Like a rag doll, Ronan toppled to the floor. The carpet did little to cushion his fall as his head smacked smartly on the floor. His limbs ached with cold and his teeth chattered as a violent tremor shook his body. The darkness pressed upon him taking him deeper, further away from reality. As he gave in to the force that steadily pulled him down, down, down, fiery dark eyes and creamy tan skin flashed in his mind’s eye.
Naya.
Her name is Naya.
CHAPTER
4
Naya sat in her car, staring at her house, the only sanctuary she had, in a daze. Her cell phone buzzed quietly in the holster on the dash, the display flashing: “Luz.” Naya had promised her cousin she’d check in on her when she’d concluded her meeting with Paul, but after being faced with all of the tribal elders in what she could only describe as an ambush she’d fled the moment after they’d delivered their mandate. Too shocked to stay long enough to check on her cousin’s welfare. Some mentor she’d turned out to be.
Gods. Mated?
They might as well lock her away in a dungeon somewhere. Or just get it over with and kill her. Her life was over now anyway. Of course she’d known that eventually Paul would try to pair her off. But never in a million years would she have thought it could happen so soon.
You will be mated to Joaquin. The sound of Paul’s voice as he laid down his mandate still bounced around in her head. On the night of the blood moon, you will give yourself to him.
But my job…? Naya had barely recognized the sound of her own voice as she dared to question the chieftain. Once she was mated to Joaquin, she’d be forced to forfeit her position as the tribe’s bruja.
Luz will become the tribe’s bruja.
She’s not ready! Naya had blurted. You’ll get her killed throwing her into the field so soon!
Your opinion means nothing to this council, mujer. Paul had spat the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth. He’d never had respect for any female, and referring to Naya simply as “woman” was his way of devaluing her. Bastard.
She’d been forbidden to speak after that. One thing that guaranteed to make Paul crazy-pissed was having his authority challenged. By anyone. Insubordination from her was a hundred times worse. In the thousands of years her people had walked the earth, through the many countries, cultures, and generations, one thing had always stayed the same: The men retained all of the authority. It didn’t matter that their women possessed the magia and the power to seek it out.
In the quiet of night, away from listening ears, her grandmother had told Naya that’s why their males could shift. They resented their females for being so close to the gods and their power and so the first Bororo chieftain in his jealousy and rage had killed a jaguar and consumed its heart while it still beat, thereby joining their forms forever. The ability to shift had been passed to his sons and so on and so forth from that moment on.
Naya didn’t care about the whos, hows, and whats of their history. But, damn it, it was about time the elders abandoned their antiquated ways and took a leap into the twenty-first century. Being what she was—being able to do what she did—should have made Naya feel special. But all it made her feel was trapped. Her magic wasn’t respected. Her abilities weren’t revered. She was a possession. No better than the dagger at her back. She was a tool for someone else to use and direct and put upon a shelf when she wasn’t needed anymore. Today Paul had taken the first step to shelve her. And she doubted that Joaquin would be anything other than thrilled about his father’s proclamation. She’d never felt so invisible. So … inconsequential.
She couldn’t just sit by and do nothing while her fate was dictated by the tribal elders. Didn’t she have a say? Why would they want to put her out of commission so soon? She’d done a great job over the past decades since her mother had passed. And Naya was a far better enforcer than her aunt Marcella had been, perhaps only rivaling her own mother in skill. The steering wheel creaked in Naya’s hands as she gripped it tighter, visions of her future as an obedient mate tightening around her like a noose.
Naya closed her eyes and focused her thoughts inward. If she continued to think about what had happened her energy would become volatile, and she wouldn’t be worth a good goddamn to anyone if she wasn’t centered. A heaviness settled in her limbs as she meditated, a peaceful urging toward calm and focus that she welcomed. She hadn’t rested in almost twenty-four hours, as she’d been too uncomfortable to let her guard down with a volatile vampire chained to her bed. Gods, she was tired.
The tinkling chimes of magic stirred her senses, caused the tiny hairs on her arms and the back of her neck to stand on end. Wild, unfocused, the song lashed out at her senses, grating on her ears like metal scraping metal. Her eyes watered and her chest tightened until she couldn’t take a deep enough breath to fill her lungs. Without thinking she snatched her sheathed dagger from the cubby in the center console, and it warmed her palm through the leather as though in warning.