She shook her head, denying his fantasy.
With raw, aching need, she took him as deep as she dared. Sucking, giving him no quarter for retreat. His hips undulated as he groaned. She felt him swelling, knowing his release was imminent.
He tugged at her hair, pulling her away from him, and hoarsely demanded, “Say it. Say my name.”
She met his gaze. “Dakarai.”
“Gods, Shaiani. You already own my soul, but go ahead and prove it.”
****
Dakar jolted upright in the wooden deck chair with a hoarse denial. Sticky sweat coated his body. His pulse pounded between his thighs where he teetered on the cliff of climax. With a groan, he shifted against the prison of the jeans.
Now she tortured him in the dream world?
He scanned the perimeter of the manicured yard. As expected, he saw no one. A vision of dark auburn hair and freckled skin materialized in his mind. Fantasy?
The dream was new. Maybe she haunted him now. He wasn’t sure if he could handle that.
If that pitiful woman in the hospital had really been
her
, then they would already be communicating telepathically as Ashor did with Kira. But they weren’t. So, it wasn’t her.
His gut instinct screamed
wrong.
His body burned for her. He’d never met another woman who could elicit such a reaction. Hadn’t he confirmed that in Costa Rica?
Damn, damn, and triple damn.
A chill slid down his arms. They may not have their normal mental contact, but perhaps she’d found a different path—the dream world. And, bloody hell, she was just as good in the dream world as in reality.
Why had he let that woman out of his sight? If she truly was his fated mate, then their countdown clock to death had just started. All it took was one mental connection. Two weeks or possibly less before one of them would die by the other’s hand, at least that was the curse he’d lived under for thousands of years of reincarnation.
A small part of him desperately didn’t want her to be the one. If she were, then he’d truly need to plan her murder. His sole focus for the past few millennia prior to his little stopover in purgatory-hell had been to break their curse. He had consulted an assortment of renowned shamans, witch doctors, medicine men, witches, warlocks, druids, and even an Aztec priest who attempted to sacrifice him by cutting out his heart. Did not go well for the priest.
Every attempt to terminate their curse humiliated him in retrospect. But the Asian shaman he consulted a year before traveling to the Middle Realm advised he do the contrary to what instinct demanded. For years the ambiguity of that answer infuriated him. He deduced, to ensure in his next lifetime they got more than a two-week march toward death, he must kill her first. That he’d never done.
Based on all the failed rituals he’d performed as recommended by all the other magik specialists, he questioned why he should believe the shaman. The man had dressed as a woman, wore too much face paint, and acted high as a kite. This particular shaman, however, had successfully predicted every catastrophe of his time. What did he have to lose by giving the advice a try?
Even though he dreaded the need to plan her death, a small corner of his mind did a crazy, happy jig that she might be back and could finish what she started in that dream.
A female scream blasted through the yard.
Dakar shot to his feet. Adrenaline kick-started his heart. Instinct pushed him to top speed toward the scream, alert for battle.
You’ve got zero weapons.
He fingered the lighter in his pocket, gifted to him from Ethan yesterday.
Maybe not entirely zero.
Around the edge of the house, a redheaded woman hugged a small infant to her chest. Not Shaiani. As the woman turned a slow circle, three massive triangular-headed snakes slithered into strike position, trapping her. He detected the subtle current of marked power from her, which signaled her to be another’s
senariai
. Losing her meant losing a magus.
Hard-wired instinct pushed him to act.
He flicked on the butane lighter and channeled flames onto the two closest vipers. Just as the muscles of the third coiled to strike, he reached her, and whirled her into his arms. The snake hit his back with fangs extended.
And then it struck again.
Son of a bitch, that hurt.
He released the woman to shoot flames at the third snake, which lit up like a writhing roman candle. That secretly thrilled him. There was nothing more gratifying than torching one of the ensorcelled motherfuckers to ash.
He opened his senses with
seichim
, scanning the yard. No other snakes in the immediate vicinity. But there was at least one other in the area. No time to hunt now.
The woman rocked back and forth on her knees mumbling over and over, “My baby.”
“Are you injured?”
She didn’t respond.
