Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (30 page)

“Do it. Dare you to! And don't let a branch hit your ass on the way out.”

“Oh, this is just great!”

“Oh, aye, this is ‘
juice grett
.' ”

He pointed his forefinger at her, opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. “I will no' watch this,” he finally grated, before loping off.

Alone, Mari lay dazed by what had just occurred. She'd thought they were going to make love all night because he desired her. Not because he desired to impregnate her.

Or try to. MacRieve had to have his little test, because for whatever reason, he couldn't look at her, hear her voice, and be near her and know
she
was his.

What in the hell would it take for someone to say to Mari, “I choose
you
”?

She thought she would keel over in shock if someone got to know her, and then, based on her personal merits alone—not matehood, or
whatever
—said, “No doubt of it. You are the one for me.”

And what would MacRieve have done if she didn't conceive after repeated attempts?

Left me, that's what.

That realization really blew, because now, when she thought of her future back in New Orleans, away from this other-world jungle, she kept seeing him in it.

She brushed another tear away. Damn it, what was it about her that made her so . . . disposable?

S
ometimes Bowe could tell in an instant when a memory would be as clear in a thousand years as the day he experienced it.

When he returned to the campsite after a hard run, he knew the scene before him would prove indelible, lasting through even an immortal's lifetime.

With flashes of lightning in the background, and soft rain falling, he found Mariketa lying on her side in the lean-to, one arm folded under her head. Her other arm was raised, with a huge spider lumbering over her glowing hand. She absently regarded it with brilliant, mirrored eyes. Her lips were a deeper red than he'd ever seen them—blood red—and three sinister-looking apples lay half eaten beside her. She looked like that preternatural reflection he'd seen in the water.

—
Be wary.
—

Those ominous vines grew in profusion, twisting in dense layers over the lean-to, as if defensively, and the entire platform was surrounded by beasties—iguanas, frogs, snakes, deer mice, and coatimundi made up a creeping moat. In the canopy directly above her, territorial howler monkeys sat unusually poised and watchful, sharing their limbs with owls.

In the witch's current mood, she seemed to attract them all.

—
Wary. Her power is unstable.
—

He got chills, shivering even as he sweated after his run, and still part of him wanted to charge over there and comfort her.

He could feel her sadness and her disappointment—in him. His own anger had turned to a weary realization. . . .

If he wanted her,
he
would have to change.

Weeks ago, he'd been disgusted to see that Lachlain had allowed his vampire mate to drink from him. Vampires had tortured Lachlain in unimaginable ways and had decimated his family. In turn, he'd killed thousands of their kind.

A vampire's bite was a mark of weakness, of abject shame among the Lykae; Lachlain wore Emma's bite like a badge. He had changed for her, had somehow overcome a millennium-long hatred.

Now Bowe understood why Lachlain had been moved to do so. But could Bowe accept the haunting female before him? Change an entrenched mind-set for her?

Bowe himself had advised Lachlain not to try to force Emma to their ways, but that hadn't meant that Bowe was saying to embrace her ways either.

He asked Mariketa, “Did you find out what happened to the others?”

Without facing him, she said, “They're safe.”

“Are they coming?”

She shrugged. “I don't know—just learned that they're not in immediate danger.”

When he remained silent, she murmured, “If you think I don't know what I look like, I do. No butterflies, fauns,
and songbirds for me.” She finally faced him. “It must be hard for you, going from a real fairy princess to the wicked witch who kills for money.” She frowned to herself. “I think I'm supposed to be the villain in this piece.”

“Maybe that's why we would fit so well.” How in the hell could he expect her to tolerate the beast within him when he couldn't accept the power intrinsic in her? “If you're the villain, doona forget that I'm the monster.”

*  *  *

Mari planted her hands on her knees as she sucked in air, her braids swinging forward with each inhalation. “You're doing this . . . to retaliate for last night.” That morning, he'd pushed her for what had to be leagues, using his machete and his claws to thrash through the jungle at a breakneck pace. “Fine. Take the patch . . . knock me up with a litter . . . but just let me
stop
!”

“No' to retaliate.” His mood, not exactly jubilant after having slept in the rain last night, had grown steadily worse as the day progressed.

“Then why are you pushing so hard?”

“I'd hoped Rydstrom and the others would have caught up with us by now.”

She rolled her eyes. “A clue? You
slow down
when you want people to catch up.”

“Their pace would be twice as fast as ours. They should've been able to rejoin us.” He handed her the canteen. “Listen, Mariketa, I want you to know that I'm sorry for last night. Though I've long wanted bairns, I'd give up the chance forever if the alternative was your suffering. I doona know how to convince you of this, but it's true.”

He appeared so earnest, and yet she wasn't sold. “I don't know how you can convince me either.”

“Here.” He held out his hand. “I'll carry you on my back, but we have to move. There might be a highway in reach. You could hitch a ride into Belize and get to the coast, maybe to an airport.”

