by Kresley Cole
Over the last many decades, his life had centered around his aim of bringing Mariah back. He wanted to steer clear of that subject--as well as that of the Hie. Yet aside from those pursuits, he hadn't had a real life in memory.
Bowe had known his existence was soulless and barren, but that fact had never been hit home like this.
He could tell her that he used to lead an army, a stalwart one. Yet the Horde had decimated it in the same war that Rydstrom had lost his, and Bowe would rather her not know of his failure. Today she'd begun regarding him differently, and he didn't want that to change.
He was good at killing. Also not helping his efforts with her.
And friends? Bowe didn't have many--or, rather, any--that he saw regularly. He'd let friendships wane, because it was always so uncomfortable for others to try to convey their sympathies to him. He'd rather save them the trouble--and besides, too often sympathy crossed over the line and became pity. Or they studied him like Lachlain did. Bowe put up with Lachlain's scrutiny because he was like a brother, but he didn't suffer it from others.
Christ, he was a cipher.
For the first time, he worried if he could be worthy enough for Mariketa. Did he even deserve her? Yes, she was a witch, but she was also stunningly beautiful and brave and clever.
"I like football, too," he finally said.
"You've already told me, so that doesn't count."
"I love the color of your eyes."
She tucked a curl behind her pointed ear, sliding him the bewitching smile that made his heart punch the insides of his chest. "What's your favorite place to visit?"
He absently answered, "Wherever you are."
"Bowen, five things about you can't all be about me."
But you're the only good thing that I've got. "Why no'?"
"Where's your home? I don't even know where you live."
"I have a place in Louisiana, but my real home is in the north of Scotland." Though he said my home, in his mind the large hunting lodge he'd had restored was already their home--but he didn't want to spook her further.
"What about your family? I bet you have a huge one, being a Lykae and all."
"My family was unusual. I'm an only child." Except for his male cousins, he had no one left.
Maybe that was why he wanted children so much, to grow his own family. Soon, he would reveal to Mariketa that he wanted that bomb-blast look parents had at an amusement park. And he and Mariketa would have brave children together--fearless even. He began to resent that patch of hers as a barrier to a prize he'd wanted for so long . . . a prize he now believed was within his grasp.
For the present, he cast about for something to say. "Tell me something about yourself that only your close friends know."
She scrunched her lips, then said, "It drives me absolutely crazy that I can't control my magick better. I act like it doesn't bother me, but it does. Just when I was about to leave for the Hie, these baby witches of six and seven came up to me and said, 'Mari, look what we can do,' and their little spells were more than I could manage."
"Maybe you were just a late starter at that age."
"No, more than I could manage--now."
He swiped his palm over the back of his neck. "Oh, then."
"Why am I granted all this power and then no means to control it? It's like giving someone a Ferrari with the horses under the hood raring to go, but then you get into the buttery leather driver's seat, and holy hell, there's no steering wheel. It's so frustrating."
"I know you will no' like to hear this, but it must be so with someone like you."
"What does that mean? And I caution you to proceed with care."
The corners of his lips curled. "You read about people like you in myths and in the Lore, struggling with their gifts. But it's the struggle that brings greatness. If your powers came easily to you, without incident, you would never appreciate them as you should. And you would no' be a good leader because you would be impatient with others who did have to work hard. It never comes easy to all the great warriors in history."
"It came easy to you."
He gave a half laugh. "And why do you think me a great warrior?"
"Rydstrom said you were frontline in every battle, and you're still alive. Therefore . . . great."
He grinned down at her. "My ego thanks you for that verra sweet stroke." His grin swiftly faded though. Reminded of Rydstrom, he realized that hours had passed since the bridge collapse, and still Bowe hadn't scented the others once. Though he couldn't detect them as well as he could his mate--he could find her a hundred miles away--he still should have picked up on them if they were within a quarter of that distance. But there'd been nothing.
Tomorrow would bring the night of the full moon, they'd been forced days out of their way, and as of now, he had no one to guard her--from him. Over and over, he'd deliberated if he should reveal to her how Mariah had died. He dreaded the thought that history might repeat itself, and feared that telling her would initiate a self-fulfilling prophesy.
If Mariketa ran from him out here . . .
