Strike said, setting down their coffees and taking the love seat opposite them with a gusty sigh. “It’s just different.”

“Being waited on by the former king,” Rabbit said, reaching forward to hand Myr her coffee and then snag his own sludge-black brew. “Now that’s different.”

Strike grinned. “I’d tell you to bite me, but it sounded like Kev got there first.”

“He’s just pissed that his little secret floated out last night.” Rabbit nodded in the direction of the blow-up doll, who was deep-throating a beer bottle.

They kept going like that, in an easy man-cave banter that flowed over Myr, smoothing the sharp edges and reminding her that this was why she didn’t party hard all that often—she got pretty damn melancholy when she was hungover.

“Look at it this way,” Rabbit said into her ear. “Things could be a hell of a lot worse.”

That startled a snort out of her. “Understatement of the year.” But she took a deep sip of her coffee, hoping that the sugar and caffeine would give her the kick in the ass she needed. “Sorry. I’m just . . . it’s so weird to think that we’re all going to go our separate ways now, and that’s got me feeling . . . I don’t know. Clingy, I guess.”

“We’re sure as hell not going our separate anything, babe.” Rabbit nipped her ear. “You said you loved me, remember? I’ve got witnesses.”

She chuckled and poked him in the ticklish spot over his ribs, making him twitch and grab her wrist. The exchange sloshed her coffee, but it made her feel immeasurably better.

“Call it clingy if you want.” Strike shrugged. “I call it love. Family. And there’s nothing wrong with that—in fact, it’s exactly right as far as I’m concerned.” He was sprawled back in the love seat with his feet up on a detritus-heaped coffee table, but his eyes were suddenly intense. Suddenly those of the one-time king. “You guys know we’re family, right? I don’t care about blood, your parents, or what-the-fuck-ever, Rabbit’s my little brother, and that’s never going to change.”

“I . . .” Rabbit cleared his throat. “Yeah. Thanks. Love you, man.”

“Same goes. And being family, I want you to come to me and Leah if you need anything—a place to land, a sounding board, a kick in the ass, whatever.” His eyes flicked to Myr. “You, too, kiddo. You’d be family even if you hadn’t hooked up with this one.” But his grin said he was glad they had worked things out, that they were in it together for the long haul.

“What does that make her,” Rabbit said in a teasing tone, trying to reassemble his tough-guy image. “An in-law?”

“I’ve always liked the idea of being an outlaw,” she put in, ignoring the faint, unexpected tug. There would be time to get into the marriage-and-future stuff later. It surprised her a little, though, to realize it was something she wanted with him—something normal and official, and just about the two of them.

“Family is family,” Strike said, wisely avoiding the topic.

A sudden burst of noise and energy from the Nightkeepers’ wing brought her eyes around just as Patience and Brandt hustled through the archway, dragging wheeled carry-on suitcases.

“We’re ready,” Patience announced breathlessly. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes shone with excitement. “We’re leaving.”

“I suspect they picked up on that,” Brandt said dryly. But he was grinning, looking more relaxed and easy than Myr had ever seen him. To Strike, he said, “I just talked to Jox, confirming everything. He said to say ‘hi’ and that he’ll see you soon, with Hannah, Harry, Braden and the dog all in tow.”

In other words, the winikin and the twins were fine, and there hadn’t been any unexpected end-date happenings on that end. No doubt the winikin had been equally relieved—if not more so—to learn that the Nightkeepers had made it through without any real casualties except their magic. Which was a worthwhile sacrifice, Myr supposed, even though it was going to take some time to get used to the loss.

Strike closed his eyes and exhaled a long, relieved breath. “Good, good. I’m . . . that’s good.” Then he cracked one eye. “What dog?”

For some reason, Brandt’s eyes went to Rabbit and danced with glee before he said, “Long story. Tell you when we get back.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Patience nudged her husband toward the garage. “We’ve got a plane to catch.”

Amid a chorus of “Good luck,” “Congratulations” and “See you soon,” Patience and Brandt headed off, dragging their luggage and looking like any other couple headed off for a few days away. Well, any other couple made up of two huge, incredibly attractive people who drew the eye and exuded an aura of power. It seemed that Seth had been as good as his word, letting them keep some of their lower-level magic.

“Damn it’s going to be good to have Jox home,” Strike said with a broad grin.

“And the rug rats,” Rabbit added, eyes gleaming at the prospect of once more being Unc’ Rabbit.

When they said it like that, acted like that, Myr finally relaxed all the way, realizing that things at Skywatch weren’t going to break up right away. There were reunions yet to have, plans yet to make. And no matter what else was going on in their lives, they would meet back every three months for the Cardinal Day ceremonies, year after year, generation after generation.

“Puppies!” a new voice said from up near the kitchen, and Sven shuffled through the archway with his hair standing straight up, wearing nothing but boxers and an utterly disconcerted look.

“The twins got puppies?” Strike asked.

Sven frowned. “No clue. But if they don’t, I’ve got some they can have. Eight, in fact. Eight coyote puppies in the back of my freaking closet.” He headed for the coffee like it was the answer to a prayer, muttering to himself, “We didn’t even realize Pearl was preggers. How the hell did she hide that? Why? She was fighting yesterday, for crap’s sake.”

One of the winikin, Ritchie, looked over from cooking up a mess of eggs. “Why are you in your boxers? Aren’t you cold?”

“Shit, yeah. But Mac won’t let me near my clothes.” Sven sucked back half his coffee, then looked into the mug. “My own familiar. Sheesh!”

“You can grab some of my jeans and stuff,” Strike offered. “Just knock. Leah’s hiding out with a book, taking some quiet time.”

The corner of Sven’s mouth kicked up as he took a look around the room. “Can’t imagine why.” As he headed for Strike and Leah’s quarters, though, Cara came into the kitchen—fully clothed—and he diverted to give her a kiss and offer up his coffee. As she leaned into him and took a sip, he asked, “How are the happy parents? Did you get Mac to cough up a T-shirt or two?”

She grinned and shot him a sidelong look. “Cut him some slack. He’s her mate, and he’s got to be pretty freaked out right now.”