MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (37 page)

When her eyes filled with tears, his widened.

“You’re . . . crying?” He gazed at her in astonishment. She was always so strong, seeming invincible. She’d acted unaffected by his barbs. “This is
twice
,” he said inanely.

He’d never had a mate; he’d never had a mate cry. He and his beast were roiling. “Chloe, look at me.”

When she buried her head in her hands and started
sobbing
, his stomach felt torn apart, as if he’d been stabbed and the knife was steadily turning in his gut.

Twisting with no end, like the second hand of a clock.
Tick, tick, tick.

“Get used t-to me crying. Or
let me go.
”

MacRieve pulled her hands from her face. He looked as if her tears were wrecking him—and still, after everything, some part of her regretted causing him pain.

“I canna, Chloe.”

She ran her sleeve over her damp cheeks. “Then at least t-tell me why you hate me. I’ll figure out a way to make this situation better for
both
of us. But I can’t shoot for a net that I can’t see.”

His eyes were stark. There was clearly so much going on in his head. Yet he’d rather let her dangle in the dark than share any of it.

“Damn it, answer me, what did I do to you?”

When he said nothing, she snatched the bottle from him and flung it from the pantry. It shattered in the next room.
“What—did—I—do?”

“NOTHING!” he roared.

“Then for God’s sake, why are you treating me like this?”

He gazed away.

“No, don’t you look away!” Clambering up on her knees, she dug her hands into his hair, pulling him back to face her. They stared into each other’s eyes, both out of breath. “Tell me!”

“I felt rage toward your species. I know I’ve been taking it out on you. But I doona know how to stop!”

Did that mean he
wanted
to stop? The tiniest spark of hope began to burn inside her. She released him, her tears drying. “What happened to you? Tell me.”

With a wary nod, he parted his lips. He seemed to be trying to answer her—but only his breath whistled out.

“MacRieve?” What was going on here? He was a powerful, courageous immortal. Yet he’d been rendered mute by whatever had injured him in the past.

He pulled on his collar. “I canna . . . breathe.” His voice broke low. “I . . . canna.”

Rising unsteadily, she murmured, “I’ve gotta have a net to aim for, MacRieve.”

He said nothing.

That spark guttered out. With a last glance, she left him sitting alone.

I want my mate.

As Will walked the halls of Conall early into the morning, pacing like a resident ghost, that one thought kept surfacing.

He didn’t want to sleep alone, to wake up alone. Chloe had gone to bed hours ago, all but passing out from the whiskey. When he’d gone to join her, she’d shaken her head warningly, as if to say
Do it and die.

He’d been so busy thinking about how he’d been injured that he hadn’t considered—or cared about—how vulnerable and hurt she’d been.

All those years ago, he’d categorized Ruelle’s tears as antics. In truth, they’d been
tactics.

Chloe’s tears had been raw and real. And she’d told him to get used to them.

He assessed his own “field position.”

—Watching Chloe cry had hurt him worse than his recent tortures, had taken more from him than Dixon had.

—He’d rather die than cause Chloe more pain. If her eyes glowed green again, it should be because of pleasure. Would he ever see that?

He returned to the hearth, stirring the embers. Short of being seared clean by flames, how could he get right? Nïx had said, “Bury your past, or it’ll bury you.” He knew burying his past wasn’t possible. It was too much a part of him. But he could hide the worst of this, if it meant Chloe might accept a life with him.

Will would never be able to give her his
all.
Yet mayhap he could give her
enough
?

His phone rang then. Munro. Bracing himself, Will answered.

“I was about to take the lads out to Erol’s,” Munro said in a measured tone. “Thought I’d check in first.”

Fearing the worst? “We arrived without incident. She sleeps now, or I’d let you talk to her. She enjoyed her new clothes and was grateful for them.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I read your message. You think I should remain here?”
And where the hell will you be?
Will’s recent imprisonment was the longest span they’d ever been separated.

“I may no’ like living apart from you”—
that makes two of us
—“but mayhap that’s the way, now that you’ve got your female? Besides, one of us should manage our family’s lands. I’ve thought about this for years, figuring whoever found his mate first should live there. This is your chance to reclaim your home—and your past.”

My past?

Munro asked, “Will, did you . . . ?”

“Aye.” When Munro let out a relieved breath, Will admitted, “It dinna go well. There were, uh, some issues. But I want to get past them.”

“Are you prepared to take her venom bond?”

Will swallowed audibly, hoping the sound didn’t carry over a transatlantic call. “I’ve accepted that I have no choice but to do so. I canna lose her. Damn it, I need your thoughts on this.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Will was so desperate for help that he relayed everything that had occurred, stinting on few details. He told his brother what Nïx had said.

“You’ve much to make up for, Will. I agree with Nïx that you need to win Chloe.”

