Jessica Andersen - Nightkeepers

‘‘Thanks,’’ she said softly. Then she hung up, leaving him staring at the handset, wondering why it felt like the world had just tilted beneath his feet.

The night after the autumnal equinox, once the sun was down and the barbecue was long gone, came the time that Rabbit had been dreading. Red-Boar’s funeral.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to give the old man a proper send-off. It was more that he wasn’t sure he could do it right. The ceremony Jade had found in the archive said the torchbearer was supposed to say good-bye with ‘‘a heart full of grief and regret, and thanks for the one who was lost.’’ Which sounded great in theory. And yeah, he could find the grief and regret, and maybe even the thanks, but there were all sorts of other emotions tangled up alongside, emotions he wasn’t sure the old man needed with him when he set off on his journey.

But Rabbit was the last of the bloodline. The torchbearer’s role fell to him.

So when Strike signaled that it was time, Rabbit led the others to the coffin they’d made of ceiba wood and placed near the life tree, at the drip edge, where Red-Boar’s ashes would mix with the others’ and sink into the root system of a tree that shouldn’t be able to grow where it was growing.

Nate, Sven, and Michael stood together, with Alexis and Jade opposite them, coexisting in uneasy accord. Brandt and Patience stood rock-solid, their unity an almost palpable force, while Strike and Leah were together at the foot of the coffin, surrounded by a faint halo of golden light Rabbit hoped would wear off soon, because it was freaky. The gathered winikin formed a second ring around the coffin.

Rabbit took his place at the end of the simple wooden box and tried to think of something to say, just like he’d been trying on and off all day. But none of it seemed right, so in the end he said simply, ‘‘Safe journey, old man.’’

Then he palmed his father’s knife, which he now wore on his belt, and welcomed the bite of pain from the slash. When blood welled, he let it fall onto the coffin.

Without the need for any spell casting, the droplets burst into flame where they fell. The wood caught greedily, the fire fueled by the magic Rabbit felt flowing through him like water, magic he hadn’t consciously called, magic he wasn’t sure he could control.

Within two minutes, the heat had driven the others back. Within five, the coffin and the body within it were gone, leaving behind only a smudge of ash that stirred in the desert wind, blending with the darkened soil nearby.

Eventually the others drifted away.

Alone, Rabbit tried to feel peace but found only anger toward a father who’d never been what he needed. Tried to find forgiveness, and saw only the darkness around him. The angry part of him, the part he could mostly control now even as it grew stronger and started to press, rose up in him, urging him to leave Skywatch.

I need to be by myself for a while, he thought. The pueblo. I’ll go to the pueblo . It wasn’t quite leaving, wasn’t quite staying. And there, sometimes, he found the peace that escaped him.

But when he turned to go, he realized he wasn’t alone, after all. The twin boys, Harry and Braden, stood behind him, unusually silent. Harry held out a hand. ‘‘Rabbit come,’’ he said, though unlike his more brazen twin, he rarely spoke.

‘‘You guys go on,’’ Rabbit said. ‘‘I’ll see you later.’’

But the kid didn’t move, just stood there with his hand out, staring at Rabbit like he knew what was going on inside him, like he understood somehow. ‘‘No cliff. Rabbit come.’’

A chill shivered through him. ‘‘How did you—’’ He broke off as a touch of gold sparkled in the air between them. ‘‘Okay,’’ he said after a moment. ‘‘In we go.’’

He followed the twins into the mansion, away from the darkness.

It was late before things wound down and Strike finally found an opportunity to slip away with his woman. Okay, so he sort of interrupted her midsentence, picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and cavemanned it down the hall to the royal suite, but who was counting?

She squealed and squirmed, drumming her fists on his kidneys, but they both knew she didn’t mean it. If she had, he’d be flat on his back and gasping for air. Which was pretty much where he ended up the moment he got the suite doors closed, because she braced her feet on the wall and used the leverage to overbalance them both onto the carpet, then went to work on him with her hands and mouth the moment they were down.

Not that he was complaining in the slightest.

He fisted his hands in her long blond hair, holding her in place above him as he kissed her hard and hot, which didn’t do a damned thing to take the edge off the horns that’d been riding him since they got back to the compound. Mine , he thought fiercely, and again, mine .

It wasn’t just the magic of the god, though they both felt it, a kernel of gold at the base of their souls, something they could draw on when they needed it in the months and years to come. They’d won only a single battle. The war was yet to be joined. It wasn’t just the relief of having her still there, either, though that was huge. The thought that he could’ve lost her had him sliding his hands down her shoulders to her waist and drawing her snug against the hard ridge in his jeans. And it wasn’t just the total turn-on of wearing their matching marks, the beloved marks.

It was her. Leah. His woman. His love. There were no guards between them, no barriers. There were only the two of them.

‘‘I love you,’’ he said when they came up for air.

‘‘That’s convenient, ’cause I love you back.’’ With a lithe twist, she slipped out from underneath him and came up with her fingers wrapped around his belt. Tugged him toward the solarium. ‘‘Come on. Jox finally gave up and moved a bed out under the stars. We’ve got a box spring and everything.’’

‘‘No shit?’’ Strike laughed. ‘‘There might be some romance in the old guy’s soul after all.’’ But he pulled her farther down the short hall. ‘‘I’ve got a better idea.’’

The torches came up when he opened the door to the small ritual chamber, and the air smelled of copan even though he hadn’t burned any. Leah flowed past him, shedding clothes as she went, so she was naked by the time she turned and hiked herself up on the chac-mool , put one foot up onto the poor guy’s head, and crooked a finger at Strike. ‘‘I like your thinking.’’

He went to her, putting his feet in the red outlines on the ceremonial mat, and fitting the rest of his body exactly where it was meant to be—up against his woman. His queen. And when they kissed and the torches dimmed, and he glanced into the obsidian mirror behind the altar, he saw only the strong, delicate curve of Leah’s spine, and her face in half profile as she turned it into his neck and breathed him in.

The ghosts, and the past, were gone, leaving them to live the future yet unwritten.

Together.

The End

SIGNET ECLIPSE

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