Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (10 page)

Nïx shook her head. “Not quite possible. There's a contingent on their way here. Regin the Radiant is in a . . . snit. She and several of Mari's witch friends—including the ever-vicious Carrow—arrive forthwith.”

Bowe let her see exactly how bored he was with this news. Regin was a young Valkyrie he could take even in his present condition. And no witch would dare cross onto Lykae territory without permission.

Emma said, “Nïx, can't you stall Regin?”

When Nïx shook her head, Bowe asked, “What did I do to that glowing little freak anyway?”

Nïx answered, “Because of your cousin Garreth, Lucia is gone. Everyone knows she's Regin's BFF, fellow hoodlum, partner in crimes both foreign and domestic—”

“Yes, yes, we get it,” Emma interrupted.

“But then for
Mari
to disappear on top of that?” Nïx asked. “She, too, is one of Regin's friends. They're poker buddies, sisters of the
Wii,
and Mari is a vaunted member of the karaoke contingent. Regin has long acted as the witches' designated driver.”

“BFF?” Lachlain asked, brows drawn. “Sisters of the what?”

Emma supplied, “Best friend forever and a video game.”

Lachlain muttered to Emma, “Your relatives are just no'
right
.”

Emma blinked at him. “Lachlain, I thought we were going to agree to disagree about this.”

Bowe snapped, “She's
no'
friends with a Valkyrie. I heard her at the Hie assembly asking the most basic questions about your kind.”

“Was she doing it for someone else's benefit?” Nïx asked.

Bowe thought back. . . . The vampire had in fact been eavesdropping on her at the time. She'd bloody known it and had been feeding him information about the Valkyrie—about
Kaderin
! “Your
friend
Mariketa willfully sicced a vampire on your half sister Kaderin during the Hie. Still so ready to champion the devious little witch?”

“Please,” Nïx scoffed. “Kad would have plucked Mari's knees from her legs to slow her down. All in good fun. Besides, it's not just Regin and her cohorts you have to worry about. There are others concerned that you took out the future leader of the House of Witches, one of the largest factions of the Lore.” She tilted her head at Bowe and said softly, “My pet, you had to know there would be ramifications from your actions.”

Nïx had begun calling him her pet and thinking of him as such, and he'd let her because she helped him on occasion—yet another indignity he'd endured to get to his mate. “If Mariketa is so sodding powerful, then why has she no' used her magick to escape?”

“She lacks control over her volatile powers—and there are so many of them. We keep watching and waiting, but she's just too young to harness them.”

Bowe's patience was nearing its limit. “Then the witch should no' have entered the Hie in the first place!”

“Regardless . . . The House demands Mariketa be delivered safely—or your head. The Lykae won't give up your head, so that means war. In that conflict, the Valkyrie will show allegiance to the House. And that means our allies must pony up some ill will toward you as well. The wraiths will happily, of course. The rebel Forbearer vampires will be pleased for a chance to show their loyalty to the Valkyrie—as will several Demonarchies, who coincidentally aren't thrilled that you've entombed the true king of the rage demons,
as well as his sole heir
.”

Bowe was well aware that Rydstrom was the true king, but damn it, he'd thought they'd find
some
way out.

“Four mighty wizards and thirty-seven covens of witches unite and arrive here this week.” Her tone grew grave. “A nest of a dozen furies rise from sleep for this,” she added, making Emma swallow nervously. “Don't even get me started on who the elven archers know—let's just put it this way: Their daddy's bigger than your daddy.”

“They
all
ally with those witch mercenaries?”

She nodded. “Naughty Lykae, creating an interspecies incident like this.
Six
immortals you trapped. This is a Charlie Foxtrot of epic proportions.”

At Lachlain's irritated look, Emma supplied, “Charlie Foxtrot is code for, well, a cluster fuck.”

“Why dinna you tell me this was developing?” Lachlain asked Emma.

“I only knew about Regin and some growing rumblings
within the House. I'm friends with the witches, but they're very secretive and keep their plans close until they're ready to act.”

“There's no need for this to escalate,” Lachlain said, his tone calm. Bowe knew Lachlain would never reveal that he was concerned about the repercussions of Bowe's actions, but in his position he must be. “Bowe can tell me where the witch is. I'll free the six and bring Mariketa back.”

Bowe exhaled. Lachlain was still trying to protect him, always cleaning up after him. If he had a dollar for every time Lachlain said, “Ach, Bowe, you've fucked up this time.”

But then Lachlain had never bailed him out of something like this.

“No, I've told you. This is my problem.” Bowe unsteadily stood, growing dizzy just from that. “I'll deal with it.”

Lachlain shook his head. “How are you going to defend yourself against six verra irate immortals?”

“They should be grateful that I returned.” When Lachlain raised his brows, he added, “I'll make them vow to the Lore no' to attack before I will agree to open the tomb.”

“Then at least eat and rest until after the full moon.”

Nïx clucked her tongue. “The House says Mari must call in
before
the next full moon to avert this. Besides, this town isn't big enough to hold so many factions. They all might be allies of the witches or Valkyrie, but
none
are allies with each other. Any much longer with them bumping elbows, and something will happen.”

Bowe swung a glare at Nïx. “Are you no' overstating all this, Valkyrie—”

From outside: “You wanna fuck over
my
witch? Like
playing your games? Then play catch!” Something whistled overhead; the house shook—they all ducked as plaster splattered down from the ceiling.

“
What the bloody hell was that?
” Bowe yelled.

“That was Regin,” Nïx answered serenely. “She threw a car over us to land on the main Lykae lodge. Lucky thing the lodge is empty. Bowen, she thought the vehicle was yours. But it's really . . .
his
.” She pointed delicately at Lachlain, who scowled before flashing a meaningful look at Emma.

