Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (21 page)

Pretty damned bad. And by
bad
she meant
horny
. The need was unrelenting—how she would ever get used to this she couldn't imagine. She'd already been in love with sex even before she'd been on the verge of immortality and an eternity of superhuman lust.

And yet she hadn't had it—
in four years
. The timing of her breakup with the demon Acton had been regrettable—right at the advent of the cloak years. When she hadn't a chance in hell of attracting another lover.

Now she could enjoy sex once more. Now she yearned for this Lykae to stroke her.

“If you will no' let me pleasure you, then pleasure yourself.” She'd begun to notice that the more aroused he grew, the more pronounced his accent became.

“Maybe I just will—if you leave.”

“I canna leave you, no' alone in here. Just do it. We've established that you're no' shy.”

He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body and smell his clean masculine scent. “I know your game. You think I'll get so lost that when you reach out, I'll welcome your touch—”

“I'd vow to the Lore that I would no' touch you. It will give you what you need and me a chance to earn your trust. There's no need for you to suffer just because you doona trust me.”

“And what exactly would you be doing?”

“The same.”

“Oh,” she answered inanely. The idea of seeing him handling his thick erection until he came made rational thought leave her brain.

“I believe I'd go to my knees if I thought it would move you in this.” His golden eyes were so intense when he gazed at her—as if there was nothing else in the world worth seeing. “Or I'd return the hand you gave me tonight.” His voice husky, he said, “Mariketa, think of how good it will feel.”

She couldn't seem to take her eyes from his, even when she amazed herself by skimming her hand down her front to her panties.

His brows drew together. “
Ah, you good lass,”
he rasped.

She swallowed. “You start.”

His hand flew to his zipper. When he began pulling it down, the sound was surprisingly loud in the cave. He drew it open slowly as if he didn't want to spook her from what they were about to do. Her breaths came quick once he grasped himself in his jeans.

Yet movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention away. A sizable cave spider crawled along his leg, but MacRieve was so absorbed in looking at her that he didn't even notice.

Rising to her knees, she reached for it. He must have thought she was aiming for his groin because he hissed an oath, and his hands seized her waist. After letting the spider take hold of three of her fingers, she brought it forward, displaying it to him. MacRieve abruptly released her.

When she returned from relocating it outside and lay back down, his eyes were narrowed. “You were
terrified
of
that scorpion in the tomb, but no' of a spider the same size?”

“I'm not afraid of things like that anymore, not after I had insects crawling all over me . . .”
In the dark, for weeks.

Her lips parted. What a timely reminder.

A bucket of cold water poured over her head couldn't have awakened her more sharply from this sensual stupor. Making her tone biting, she said, “And actually, I think the incubi varied my steady diet of blood with some, so I'm accustomed. As a
witch
I'm supposed to have a connection with all low creatures like that anyway.”

His face fell.

“You
almost
made me forget what you're really like,
Bowen the Bitter
.” She turned to her side, away from him. “But I'll be on my guard now.”

M
ari woke the next morning as surly as a bear roused in winter. She felt uncomfortable in her own skin, exhausted from the surprising demands that thwarted desire placed on her body.

Blearily rubbing her eyes, she scanned the cave but didn't see MacRieve. He'd gone, leaving behind fruit for her, which she regarded with a glare. Fruit was not her breakfast mainstay. She wasn't a coffee drinker, but she was an Eggo eater, and she hadn't had a single waffle in weeks.

He'd also left a change of clothes for her and had already packed up everything but her hiking gear and her toiletries. Did he think to dress her now?

One thing that was missing from the ensemble: a cloak. For the first time in years, Mari would get ready for the day without a cloak or glamour.

Was she worried about the prediction? Not really. She suspected she could handle the “immortal warrior.” Her strategy? Throwing him.

In fact, she couldn't believe she'd dreaded this so much and for so long, and scowled to think of all the days at the beach she'd missed and the dates she'd failed to secure because males thought she was a hideous little troll covered in yards of scarlet cloth.

She could have resumed her glamour last night, but what was the point? The horse was already out of the barn in that matter. Besides, she hadn't realized how cumbersome and draining the glamour had been until she'd been freed of it—she felt like she'd shed a ten-pound parasite.

Once she rose and began motivating, she braided her hair into two plaits to cover her ears, as she hadn't had to do in years. Then she pulled her mirrored compact from her toiletry case—but
not
to check her hair or to make sure that her eyes weren't puffy from crying last night. No, she wanted to further investigate her new discovery.

Gazing into the mirror, she swallowed, then whispered, “My mother says I must not pass . . .” When she'd finished the rhyme, her own reflection was replaced by the visage with shining eyes and swirling hair. Mari was actually conjuring, using the power of yet another caste. Because . . . she was a freaking captromancer!

She decided to ask the mirror something she had always wanted to know. “What does the mark on my back mean?”

“
In a dead language, it says, the Queen of Reflections
.”

“A queen?” A witch was considered a queen of an element when she was more powerful with it than any other witch. Mari had never met one before.

“What's the warning in the rhyme? What can't I know?”

“
I'll show you
.” The hand broke the surface of the mirror, the glass becoming pliable to allow it—and the apple she presented—to fit through.

Mari stared at the shining apple, her mouth unexpectedly watering for it as though it were a waffle. She shook her head hard. “No, why don't you just tell me?”

