Storm Kissed (28 page)

It’s not fair
, Reese thought, though she knew firsthand that life wasn’t fair. If it were, she would have been able to love Fallon, who had wanted to give her the stability she should have craved. Instead, like her chocolate obsession, the thing she wanted most wasn’t good for her.

She had a feeling that the unfairness of Anna’s condition went beyond “life ain’t fair,” though. The Nightkeepers—Strike, especially—couldn’t catch a freaking break. They fought like hell for every gain, and too often things went the other way, seemingly in violation of the Doctrine of Balance that said everything would even out over the long run. It had taken some pushing and prodding, but she had finally gotten Lucius to admit that he suspected the bad luck was cosmic payback—whether from the gods or the Doctrine of Balance itself—for Strike having broken the thirteenth prophecy by refusing to sacrifice Leah. The magi supported him absolutely . . . but the shadow remained.

Suddenly exhausted, she only half listened as Lucius continued down the list of possible sites for the weapon’s activation, focusing on serpent-related ruins down south, within the Mayan territories. And when the meeting broke up soon after, she was grateful to escape to her suite. She had been in there only a moment, though, when there was a quiet knock at her door.

It wasn’t syncopated, wasn’t the familiar “all’s clear,” but she knew it was him. She almost wimped out and pretended she wasn’t there, but he would know. And she didn’t want weakness to make her into a liar. So she opened the door.

He stood in the hallway with his shoulders hunched and his fists jammed in his pockets, looking like he’d been caught doing something wrong, and for a second reminding her so strongly of his teenaged self that her throat closed, trapping her breath in her lungs. Then he straightened, becoming once again the man he’d grown into, the sleek, sexy, powerful mage she didn’t quite know how to handle. Which didn’t make breathing any easier, but it did put her on her guard. Especially given that he was looking at her now like he had back in the warehouse.

“What do you want?” she asked, damning her voice for coming out breathy rather than tough.

He glanced away, then back at her. “Fallon’s a better man than I am.”

It took her a moment to process, another for anger to kindle. “Don’t even think of trying to punt me back to Denver under his protection. I can make my own damn decisions about men, and I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. And that’s not what I meant.” He reached out, took her hand, and slid her sleeve up, over the bandage. The skin around it was almost back to its normal color. “Anna’s dying.”

And she had nearly died, too, his gesture said. Her heart gave a sharp
thudda-thudda
at his touch. “What does that have to do with Fallon?”

“Because death is guaranteed. Life isn’t. And Fallon put himself out there, even knowing he was going to get shot down.” He paused, then let go of her hand. Instead of moving away from her, though, he stepped closer, and lifted both hands to grab on to the lapels of her new leather. “I’ve never done that.”

Feeling like she was on the cusp of the dream when she had least expected to find herself there, she nodded. “Not with me, anyway.”

“Not with anyone. I don’t know. Maybe part of me thought Keban was right when he said nobody would want me for anything other than my strength. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe I was so full of myself I thought I didn’t need to work for it.”

“I can see how you would think that—the second part, I mean,” Reese said, not wanting to look too hard at the first part because she knew it would wipe out what little common sense and self-restraint she had left. She could picture all too well Dez-the-child hearing that, believing it.

His mouth quirked. “Because I was full of myself in general?”

“No. Because I would have done anything for you back then.”

He went still. “And now?”

She hesitated. “I’m confused. Who are you, really? What do you want from me? And for gods’ sake, what are you hiding? There’s something. I can see it in your eyes, or maybe it’s that I’m feeling it in whatever link we’ve got going.”

He went very still. “You can sense the blood-bond?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You’re right, and this isn’t going to be one, either. But I’m asking you to hear me out.” His tone was serious, his eyes intense.

Her stomach fluttered. Or was that her instincts? She could never tell when it came to him. But she nodded shallowly. “Go ahead.”

“When I left Keban I walked away from most of what he taught me. But a few things stuck, mostly about how the members of the serpent bloodline were typically ambitious as hell, borderline arrogant, and tough as nails. Even when I stopped believing in the Nightkeepers, I still knew that fit me. He also said that a serpent male, especially a powerful one, needed to make sure he had everything else straight in his life before he took a mate, because the serpents love obsessively, to the point that for the first while, nothing else exists for them. More, they need to pick a mate who can handle that, who can handle them, and keep them on an even keel.”

Which wasn’t anything she had expected to hear from him . . . but it explained a few things. She took a deep breath, then let it out on a sigh. “You weren’t sure about me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot. I was worried about
me
, not you. Back then, I was having screwy dreams and weird impulses, probably because Keban had unearthed the star demon and was in the area, looking for me. And over the past year—and even the last couple of weeks—I’ve been trying to figure out how to make damn sure I can control what happens with Keban and the compass artifacts.”

Her gut told her that was the absolute and final truth. She nodded slowly. “Okay, I get that. You need space to—”

“Not anymore.” His knuckles brushed the sides of her neck. “That’s what I’ve been figuring out over the past few days. It started when you got hurt, which made me wonder what the hell I’ve been waiting for. And then today, with Fallon . . . that sealed it. Because I’m not going to let myself get outdone by a cop.”

He said the last with a faint sneer, which was so perfectly Dez that she felt her lips curve even as her heart beat an unsteady rhythm. “And?”

“You’re mine, Reese.” His eyes went luminous and his voice dropped to a whisper. “And I’m yours. I always have been, even when I got lost in the darkness.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she could do was stare at him and wonder whether she was dreaming. But the throb of her body was very real, as was the tightness in her chest and the hot prickle of tears.