“How?” He’d lost some serious ground tonight.

“It’s verra simple,” Munro began. “In the morn . . .”

By the end of the call fifteen minutes later, Will felt somewhat heartened. At least he had a plan. He made his way up to the master suite, back to his mate.

Pausing in the doorway, he watched the moon stream through the windows, bathing her beautiful face in silvery light.

Her nose was no longer red from crying. Her eyes weren’t puffy. Unlike Ruelle, his Chloe did not cry prettily—because her grief was sincere.

He crossed to the bed, sitting beside her. When he brushed the locks from her forehead, she cracked open her eyes.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, her words slurring. “ ’S’not time for my
special shot
yet.”

Not a promising beginning. “Chloe, what would it take to start anew with you?”

Hopelessness settled over him when she murmured, “More than you’ve got.”

Yet then he reminded himself,
She has no’ seen all I’ve got.

THIRTY-EIGHT

I
feel amazing,
Chloe thought bitterly as she tromped down the steps that morning. She had energy again, wasn’t even sore from the night before. Because of him.

Fucker.

After she’d vented in the pantry and returned to bed, the whiskey had hit her like a tsunami. Before she’d passed out, she would’ve sworn the entire keep had been spinning.

Later in the night, MacRieve had awakened her. She barely remembered what they’d talked about, but she thought he’d mentioned “starting anew.” Then he’d stroked her hair and tucked her in, much as he had those first two nights at the compound. She’d missed it.

She’d missed the side of MacRieve she’d first known.

What would she encounter when she faced him today? Surly and abusive or charming and sexy?

She strode into the kitchen, then stopped short.

MacRieve was shirtless in a pair of low-slung, broken-in shorts, drinking orange juice straight out of the jug. Her lips parted, her gaze lovingly taking in all his rigid muscles, then sliding lower to that ink-black goody trail. She wanted to nuzzle it like he’d done between her legs last night—

No, don’t think about that!

He finished his drink and swiped his forearm over his mouth. “We’ve got a busy day planned.”

She blinked to attention. “Doing what?”

“You’re to go running with me.”

She arched a brow. “Running?” Exploring the Scottish countryside? Her new gear upstairs was just waiting for her.

Then she remembered her situation. Her next play wasn’t running with him; it was running
from
him. “Why don’t you go by yourself? I could kick back and watch TV.”
Escape.
“Then we could meet up later.”
Never see each other again.

The thought brought on another pang. Did Dojo Dummy still want him?

“And leave you to flee? No’ likely.” He set down the jug, moving in closer to back her against the counter, until she could feel the heat emanating from his bare chest and bask in his tempting scent. His voice was husky when he said, “I’m never letting you go, lass.”

His nearness piqued her desire, one that had nothing to do with hunger.

“Do you remember what I said early this morning?” he asked.

“Yes.” Mostly.

“I want to try this again with you. I’m offering an olive branch. Will you take it?”

She shook her head, saying, “Fool me once. MacRieve, you were all I had and you turned on me. What if you find out something else that you hate about me?”

“I was wrong. I am apologizing. I want a chance to win my mate back.”

“Give me one good reason why I should trust this.” Again she felt like she was running with a cleat and a climbing boot. Would she ever feel
on
-kilter with him?

He leaned down to say at her ear, “Because for a time last night, you liked me moving inside you verra much.”

Her cheeks heated. “Right. Now, if only
you
had liked it, whiskey dick.”

He drew back with a scowl. “Stop saying that, woman! I dinna have—
never bluidy mind.” He clamped the counter on either side of her, caging her in, peering down at her with intent golden eyes. “Doona mistake what happened. Being inside you felt incredible. And whether the beast was at the fore or no’, I still came so hard my ballocks begged for mercy.”

“Must’ve been nice. For you. Not so much for me. Out of those dozen orgasms you promised, you were twelve short.”

A flush spread over his chiseled cheekbones. “I’m keen for a rematch tonight.”

“Ha! Your last attempt at-goal went way wide. Not even close. As a matter of fact, you got red-carded out of the game.”

With his smoldering gaze boring into hers, he grated, “I want—back—
in
.”

Her lips parted at the double entendre. His eyes were promising her a hot, thorough taking.

She feared hers were begging for it. She darted her gaze away.

He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been up all night, thinking about us.”

“Is there an
us
?”

“I want there to be.”

“MacRieve, I haven’t even agreed to go running with you, much less to being the verbally abused half of your
us.
”

“I vow to the Lore that I will never speak to you that way again.” He said this as solemnly as a groom would a wedding vow.

At length, she said, “I’ll go, but only because I’m jonesing for a run.” She ducked under his arm, then headed toward the stairs, muttering over her shoulder, “Need to change.”