Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (24 page)

He dropped his pack. “Her towel and belongings are in there if she needs anything.” Then he lowered his voice. “But you canna let the witch go anywhere else. Just have her stay by the water. And doona let her touch anything. She'll likely get curious about something and wander off, so you canna take your eyes—”

“Lykae, enough! I won't let her get killed in the time it takes to boil water, okay?”

*  *  *

Mari nearly trembled with excitement. This place was . . . Eden.

Flowers with blooms as big as plates basked in the sun.
Their scarlet and yellow petals were so bright and flawless, they looked fake. Shallow pools cascaded softly down, one after the other. The water was turquoise, and each basin was surrounded by ferns or had islands of flowers dotting it.

She wondered if anyone had ever hoped for an oasis—not from the sun, but
of the sun
—and then been rewarded like this.

After MacRieve and Rydstrom had started off to make a fire, she and Tera had torn into the pack—Tera for soap and shampoo and a borrowed change of clothes, and Mari for her bathing suit.

Just before she'd lain out in her suit—a black string bikini—she'd had a moment of uncharacteristic wavering. Aside from MacRieve, no one had seen her dressed in so little in years. The triangles on top were narrow, and though the back was not quite a thong, it was close.

And she wasn't exactly svelte.

Before, she'd never been ashamed of the curves most women would aspire to aerobicize away. She'd made a deal with herself her senior year in high school. She'd diet the minute her bikini-clad body failed to stir the shorts of at least one of the hot guys at the beach.

If it ain't broke . . .

When the sun beckoned, she'd recalled MacRieve's reaction to spying her naked and shucked her towel.

Now as Tera lay out with her hair coated in conditioner, Mari unbraided her own hair, listened to her iPod, and enjoyed rays. In this place, her entire outlook from the morning shifted.

She still couldn't believe she'd been so worried about the prediction.
Seek to lock her away?
Nothing could hold her! Not an immortal warrior or a tomb of incubi.

Here she was free, when she'd thought she'd die in that place. Soon she'd see her friends again. She'd sing more really bad karaoke with Regin and Carrow at the Cat's Meow—and she'd do it without her cloak. Anonymous, cloaked karaoke just didn't hold the same thrill.

And on this trip, she had accomplished something monumental by taking out the incubi. She might not have won, or even finaled, in the Hie, but when she returned to New Orleans she wouldn't walk, she'd strut.

Everyone had been awaiting? Well, Mari had just annihilated a thousand-year-old source of evil.
Boo-yah for the captromancer!

No one could ever take that away from her. She'd destroyed ancient evil; her regret for the incomplete in that Civics 101 class just didn't have the same bite.

Then, the best part of this whole scenario—she'd been paid for it. Many factions in the Lore shared collective property, but the witches were the opposite—everything in the covens was about private ownership. “Share and share alike” might be the Valkyrie's motto, but the witches' was “Mine is
mine
.” Mari was expected to carry her own weight.

Now she would
in gold
.

She was officially a mystical mercenary, at last an earner in the House. Earlier, she'd rechecked MacRieve's pack just to make sure the headdress was inside, and had frowned to see he'd carefully wrapped it in a towel, as if to keep it protected for her. . . .

Though MacRieve continued to irritate, confuse, and frustrate her, the ego-building fact remained that he was one of the most gorgeous and compelling males she'd ever seen—and he couldn't keep his paws off her.

All morning she'd been treated to the sight of four choice males, and yet, if she fantasized about making love, it was MacRieve's face she saw above her. Last night, she'd gotten a glimpse of what he'd be like as a lover.

He'd be
wild
.

For Mari, making love to Acton had always been pleasurable, but not earth-shattering. He'd never seemed to get crazed by his desire for her, had never taken her with a furious lust. She'd been happy with him, and she knew that sexual relationships were never perfect, but she had long craved intensity.

Yet would MacRieve be
too
intense? Immortal males were known to be relentless lovers, but the Lykae were supposed to bite and scratch as well. And MacRieve was huge—in all respects.

Why am I even thinking about this . . . ?

She hadn't noticed how often she'd been sneaking glances at him until he wasn't available for her viewing purposes. How much longer would he and Rydstrom be?

Big males talking amongst themselves. She would kill to be able to listen in on their conversation—

Wait . . .
She unplugged her earbuds and reached for her compact, easing it open.

Not just to hear it . . . but to
see
.

N
o progress with her, then?” Rydstrom asked as he sat on a boulder sharpening his sword.

Bowe paced beside his feebly growing fire. “None point none, apparently.”

“Full moon's tomorrow night.”

“Tell me something I doona know.” Bowe was strung out from guarding the witch, from trying to keep his hands from her, from mulling what the hell she was to him. And always the shadow of the waxing moon haunted him.

Yet even as he worried for Mariketa's safety, he recognized that she was too full of life to go down easily. The witch was a fighter.

Unfortunately, he'd ensured she viewed him as the enemy.

“I'd wondered why you allowed the company on this trip,” Rydstrom said. “I'm not just an extra sword, am I?”

Bowe shook his head. “If we don't get her out of here in time, you have to keep her from me. I will no' have had time to earn her trust or prepare her.”

“You think she would run from you?”

“I canna take the chance—”

He stilled when a weird breeze blew, feeling crisp, even here in the jungle. Both he and Rydstrom peered around.
Bowe had the sudden uncanny impression that they were being watched.

Rydstrom asked, “Do you see anything out there that I don't?”