He shook his head hard. Tonight, he would take her continuously, and he would mark her as he claimed her, revealing a good bit of the beast within him. Tomorrow, surely the others would catch up. But if not, Bowe would have accustomed her to his body, and then, when he inevitably lost control in the heat of the moon, maybe she wouldn't suffer from shock. He might prevent her from wanting to escape him.
When they heard the distant rumble of thunder, he dragged his gaze from her and said, "We need to start scouting for a place to make camp. It'll likely rain on the mountainside tonight."
"I could consult my mirror."
"Doona like that, Mariketa. I'd rather see you blow something up than that eerie apple bullshite again."
"I know."
"How do you know?"
"Witches believe the 'eerie' spells are the most powerful ones. What's more unnerving? A charging wolf or a nonpoisonous snake dropping down on the back of your neck?"
"And you witches ponder these things?"
"We've kind of had to."
No longer. At least not his witch.
If Mariketa wanted to make bees sting, then that was one thing, but he would forbid the dark magicks, like the conjuring and enchantments. He would lay down the law, and by the gods, she would--
She turned to give him her siren's smile as she lazily trailed her finger over a boulder--a hip-high one. His heart raced, his previous thoughts unrecallable. This was truly going to happen--after twelve hundred years, he was going to claim his mate.
Yes, tonight.
36
By the time they saw the first strike of lightning that night, MacRieve had completed a platform and lean-to by a stream and had hunted for Mari. Once the nightly rain started, they were fed and clean. She was cozily dressed in his shirt once more--and nothing else.
And he'd just taken his first deep kiss from her.
When he drew back, it took her a moment to open her eyes. She found his were flickering from amber to ice blue and were intent on her as he studied her reaction.
She sighed, "I really like the way you kiss me."
"I hope you're going tae like more than my kiss."
"Bowen, you won't lose control, will you? It's been a while for me."
"No, lass, I will no'. But how long's it been?"
"Over four years."
He laughed without humor. "Try one hundred and eighty."
Her brows drew together. "Not a single female? Not a single encounter?"
"No' one. Hell, I might have forgotten how tae do this."
"Like riding a bike, right?"
"Let's see, then." He leaned forward once more to kiss her neck, flicking his tongue until she softly moaned. She found herself easing back under the firm weight of his hand as he rucked the shirt to her waist.
Then he laid his rough palms on her inner thighs and pressed her legs open. Though she began trembling, he didn't touch her bared sex. Bu
t his ice blue eyes were riveted to it, his growl rumbling low.
When he licked his lips, she shivered and grew wetter, knowing what he planned. "Bowen . . ." She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from begging for his tongue against her. Her body yearned for it.
He settled between her legs, kissing down her torso to nuzzle her ring. Then lower . . .
When he pressed his open mouth against her sex, slipping his tongue into her folds, she arched her back in delight, threading her fingers in his hair. He gave a harsh groan against her, and his hands clenched her thighs hard, as if he'd forgotten himself.
"Dreamed of tastin' you," he growled, his breaths hot against her. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she stared down at him. As he licked and teased, his brows were drawn, his eyes closed tightly, as if he was in an agony of pleasure.
She fought the building tension, wanting this to last forever. But under his hungry kiss, she waged a losing battle.
"Come for me, lass," he rasped, then gently suckled her clitoris, his strong tongue flicking over it.
She gave a cry out into the night, the deep knot of lust unfurling. As she began to come, she shot upright. Gripping his hair, she undulated her hips, rubbing her flesh against his tongue. He was snarling against her, lapping at her wildly. "Witch . . . you drive me mad. . . ."
When he'd wrung every last shudder from her, she had to push him away.
As if reluctant to leave, he kissed her thighs languidly, though she could feel his hands shaking.
"Bowen," she whispered. "I need you inside me."
"Anythin'," he grated, rising up to yank off his clothes, while she lay back and stared at him in awe.
*
This is actually going to happen.
Though he was in a lather from licking that orgasm from her--and still staggered from her wanton response--he somehow controlled himself to make sure she was ready to receive him. He delved his fingers inside her tight sheath until her nails bit into his shoulders with frustration.
