Rhys turned to me, huffing in air. “I scored a goal. Ash, did you see that? I scored a goal!”
I held my hand up for a high five, but he missed.
“This is it,” I said as we made our way back to center field for the final point.
Dane and I faced each other, both of us drenched in sweat.
He braced his hands against his knees, looking up at me through his dark lashes. “Take that flower out of your hair,” he whispered.
My mind went completely blank. The world seemed to disintegrate around us. His smile, his mouth, that sexy dimple, consumed me.
Angus threw the ball into the air but neither one of us moved. The ball dropped to the ground between us with a dull thud.
I wanted to leave the flower in, just to spite him, but something in his eyes made me take it out of my hair.
As the flower dropped to the ground, I scooped up the ball, running as hard as I could. Dane stuck close by my side. He darted his stick toward the ball, but it was clearly a half-hearted attempt.
“Go left,” Dane yelled.
I lunged to the right, and he laughed as he dove after me, grabbing nothing but air. As he tumbled to the ground, I looked back at him in confusion. “Take the shot,” he urged.
I slammed the ball across the line and everyone screamed.
Dane got to his feet, then turned to walk away.
“Hey!” I scurried to catch up to him. “You gave me that shot . . . why?”
I grabbed his arm, feeling his raised scar beneath my fingertips. I swore I could still feel the heat from the branding iron.
I felt myself slipping into his skin, disappearing into the mass of scar tissue and pain, until there was nothing left of me.
24
QUAKE
ON THE EVE of the summer solstice, I kneel in the sacred circle, at the edge of the chasm, a wide crack in the earth. As I peer down into the darkness, I whisper to my lover’s bones. “I believe the vessel is finally upon us. She looks the part, and has a fiery spirit. She chose well in the wreathing ceremony—a Mendoza of good stock—warm eyes. Tomorrow, we may be reunited at last—”
A gust of wind rushes from the depths, rustling the corn. I turn to see Coronado, accompanied by an army of men in full black armor and a number of native warriors trailing behind them.
Venom rises in my bloodstream as I stand to greet him.
He holds up a fist, commanding his men to a halt.
“Katia,” he calls with a tense smile. “Over three hundred years and you’re still ravishing as ever.”
I walk to the perimeter of the sacred circle. “Have you finally come to pay your respects, to face the death and destruction you’ve brought upon my family?” I motion toward the chasm, but he refuses to look.
“What’s done is done, Katia.” Coronado takes a careful step forward. “No more blood needs to be shed. Let us make amends.”
“The time for amends has long passed,” I reply through my teeth. “What brings you here?”
Coronado drums his fingers against his breastplate, a rattlesnake waiting to strike. “You think you’ve found your vessel.”
I feel my carefully arranged face crumble. How could he know that? I’ve been so cautious. Unless someone among my people has betrayed me.
Coronado raises his chin. “Doing this will start a war you’ll never win. The Dark Spirit will devour your soul, leave you ravaged, alone . . . irredeemable.”
“How touching.” I pace the edge of the circle, aching to charge. “Are you so concerned for me . . . for my soul?”
“For my own.” I catch a real glimmer of fear in his eyes. With a flick of his finger, his men bring forth a girl who’s bound and gagged. My breath halts in my chest. He’s found her—the Larkin girl who is to walk the corn for the ritual tomorrow.
Coronado pulls the sword from his sheath and steps behind her, pressing her trembling body against him.
She looks at me pleadingly, letting out a stifled sob.
Never taking his eyes off mine, Coronado eases his blade across her throat as if he’s pulling back the bow of the most beautiful instrument.
She crumples to the ground in front of him, her blood painting the stalks.
Coronado steps over her, wiping the blood from his blade on his trousers. “Let this be a lesson. Do not force me to kill them all.”
? ? ?
“Ashlyn,” someone whispered.
I blinked hard and found myself grasping Dane’s arm—the entire community gathered around us.
“She’s a conduit, all right,” someone said behind me.
“Poor girl. It’s a miracle she’s lasted this long.”
“She’s as crazy as a bedbug.”
Rhys ran to my side, helping me to my feet, but the damage had been done. I saw it on Dane’s face. I saw it on everyone’s faces.
I opened my mouth, struggling to come up with some kind of coherent excuse, when the smell of burning copper flared in my nostrils. Tommy staggered toward us and dropped to his knees, blood streaming from every orifice.
“Just like Betsy Grimsby,” Rhys whispered.