Jessica Andersen - Nightkeepers

Strike took her hand again, tugged her closer, and lifted his free hand to touch her, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek and down the side of her neck. Despair simmered just beneath the surface of his soul—she could feel it through the link, lending sharpness to the heat that built between them, quick and urgent as he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

She hesitated a moment, feeling her heart bang against her ribs and thinking of all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea—her track record, his priorities, her vow to avenge Matty’s death, the whole greatest-sacrifice thing. But all those reasons lost to the one single thing that told her she should take this moment with him, the one thing that had her parting her lips beneath his and lifting her arms to twine them around his neck, holding on when desire built, sweeping her away.

Because as he kissed her, as they leaned into each other, she knew one thing for certain: If he was kissing her, then he thought there was no hope. She was already dead.

She whimpered a little without meaning to, and he drew away, looking fierce and every inch the leader, every bit the protector as he said, ‘‘We’ll find a way. I promise.’’

She buried her head in his chest, resting her cheek above his heart. ‘‘Take me back to Skywatch.’’

When Red-Boar triggered the talent ritual, Rabbit was the last to make it through into the barrier, dropping down to land on his ass in the mist, which swirled up around him in greasy puffs of greenish gray. The others had already formed a circle.

As Rabbit scrambled to his feet and limped to join the others—his foot had gone pins and needles for some reason—he saw something flash in his old man’s eyes. Most likely regret that he’d made it through. Well, screw him. It wasn’t like there was any question that he was going to get a talent mark—he already had his talent, didn’t he? He’d get the fire symbol. Patience would get air, symbolizing invisibility. And the others? Well, they’d see about that, wouldn’t they?

Taking his place between Sven and Michael, Rabbit smirked at the old man. ‘‘I’m here. The party can officially begin.’’

Then he realized it already had. The mists swirled and began to thicken behind each of the trainees. Moments later, the bloodline-bound nahwal appeared, one for each of the trainees, except for Rabbit, who would be repped by the old man whether either of them liked it or not.

Only there was one too many nahwal , Rabbit saw. Excitement spurted when he thought that maybe another bloodline—his mother’s?—was going to claim him.

Then the creature turned to Red-Boar and said in its fluting multitoned voice, ‘‘Where is she?’’

Rabbit hid the quick flare of disappointment. When the old man looked confused, he snapped, ‘‘It means Jade.’’

The nahwal turned toward him. ‘‘Why is she not here?’’

Rabbit said, ‘‘We left her behind. She hasn’t got any magic.’’

‘‘Of course she does.’’ The nahwal turned away and blinked its eyes. Moments later, Jade appeared in midair, screaming, and dropped a good six feet to land flat on her face.

There was a moist-sounding thud when she landed, and Rabbit winced in spite of himself. ‘‘Ouch. That had to hurt.’’

‘‘Shut,’’ Red-Boar said tightly, ‘‘up.’’

‘‘What happened?’’ Jade pushed herself up, eyes wide and frightened. ‘‘I didn’t . . .’’ She looked at Red-Boar. ‘‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to—’’

‘‘It’s okay,’’ he interrupted. ‘‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’’ He nodded to the nahwal . ‘‘Your ancestors wanted you here.’’

She scrambled to her feet. Stared at the nahwal as it approached her. ‘‘But why?’’ Her voice squeaked on the question.

‘‘Because they need you,’’ the nahwal said. ‘‘We all do.’’ The creature gripped her right forearm. Lightning flashed and Jade went stiff, like she’d just been hit with the jolt. Then the nahwal faded—like poof, one minute it was there, the next gone—leaving Jade standing in the middle of the circle with a shocked look on her face and a new mark on her arm.

Rabbit couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like a hand holding a pen.

She stared at it. Frowned. ‘‘I’m a scribe? Great.’’ She looked at Red-Boar and spread her hands. ‘‘Well, that was worth the trip. I can write stuff down.’’

‘‘Not stuff , daughter,’’ the nahwal ’s voice corrected, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. ‘‘Spells. You, and you alone, can create new spells.’’

‘‘Oh!’’ Her face flooded with joy. Then she faded just like the nahwal had.

Without further delay, the other trainees turned to face their nahwal , who gripped their arms in benediction. Lightning flashed, huge zaps of green-white light that arced across the mist with blinding intensity, with glyph shadows contained within the light. Each of the new Nightkeepers got the warrior’s glyph that would confer added fighting power and strength, along with the heightened reflexes necessary for battle. Patience got invisibility, Sven got something Rabbit didn’t recognize, and three of the others had dark spots in the mists above them that suggested they might get other talents in the future.

Then thunder grumbled, lightning flashed again, and when Rabbit’s vision cleared, the other trainees were all gone. He and Red-Boar were the only ones left.

He closed the distance between them and held out his bare forearm. ‘‘What do you say, old man? It looks like put-up-or-shut-up time.’’

Something moved in his father’s eyes, and for a second Rabbit thought he was going to refuse. Then Red-Boar reached out and gripped Rabbit’s forearm. But instead of summoning the lightning, he said, ‘‘I accept this child as mine, as a son of the boar bloodline.’’

Shock hammered Rabbit alongside pain. He screamed and sagged in his father’s grip as lightning flashed and agony arced through him. Thunder raked the mist, making the moist firmament shudder, and then Rabbit was falling, collapsing.

The last thing he remembered was being caught in strong, black-robed arms as his father swept him up. And brought him home.

Anna writhed beneath her husband, digging her fingers into the thick, strong muscles of his back as he thrust into her and withdrew, thrust and withdrew.

The lights in the bedroom were off, but in the mad dash they’d made from the front door to the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went, they’d left the hall lights on. The illumination spilled in through the doorway, lighting one side of his face and leaving the other in shadow as he rose above her, his eyes open and fixed on hers.

She felt him in every fiber of her being—his thighs between hers, the faint rasp of masculine hair against her skin, the slide of his hard flesh within her. The scent of their lovemaking filled her, excitement riding high on a sense of, Christ, where has this been?

For far too long their lovemaking had been, if not routine, then certainly nothing special, undertaken as much on the calendar as anything, days counted forward from the little ‘‘p’’ she marked on the first day of her period each month. This was different, though. This reminded her of other times, better times, and as he hardened within her, swelling until she felt the good, tight stretch within, she saw in his eyes that he felt it, too, that it mattered to him. That she mattered.

Then he thrust deeper, higher, angling his hips so he pressed just right and sent her tumbling over the edge before she even knew she’d been close.