Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

by Kresley Cole

"Before you decide," MacRieve interrupted, "know that if you were my mate, I'd make sure you had whatever you needed to be comfortable." Her lips parted when he pulled her bag from behind him and proceeded to dig through it. "Like your toothbrush." He held up her pink toothbrush.

  He'd retrieved her things from her car? And rooted through her personal possessions.

  She'd seen MacRieve's ferocity, and now she was getting a good glimpse of his sly side, his tricksy side. She could see what Rydstrom had been talking about. MacRieve seemed . . . wolfish.

  Then she remembered what else she had in her bag. Oh, great Hekate. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Mari had private things in there--rocket of the pocket-type private things. Like a tube of lipstick that wasn't really one.

  "Or this." He carelessly flicked her birth control patch. "Doona know what it does, but I ken that people who use patches for whatever reason might be eager for a new one." He displayed her iPod next. "It's my understanding that females your age canna go long without listening to music or they become irrational and impossible to deal with. And how long's it been for you, then?" He drew out a blue-labeled bottle and shook it. "You had several bottles of Orangina in your Jeep. Must like it, do you no'?"

  Not the Orangina! Her mouth watered even more.

  "And here's your bit of Mayan gold that you're probably keen to hold on to." He held up the weighty headdress. Stunning.

  She hazily remembered seeing it in the severed hand of an incubus, as if in offer, but she'd thought the piece had been lost into that crater. If MacRieve gave the incubi's headdress to her, it would be her first payment as a mystical mercenary.

  No, resist him! To act like his mate? To follow his orders? She could resist the food and the Orangina. She could even resist gold, but there he went digging once more.

  He'd find it. But maybe he wouldn't know what it really was--

  "And your lipstick," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes. Oh, no, he knew, and he was playing with her. She was going to die of mortification!

  Her face grew hot when he added, "You must be in sore need of this after three weeks without."

  Playing with me . . . "Put my things back," she said between gritted teeth. "Now!"

  "Come tae me, agree to my plans, and I will. It'll take us till Friday to reach civilization. Until then, I'll treat you as mine."

  Food, dry clothes, a toothbrush, the absence of scalding humiliation . . .

  "One day," she countered.

  His tone firm, he repeated, "Till Friday."

  As she hesitated for long moments, his demeanor seemed uncaring and aloof, as though he'd merely shrug if she said no. But when she studied him closely as he waited, she detected more.

  Bowen MacRieve was holding his breath.

  Whether she used magick against him or not, she wasn't going to be powerless in this exchange. For whatever reason, he wanted this arrangement badly. She could use that.

  When she forced herself to rise, Cade asked her, "You're not really willing to go along with this? Sleep with him for some fish? Because if that's the case, wait half an hour for me to return with my catch."

  "I've said sex is no' part of this deal," MacRieve grated. "Now, Cade, why would I bargain to get a female in my bed when I can scarcely keep them out of it?"

  Mari raised her brows, knowing she was catching only the very surface of this conversation. She also sensed Cade was merely waiting for the time to strike.

  As she crossed to MacRieve, he put her things back in her bag and smugly patted the ground beside him. She sank down farther away than indicated, but he simply dragged her closer. "She's accepted her lot," he told the others as he handed Mari a broad leaf covered in flaking fish. "Agree you will no' interfere on our journey." A rich, sliced avocado followed.

  "Mariketa, you don't have to do this," Tera said, even as she kept eyeing the food.

  Mari put her chin up. "No. I'll do it. If I survived something so distasteful as confinement with the incubi, I should be able to tolerate even a Lykae for a couple of days."

  Tierney said, "Well, I'm not waiting for an engraved invitation." When he and Tera attacked the offering, Cade strode from the cave, looking murderous.

  "I'll get back at you for this," Mari whispered to MacRieve. "I don't have to use magick to make you sorry for trying to humiliate me."

  "I thought your 'tube of lipstick' might bring you round. And I dinna even have to turn it on."

  Her cheeks burned anew. "Are you done?"

