Skykeepers (44 page)

Correctly reading Michael’s overload level as reaching the critical point, Strike said, “How about we take a break. Jade and Anna can pull whatever else they can find on
muk
and the Mictlan, which probably won’t be much, given the level of secrecy surrounding the talent. We’ll keep working on the tomb translations, probably mount another trip out there in the next day or so. Michael . . . you can consider yourself off for the rest of the day. Take a walk. Play some vids. Blow off some steam.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Michael was acutely aware of the moment Sasha stood and slipped out of the room. He wanted to follow, but then he realized he hadn’t told the others everything important, after all. Looking at Strike, he said, “During the battle, when Iago was trying to ’port me and Sasha away, I got the image of a mountain.”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Can you describe it?”

“Not well enough to ’port. Sorry. But a voice said, ‘Paxil Mountain.’ That ring a bell?”

“Paxil Mountain,” Jox said. “Yeah. That figures.” At Michael’s look, he elaborated, with a nod at Sasha: “It’s the source of cacao and maize. Legend has it that several of the greedier gods wanted to keep the plants for themselves, so they hid them in Paxil Mountain. When the other gods discovered this, they got angry and decided to give maize and cacao to mankind. The thunder god split open the mountain and the seeds sprayed across the empire, seeding the Mayan Empire with maize and cacao.”

“Is it a specific place?” Strike asked.

“I’m sure it is, or was.” The
winikin
tipped his palms up. “Not one we know about, though.”

“Well, that’s something.” Strike turned to Michael. Waved him off. “Go. You’re looking too ragged for my peace of mind.”

Michael nodded and left, but he didn’t head for the firing range or the ball court. He headed in the direction Sasha had taken when she’d slipped from the meeting a couple of minutes earlier, toward the residential wings. He was nearly there when Tomas stepped in front of him, scowling. “You should’ve told me, you young idiot.”

Michael felt the old, familiar tightness stiffen his neck and shoulders. “When you say it like that, I can’t imagine why I didn’t.”

“I could have—”

“You could have done lots of things,” Michael interrupted. He was suddenly sick and tired of the friction and random jabs. His priorities had shifted; he just couldn’t waste his energy fighting with Tomas anymore. “And so could I. How about we agree that we both screwed up, give each other a pass on the last six years or so, and move on already?”

That brought the
winikin
’s chin down a notch. “You’d do that?”

“Consider it done.”

They stood there for a moment, stuck somewhere between a standoff and reconciliation. When a hug—or even really a handshake—didn’t seem to make much sense, Michael gave a stiff nod, moved around his
winikin
, and headed for the residential wing.

He hesitated at the closed door to Sasha’s suite, but what could he possibly say to make things right at this point? He’d pushed her away twice, and even though the danger she brought out in him was blocked—for the time being, at least—the underlying issues remained. More, although his status as a Mictlan explained a shit-load of what he’d been going through, it gave him a pretty crappy choice of actions, that between bad and worse. What right did he have to go to her now?

Thing was, he couldn’t make himself give a shit. With the overt danger defused, he was through being noble, through being the better man. With the Other locked away and the anger banked, desire blazed that much higher, threatening to take him over. And this time, he intended to let it. If she didn’t want him, he would go. But she was going to have to be the one to turn him away this time.

He knocked perfunctorily and, before she could answer, pushed through into her suite.

She stood in the kitchen, a mug frozen halfway to her lips. The odor of hot chocolate enriched the air, calling to something inside him, linking the scent and the woman until the two became intertwined in his sensory memory. Slowly, she lowered the mug to the counter, setting it down with a decisive click. “Michael. Did you want something?”

“We should talk.”

Her eyes sparked with irritation. “Is that why you barged in here? To talk?”

“Not really, but I thought we should probably start there.” He paused, steeling himself. “Or do you want me to turn around and go?”

“Why would I want that?”

“Because I’m a murderer.” He put it right out there.

