I sigh, wishing I could leave. I’m never going to change. When things get tough, I find the nearest exit.
The difficult projects and relationships I’ve seen to completion number in the single digits. This feels like a test to see if there’s still hope, if there’s one tough thing I can stick with. To see if I can look uncertainty in the face and charge forward anyway. Constantine doesn’t care about his memories. He’s willing to risk them all, and I’m the one stressing.
Penya’s blaming me for things I have no control over. She never warns me, just lets me bobble around until I screw up and then gets pissed. If she’d bother to give me a heads-up, maybe we wouldn’t need all these Evy’s-a-screw-up chats that make me feel like an ass.
I want to bail. Oh, how I want to bail. Leave them to their own devices, without my twisted, deadly version of help. It’s hard to see how we wouldn’t all be better off.
I toss my collar on the ground and rub the raw patch of skin at my collarbone while Penya and Constantine whisper. I could interject, take the choice away from them, relieve Constantine of his sentence. I could leave before I have a death on my conscience. The weight of the scroll feels heavy in my waistband.
Ilif’s speech pierces my thoughts. I might never know which alterations are the big ones and which ones aren’t. If I’m going to do this thing, I have to find a way to blindly trust the alteration.
Penya’s right. As much as the situation frustrates me, there’s no going back, no return to normal, and certainly no walking away from the power. And Constantine . . . could I walk away from him? He inclines his head toward Penya and quietly answers her question, but anger keeps his posture stiff.
I press my fingers into my eyes. How did I get here, to this horrible spot?
Dropping my hands, I sigh. The last three days have changed me from the inside out. I’m no longer a carefree dropout-cum-bike-builder who worries about nothing more than my next design. Somewhere along the way, I’ve become a warrior. A lightning rider. And yes, the actual answer to a prophecy.
Regardless of what we say here tonight, we don’t choose our birthright.
It chooses us—it chose me. It’s waiting for me to rise to the challenge.
I straighten my shoulders. I can do this. Somehow.
“You must teach Constantine to travel.” Penya’s voice cleaves through my thoughts.
I search his face as he turns from the fire, unreadable and fierce. The ultimate partner in an endeavor that will rewrite history and possibly get us killed.
“He will be limited to the powers of a mere traveler, but it might be the only way to get him close enough to Viriato.”
Guilt stabs me in the stomach, but I push it away. The more we travel together, the more memories he’ll lose—though he made the choice about his memories, not me. “Can he even learn?”
She shrugs. “Anyone can time travel with the right instructor. You have all the pieces now.”
“I barely know what I’m doing. Are you sure you can’t teach him?”
“I’ve tried, but I lacked Ilif’s intimate knowledge. We couldn’t recreate the steps. While it seems simple, precision is required.” She pulls a narrow booklet from the folds of her skirt. “This is what I’ve been working on while Ilif has been distracted. There’s more I need.”
She tucks it into my palm and curls both her hands around mine. “I will continue to push you,
niña
. Know that. I believe you are capable of great things. Life-changing things. Few alterations are ever more difficult than your first. Yours is doubly so. Though you were unaware, I’ve been watching you, waiting for this to happen. You are perfectly suited to this task. Do not let anyone tell you differently. Not me. Certainly not Ilif.”
I shift uncomfortably. It’s been a long couple of years since I’ve heard an abuelita-like speech.
She releases my hands, and I want to respond but I don’t trust my voice. The thin book trembles once in my hand, and I pull myself together and fan the pages. Different handwritings mark them, and I skim a few. The chant is there, along with other jotted notes that look like instructions.
“Don’t wait long to teach him.”
“I’ll pay you.” A small ripple of desperation colors Constantine’s words.
I set the book on the floor and lean it against the mantle, then step to him. As I settle my hands on his chest, he bristles beneath them. “You can’t go see her,” I say, gentling my voice like I’m talking to a starving feral cat.
“This has nothing to do with Aurelia. All my men are paid, even my trainers.”
I search his face. He will go see her, but his mission comes first. I trust he can turn off his emotions—I’ve watched him do it.
