Free Spellfire by Jessica Andersen

Skywatch. And while she probably didn’t want his protection—probably didn’t even need it anymore—she was going to get it anyway.

CHAPTER FIVE
    December 2
    Nineteen days until the zero date
    Skywatch
    The next morning, Rabbit woke groggy as hell, and blinked up at the ceiling. Which in itself was disconcerting after spending so long chained to a damn wall.
    The wall’s gone
, he reminded himself, reorienting.
Phee is dead and Myrinne is safe
.
    And he was back at Skywatch.
    Granted, he’d spent the night in one of the basement storerooms that had been retrofitted as a cell, with a narrow bunk, a squat-pot, and a small bookshelf stocked with a few dog-eared paperbacks, bottled water and a six-pack of energy bars. The door was locked and faint crinkle of magic said it was warded, too. Which meant that he was as much a prisoner here as he had been on the island . . . except that now he was a willing prisoner.
    By the time he’d hiked to Skywatch yesterday afternoon, he’d been shakier than he’d wanted to admit, knocked on his ass by the aftereffects of captivity, rescue, Red-Boar’s return, seeing Myrinne, finding out that she had his magic now . . . all of it. And after a shower—which had been a weird cross between orgasmic and something out of a sci-fi movie, with all the chrome and gadgets feeling unfamiliar and futuristic—he’d willingly crashed in the basement, knowing the others wouldn’t trust him until he’d made his vow to Red-Boar. And maybe not even then.
    I’ll do whatever you want
, he was trying to signal by being a good prisoner.
You name it, you’ve got it
. Anything was better than the chains and being utterly alone except when he was being beaten. And having an opportunity to kick some demon ass and help with the war . . . yeah. He’d do whatever it took. Even stay away from Myrinne.
    Probing the idea like an aching tooth, he rose and padded to the chair by the door, where someone had left him clean clothes. He reached for them automatically, but then hesitated at the sight of a familiar pair of jeans, his backup combat boots with the knotted laces and scarred toes, and a black cartoon tee he’d bought off CafePress.
    He hadn’t thought much about his stuff while he’d been strung up in that cave—it was just stuff, after all—but the clothes hammered things home.
    Christ. What a fucking difference a day could make.
    Twenty-four hours ago, he’d been a beaten animal, practically inhuman, living only to kill his tormentor. Back then, if a big-assed foam finger had come down out of the sky and a booming voice had told him he was going to get another chance, he would’ve said it would be enough to kill Phee and do something to balance the scales. Now, though, surrounded by the trappings of civilization, he was coming back to himself—or maybe, hopefully, a better version of the fuckup he’d been. He wanted the chance to prove that to the others, to himself . . . and he’d give anything to be able to make some real restitution. Even promise himself to his old man.
    As if on cue, magic sparked, a heavy fist banged on the door and Michael’s voice said, “You up? It’s time.”
    A chill walked down Rabbit’s spine, but he shook it off, dredged up a shadow of his old swagger and called, “Give me a minute to get dressed. Unless you’re planning a cavity search?”
    “Been there, done that.”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Just get your ass dressed.” But there was a thread of amusement in the ex-assassin’s voice that said he, at least, might be willing to give Rabbit one last chance.
    Then again, Michael knew better than most just how bad a guy could get under the influence of the dark magic.
    But any optimism that might’ve brought died off a few minutes later when Rabbit found himself following Michael to the last fucking place he would’ve chosen for a meeting, the last fucking place he would’ve chosen to be, period: the sacred chamber at the center