A flush deepened at her throat and on her cheeks, and her eyes took on a dangerous gleam that had him bracing himself for a slap, a punch, maybe even a shot.
Instead, she eased in and brushed her lips across his in a gentle, fleeting touch that poured lightning into his veins. And when she eased away, she was smiling with wry humor. “Let’s let it go for tonight, okay? We’re here; the others aren’t… and this is the first time in my life a guy has cared enough to beat himself up over me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll enjoy it while I can. Besides, we’re running out of time if we’re going to get this job done.”
“Cara…” But what was he supposed to say to that? He’d known her all his life, and she could still startle the hell out of him. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be
surprised—she’d shown over and over again that she was tough, resourceful, and resilient, and able to deal with whatever was thrown at her. Only… he didn’t want to be something she had to deal with. He didn’t know what he wanted, except to keep that light in her eyes. So instead of pushing her like he wanted to do, getting her to tell him what she was really thinking, he crooked his elbow and held it out. “Ready to become a thief?”
“Absolutely.” She took his arm and they set off along the courtyard, heading for the piers where the cruise ships docked. And if there had been a flash of relief in her eyes, a hint of vulnerability at odds with her tough-girl demeanor, he let it go. For now, anyway. They could figure out the other stuff later. Right now, they had to get their hands on the screaming skull artifact and keep each other out of trouble… and his instincts said that was going to be easier said than done.
The
Monterey Princess
was huge and slick, the crowd was glittery and ornate, and Cara was a wreck. Oh, she camouflaged it well—she’d had plenty of practice burying her emotions, after all. But she was seriously shaky inside as she and Sven boarded the small, luxurious cruise ship, handed over their scant luggage to an attendant with bushy eyebrows and bulging pockets, and joined the flow of expensively decked-out humanity headed for the main ballroom.
She was only peripherally aware of the touches of polished wood and sparkling crystal that went into making up the aura of understated elegance surrounding them, or the more overblown glitter of the crowd. Instead, she was wholly aware of the man beside her: the heat of his body; the leashed strength beneath her fingertips, where she had her hand loosely at the crook of his arm, not letting herself cling.… And the deceptive lightness of the necklace he’d bought her, which skimmed across her skin when she moved, reminding her of his touch.
Focus
. She’d poked at him about needing to keep his mind on the job, but she was the one who needed the reminder. She might have convinced him that she was cool with the way things were between them, but exactly the opposite was true. She was heated and churned up, and all too ready to make a mistake. The boat ride and the kiss, combined with clothes that were far too close to the black-and-white of the
nahwal
’s vision… it was all too much. She was restless, twitchy, and anxious. Fine currents of heat ran through her body, coiling in her belly and warming her inner wrist, right where she wore his mark.
In the main ballroom, the crowd had formed an amorphous line that wound through the main salon, where the artifacts were being displayed in gleaming cases that looked deceptively flimsy, but weren’t. Brightly colored signs adorned each case.
Making herself dial into their surroundings—and not her escort—Cara scanned the scene, noting three exits and four guards: solo guys in their twenties and thirties, wearing tuxes and earbuds, with weapons under their jackets. The bulk of the partygoers were elegantly put together in tuxes and nice dresses, with a few outfits leaning toward tacky. One in particular had her doing a double take, checking that the body stocking and artistically placed white feathers covered all the relevant parts of its fiftyish female wearer. They did, but the dress, combined with bright orange sandals that laced up to her knees, evoked a Henny Penny mascot far more than it did anything else.
“Wonder if she thought that was Mayan?” Sven said in an undertone, with a head tilt in Henny’s direction. But although he went for the joke, his expression was
serious as he searched Cara’s face, no doubt wondering whether she was going to be able to handle the op.
“If it is, you can count me out of that ritual,” she tossed back, shooting him a hard-edged look out of the corner of her eye, hoping it came off as purposeful rather than brittle and a little desperate.
It must have worked, because he nodded toward the display that held the screaming skull. “Shall we wander in that direction?”