Gently he said, “Let me examine the little one.” He pried loose her death grip on the child who tried to gnaw on his finger. “I see no injury. Did one of them bite you?”
She collapsed, staring toward the edge of the yard.
One must’ve struck her. “Listen to me closely…” The woman didn’t respond. He shook her. “You will die, if you ignore me now. Your magus will die. Your baby might die.”
That got her attention. She blinked slowly several times as if struggling to focus. “Hurts.”
He mumbled, “How well I know.” Loudly he said, “Do not let go of my hand. I will work a link spell to hold you to this realm until we get to the healer.”
“Don’t let him die,” she whispered.
He knew not if she referred to the baby or her magus. He seized her hand and murmured the words of a binding spell. Then he ordered, “Focus on staying in this world. Stay awake.”
If
this worked, then their hands must stay connected. He’d never tried this particular incantation nor seen it succeed, but it was worth a try. He’d watched other magi cast it at that moment when a
senariai
had been mortally injured and there was no chance for
akhrian
assistance, not that he had experienced that scenario since he’d never watched Shaiani die. In that future moment when Shaiani took the ride toward death, he suspected like his fellow magi his panic level would be too high to perform an effective spell. Right now, his head was tight.
He lifted her and the baby in his arms and charged for the house. As he pushed through the patio door, he bellowed, “I need the
akhrian
!”
Ashor and Ethan appeared.
What happened?” Ashor asked.
“Oh shit, it’s Julie. Where’s Eric?” Ethan asked.
“Need the healer,” Dakar rushed out, moving toward the doctor’s office.
“In her office. You’re going the right way,” Ashor directed. “Want me to take her?” Ashor held out his hands for Julie.
“No!” Dakar managed to run in a fairly straight line, even though his brain whirled from the snake venom. This poison was a potent concoction. He’d been on the receiving end of many dark-magik potions, and a lot of viper attacks, but this one packed a whopping punch. He deposited Julie on the medical bed, but was careful not to release her hand.
“Julie?” Kira asked as she approached the now-unconscious woman. She laid her hand against Julie’s arm. “Poison.”
“How?” asked Ashor.
Dakar replied, “You’ve got a snake problem. One got her. I killed three of them, but I think there is at least one more.”
“Ethan—” Ashor started.
“I’m on it.” Ethan withdrew a serrated knife from its belt sheath, and left.
“She should be dead,” Kira announced. “What are you doing to keep her from dying?”
“I cast a binding spell. So long as we hold hands, she might stay with us.”
“Let me get the poison out.” Kira rested her hand on Julie’s arm.
They waited in tense silence while Kira concentrated. Kira pushed away from Julie and staggered to the sink. She heaved three times.
Ashor massaged circles on Kira’s back, mumbling low.
Dakar waited, unwilling to release Julie’s hand until he received confirmation she would survive on her own.
A gigantic blond appeared in the doorway, black scimitar blade drawn. The pasty terror on his face reminded Dakar of how many times he’d seen a fellow magus watch their woman walk the path into the next life. This was the death moment, when he’d heard a man’s mind turns into a medley of picture flashes, rushing to show you everything and nothing in a few seconds. He hadn’t been there since Shaiani always toasted his ass first. Maybe in that sense he’d been lucky.
Without a glance or a word to anyone, the blond rushed the bed.
He took the strangely silent baby into his arms. The baby complained once, granted him a lopsided smile, and conked out when he cradled him against a shoulder. He laid his palm against Julie’s cheek. And then his power ramped down about a hundred degrees. He blew out a long breath, reassured she lived. Reassured his death wasn’t imminent. When he looked up, his gaze narrowed on Dakar. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“Back off, Eric,” Ashor ordered. “You should kiss Dakar’s ass for saving them.”
“Snake attack,” Dakar said. “Their poison is much more powerful than in the past. The vipers also acted peculiar—much more interested in attacking her than me.”
“Assassin spies,” Ashor grumbled. “This is the first time we’ve had any since we moved here. Hashishins have found us.”
Eric said, “Thanks, I guess. Couldn’t you have gotten to her before they messed her up, though?” He shook Julie gently. “Come on, baby, wake up.”