“You’re a warrior. Warriors kill.”

“It wasn’t all in battle.”

“It was all in war.” But although she defended him staunchly, she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Then it’s not a problem for you?” he pushed, knowing they needed to get through this if they were going to go forward. Part of him said not to push, to give her more time, but what if they didn’t
have
time? He couldn’t believe it was a coincidence that his Mictlan powers had come online as they neared the triad threshold. Iago certainly hadn’t thought so.

She sighed softly. “I’m trying to make it not be. Intellectually, I understand that killing is a part of war, whether it’s a war on drugs, terror, or the
Banol Kax
. And I’m trying to accept that inwardly, as well. But I’m just not sure I’m cut out to be a warrior. The idea of killing someone—anyone, regardless of what they’ve done or what they might do in the future . . . in my heart of hearts, I’m not sure I can condone it.” She paused. “And I don’t know how I feel about what you’ve done . . . but whatever it is I’m feeling, it’s something.”

“I can accept that.” He was going to have to. “I’ll give you whatever time you need.”

She cocked her head. Lifted her mug. Sipped. “Who said I needed time?”

His head came up, heat firing in his gut. “
Don’t
you?”

“Yes and no. If we’re talking about something long-term, then yeah, I would need time, and not just because of the Mictlan stuff. But that’s not how this is going to work, is it?” Her eyes were a little too bright, her words a little too quick, but he didn’t interrupt because he couldn’t really argue the point. He was in transition, his life changing what felt like daily. Until he knew who he was, how could he offer himself up for any sort of relationship? After a short pause, she nodded. “Thought so.” But she didn’t look surprised, or even upset. “Then, if we’re talking about something day-to-day, enjoying each other in the moment, so to speak, then I don’t need time.” A smile touched her lips. “Not after that kiss this morning. If that’s the man you are right now, and the man you’re going to be for tonight, then I don’t need any time at all.”

He didn’t know if he understood all of what she was thinking, but he definitely did feel like the hunter she’d once accused him of being as he stalked across the sitting room, skirted the breakfast bar, and joined her in the small kitchen, which was barely big enough for one mage, never mind two. The scent of fresh herbs joined that of the rich hot chocolate. “About that kiss . . .”

“Yes?” she asked, regarding him steadily, standing her ground and not giving him an inch.

He didn’t say anything more, simply closed the last small space between them, crowding her back against the counter. He slid his arms around her, caught her up against his body, and kissed her like he’d done that morning, like he’d been thinking about doing just about every second since.

She purred in the back of her throat—the sexy sound that had haunted him ever since they’d been together that first night—and returned his kiss, nipping at his lower lip and then laving the spot with her tongue. The move brought heat spearing through him, but not anger, not darkness, and the relief of that confirmation had him groaning aloud.

When he did, she planted both hands on his chest and levered herself away to hop up on the counter. The move offered him a heavenly spot to move into, between her parted legs. It also gave her leverage to block the move. “Nope. Your turn. I’ve told you what I’ve been thinking. Where is your head? It’s not every day a guy has to come clean about something like your Other.”

She didn’t sound all that unglued about it, though. Thank the gods. And for the first time in the almost month he’d known her in person, he was able to answer with complete honesty. “I’m okay. I think I’m finally starting to accept that I’m not in control of what’s going on here.”

“This is news?”

“I’m slow sometimes. Sue me.” He brushed a lock of dark, flyaway hair from her face, tucking it behind one of her delicately rounded ears. “The thing is, I can control my own actions, and I can do my damnedest to get ahead of Iago, and fight like a warrior. I can act with honor, or I can push the limits, depending. Sometimes, I can just say fuck the rules; I’m doing what I want. But the big stuff . . .” He paused, lining it up in his head. “There’s something going on here that’s bigger than you or me, or even the two of us together. We’re in this . . .
structure
, I guess you could call it, that the gods conceived and our ancestors spent generations shaping. Only we’ve been plopped down in the middle of it without the big-ass box top that’s supposed to tell us how this cosmic game is supposed to work. The massacres took away our info transfer, and Iago took away our connection to the gods. That’s left us figuring out what all the pieces do, one by one. We’ve got a couple of the rules down. As for the rest of it, we’re just winging it right now. But there I was one day, winging the shit out of things, when this folder came across my desk with a goddess inside it.”