“Lead the way.”
They should have blended in as they rambled from display to display, pretending to be more into each other than the artifacts, but even in the well-heeled crowd they drew looks, no doubt because of the glossy gleam of perfection that came with Sven’s Nightkeeper genetics. The tux was off-the-rack and a bit tight in the shoulders, his hair disheveled from the ocean breeze, but he drew the eye and held it, and made a girl think about stripping off that tux and running her fingers through that hair.
When a sleek blond twenty-something model-type on the arm of a much older man turned her head to arch an eyebrow at Sven, Cara nearly bared her teeth.
Back off;
he’s mine
. Only he wasn’t, wouldn’t ever be. So she ignored the trophy blonde and forced herself to focus as their calculatedly wandering path brought her and Sven into range of their target.
The sturdy base of the elegant wood-grained stand was bolted to the floor, and a see-through dome shaped like a step-sided pyramid covered the top and was locked into place. Within that fairly formidable vault—well, formidable to anybody but a translocator—a velvet-covered stand shaped like a human hand held a gleaming black stone as if preparing to hurl it, sinkerlike. Only this was
no game ball; it was carved into the shape of a human skull, with its mouth agape in a terrible scream. The screaming skull, which represented the Nightkeepers and their duty to save mankind from the end-time war, had been found in only a very few Mayan sites and on only a handful of artifacts. Of the artifacts, most—including this one—had been dismissed as modern-made fakes, when, really, they had been made using magic, not machines.
Cara’s skin prickled to goose bumps and she had to fight a shiver, though the ballroom had been too warm only seconds earlier.
“Cold?” he asked with a sidelong look.
“No, it’s just… Never mind,” she decided. There was no point in letting him know she was more nervous than she’d expected to be. Even though they would be magically swapping the statue for a good fake and making an anonymous donation that would more than cover the theft, it was still stealing. The knowledge had her on edge, as did the heat that pulsed beneath her skin, a whole-body awareness that she couldn’t afford to feel. She shook her head, trying to clear the wayward thoughts. “Let’s do this.”
She started to move off toward the farthest guard, but Sven reached out and snagged her hand. When she turned back, startled, he tugged her closer, then leaned in to say with quiet firmness: “You don’t have anything to worry about, Cara. I’ve got your back. I swear.”
Another shiver worked its way across her skin, because she didn’t think he’d ever promised her anything before. That he was doing so now meant something. She didn’t ask what or why, though. She just squeezed his hand. “Same goes. I’ve got your back—promise.”
She would have tugged free and turned to go, but a
strange warmth suddenly rose up inside her, stealing her will to move. Her feet grew roots, her fingers curled around his, and for a second it was like they were
connected,
not just physically, but mentally as well. She could feel the pulse of his heartbeat alongside her own and could faintly sense the humming magic within him, throbbing just beyond the threshold of her understanding. Heat kindled in her core, a potent mix of awe and excitement that urged her to go to him, be with him, bind herself to him, and give him—
No!
Wrenching herself out of that litany, she tugged away, breaking the palm-to-palm contact with a sharp jerk that drew too many eyes.
Aware that they couldn’t cause a scene, she made herself smile, made herself reach up and cup his cheek, which was smooth beneath her overheated palm.
His eyes were hard and hot, churning with the magic she had felt within him. “What just happened?” he grated, voice low. But his expression said that he knew. They both knew.
She said it anyway. “I think it was the First Father’s magic acknowledging a
winikin
swearing to protect her Nightkeeper charge.”
Damn it all
. She glanced at her wrist and exhaled a small, relieved breath to find that she still lacked the
aj winikin
mark.
“That promise goes both ways,” he said quietly.
Maybe so, but the magical bond put on the
winikin
was a one-way street, and it wasn’t one she wanted to travel.
Making herself move by force of will, she took a big step back, smiling brightly and pitching her voice to carry. “No, you go ahead and look around, and I’ll get the drinks. I’ll be back in just a second.”