  "Canna say." Moments passed, then he leaned down near her ear to murmur, "After you eat, I'm going to enjoy giving you a nice, long bath. . . ."

  16

  I still don't see why we couldn't sleep in that cave," Mari said as MacRieve led her out into the night.

  "Because my cave's better than their cave."

  "You know, that really figures." After the rain, the din of cicadas and frogs resounded in the underbrush all around them, forcing her to raise her voice. "Is it far?" When he shook his head, she said, "Then why do I have to hold your hand through the jungle? This path looks like a tractor busted through here."

  "I went back this way while you ate to make sure everything was clear. Brought your things here, too," he said as he steered her toward a lit cave entrance.

  When they crossed the threshold, wings flapped in the shadows, building to a furor before settling. Inside, a fire burned. Beside it, she saw he'd unpacked some of his things, and had made up one pallet. "Well, no one can call you a pessimist, MacRieve." She yanked her hand from his. "Deluded fits, though."

  He merely leaned back against the wall, seeming content to watch her as she explored on her own. She'd read about this part of Guatemala and knew that here limestone caverns spread out underground like a vast web. Above them a cathedral ceiling soared, with stalactites jutting down. "What's so special about this cave?"

  "Mine has bats."

  She breathed, "If I stick with you, I'll have nothing but the best."

  "Bats mean fewer mosquitoes. And then there's also the bathtub for you to enjoy." He waved her attention to an area deeper within. A subterranean stream with a sandy beach meandered through the cavern. Her eyes widened. A small pool sat off to the side, not much larger than an oversize Jacuzzi, and laid out along its edge were her toiletries, her washcloth, and her towel. Her bag--filled with all of her clean clothes--was off just to the side.

  Mari cried out at the sight, doubling over to yank at her bootlaces. Freed of her boots, she hopped forward on one foot then the other as she snatched off her socks. She didn't pause until she was about to start on the button fly of her shorts.

  She glanced up to find him watching her with a gleam of expectation in his eyes. "You will be leaving, of course."

  "Or I could help you."

  "I've had a bit of practice bathing myself and think I can stumble my way through this."

  "But you're tired. Why no' let me help? Now that I've two hands again, I'm eager to use them."

  "You give me privacy or I go without."

  "Verra well." He shrugged. "I'll leave--because your going without is no' an option. Call me if you need me."

  Too easy. She knew he'd capitulated readily, but the call of the water was irresistible. She stripped, throwing her shorts, underthings, tank top, and used-up patch all into a pile to be put on the fire later. Then she stepped in, moaning with bliss.

  The water wasn't hot, but it was lukewarm and felt delicious in the humid air of the cave. She ducked under, then swam up to the edge. He'd thought of everything--toothbrush, toothpaste, her shampoo and conditioner. She loaded her toothbrush, then brushed, lavishing every tooth.

  After that, she poured lotion soap into her washcloth and scrubbed it over every inch of her body. She'd just finished the second wash and rinse of her hair when MacRieve strolled in, barefoot and wearing nothing but a worn pair of jeans and the medallion at his neck.

  She ducked down until the water hit her neck. "You said I'd have privacy!" she sput
tered. "You promised." She was by no means a shy person, but she also didn't see any reason to tease him with the goods he would never be getting.

  "Aye, and I kept my promise." In the firelight, she saw his chest was massive and sculpted, dusted with the lightest smattering of golden hair against his tanned skin. "There's no way the others will be able to see you."

  "You know I meant privacy from you."

  He frowned, as if she spoke nonsense. "Mates have a different concept of privacy," he said, smoothly stripping himself of his jeans, leaving that spectacular body completely unclothed.

  Dumbstruck, she was unable to do anything but stare at the expanse of skin and rippling muscles. Her gaze dipped lower, past his chiseled torso to the trail of darker hair below his navel. In a kind of daze, she found her eyes following it down to his huge erection.

  She'd felt how large he was but was still unprepared to witness his size. With every second she gaped, his penis grew harder, distending before her eyes. His breaths were coming faster, yet she couldn't seem to look away.