“Why am I the only one hitching a ride?” When he ran his fingers through his hair, she said, “What? Tell me.”

“The moon is full this eve.”

“Oh.” Of course she'd noticed, but she hadn't thought the ramifications could be this dire until she'd seen his expression just now.
Oh, hell.

“I've been debating the best way to get you out of my reach. If I run from you, I leave you vulnerable. If I stay with you . . .” He trailed off.

“You look like the apocalypse has arrived. Is it really so dangerous?”

Instead of reassuring her, he nodded. “Aye. I lose control over myself, and the difference between us in strength is just too vast. If given free leave to take you, I'd rend you in two.”

She swallowed. “What exactly do you turn into, MacRieve? Describe it to me.”

He answered, “The Lykae call it
saorachadh ainmhidh bho a cliabhan
—letting the beast out of its cage. My face will change, becoming a cross between lupine and human. My body grows larger, taller. My strength increases exponentially.”

“I've seen the fangs and claws.”

“Sharper and longer. And flickering over me will be an image of the beast inside me. It is . . . harrowing to those not of my kind.”

“What would you do to me?”

He looked away. “I'd take you in the dirt like an animal.
I'd mark your body with my fangs, and even after the bite healed, Lykae could still see it forever and know you'd been claimed.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, as if imagining it even then. “What does your gut feeling tell you to do with me?” he asked, facing her again. “Take away everything else—what do you sense?”

She thought for a moment, trying to digest what he'd just told her. She'd known Lykae bit and scratched each other during sex. But she'd never imagined that Bowen would want to sink his fangs in her skin, marking her forever—or that he'd lose control over himself so totally. “Honestly, I have no idea. But I could ask the mirror what to do.”

He clenched his jaw, clearly struggling with the idea. “What can it tell you?” he finally said.

“I usually only get cursory answers. Classic oracular.”

He hesitated for long moments, the conflict within him clear on his face. “Ask it, then. Would it be more dangerous to escape me—or to remain within my reach?”

M
ari was out of breath, griping to herself, and pissed that because Bowen was going to get moon-ass-crazy, she had to do the jungle by herself, basically running for her life and all that.

And he was sprinting in the opposite direction. But if she didn't find civilization and some manner of vehicle for speedy travel, it wouldn't matter. He'd told her he could cover
hundreds upon hundreds
of miles to get to her on a night like this.

At a small stream, she knelt down to catch her breath and splash her face with water, careful not to drink any of it. As she unwound her canteen to knead her neck, she thought that if she could just get to a town, she could escape him
and
enjoy a hot shower for the first time in a month. Breakfast in the morning would be hot and waffly.

She froze when she thought she heard movement in a nearby copse of trees, then scanned the area. Probably just an animal. They tended to be in jungles. She turned back to the stream—

“Put your hands on your head.”

Not an animal.
As she slowly stood and turned, she recognized that these weren't locals. These were bad guys, three of them with machine guns aimed at her face.

In her present mood that equaled:
Why, I believe I'll turn them into frogs!
Just as she reached for the mirror in her pocket, they cocked their weapons.

The oldest man was clearly the leader, and his tone was deadly when he said, “Your hands on your head—or I'll put a bullet into it.” He didn't have a thick accent. These must be the international narco-terrorists, the ones who made the cartel look mild. So much for the mirror's judgment.

Unless this was still better than Bowen.

Before she could even get close to working a spell, one soldier had a gun barrel shoved against her temple. She'd thought it would be cold, but it was uncomfortably warm.

Fear shivered through her, and she raised her hands. As the soldier bound them behind her with plastic ties like the ones the NOPD used, she said, “You have no idea what a mistake you're making—there are people who will be a shade irate about this abduction.”

“We have never heard that from a hostage,” the second soldier said as they started away. With a rough grip on her upper arm, he hauled her from the water, yanking her uphill and then down the next rise. She struggled against him, trying to think of some way to convince them to free her.

“For all you know, I could be CIA or DEA,” she said when she heard an engine idling. Their vehicle was near—which meant the road had been close.

“Too young,” the first lackey said. “You look like a lost environmentalist.”

When they arrived at their army green truck, she resisted getting in the back. “Why haven't you asked me about my information?” she demanded. The man simply shoved her up into the truck bed, banging her knee so hard her eyes watered.

“Why would we?” the leader asked in an unctuous tone.

Her brows drew together as everything became clear. They weren't going to ransom her—at least, not at first. They were going to
keep
her. The thought made her retch into her mouth. She had to get her hands free.

Once the truck started down rutted roads, she determined that they were taking her right back in MacRieve's direction. “Listen to me, the only way you are going to live through the night is to release me this instant.” She could already see the moon faint but full in the daytime sky. A portentous reminder. “You can't even conceive of what you're bringing down on yourself.” They ignored her, having no idea that they were basically dragging bait back to their base.