The last few people who had been paying attention to them—mostly bored spouses looking to liven up the evening with a good fight—went back to their own business.
Sven gave her an intense look of
we’ll talk about this later,
but nodded and stuck to their roughed-out plan. “No ice in mine.”
She rolled her eyes like she’d heard that a thousand times, and with that little exchange, they fell entirely off the radar screens of the humans surrounding them.
Cara headed for the bar area, slipping easily through the crowd. She didn’t draw nearly the amount of attention he did, though a few male heads turned as she approached, then pivoted back when she was gone. One of the guards gave her a once-over and a small smirk that she didn’t want to think about, while two of the others looked through her as she passed where they were stationed near the premier pieces of the showing.
A set of low, wide stairs fanned out from the two exits nearby; from there, she had a clear view of the ballroom and was close enough to three of the four guards to keep a close eye on them. Sven would have to watch out for the fourth himself. Not that the Nightkeepers couldn’t get them out of trouble if things went wrong, but it was better to keep things as quiet as possible.
Right now, things were looking nice and quiet. The crowd was starting to thin as couples headed for the dining room, the guards were vigilant but relaxed, and Sven was alone by the display case that held the screaming skull. From there, he could use low-level magic to make the switch, and then they would find a private spot on deck for the higher-level magic he needed to send the thing back to Skywatch.
As if sensing her eyes on him, he glanced up, found her, and sent her a
where is my drink?
gesture. They were on plan, on point, and good to go.
So why was her pulse pounding? More, why did it feel like she was still down there on the floor, surrounded by people while she stood in front of a display case?
You’re talking yourself into this. There’s nothing to be worried about
.
Just breathe. Everything will be fine.
“How’s it look?” his voice murmured in her earpiece, creating an odd disconnect from the scene because she couldn’t see his lips moving.
Far less adept with the communication device, she pretended to look out the door while she answered, “Seems clear.”
“Seems clear or is clear?”
She took a deep breath. “You’re good to go.”
Please, gods
.
Turning back, she kept an eye on the guards, the crowd, and Sven himself as he lingered a moment longer in front of the screaming skull, leaning over the step-sided display case as if studying the piece in detail. Sudden heat flared through her body, wringing a gasp that caught the nearest guard’s attention at the very moment that her oversize evening bag suddenly bulged and grew heavy. Then the heat was everywhere—inside her, all around her, not burning her but instead making her head spin. Her vision blurred and she wobbled.
“Ma’am?” The nearest guard took a step in her direction. “Are you okay?”
No!
She couldn’t screw this up, not now. Fighting through the haze, she clutched the bag to her chest when it threatened to slip from her fingers. “Seasick!” she blurted. Then she hunched over, channeled all of the
oh, crap, I’m going to puke
faces she’d seen on the whale-watch boat, and bolted out the door.
She hurried along the railing and then up the first set of stairs she came to, then another, heading higher and higher until she reached an open observation deck that was mercifully deserted. Sinking back against the nearest wall, she concentrated on breathing.
Holy shit.
What just happened there?
Pull it together. Breathe. Focus
.
Footsteps rang on the stairs coming up, but her instincts—or rather, the bond created by the coyote glyph she wore on her wrist—told her it was Sven. This time the burn was one of unease.
“Sorry,” she said when he joined her in the small niche, crowding her back against the door with a broad-shouldered body that all but blocked the light. His protective stance settled her, smoothing out the edges. But at the same time it made her more aware of her screwup. “I didn’t mean to draw attention like that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was a nice distraction, and if it comes to questions, people are going to remember that you were by the far exit, nowhere near the skull. Hey.” He caught her chin in his hand and tipped her face up into the light. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I…” She trailed off as a long shudder racked her body. “Shit. Sorry. I think… Damn it.” She didn’t want to say it out loud, but didn’t see an alternative. “I think that because I don’t have the
aj winikin
mark to balance off the coyote glyph, the bond is acting funny. I caught the backlash of the magic when you sent me the skull, and it just about knocked me on my ass.”