He places his hands over mine, and I think he’s going to throw them aside, but he presses them deeper into his chest until his heartbeat thumps beneath my fingertips. “Why does she weave this spell?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.
“What spell?” Penya asks.
“This one that traps me.”
Penya cackles. “Her only power is the lightning. Her beauty is her own. Any spell you think you’re under is merely lust.”
“I do not suffer from lust.”
Behind me, her laugh changes to a deep, genuine sound. “It seems you have much to learn from each other.”
She evaporates with a flash, and neither of us turns. He holds my fingers trapped against his chest, and the room seems too small. Firelight plays across his face, softening the hardness of his cheekbones, rounding the sharp lines of his mouth. His lids shutter and his penetrating stare wavers, then drops to my bare skin and skims my exposed collarbones, over the hollow in my throat and the swell of my breasts above the constricting leather bustier encasing them. My skin warms more from his look than from the fire.
He whispers, “Release me.”
I swallow. “I can’t.”
“You’ll get us killed.” He dips his head and moves his lips within inches of mine. Our breath mingles, but his is another caress on my bare skin. His fingers spread over my wrists and up my forearms, pulling our upper bodies tight together. My hips sway closer and his thigh shifts my legs apart. I close my eyes as he brushes his lips across mine. After another feathered kiss, he lifts his head and presses his lips to my closed eyes. “And while you might be worth dying for, I need to stay alive a bit longer.”
“Might?” I tease, fighting the elation swelling in my chest.
“Might.” He nips my lower lip then trails kisses down my neck, dipping his tongue in the hollow above my collarbone. I shiver, earning a soft chuckle. He does it again, and I reward him with the same response. He kisses all the way to my shoulder, around the curve, then makes his way back. Never letting go of my hands, he tips my head to the side and softly kisses the pulse in my neck before moving north to my earlobe. I tense and bite my lips, both prayerful and distressed that he’s about to touch my ears. Sensing my change, he hesitates, then draws my most erogenous zone into his warm mouth.
I moan and desperately try to think of rotting fish and dirty ashtrays to keep from having an orgasm right now. When he laughs again, the deep rumble travels across the sensitive skin of my ear and straight to my belly.
With the tip of his tongue, he rims the outer edge of my ear, and I squirm, rubbing our bodies together. Every sweet spot I have is lit up like it’s Christmas. When I can’t take it any longer, I turn my face and open my eyes. His are the color of molten gold, and there’s no mistaking his need.
“I want you,” he says and crushes me to him, kissing me with desperate starvation. My tongue sweeps across the dark hollow of his mouth, and he growls and slants his head, thrusting his tongue deeper. I match him, swirling my tongue against his, learning him, savoring the taste of him.
Still restrained by his grip, I’m helpless to move in any direction but against him. I curl my fingers around the top of his hard chest plate and grind my hips against his tensed thigh.
“Jupiter,” he swears, sucking air through his teeth as he drops my arms and grabs fistfuls of my ass. Fingers spread, he tugs me forward and tilts his hips, dragging me across the hard length of him.
I gasp and grab the back of his head, wrapping my hands tight around his neck. His firm hands slide over the curve of my bottom, dipping into the cleft, pressing gently against me as his fingers continue down my leg. I push against the pressure, but he doesn’t pause and give me what I want, even when I cry out. He lifts my thigh, curling it around his waist, trailing his fingers all the way down my calf to my ankle. I whimper, unable to think beyond what he’s doing to my body.
Holding my ankle behind his waist, he thrusts against me again and wraps my braid around his other wrist, trapping my head. He licks my exposed neck then scrapes it with his rough beard. The sensation sends a wave through me. I sweep one hand into his hair and reach the other between our bodies and inside his tunic, fumbling to get underneath his armor. He twists and my fingertips find an opening. At my touch on his warm skin, he freezes and opens his eyes. I splay my hand wide across his stomach, delighting in how his abs bunch and squirm beneath my hand. I slide it higher, teasing the hair on end as I ruffle it. I trace the outside edge of his armor until his chest fills my hand, and I flick his nipple with my nail then rub the hard tip across my palm.