When she didn’t answer right away, the fear that entered his eyes was almost tangible. More, it said that this mattered to him, that
she
mattered, more than he’d ever let on before. “Please tell me I haven’t missed my shot, that you’ll take your chances on a serpent mage whose life seems to be permanently out of control. Because I—”

She cut him off with a kiss. And if the move came partly from her not being ready to hear what she suspected he had been about to say, it quickly became more when Dez’s lips slanted across hers. He shifted his grip from her jacket to the back of her neck, and shuddered against her, humming a low, almost awestruck noise at the back of his throat. That soft, needy sound, so very un-Dezlike, left her helpless to do anything but curl her fingers into his shirt and kiss him back with everything that was inside her.

She kissed him with the ache of having lost and found him again, the guilt of wanting him far more than she ever had wanted Fallon, and the fiery desire that came from not knowing what was going to happen tomorrow, next week, next year. Because he was right—they needed to take what they could now, because tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed. Anna proved that. The attack inside Skywatch proved it.

Her entire world coalesced to the taste of him, the heat inside his mouth and the way his skin slid against hers. He vibrated with a raw power that fueled the longing that rocketed through her, the sense of
yes, there please, oh, finally
. They twined together, her arms around his neck, his hands at her waist, her shoulders, fisting in her hair as a groan vibrated at the back of his throat. But then she eased the kiss, slowly, softly, and drew away from him far enough that she could look up into his eyes, where she didn’t see any secret shadows anymore. Heart shuddering, she reached up to stroke the strong, smooth line of his jaw. And winced when the move tugged at her bandage and the sting of pain echoed through her body to resonate with the other assorted aches and pains.

Catching her hand in his, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Weren’t you supposed to spend the day in bed?”

Was it only that morning she’d been chafing at being stuck in her suite? That felt like forever ago. “Christ, I’m tired. Physically. Emotionally . . . God. I need some time to process.” Slanting him a look, she said, “Your timing blows. You know that, right?”

His lips twitched. “Like I said, I’m through with waiting for the perfect moment.” But he stepped away from her and pushed open her door. “Get some rest.” He leaned in and gave her a lingering good-night kiss that was soft and sweet, and shifted something in her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning. And do me a favor and keep a gun on you.”

She pressed her cheek to his and closed her eyes at the grim reminder of the world beyond the two of them. “Count on it.” But she appreciated that he was giving her the space she needed, and trusting her to be smart about her safety.

And she appreciated how, when she got out of the shower a half hour later, feeling warm, drowsy, and achy, she found a king-sized sleeve of peanut butter cups sitting just inside the door, like a sacrificial offering from an old friend who knew what she needed, and may finally be ready to give it to her.

 

It was nearly ten p.m. when Dez headed for the royal wing, but it had taken him some time to come down off the high of having finally made a real and honest move on Reese. She needed to think about things—he got that—but he thought they may finally—
finally
—be on the right track. But, given that, there was something he needed to do.

He tapped on the heavy double doors that led to the opulent royal suite. A moment later, Leah swung open the smaller, normal-sized panel inset into the carvings, but instead of inviting him in, she pointed farther down the hall. “He’s sitting with Anna. Said for you to meet him there.”

“Thanks.”

The royal wing contained the king’s huge suite, along with apartments for the royal
winikin
—empty now that Jox was gone, though still kept exactly how he left it—and several sets of kids’ rooms. The door to one of them stood open.

Dez tapped on the frame, got Strike’s quiet, “Yep,” and went on in.

Anna had taken the suite that she and Strike had shared as kids, though it had been redecorated in an eclectic mix of bright colors and choice pieces from her rogues’ gallery of fakes. Strike was in the living room, sitting on a plush love seat with his feet on a circular wooden coffee table that was carved with the calendar round. Anna lay on a sofa nearby, curled on her side, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Her skin was very pale, her dark reddish hair a stark contrast. She could simply have been sleeping, but Dez knew it was much more than that. He had come out of his Triad coma within a couple of weeks. She had awakened the same day, but never came all the way back. And now she was drifting again, losing ground.

“You want to tell me why this is a priority all of a sudden?” Strike asked, setting aside the magazine he had been holding, and rising to his feet. “Or should I take a wild guess that it has something to do with our resident bounty hunter, who looks way more at home in guns and leather than she did in business casual?” A Nightkeeper couldn’t take a mate without having sworn to his king.

“That’d be a decent guess.” Reese wasn’t the whole reason he wanted to take the oath, not even the primary one, but Strike would know the rest of it soon enough. He wanted to tell Reese first, then the others. Tomorrow. He would do it tomorrow.

“Want to take it outside?” Strike asked.

“Probably a good idea.” Less messy than sacrificing onto the carpet.

They headed through a pair of sliders to a small patio that was enclosed by a sturdy metal railing. Two chairs and a small table sat off to one side near an unfolded awning. The night air was cool and dry, the stars washed out by the mansion lights, and as Dez faced Strike squarely, he caught a glimmer surrounding the other man—a halo of energy, maybe, or a hint of magic that didn’t hit his other senses. He did a double take, but when he looked more closely, it was gone. Maybe hadn’t ever been. Pulling his ceremonial blade, he nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”

There was no fancy ceremony, no invocation. Strike simply looked him in the eye and said, “Who am I?”

Dez drew his knife blade sharply across his tongue. Pain slapped; blood bloomed salty in his mouth and ran down his chin to drip on the patio stones. Bending, he spat a mouthful of blood at Strike’s feet, and said, “You are my king.”

He felt the fealty oath take hold, felt the magic of the Manikin scepter—the barrier-bound symbol of the jaguar′s rulership—forge a link with his soul, and knew the deed was done. He was bound to Strike, to his king. Gods help them both.