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“You really need to stop saying that,” Jase murmured, his gaze on Matt.
“The Nahual is smoke,” Gina said, but her voice shook. She was starting to put the pieces together.
“Which gains strength and power from death,” Matt continued. “From sacrifice. I figured he just became stronger, physically, mentally, magically. But it seems like he becomes more…” Matt searched for a word and settled on “solid.”
“Less smoke,” McCord said. “More me.”
“That’s not you,” Gina snapped. “I mean you’re not him.”
McCord turned toward Gina so fast, Matt forgot he was bound, tried to get between them, and wound up tipping over and cracking his already-cracked head against the ground. He lay there in the dirt and the rocks, with a cactus poking his ass, and watched as McCord, who was not McCord, grabbed Gina by the collar of her shirt and pulled her close.
“When we were twelve,” he said conversationally, “you convinced me to try your father’s whiskey. We puked all night, swore to our parents we had the flu, refused to stray from the lie, and got away with it.”
Gina paled. “I never told anyone that.”
“Neither did I.” He lifted a brow. “Still don’t believe? When we were seventeen, my favorite horse died and you found me crying my heart out in its stall. You swore you’d never tell anyone.”
“I didn’t.”
“You think I would?” He let her go. “Cowboys don’t cry. Not even over a horse.”
Gina had been leaning so hard in the opposite direction, she nearly fell. “Y-you. I mean h-he. J-Jase must have told.” Her forehead creased. “You.”
“I am Jase; Jase is me.”
She spun toward Matt as he again gained his seat. “It’s a shape-shifter. So it only looks like Jase, right?”
“I don’t know, Gina. I’m sorry.”
“Aw.” McCord made an exaggerated sad face. “Too bad Moldy’s not good for anything but the occasional fuck after all.”
“Shut up,” Gina said.
“If I’m not Jase, then how do I know all that I know?”
“You forced him to tell you. You hurt him.” Her gaze flicked around the open area desperately. “Where is he?”
“He’s me.” McCord put his hand on his chest. “And soon there’ll be no going back. He made a willing sacrifice.” McCord’s wide chest seemed to expand even more as he breathed in. “So much more power is gained from the giving of a life instead of the taking. My people knew that.”
“The Ute did not practice sacrifice,” Gina muttered, jaw tight.
“My people, not his.”
The way McCord spoke of himself as if he were someone else, from a body that resembled his, using a voice that sounded like his yet wasn’t, gave Matt the willies. Gina appeared ready to snap.
“The Aztecs could have cared less if their sacrifices were willing,” Matt said. “In fact, they preferred they weren’t, since that meant they were enemies, and the less of them the better.”
“You know a lot, Doctor, but do you know this? Each year we chose one boy for a great honor. For twelve cycles of the moon, he impersonated the great god Tezcatlipoca, ruler of the night sky. He was given servants to attend his every wish, gifted with the best clothes and food. He was married to four virgins the month before he freely gave his life to the god of night so that Tezcatlipoca would allow the sun to take his place each day. Because that sacrifice was willing, Tezcatlipoca always agreed.”
Gina glanced at Matt, who nodded. “He’s right about the boy and the ritual. But the god of night didn’t really allow the sun to rise because of a sacrifice.”
“No?” McCord murmured. “Prove it.”
Matt opened his mouth to argue, and Gina jumped in. “It doesn’t matter. Jase would never have known any of that. That thing would never have known about the whiskey. Or his tears.”
It was looking more and more like the Nahual not only was a shape-shifter but also could take over a consenting body. Edward had said a sorcerer could do most anything.
“Why would he let you in?” Gina whispered.