Julie opened her eyes and smiled up at Eric. “Is he okay?”
Eric tickled the baby’s nose. The baby barely awoke to bat away Eric’s hand. “Yeah, he’s fine.”
Julie squeezed Dakar’s hand. “Can I let go now?”
Dakar needed the doctor’s approval. His vision of Kira went triple count, then double, and back to solo.
You haven’t got long before this poison knocks you out.
He slurred out, “Is ssshe out of danger?”
“Yes. I got rid of the poison and healed the bite.” Kira squinted at him in a healer assessment stare he knew well.
Dakar released and stepped away from the bed, stumbling slightly before regaining balance. He staggered toward the exit, desperate to be free of this room.
“Stop,” Kira grabbed his forearm. “How many times did it get you?”
“I—” He teetered, stabilizing himself on the door frame before finishing. “—will be fine.”
“You’ve got two bites. Damn it. Why do you guys always have to be the suffer-in-silence types?” She clamped down on his arm and sent her healing power into him. Within seconds, he felt the lacerating pain disappear. The spinning sensation persisted in his brain, though.
Kira released, staggered away to lean over a small metal waste bin, and dry heaved.
Ashor announced, “That’s enough for one day, Kira.” He scowled at Dakar.
“I did not request she do that.” He slammed out of the room and stomped toward the exit. Time to leave. To find Shaiani.
With one hand on the front doorknob, guilt hit so hard he gasped to move air through his chest. Honor demanded he not desert his duty. And the other guys… Obviously, they were in shitty shape with no magus of memory to guide them. But he knew well what lay in store for him. More daemon battles. More moronic Hashishins or whatever noddy dark-magik organization attacked in this time. He no longer wanted this life. He’d done it for so long that he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t slicing off the head of some daemon he’d slayed more than a dozen times before and knew by name. Beyond that, he didn’t want to watch more friends die gruesome deaths, and then not remember him when reincarnated. It hurt enough that Ethan didn’t remember.
He used to think the others were blessed not to remember when reincarnated. Well, except for the Ethan of the past and the spell keeper magus who did not appear to be reincarned yet. Those two had complete memory of past lives. Being granted a blank slate with each life sounded good. But a few reincarnations later, he realized he wouldn’t want to flounder for decades with out-of-control powers.
Another big difference separated him from the other magi. The others would eventually Turn or go insane from the
kem-seki
’s push on the mind after exposure one too many times to the corrosive evil of daemons, if they didn’t meet their
senariai
first. But not him. Daemon energy didn’t burn out his soul completely like it did the others. He would get close to Turning, but would not. He had lived on that edge of crazy most of his existence. He blamed the curse. Centuries ago, he realized daemons couldn’t kill him—a little secret he kept to himself.
Someone slammed through a door down the hall. Duty pushed at his brain as the vows he’d made numerous times to the gods replayed in his mind. The goddess’s deception had sentenced him to over two hundred years in hell. Didn’t that duplicity negate his vows? And grant him freedom from all of this? Even so, he didn’t know anything other than this life. He wasn’t made for anything other than this. And he sure as hell couldn’t negotiate well in the modern world alone. He was trapped. Damn it.
And he’d forgotten about Ethan. He’d know what to do. Time for Ethan to wake up.
Chapter Ten
Dakar found Ethan affixing a modified leather-and-metal
sphairai
to each arm. He opened and closed his fists, testing. Guess some things didn’t change, even with all the modern weaponry he was sure they had available. They had all picked up the habit of wearing these modified mid-forearm gloves in days when Greece dominated the world. Greeks used a bulkier version of them for boxing. As magi, they used them to protect one of the few exposed areas daemons like to hit—the wrists. Each of them designed a different version. All kept the fingers exposed. Some liked spikes, blades, studs, or plain leather on the wrists. He and Ethan had always preferred blades. He smiled, noting the small blades dotting Ethan’s wrist like dorsal fins.
Ethan stopped mid-motion when he met Dakar’s gaze. He peeled off the
sphairai
and threw them on his bed next to a leather coat.
“New
sphairai
?” Dakar asked.
“Yeah. They’re a little stiff.”