Bowe grated, “She's throwing bloody
cars
?”

“See? Not overstating.” Nïx rose, smoothly slipped behind the curtains, then shouted out the window, “Bad form, Regin! Wrong car.”

Immediately after, the house shook again. “Oh, much better!” Nïx assured them. “That was Bowen's!”

Another violent shake of the manor. Nïx peeked out from the curtains, wearing them like a nun's habit. “Who drives a seventy-eight, Chevelle-looking—”

“Nïx!” Emma said.

She withdrew from the window. “The timing of all this is impeccable,” Nïx said in an abruptly grave tone. “The Accession has really arrived.”

Emma and Lachlain shared a look. All Lorekind dreaded the Accession. Occurring every five centuries, it was a kind of mystical cull that killed off immortals. Though there wasn't necessarily a great war or determining battle, fate seemed to seed conflicts, pitting factions against each other. Bowe's father had told him fate would sow some families by bringing together mates—yet would reap from most others.

“Why all this?” Bowe took uneven steps toward his
closet to dress, and had to clench his jaw against a wave of pain in his ribs. “Do you no' think that a Lore war is a wee bit much for a witch having a three-week hiatus?”

“A hiatus . . . with
whom
?” Nïx asked. “My pet, you've trapped a beautiful, nubile young woman with a school of incubi. Though Regin swears it's not a
school
of incubi, but a
pod
—”

“Nïx, stay focused!” Emma said, and Nïx gave her a halfhearted hiss.

“Incubi?” Bowe rasped, a finger of dread running up his spine. “The tomb was empty, long deserted.” There weren't living incubi in there. There couldn't be.

Sadness flashed in Nïx's confused eyes. “The witch fares ill after three weeks inside that lightless crypt.” In a confessional tone, she added, “Seems you forgot to leave her any food or water.”

“I scented nothing,
sensed
nothing. . . .” At Nïx's implacable expression, Bowe shook himself—he didn't need to be thinking about the implications; he needed to be doing something about them.

“Lachlain, can you help me arrange transportation?” He dug for clothes, battling dizziness. “If I leave within the hour I can get there today before sunset.”

“Aye, then.” Lachlain exhaled. “Of course, I'll help you with anything you need.”

Though Bowe had made it sound like a routine task, freeing and squiring Mariketa back to the States would not be without numerous difficulties.

On his last trip, the “roads” had been difficult to navigate. Now that the rainy season had fully arrived, they might be impassable. Especially since Bowe would be forced to drive a stick shift with one hand and a stump.
And now that he was weakened, it was possible the human soldiers teeming the area could subdue and actually contain a Lykae, even when he was fully turned. Bowe would have to evade them until he had the mortality spell removed.

Raising the tomb's portcullis had been nearly impossible even when he'd had all his strength and both of his hands . . . but now? “I'm going to need to bring something like a pneumatic lift to help me get into the tomb.”

When Lachlain nodded, Emma said, “I can get you a satellite phone, too, so Mari can call at the earliest opportunity.”

“Aye, and I'll need more of that stuff they've been trying to feed me. The drinks and gel packs. And some kind of med kit just in case.”

Nïx clapped with excitement at the activity, looking as addled as ever. “I can help, I can help! I can get you a rhyme for Mariketa!”

Lachlain, Emma, and Bowe briefly paused to glare at her.

“You can't leave home without it!”

“
Anyway . . .
” Bowe continued, “I just went two weeks without food or water. Three will no' kill her.”

“Incorrect.”

Bowe glanced back at Nïx. His voice broke an octave lower when he asked, “Why incorrect?”

She squinted at him and momentarily appeared puzzled at where she was. “What's incorrect? Am I incorrect?” She buffed her nails. “I so rarely am.”

Barely stifling the urge to throttle the weird being, Bowe grated, “You told me I was incorrect when I said three weeks will no' kill the witch.”

“Oh, yes,
that
. How am I supposed to remember conversations from last year? I can't see inside that crypt—bad voodoo and major mojo keeps prying eyes out—but common sense says Mariketa is likely dying.”

“
Dying? How?
” he rasped, knowing Lachlain was studying his harsh reaction.

“Because, pet, young Mariketa the Awaited has not yet turned. She is still . . .
mortal
.”

Another car whistled overhead.

B
owe's machete hacked through a braid of woody liana vines as he pushed forward through the brush. The trail to the tomb that had been cleared just weeks ago had already grown over.

As he'd predicted his last time here, the conflict between the two human armies had since erupted. Bowe had had to ditch his truck miles from the tomb because soldiers were planting mines all along the roadways.

He burned with urgency to get to Mariketa, but his body could do only so much in this state and burdened with his pack—which weighed over three hundred pounds with the gear he'd been forced to bring.

Earlier, the action of gathering supplies and hastily readying for the trip had helped Bowe keep his mind occupied, but during the flight down, he'd wanted to claw the walls of the plane in frustration. From his bag, he'd snatched Nïx's missive addressed to “Mari the Awaited.” He'd ignored the Valkyrie when she'd insisted repeatedly that he bring it, until she'd become so furious that lightning had begun to spear down all around them. It had grown so violent that even Regin and the witches had backed off, spooked.

Alone on the plane, he'd ripped open Nïx's black wax seal and read the bizarre contents—a rhyme about mirrors
and whispering and secrets. The words had inexplicably given him chills.

And reading it had only killed moments of the wait. With nothing to do but think, he'd wavered between hating Mariketa and fearing for her life. Bowe despised what she'd done to him—and what she was—but he did not want her to die.