“
All your questions can be answered if you come with me.
”

“Well, if you know so much, then tell me why Nïx gave the rhyme to me instead of Elianna. Or Jillian.”

“
Take my hand.
”

“You're only going to answer so many questions at a time, aren't you?” Mari narrowed her eyes with realization. “And like a classic, frustrating oracle, you're rarely going to give me extrapolation or edification.”

The reflection grinned coyly. Great. A glassy magick eight ball. Mari began to suspect that this reflection was going to prove to be like that little computer paperclip assistant—at first it helps, but after a while you just want the paperclip to die.

In any case, Mari had her own suspicions about why it had been Nïx who'd given her the letter. Valkyrie grew stronger as they aged, and some in the Lore had begun to whisper that Nïx had become powerful enough to
affect
the outcome of an Accession. Nïx had even mentioned it in the letter.

Mari told the reflection, “If that's all you have to say, then I'm going to log off.”

“
Don't forget the apple.
”

As Mari accepted it, she mumbled to herself, “Don't forget the apple, meh, meh, meh,” aware that she was making fun of her own voice.

Though she craved it, she was nervous, at once tempted to take a bite, but fearing to.

In fairy tales—which were almost always true—wicked witches proffered apples with evil intent. But apples were held sacred by all witches as symbols of knowledge and foresight. There was no more reason to think it evil than to think it good.

Holding it in both hands, she glanced around uneasily. Perhaps she shouldn't be alone in a shadowy cave the first time she made this leap. Yes, she would taste it . . .
later.
Decided, she slipped it into her hiking sack.

When she exited the cave, she found the morning mist was thick, the sky cloudy overhead. She blinked and lowered her face, disappointment settling over her that there was no sun to be felt. Vampires got more sun than she had for the last twenty-one days.

And she wasn't likely to get any in the hours to come. In preparing for this trip, she'd read about the jungles in the area and had learned that only a small percentage of the sunlight that hit a rain forest canopy made it to the floor. To catch the light, most of the trees were tall and spindly with an umbrella of leaves at the top. Which made for an odd environment—even as it was gloomy, the forest was open like a warehouse with intermittent pillars to support the roof.

She saw the others were gathered nearby, though MacRieve stood off to the side. All eyes were on her, with Cade's focus on her neck. Unnerved by their scrutiny, she wanted to blurt out, “We didn't do anything!”

Instead she turned to Rydstrom and casually asked, “Hey, top, what's the op?”

MacRieve grated, “Who made him the . . . top?”

“Rydstrom's like a
king
.” She looked him up and down. “And you're . . .
not
.”

“I'm third in line . . .” He trailed off at Rydstrom's amused glance.

Rydstrom answered her, “We're going to have to push hard to make it into Belize before you're to call in. But let us know if you need to rest.” When she nodded, he continued,
“Cade's on point. I'll take the lead, with the females between the males.” To MacRieve, he said, “You bring up the rear.”

She knew the Lykae's eyes were on her ass when he huskily rumbled, “
Any day o' the week
.”

Then MacRieve stood right behind her, his toes to her heels, as if taking his job very seriously. “If you need help climbing, I'll assist you. And doona touch
anything
—moving or inanimate. Doona pull on vines—ever—and try to step exactly where the others do. Let them take the risk. There are snakes in this underbrush, some that'll go out of their way to strike. The fer-de-lance for one.”

She'd read enough in her research to know that
fer-de-lance
equaled
bad
.

“And doona drink any water that has no' been boiled. I've a canteen in the pack that's already been processed for you. Just tell me if you need a drink.”

“Are you done explaining to me things that are
not
counterintuitive?” she asked, huffily adjusting her knapsack.

Tierney laughed as he finished one banana and swiftly peeled another. “Looks like the werewolf struck out last night, huh, Scot?” he said between bites, seeming bent on regaining in one morning all the weight he'd lost.

Reminded that MacRieve preferred another
version
of her, Mari cast an overly pleasant smile over her shoulder. “He lost the entire series. All pennant hopes . . .
dashed
.”

Cade cast a grin at her before starting off.

“Watch your step, witchling,” MacRieve rasped at her ear, his temper obviously flaring. “I have no' even brought my A game yet.”

*  *  *

Bowe was on edge after just a mile into their journey.

So much could harm her. While they were playing protect the mortal, it seemed everything out here conspired against them. Bad water, serpents, a certain
frog
could bloody drop her.

He felt as if he were carrying the most delicate crystal through a war zone.

“So are you planning on dressing me in addition to everything else?” she asked once they'd cleared a challenging rise.

“I planned to pack as much as I could this morning, so you could sleep later,” he lowered his voice, “or take care of what went unfinished last night.” He'd amazed himself by behaving so unselfishly as that. Her unfulfilled desire made it more likely that he'd get her into bed with him, and yet, he couldn't stand to think of her suffering. “I was attempting to be considerate. Though I've little experience with it.”

“I'm not talking to you about this. I'm just
not
.”

“I can feel your need as strong as my own.”

“Maybe I do have these needs—doesn't mean you're the one I'll choose to help me work them out.” Her gaze drifted to Cade, who was greedily chugging water.

His voice low and seething, Bowe said, “You regard him with an appraising eye one more time, Mariketa, and you're going to get that demon killed. All he wants is to ‘attempt' you. Do you ken what that means?”