At last, he allowed himself to lie in the cradle of her thighs. Again, his dazed mind thought, I'm going to claim her.
And he was . . . nervous.
He'd vowed to her that she'd never want to leave his bed, speaking with all the arrogance he'd used to possess--before he'd been celibate for nearly two centuries.
Yet even when he was on the verge of entering her, he somehow remembered the patch. He fingered it at her arm, making his voice as casual as possible. "Let's take this off, then."
Breathless, she asked, "Why would you want me to?"
"You've no reason to wear it. You'll have no other man but me, and I can only get my mate with bairns--no other female. So if you conceived, then all the better. We'll know without a doubt that you're mine."
"Whoa . . ." She stiffened beneath him, shoving his hand away. "I don't want to get pregnant."
His heart sank. Of course not. Nothing's changed. He rolled off her to his side.
"I'm only twenty-three. It's too early!"
He swung his gaze on her. "But you do . . . you do want to eventually?"
"Sure, but not now," she said, and he felt a welling of relief. "Not until I'm in my thirties or forties. Chronologically. That's the plan. I know I don't seem like the type of woman to have a plan, but I do."
"What's the difference between now and ten years in the grand scheme?"
"I've got a lot to get straightened out in my life. My powers, my place in the House. Right now I can't even take care of myself, much less someone else."
"I'll take care of you. Always." He cupped her face. "You've nothing to worry about ever again."
"Wait . . ." She went still. "That's what this is all about? So you can be sure?" His eyes widened when hers began to water. "The entire seduction. The full court press last night, today, tonight. So you can find out for certain whether I'm your mate or not."
"Do you think there's no other reason why I might want tae be inside you?" He shoved her palm to his aching shaft, but she yanked her hand back.
"Not one as important as your knowing for certain, as your black and white. Today, you said that you'd decided on me, so why this test?" She sat up, pulling the shirt to cover her. "I'll tell you--because you're still recognizing the possibility that I won't pass the test. You're trying to persuade me to throw all in with you, to accept you as mine--but you're not doing it!" A tear spilled down her cheek and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. "I'll become immortal soon, and I'll be impervious to most injuries, yet you couldn't wait for me to turn? Really, MacRieve, a mortal, giving birth to the offspring of a nearly seven-foot-tall werewolf? And Lykae conceive two and three at a time, don't they? Do you think I would survive the labor?"
"Damn it, I dinna think of that."
As Lachlain always said, "Ach, Bowe, you've fucked up this time."
"You never considered these things?"
"Mariketa, I am a product of my times. For most of my life, males and females desired bairns and would do anything to have them. And since you doona act mortal or look it, each show of your power makes it easier for me to forget that you are vulnerable still. I would never want anything to happen to you."
"Because it would hurt you!" she cried. "Everyone thinks you were so selfless in your love for your dead mate. But the truth is, you're the most selfish male I've ever known. You ache for your mate because you don't want to feel empty or guilty over her death. Not out of love for her."
"You go too far, Mariketa," he said, even as her comment resonated within him--because at some level, he'd begun to wonder . . . if he had ever loved Mariah.
He'd been with the witch for mere days. Had whatever he was feeling for the lass already overshadowed what he'd experienced with Mariah?
"I don't think so. The tomb incident wasn't an anomaly. You really are a merciless bastard. Just get away from me."
"Mariketa--"
"Get away." She reached for her mirror. "Or I will put you away."
"Oh, no, no, bloody hell if you're doing that again." He'd be damned if he'd sit there and watch her whisper to a mirror in a conversation he couldn't hear.
*
"What is the appeal of that cursed thing?"
Mari was almost as furious that he wanted to take away her one true, dependable power as she was about his wanting to knock her up.
She felt like she was on the cusp of something big with her magick. The reflection was teaching her. Every time she did the conjuring she garnered more control over her power. And she suspected that with each bite of apple she grew physically stronger. "The appeal? I'm going to ask the reflection if the others are truly okay--because, for some reason, I find myself distrusting everything you've ever told me."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "No' near me."
"Then you better hurry up and leave."
"You think I will no'?" He shot to his feet and slung on his jeans, stomping into his boots. "I should leave you out here--to remind you how much you need me."
"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?
37
Sometimes 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.