  The broad head that she'd once briefly stroked grew slick, and the sight called forth an answering clenching between her thighs, so powerful she nearly cried out. . . .

  She knew what was happening--she was suffering from the immortal phenomenon of overstimulation.

  The transition from mortal to immortal was a time of uncomfortable adjustment. Eyesight and sense of smell improved exponentially, and even tactile awareness increased, yet it took time for transitioning mortals to get accustomed to the difference.

  In short, her senses were bombarding her, and that was a problem.

  Because superhuman senses meant superhuman lust.

  "Gods, Mariketa," he rasped, "I can feel your eyes on it."

  She finally forced herself to drag her gaze away. As soon as she turned from him, she heard him enter the water. With a gasp, she lunged for the side to get out, but he caught her with an arm looped around her waist.

  "Let me go!" she demanded, struggling against him, briefly stunned by the rock hardness prodding her.

  "I'm enjoying your squirming, but no' your kicking so much. Ach, watch that you doona hit me in the ballocks! We're both going to need those in working order."

  Galling! "You bastard--stop poking me with . . . with that!"

  "You keep squirming, witch, and I'm no' goin' to be able to keep my hips still either."

  She froze, out of breath and realizing she couldn't fight him anyway. He was breathing hard, too, but not from exertion. She felt his warm exhalations on her neck and ear and shivered, her nipples hardening against his arm.

  "You need my help in here--even if you doona want to admit it."

  "You think I can't clean myself?"

  "You brushed your teeth for a good ten minutes, and you've washed your hair twice and you'd probably do it again for good measure, but your arms are likely getting tired."

  "They're not!" They were. "I'm fine."

  "Oh? Then let me see your hands."

  She rolled her eyes and raised her hands. At his tsking sound, she glanced down. Her nails were dirty! Her face flushed wildly. Damn him!

  When he spun her around, she draped her arm over her breasts. Glaring at the ceiling, she allowed him to wash one hand at a time. Using the lather, he massaged each finger from base to tip.

  Her eyelids began to grow heavy as he firmly pressed his thumbs into her palms, one then the other. "Your hands are so small," he said, his voice pleasingly low and rumbly. "But pretty." She just stifled a shiver.

  He finally let her go, and embarrassingly, she swayed. Once she opened her eyes, mustering up the energy to lay into him again, she found him running his thumb claw against the limestone. "What are you doing that for?"

  "Dulling the verra edges. Give me those wee hands again." More massaging followed until the fight in her was blissed away. When he began carefully running his dulled claw under each of her nails, she watched his face. His brows were drawn in concentration while he painstakingly went about the task, as if this was very important for him.

  "There," he said when finished. "Now for all that hair of yours." He eased her around again.

  Still rendered relaxed and cooperating, she let him tend to her. With his claws retracted, he massaged her head thoroughly until she felt she was the consistency of a puddle. And she knew he was wearing that look of concentration as he did it, because he wanted to get this right. What she didn't know was why.

  If this was meant to torture her and make her miserable enough to remove the spell, then he was doing a shoddy job of it.

  But MacRieve couldn't truly believe she was his. Could he?

  17

  As he worked shampoo into her long hair, he said, "See, Mariketa, this is no' so bad. If you'd known you'd be treated like this, I probably would no' even have had to blackmail you."

  "You had no right to go through my things like that."

  "I'd warned you that you'd find me overbearing. Strange, though, when I investigated your belongings, more questions were raised than answered. What is the patch for, the one in your bag?"

  She shrugged. "Birth control."

  "A contraceptive?" he hastily asked. Bloody perfect.

  "Yeah, so?" She stiffened. "Do you think I'm easy now?"

  "Sensitive about this, Mariketa?"

  "Most guys my age would look at the tattoo on my back and the patch on my arm as tramp stamps."

  "Tramp . . . ? Oh, I see."

  "I'm not. A tramp."

  "O' course no'," he agreed, trying to keep amusement out of his tone. "Most 'guys your age' just hope that you are one. And would no' know what to do with you even if you were."

  "And exactly how old are you, MacRieve?"

  "Twelve hundred, give or take."