“No. And I'd scent anyone who came close.” Shaking off the feeling, he resumed his pacing, considering what his path should be.
What's my next move with her?

Challenge and kill Cade.

Of course.

“Stop thinking about it,” Rydstrom said. “I will not let you kill Cade, so put it from your thoughts.”

Bowe narrowed his eyes. “I thought you'd had your mind-reading ability bound along with your tracing.”

“Don't have to be a mind reader in this case. Just so you know, if anyone is going to kill my brother, it'll be me. Besides, you don't have only Cade to worry about.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mariketa will turn soon,” Rydstrom said.

“So?”

“So, she's definitely ready for a mate.” Rydstrom scrubbed his chin. “
Never
have I seen a female so ready.”

“Doona speak about her like that!”

He shrugged. “You should have heard Tierney. I've been near her for three weeks—it's getting stronger every day. If you take her back to civilization without some bond between you . . . other males will seek to steal her from you.”

“A bond? I doona see it forthcoming. She despises me.” Bowe sank onto a stump. “I used to have it so easy with females.” He had no experience with this. For a millennium, a crook of his finger had him anyone he'd wanted. Now he truly had to question if he could win Mariketa over.

“There is a pleasing sort of irony that you actually want a witch, and she doesn't want you back.”

“Enjoyin' this, are you, then? She said we're no' compatible, or some such bullshite.” He frowned. “Do you know what
jangle pop
is?” When Rydstrom shook his head, Bowe continued, “And she asked me if I would go back for Mariah.”

“Discerning question.”

“Whose bloody side are you on?” Bowe asked, but Rydstrom merely hiked his shoulders. “So she asked me, and I told her I . . . would.”

“Ill-advised, Scot.”

“That's the way I felt at the time. Should I have lied to her?”

“At
the time
? Twelve hours later, and it's different? Didn't I tell you to make a decision and stick to it?”

“It's no' that easy. Every time I realize how much I want the witch, I continue to feel disloyal. And I doona want Mariketa to think me disloyal—but then I'm really no' if she's truly Mariah.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “One could go crazy thinking about all this.”

“Just reason it out. What are the pros and cons with her?”

“Reason! Always with your bloody reason. Do you know what I'm going to enjoy? When you meet your demoness and she shakes to hell your unflappable demeanor. I'm going to laugh when you turn enraged, horns flaring ramrod straight every time she saunters by.”

“Noted. Now, begin with the pros.”

“Verra well. She's clever, she's brave, and, by all the gods, she's been graced in form. And I'm no' going to apologize for being a typical male—I
do
want the sexiest female
I've ever laid eyes on to be mine. I'll admit that I want her on my arm and in my bed. And I want to be smug over having her desire me, too.”

“The cons . . .”

“Right back to the witchery. Would you no' be a tad unnerved if your female could unleash the force of an atomic bomb whenever she got nettled with you?”

Rydstrom nodded in commiseration, then said, “Take away the fact that she's a witch—”

“I will be taking away that fact,” Bowe interrupted. “Practicing witchcraft is voluntary. I could see to it that she
never
—”

Out of the blue, a bee stung him. “Damn it,” he muttered, slapping it away, then continued, “If I snatched her away from her coven and immersed her with the Lykae—”

Another sting. “Son of a bitch!”

When the odd breeze blew once more, Bowe narrowed his eyes. “The witch.” He gazed up at the sky and all around him. “Playing with me
again!
I'll turn her over my knee for this.”

*  *  *

When Mari had seen Cade and Tierney return, she'd hastily shut the mirror and returned it to her pocket. Yet even now, she was still reeling from everything MacRieve had said—and, naturally, she was dying to sting him some more.

She didn't know what had thrown her worse—that he'd so easily thought to take away her magick, or that he'd said she was the sexiest female he'd ever seen.
Sexiest
meant sexier than even his perfect mate. . . .

“Survived last night, I see,” Cade said as he took a spot next to her on the rock.

“I was about to die of irritation, but that's about all I faced.”

He drew off his sweat-dampened shirt. “I have to admit I thought things would be different.” At her raised brows, he said, “Bowen used to have a lot of success with women. Or with ‘wenches,' as he called them back then. A new one every night.”

Wenches?
“Is that so?” She wasn't jealous. Whatsoever. “Rydstrom seems to be friends with him, but you're not. Why's that?”

“We fought over a female, of course.”

Maybe a tinge of jealousy. No males had ever fought over her. “What happened?”

“He knew she wasn't his mate, but she still could have been mine. He took her to spite me. After him, she had no time for a demon mercenary, though he never saw her again.”

“Am I an attempt to get back at him?”

Cade ran his hand over one of his horns. “Maybe. Does that offend you?”

“No, because I might be using you to make him jealous.”

“Because you want him?”

“No, because he wants me”—she smiled sweetly—“and I want to hurt him.”

“MacRieve is long overdue for someone like you.”

“I do my best.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Cade, I was wondering about something. Rydstrom told me you two didn't grow up in the same household.”

“I was fostered out. I rarely saw my family, but that's the custom.”

“Oh, that must have been awful.”

“Actually, it was great. I never wanted to return . . .
even refused to when Rydstrom summoned me to rule while he went to war. He blames me, you know, for losing his crown. Said if I'd been there while he was away from his kingdom for so long, he'd still have it. Hell, he blames me for all his troubles.”

“I heard you two arguing about it in the tomb. Do you wish you had returned now?”