Jessica Andersen - Storm Kissed

And the long-range alarms went off with a high, unearthly shriek.

Seconds later, JT’s voice came through his armband. “We have incoming. There’s a baby Hummer in the front, followed by—shit, buses? What the fuck?”

Adrenaline kicked through Sven. “I’ll be right there. Update the others.”

He was the only mage on-property right then; the others were scattered on various assignments. But with two teleporters in action now, there would be backup on site within a few minutes. He just had to hold out that long. Mac stayed right beside him as he bolted up through the mansion, grabbed a shotgun off the rack of spares near the door, and burst out the front. Magic washed over him as JT opened up the ward to let him through, then again as the winikin closed it behind him.

There was a dust cloud hazing the horizon, growing larger and more distinct, then becoming the shadow of a vehicle. Several vehicles—an H3 with heavy tint on the windows, pimp-style, and two gray-painted buses that had probably hauled school kids in a former life.

What the fuck, indeed.

Sven cast a shield spell around him and Mac as the H3 rolled up too close to him, the driver and passenger visible only as silhouettes behind the tint. He made a show of checking the gun, figuring he’d hold the fireballs until he got a better idea of the situation, or his backup arrived.

The driver ’s door opened and a man got out—a late-thirties soldier type with a brush cut and shades, wearing jeans and a USMC sweatshirt. He wasn’t real big, but he was plenty capable looking. And he didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned about Sven, the shotgun, or the low, rumbling snarl coming from Mac. Instead, his lip curled as he gave them an up-and-down. “Oh, joy. A coyote.”

Sven got the feeling he wasn’t talking about Mac.

As the passenger door opened, he bristled and said, “Who the hell—” His words died as he got a look at the H3’s other occupant. He got two syllables out: “Cara.”

Mac yipped with joy and bounded over to her. She greeted him like an old friend, which might have struck Sven as being odd, if his brain hadn’t just vapor locked. He hadn’t seen her since that day on the dock, hadn’t been able to find her thereafter. She had disappeared. Now, it seemed, she had reappeared. With friends.

She was wearing a long silver-gray coat that brushed around her ankles as she walked, parting to show dark pants and stiletto boots. Soldier Boy started forward but she waved him back, so she was alone when she faced Sven, hidden behind her dark shades. “We’re here. Where do you want us?”

Sven looked beyond the H3 to the buses, saw the outlines of people in every row of seats. “Who are . . .” He trailed off, felt his jaw drop. Couldn’t pick it up. “Those are JT’s rebels?”

“Actually, they’re my rebels now,” she said, with a quiet thread of steel in her voice that had his attention snapping back to her, had him seeing that her red-painted mouth and the square set of her shoulders were nothing like those of the woman who had come down off that boat to talk to him.

“Glad you made it,” Strike said unexpectedly. Sven glanced back to find Leah, Sasha, and Michael backing him up, shot Mac a dirty look for not warning him they were there.

Michael nodded to Cara. “Welcome back to Skywatch.”

“We’ll see,” she said softly, then gestured to the main gate. “Can we come in?”

Sven didn’t say a damn thing. He couldn’t. He was too busy trying to figure out why he was the only one here who seemed to be surprised.

“Sorry, Cara,” Strike said apologetically, “but we’re going to need to check out the others before we pass them through. New security protocols.”

She nodded. “Understood. We’ll wait.”

“Actually,” Strike said, “I think you should come with us.”

“Where to?”

“Dez wants us all up north. You might as well meet him face-to-face.”

Cara nodded and headed back to exchange a few words with Soldier Boy. When she started to follow the magi through the main gate, Sven caught her arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to?”

“Dad knew. If he didn’t tell you, then it must have slipped his mind.”

“Bullshit. He doesn’t forget anything.”

“Then he decided not to tell you. That’s between you two—leave me out of it.” She met his eyes with a reserve he didn’t recognize. “Look, let’s get one thing real straight: This doesn’t need to be weird. The past is in the past. Let’s leave it there and move on, okay? I’ve got a job to do, you’ve got a job to do, and they probably won’t intersect that much. I’d like to keep it that way. Deal?” She held out her hand.

He stared at her hand, at the unmarked forearm the move revealed. Then he blew out a breath that didn’t do much to settle his suddenly revving system. “Fine. Whatever.”

But when they all uplinked in the great room, the magic leaped through him with a wild surge that had Strike raising a brow in his direction. Instead of saying anything about it, Sven asked, “What does Dez want us in Denver for?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” Strike’s lips twitched. “But considering that he nearly killed me on the firing range at five this morning and walked away still looking gray around the edges, I think we can guarantee that whatever it is, it’s big.”

Denver

When Dez texted her to meet him back in the atrium, Reese had to tear herself away from the window perch she had found up near the roof, looking out over the neighborhood. She could see a handful of other construction projects, some new signs, different storefronts, a scattering of foot traffic, and only one surreptitious handoff of cash for illegals. The ’hood had come up in the world. Then again, so had she.

On my way, she texted back, and headed down-level. Given where they were and what had happened the last time they had been there, she had a feeling Dez might’ve tried to arrange some sort of smooth-things-over meeting with Fallon. She wasn’t sure if she hoped that was it or not—things felt over for her on that front, and she didn’t think it would do them any good to pretend they were going to be friends, or even that he would forgive her. Unless he was seeing someone. That would make her smile. Especially if it was someone who didn’t mind that he showed love by quietly fussing, overprotecting.

She had finally figured out that she liked love that was expressed at top volume, usually mixed in with words like “pigheaded royal” and “stubborn ass of a king,” and that spilled over into the newly redecorated royal suite—or rather, into the bedroom of the royal suite, where one whole wall was taken up by a painted mural of a Montana skyline. It was another of Dez’s “surprises,” and one that had already seen some major makeup sex. And nonmakeup sex. And lovemaking.

She was grinning when she came out of the stairwell and swung around the corner to the atrium. Then she stopped dead, her grin fading when she saw the crowd that was waiting for her.

The full complement of magi and winikin hadn’t been in the same place since the battle atop Coatepec Mountain; for them all to be here now said there was something major going on. There were a couple of new faces, too—one was a vibrant young woman with a white skunk stripe. That would be Cara Liu, she knew. But the other guy—lean and red-cheeked, wearing a heavy coat and a scarf wrapped up past his mouth, with round glasses perched on his nose, was a stranger.

It wasn’t a reunion with Fallon, then, which was a relief. But what the hell was it? Some sort of dedication ceremony? Yeah, that was it. Maybe. Nerves stirred. Then the group shifted, parted, and she saw Dez at the far end. He was looking at her expectantly, those wary shadows still in place.