  She glanced back at him, as though gauging if he was jesting. When he raised his brows, she said, "Great Hekate, you're a relic. Don't you have a museum exhibit to be in somewhere?"

  He ignored her comments. "Another mystery--I dinna find a razor in your bag, but your legs and under your arms are smooth."

  "I was lasered," she said, then added, "I can hear your frown, Father Time," surprising him because he was.

  She didn't explain more, but he didn't miss a beat. "Makes a man recall where else you're so well groomed." She shivered from a mere murmur in her ear. "I'm lookin' forward tae touchin' you there again."

  "Ha! Why would you think that I would ever let you?"

  "I happen to ken that you're a lusty one. And I've taken away your wee alternative. Tossed it into a river." As she gasped, he said, "Took me a minute to figure out what it was--a minute more to believe you actually had it. Then imagining you using it? Had me in such a state, I could scarcely run without tripping over my own feet."

  "You're trying to embarrass me again. Give it up. I'm not going to be ashamed because I'm like every other girl my age."

  "I doona want you to be ashamed--never in matters like that. And I ken you're to turn immortal soon, know the need must be overwhelming. In fact, most females get confused by all their new lustiness," he said. "Best to have a firm hand to guide them into immortal sex."

  "And I'll just bet that you're happy to volunteer."

  Making his tone aggrieved, he sighed, "If I must . . . Now lean back so I can rinse your hair."

  She hesitated, then finally did. He rewarded her by using the water he'd warmed in his canteen. "Ooh," she softly moaned, making his shaft throb harder.

  "So responsive." Once he'd rinsed her hair clean, he lowered his voice to say, "If you were no' so tired, I'd make you come a few times."

  She jerked upright, her hair whipping across her chin and neck. "That won't happen! I learned my lesson about you." She backed away from him. "The bloom is definitely off that rose."

  "How's that?"

  "Got lost in a kiss--got locked in a tomb with an ancient evil bent on making me drink blood. It's all about causality. The bottom line is that you are bad news."

  "I'
ll make you believe differently in the time you've given me."

  "And how do you expect to do that?" she asked, her tone scoffing. "By bathing me really, really good?"

  "No, I plan to use my roguish charm to seduce you."

  "But you're not charming."

  He gave an arrogant half laugh, though he had been worried on that exact score. "I've no' even begun to try with you. Now come back here--you're to bathe me."

  *

  Mari frowned at him. She didn't like this new flirty side of MacRieve because, damn him, he did have a certain rough charm. "Like that's going to happen. I'm getting out, and I don't want you to look."

  He gave her a brows-drawn look of disappointment, as if she'd taken away a toy--and for no good reason.

  "It really is the least you could do."

  When he finally turned his broad back to her, she found herself again getting caught up staring at the damp skin and muscles. With a hard shake of her head, she hurried from the water, then bent for the towel he'd laid out, covering herself.

  Kneeling beside her bag, she rifled through it, searching for something to sleep in. She'd had a roomy T-shirt in there. Where was it? Wait . . . She narrowed her eyes in his direction and found him running a shaking hand over his face, his eyelids heavy.

  "You watched me get out, didn't you?" she asked absently, realizing that she could not see his right hand below the water--and that the muscles in that arm were moving.

  "O' course, I did," he replied with no shame. "And I'd describe the sight as life changing. It's also made me ponder if a male can have a cockstand that's so hard, it canna be tamed."

  She glared at the ceiling, irritated that he was getting to her like this. "Did you take the sleep shirt from my bag?"

  "Aye. Found some silks in there that I want you to wear for me." Shameless, tricksy wolf.

  Mari bit her lip as she surveyed the three underwear sets he'd seen--and probably felt, and who knew what else: recovering nymphomaniac, hooker, and playful hooker. Just ducky. The last time she'd ever go lingerie shopping with Carrow.

  She stood, marched over to his bag, and rummaged inside for the largest shirt she could find. When she pulled one out, she spied a folded letter with a broken wax seal. The script had faintly bled through and was feminine.

  What female was writing him letters? And why was it so special that he would bring it with him on this trip?