On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(58)
Author: Gena Showalter

The doomsday war was real, and it was coming. Oh, God.

She leaned on the breakfast bar, mind spinning as she tried to take it all in. But even as she grappled with the realization that this was far, far larger than just the two of them, she was acutely aware of the rigid set of his shoulders, the wariness in his face as he waited to see how she would react.

He had called himself a slave. Cooter had never said anything about slaves. But he had mentioned another race that had lived with the Nightkeepers. "You’re talking about the winikin."

He flinched. "I don’t like the word. Aj winikin means, ‘I live to serve my master,’ and I f**king don’t. Nobody should have to." But something changed in his expression and he said cautiously,

"We didn’t usually make it into the stories."

The we sent a shiver through her. This was really real. It was really happening. She was talking to a winikin. One of the hereditary protectors of mankind’s salvation. One of the people they were going to need if the war was really coming.

Holy. Shit.

Trying to keep her voice from shaking, to stay cool when on some level it felt like JT had suddenly changed in front of her, becoming even more than he’d been before, she said, "The way Cooter told it, the winikin were a vital part of the society. They raised the Nightkeepers, taught them, protected them. It was their job to make sure that if anything happened to the warriors, the children would survive to start over."

"Nobody ever asked if we wanted the job," he said flatly. "Not back when the first winikin were magically bound to the Nightkeeper bloodlines, and not later. It wasn’t voluntary. None of it was. If the magic tagged a kid for winikin training, he got trained, period. Once he grew up, if the magic chose him to be blood-bound to a mage, he went through the ritual, no discussion. A bound winikin couldn’t have a family of his own, couldn’t have a life of his own. His mage had to be his first and only priority. If—" He broke off, a muscle pulsing at his jaw. "It doesn’t matter anymore.

They’re all dead. It’s over."

"They . . ." She trailed off, her stomach tightening. Cooter’s stories had all been about duty, destiny, and heroes fighting to save the world. Not this. Nothing like this. He hadn’t talked about the magic being used to press children into service—he had made it sound like the two races had worked together, relied on each other. But even as she scrambled to catch up with that change in paradigm and the dull horror of doing the math and realizing they were less than two years to the end date, she couldn’t get past the excitement of finally getting down to the truth . . . and starting to grasp what it might mean for her.

A winikin. JT was a winikin. Holy crap.

Even now, as he leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest so his biceps bulged beneath his tee, she felt the punch of his presence, the animal magnetism that put a thrum of warmth in her veins. She could just see the edge of his tattoo, which had gained new meaning. Freedom. But although he might think the Nightkeepers’ world was gone, it remained ingrained within him. He had lied to her, yes. But he’d done it to protect her, the same way he had tried to break things off between them before she got in too deep.

It was too late for that, though—she was right in the middle of things. And the more she heard, the more she suspected she’d been involved for a long time. Like her whole life.

"They’re not all dead," she said softly. "You’re here."

"There was a resistance, a faction of magi and winikin who thought the king was challenging the gods by planning to attack the barrier. There were fifty, maybe sixty rebels, including my parents and me. We were all planning to disappear the night of the battle. But the royal council found out and came after us." He paused, his eyes gone dark. "When they started pounding on the door, my father gave me the keys to the Jeep he had hidden in the hills beyond the canyon, and sent me out the window. He told me to leave and never look back. I was ten."

"Oh, God. I’m sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

Drawing a deep breath to settle the sudden churn in her stomach, she said, "Was it the summer solstice of’eighty-four?"

His face blanked and his skin went chalky. He took a step toward her, but then jerked to a halt.

"How did you know that?" His voice was a pained rasp; his eyes searched hers.

"Because that was the day I was abandoned in the bathroom of a maternity ward in Albuquerque. I was about nine months old. There was no note, no identifying information. Only this." She removed her locket, thumbed the clasp, and held it out to him by the chain. The pendant spun, letting the light glint off the two ovals of polished obsidian contained within it. The one on the left was carved with the parrot’s-head glyph. The other one was so scratched as to be indecipherable.

He reached out and took the locket with a hand that shook ever so slightly. "Dear gods."

Her heart stuttered; her whole world contracted to this moment. "I’ve been searching for the parrot’s-head glyph ever since my thirteenth birthday, when my parents told me I was adopted and gave me the locket." When he didn’t say anything, just stood staring at the locket, she pressed,

"What does it mean?"

He touched the carving, his blunt fingertip making it seem small and delicate. "This is the symbol of the parrot bloodline. The magi of each bloodline wore the symbols on their inner forearms, along with glyphs for their magical talents and such. The bound winikin wore smaller bloodline glyphs, one for each member of the bloodline, and a larger one for their charge, along with the servants’ mark." His fingertip moved to the other, scratched side of the locket. He rubbed where the original lines were barely visible. "This was the servants’ glyph. The aj winikin."

"The—" She broke off as her blood hummed in her veins. "I’m like you? I’m a winikin?" Sudden warmth flared through her, lighting her up and making her feel powerful. Invincible. Magical.

He snapped his head up to glare at her. "Your parents were winikin. You’re free." His voice was rough, his eyes dark. "You’ve lived your whole life in the human world. You should consider yourself lucky, and get the hell out of here while you still can."

"No way." She lifted her chin. "I’ve been looking for answers more than half my life, staying on the move because I never felt like I knew who I was or where I belonged. Until now."

"Natalie . . ." He held out her locket, grim faced. When she stepped closer to take it, he brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "Don’t. Please. This doesn’t change anything."