by Kresley Cole
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.
28
No 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 eve
ry 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?"
He nodded slowly. "At every hour." After glancing around, he leaned closer to her to murmur, "Mari, I wouldn't have said this in front of the others--because my reputation as a cold, selfish, and untrustworthy bastard suits me--but you sound like you've got a destiny to fulfill. And if you turn your back on your calling--maybe to be a Lykae's browbeaten mate and wife--fate will not just slight you." His expression grew grave. "She will punish you, over and over--"
A sudden roar sounded behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a huge fist swinging out at Cade.
It was MacRieve. In a killing rage.
29
Mari heard the crack of bone just before Cade flew across the rocks, landing in the brush.
She thought that his collarbone had snapped, but he still scrambled to his feet to face MacRieve.
As Cade snarled, his eyes and horns turned black. MacRieve's fangs and claws lengthened, but neither had fully turned to his beastly or demonic form--they both seemed just on the edge.
When Mari unsteadily stood, Tierney said from behind her, "Don't even think about getting in between them." Was he eating at a time like this?
Without looking away from the two, she said, "But they'll kill each other!"
"A single stray punch from one of them, and you're dead."
As Mari watched them fighting, she truly began to believe that. The two circled, scanning the other for weaknesses, striking out at intervals with fists like anvils. She caught herself flinching every time they smashed each other's face.
Like a shot, they both charged, their heavy, pounding steps punching through the brittle limestone ground. In a tangle of fists and claws, they crashed into the jungle, razing hardwoods with the impact.
MacRieve made another furious charge, barreling into the demon, sending them back toward the falls. They slammed into a rock face, pulverizing the outer layer to dust, then surged over the edge of one terrace, plummeting into the water of the next pool down.
Cade seemed to have the advantage, landing over MacRieve, but it was short-lived.
Shoving Cade back, MacRieve lunged for his throat with one hand; with his other, he slashed out with flared claws, ripping across Cade's torso. Blood poured from both, dissipating into the clear water.
MacRieve fought with such seething ferocity, just as he had the night at the assembly--when she could have admired him for hours. . . .
Without warning, Rydstrom lunged into the middle, throwing fists and elbows. Once he'd finally separated them, all three were out of breath and bleeding.
MacRieve turned his head, spit blood, then grated, "The witch is mine." Before she could react, he'd bounded up the rocks to where she stood. He snatched her tight to his side, laying his massive hand on her nape. His lips were drawn back from his fangs.
Cade gnashed his teeth in turn.
"Come near what's mine again, and I will destroy you." At that he simply swung her over his shoulder and started across the pools to the other side of the jungle.
She pounded her fists on his back and kicked to be freed. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Aye, thrash about. If anyone's foolish enough to follow me, the sight of that'd be sure to stop them in their tracks."
Reminded that her barely clad ass was jutting up for all to see, she stopped her struggles. "Where are you taking me?" she demanded.
"Somewhere private." He leapt over an entire branch of the river, making her gasp, then added, "We've matters to settle between us."
Moments later, she squealed when pounding falls cascaded over her back. He shook his hair out without missing a step, so wolfy.
Not another cave!
One minute, she'd been sitting in the sun, chatting with a demon. Now she was being hauled about like a Neanderthal's prize into the dark once more.
But as he continued in, deeper and deeper, there came to be filtered sunlight shining down. How? She craned her head up. He'd taken her to a cenote--one of the sinkholes in the area, with a clear pool at the bottom. She knew from her reading that they were considered sacred to the Maya.
When he dropped her to her feet inside, he snapped, "Understand, you will no' ever go about dressed like this. As a matter of fact, if you doona put your glamour back on directly, then I'll be getting you another sodding cloak!"
Her awe at the beauty of this place was swiftly replaced by ire. "You are crazed."
"Mayhap, but it's plain as day that you're no' like other females, and you canna dress as they do."
"What are you
talking about?" she cried.
"Everything about you--from your curves to your red hair to that damned ring at your navel--makes a male lose his judgment. Cade knew what he risked from me, and still he courted my wrath to be close to you."
"One more time. I'm--not--yours. And hitting Cade like that was so . . . so wrong! You could have killed him."
"Do you want me tae?"
She started away. "I'm going to check on him--"
"Then you do want me tae!" He seized her elbow and spun her around, a wild look in his eyes. His shirt was ripped almost free, displaying his sheening chest, still heaving from the battle. "This is a vulnerable time. I have no' claimed you, and the full moon nears. Yet you receive the attentions of another male? Witch, you play with fire!" He swiped the back of his hand over his bleeding temple. "Forget the demon. He knows you're no' his. If he'd truly believed you were, he would have put up more of a fight. He dinna even hit a rage state."
"You didn't change to your werewolf form for me!"
"I dinna want you to see it!" he roared, grasping her upper arms. "Doona ever doubt my desire for you--if I truly was in a contest for the right to have you, I'd have bitten his goddamned throat free, then laid it at your feet in offer!"
Her lips parted. She thought she'd just caught a glimpse of the inner workings of how a Lykae male thought.
And she . . . liked it.
He was breathing hard, with that muscled chest heaving. His eyes were still that lightest blue color, and were locked on her as if she was his most coveted possession--and one he'd feared losing.
MacRieve was fresh from the fight. Yes, at the assembly she'd realized she could watch him for hours, but now, she admitted that night had been when she'd first recognized how much she desired this Lykae.
That night she hadn't been able to kiss him as she'd desired, or stroke his powerful body.
Yet now . . .
Ferocity, the intensity. She'd craved it, always had--even before this uncontrollable, immortal need had begun to consume her. Want it . . . want him.
Her expression must have betrayed her hunger. His brows drew together, and he grated, "Mariketa?"
Her hand shot up and cupped the back of his neck, tugging him down so she could kiss him.
Obviously shocked, he stilled for a moment. Then, with a groan, he released his clenching hold on her arms. His hands landed heavily on her ass, kneading as if he'd only been awaiting a chance to feel her like that. Against her mouth, he rasped, "Lusty witch."