She inhaled to say something, but he touched her lips to keep her quiet. “Let me finish. I’ve lived part of my life an addict to blood and death, and I’ve lived part of it on the surface of things, and I don’t like either of those lives. I’m learning to be a better man. Gods know it’s not going to be an easy process. Hell, for all I know, I’ll get my target tomorrow morning and I’ll be forced to call the Other back, and then who the fuck knows what’ll happen? But if I’ve figured out anything about this structure we’re in, it’s that while it might seem on the surface that the gods control our personal destinies, they don’t. We do. Strike chose Leah despite the prophecies. Brandt and Patience found each other before the barrier reopened. Even Nate and Alexis found their way to each other on their own terms. I want that for myself. I want
you
for myself. And I’m hoping like hell you want me back. I can’t promise you a future—I can’t even promise you tomorrow, and I’m sorry as hell about that, because after what you’ve been through with Ambrose and your ex, you deserve to know there’s a future, and I can’t say that. What I
can
say is that I’ll be here for you as long as I’m able to be. As long as you want me to be.”

He paused, and when she didn’t say anything, something sank inside him as his brain fed him a repeating loop of all the reasons she’d be smarter not to have anything to do with him. He’d left it too long, pushed her away too many times. He hadn’t fought hard enough to find a way for them to be together despite the danger. His history and his future scared the crap out of her, and for that he couldn’t blame her.

When she stayed silent, he worried he’d said too much. “Now it’s your turn.”

Then, finally, she smiled. “I’m thinking you had me at ‘goddess.’ Though the other stuff wasn’t bad, either.” As relief spun through him, excitement burgeoning on its heels, she eased her knees apart and linked her hands behind his neck, urging him into the space she’d created for him. “You’re right that I’d ideally like to know I’m in a relationship that’s going somewhere, but this isn’t an outside-world situation, is it? For all we know, we’re down to three years and a week left to live . . . or in three years and a week, it’ll all be over and we’ll be able to go our separate ways. Under either circumstance, it seems silly to deny myself something special just because it doesn’t fit into all of the things I wanted in the outside world.”

The idea of a three-year time limit poked at Michael, irritating him. Which just went to show how much things had changed around him, within him; his longest previous relationship hadn’t made it to the four-month mark. Then again, he thought with a dark kink of self-awareness, it wasn’t like he was looking past the next few days, really. And that made it easier to say, “Let’s give it a try and see where we can make it fit in our world.”

She nodded, and her smile lost its reserve as her eyes gained a wicked gleam. Then she leaned into him, wrapped her legs around him, and sank into a kiss that promised so much more than just a kiss. It sparkled with the promise of tomorrow.

Heat shimmered through Sasha, taking her emotions from a poignant ache to soft acceptance, and from there to desire. She yielded to all of those things and more as she wrapped herself around Michael, anchoring herself to his solid strength. She kissed his neck, glorying in his hiss of pleasure as she found the soft spot behind his ear, and the way he shuddered at the drag of her teeth across the sensitive skin. But it wasn’t just the heat that had convinced her to set aside what usually passed as her better judgment—it was the hum of rightness that had brought her to this point, and the sense that it was time for them, maybe even past time. She respected him for holding her away when he’d been certain that being with her could endanger her, could put her in the way of the darkness. There was still a kernel of fear within her, but although it disturbed her to know she was kissing a killer, one who was god-bound to kill again, at the same time, she was kissing
Michael
. He wasn’t the Other; he was himself. He challenged her, yes. He excited her. He pissed her off. But she wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe she should be, but she wasn’t.