Watching me, he presses against my ankle, silently asking me to keep it there. I tuck my heel into the hollow just above his hipbone and tighten my calf in answer. Satisfied I’ll do what I’m told, he lightly skims my shin, palms my kneecap, then dips his fingertips into the hollow behind. My muscles twitch and my leg jumps, bumping his erection against me.
“Please.” I beg, arching my neck.
“Please, this?” He traces the line of my inner thigh with his calloused fingers, skimming the edge of my panties.
“Yes.” The word is barely a whisper as I roll my hips toward him, searching, but he pulls his hand away, teasing. I slide my hand lower and press against the hot, thick ridge lifting his armor. He roars and pushes me away, digging at the constricting barrier.
The rush of cold air shocks the sex out of my brain, and I flounder for reason. What am I doing? He hates me one second and wants to fuck my brains out the next. I want this so bad I can barely breathe, but I crave something more, too. Something just outside the reach of my conscious thought. I also know what he doesn’t—one time won’t release either of us.
His breastplate falls away from the damp tunic molded against his chiseled chest. Thin fingernail marks outline his armor. His leather skirt follows, exposing his slim hips and muscled legs. He rips his tunic down the middle and drops it to the ground. My mouth goes dry and sense flees. I catch a glimpse of his naked glory before he presses his length against me.
“Constantine.” My voice is a prayer, not the command I wanted, and my head tips back.
His teeth skim my exposed jugular, and words fail me. His fingers play over the laces of my bustier. If he gets me naked, there’s no turning back. I’m too weak, and he already knows his way past all my defenses. He tugs the first lace free.
Before I lose my final shred of control, I grab his fingers and recite a line of gibberish.
He freezes. “What was that?”
“I released you.”
I have no idea how else to get him to stop. It’s a cruel attempt, and I want nothing more than to taste the entire expanse of his golden skin, but some tiny part of my brain needs us to finish our mission, concentrate on what we have to do, and not have mind-blowing sex right now.
He rakes my jaw with the stubble of his chin and follows it with his tongue. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
I bite back the cry building in my chest. I lock my knees so I won’t collapse to take him in my mouth. I curl my fingernails into my palm so I won’t stroke the length of him.
He suckles my earlobe again and tastes the rim with the tip of his tongue. His breath is hot against the sensitive skin, and I moan.
A low rumble vibrates in his chest. He turns me and traces my hairline with his tongue, scraping his stubble against the soft skin at the base of my neck. His fingers play down the length of my arms and skip across to hold my hips. I force myself not to press back against him. His thumbs stroke my skirt higher until cool air kisses my bare skin. I don’t dare move. He nips my shoulder and rubs himself against the curve of my ass. I bite my lip and arch my neck. He presses forward, slowly pushing his hot length along my swollenness.
I pick the subject guaranteed to douse ice water on our precarious situation. “Tell me about your daughter.” My voice is high and strained.
“She’s dead.” His voice catches, but he continues his slow assault. “You are very . . . much . . . alive.”
I try not to moan. My knees buckle and my legs spread ever so slightly. He pushes forward until his entire length fills the gap between my thighs from back to front. One small scrap of satin separates us.
“I don’t accept no as an answer.” He growls softly against my neck.
“I’m not saying no. I’m saying wait.”
He rolls his hips against my ass. “I can’t.”
I moan. “We have to kill Viriato first.”
He stills.
I force myself not to rock my hips back to give myself the release he’s been building. He withdraws from between my thighs but stays pressed against me.
“Sorceress,” he whispers.
“Devil,” I say.
He laughs and wraps his arms around the front of me, hugging me in a soft embrace. My arousal shifts from a sharp peak to a wide pool, flooding my entire body with warmth. I tip my head, and he buries his face in the hollow of my neck. “I don’t care what you say, there is something about you I cannot resist.” He nibbles my neck. “It confounds me.”
“I don’t understand it either.” I smile. “You’re so not my type.”
He bites my neck in playful retort.
We stand, staring at the fire, his nakedness pressed against my full armor, content and wondering what’s next.
“I’ve never been ambushed like that,” he says. “I won’t be able to protect you if my mind is consumed by this lust.”
I’m not sure if he’s referring to the attack in the forest or the one that has him naked. “I don’t—”