Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

So they took their oath, one by one, in a circle around the cauldron, bubbling thick and slow.

And Bran raised both arms. “As we will, so mote it be.”

Three sharp beams of light shot from the moon, arrowed into the cauldron. Sparks of it flew like stars, whirled above, dived below.

Then all went quiet.

“It’s tough not to applaud,” Riley said after a moment. “You put on a hell of a show, Irish.”

“This one took the six of us, so well done, all.”

“Yeah, everybody take a bow. Now, what do we do?” Riley wondered. “Just reach into the goo—magick goo,” she added, “and take everything out?”

Bran simply turned his palms up, raised his hands. Guns, clips, knives, bows, swords floated up.

Without hesitation, Annika reached for her bracelets. “They’re still so pretty, and don’t feel any different.”

“They will,” Bran told her, “when you need them to.”

Sawyer plucked his guns out of the air, examined them, holstered them. “That’ll be in, what, under thirty-two hours now.”

“Less, I think—feel,” Sasha added as Doyle sheathed his sword. “Less than that. They move in the dark tonight, the mother of lies and her pet. And tomorrow comes the blood. Blood in the water, and the death of men. And one of ours, one of ours, if the choice is wrong. I can’t see who. I can’t . . . It’s murky. And so clouded with pain, and fear.”

“Easy now.” Bran drew her in. “You reach too far.”

“What good is it if I can’t see?”

“You’ve seen it’s tomorrow.” Doyle hefted his crossbow. “And we’ll be ready for it.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

He woke with her curled around him, so he drew in the scent of her hair, her skin with every breath.

The coming day, and all it held, was now just a subtle lessening of the dark. So he indulged himself, let himself just be. Breathing her in while his fingers tangled in the dark silk ropes of her hair, while her heart beat, slow and steady at rest, against his.

He could imagine this, waking like this, morning after morning as his life spun out into weeks and months and years. He knew all about time, what it gave, what it took, what it offered. If he could, he would have used his gift, his legacy, for time and space to take them somewhere else, some time else, where they could have this together, as long as they lived.

But they’d both sworn an oath. He knew time, he knew distance. And he knew duty. The compass he carried wasn’t a toy, it wasn’t simply a tool. It was, would always be, a responsibility.

He accepted it, and all that went with it.

And she, he knew, accepted her own duty, the responsibility that came with her gift. When her time ended—it was always about time—she would have no choice but to go back to her world, her people, and live her life where he couldn’t follow.

He didn’t want to love her, didn’t want to feel as if he always had, always would. But she’d twined around his heart just as she did his body.

Would time, he wondered, ease the heartbreak he knew would come? He didn’t need Sasha’s sight to tell him he’d never forget Annika, would long for her and what might have been as long as he drew breath.

Yet what they worked for, fought for, what each one of them would die for, was so much more than one man’s wounded heart.

They had time, he reminded himself. They had today, tomorrow, and the weeks to come. He shouldn’t waste that precious time mourning the future.

He brushed his lips over her temple, drew her in a little closer. She moved against him, just a lazy slide of skin against skin. It simply lit him up, from his heart out.

Though the dawn had yet to break, the morning birds yet to sing, he saw her smile as she tipped her head back.

“Good morning. It’s a very good morning when I wake with your arms around me. Did you rest well?”

“Yeah. You’re restful, Anni.”