Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (14 page)

“So are you still glad that you'll continue to torment me with your spell? Because you canna hurt me worse than when I lost my mate—no' once, but two goddamned times!”

Fury suffused her, and she stood as well. “And what about how you've hurt me?” she asked in a low, seething tone. “Day after day I was forced to lie amid the incubi's putrid corpses, where I went without seeing
daylight
for three weeks. And each time they seized me in the dark and forced me to swallow blood to keep me alive, I got through it by imagining how I would make you pay.” His jaws and fists clenched as his anger built, but she was beyond caring. “You sealed me in that vile place to die without a backward glance and only returned because you wanted something from me!”

He stalked closer, forcing her to crane her neck up to face him. “You convinced me that you could open the tomb, and I believed you would escape eventually. And I dinna know that the crypt was
occupied
—or that you were a bloody
mortal
!” He clutched her shoulders.

She tried to twist from his grip, but he held firm. Gods, she wanted to throw him across the cave—and with the same strength as when she'd pinned him earlier!

“What in the hell were you thinking to enter a competition like the Hie?” He gave her shoulders a jostle. “You knew what you were getting into, and you still signed up. You could have
died
!” he roared, shaking her hard.

She raised her hands to shove against his chest; he flew across the cavern, as though tossed against the far wall.

When he landed, he looked as dumbfounded as she felt.
MacRieve was like a lightning rod for her powers. Whenever she wanted to use them against him, they worked
perfectly
.

As he made it back to his feet, an expression of such pure menace twisted his face that she thought he could kill her.

Fitting—since she was about to kill him. “By that same token, MacRieve, you knew what you were getting into as well!” she yelled. “So quit
whining
about any curse I put on you! If you enter a deadly competition against a witch, you should expect I'll use the weapons allotted me.”

He pointed at her, opening his mouth and then closing it, knowing she was right. “I dinna intend this to happen to you! You struck out at me with malice.”

“Only when you were about to seal us in!”

“Which I did because you put your filthy spell on me!”

“Just as you didn't intend for me to be trapped and have all these horrible things happen to me, I didn't intend for you to lose your mate, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone, even you. So you have a lot of nerve to say that
my
nightmare was
unintentional,
then to blame me directly for your troubles. Over a three-week period you lost the Hie, and because you lost the Hie, you lost your mate, so it's all
my
fault! You might try blaming the person who ultimately defeated you—I'm sure they didn't do it politely. Or you might try blaming the person responsible for her death in the first place!”

“
I
was responsible,” he grated, his eyes suddenly so bleak they staggered her. “
Me.
And the gods know I do.” Then he stormed from the cave, knocking their speechless audience out of the way.

T
hat little, bloody
witch!”
Bowe snapped as he stormed to the plateau. What was she thinking to scream at him like that? To bloody
throw
him?

Just as Bowe put his fist through a tree, Rydstrom appeared. “Got under your skin, then?”

“What do you want?”

“To tell you what we've decided to do.”

“What
you've
decided? The witch is my charge.”

Rydstrom ignored him. “Hild will begin the journey tonight, heading back into the conflict. He'll move more quickly alone and will be able to sneak past the armies to get the word to the factions as soon as possible. Cade, Tera, Tierney, and myself will travel east with her and get her back to the States.”

Bowe flexed his bloody fist. “And what do you propose for me?”

“We want you gone. Your presence is obviously upsetting for her.”

“Oh, aye, the poor, wee lass—who tossed me like a skipping stone. You want me gone, and believe me, I want to be as well. But you forget—it's my head if she does no' arrive in one piece. Considering that this just turned into
a game of ‘protect the mortal' through the jungle, I think I'll stay and ensure that she lives.”

“Your job's over. Hild will inform everyone that I take full responsibility for Mariketa. If anything happens to her, it's my problem, not yours.” When Bowe was unmoved, Rydstrom said, “We think that if you stay, the two of you will kill each other.”

Likely. “I canna leave until she undoes this second curse. Understand me, I
will
no'.”

“And I'm sure she's keen to do anything you ask right now. Bowen, what were you thinking?”

“Was no'.”

“You know women better than this.”

“I know
women
—no' witches. And believe me, demon, there's a difference.”

“I've never seen you lose your temper like that. And I've seen your wrath many a time,” Rydstrom said, his tone becoming musing. “I hope you're certain she's not your mate reincarnated.”

Bowe froze. The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but there were dozens of reasons to discount the idea.
Still . . .
“Why do you say that?”

Rydstrom limped to a fallen tree and dropped his giant frame down onto the trunk. “What if Mariketa didn't enchant you? If you accept the belief that no one in the Lore gets a second mate, then reincarnation is the only other explanation for you to think of her as yours.”

Bowe knew Rydstrom's curiosity could rival any Lykae's, and he enjoyed solving mysteries and fixing problems. Rydstrom had obviously deemed this situation one or the other, or both. He got that analytical air about him, so
contrary to his demon state when reason was lost—even worse than Bowe in his werewolf form.

And therein resided the problem with Rydstrom. When he went demonic, he
really
went.

He continued, “Reincarnates are extremely rare, true, but they do exist.”

“No, the witch did enchant me,” Bowe insisted. “The Valkyrie soothsayer confirmed what I'd already felt. She even told me Mariketa would eventually remove it for me.”

“Valkyrie soothsayer?” Rydstrom's brows drew together. “You don't mean
Nïx
? What was it that they called her?”

Nucking Futs Nïx.

“Shame a beauty like that is so soft in the head. But why would you trust that mad creature on something this important?”

“Everyone I trust in the world trusts her,” Bowe said. “That's good enough for me.” But was it, really? Damn it, Mariah and Mariketa, aside from the similar fey names and pointed ears, were complete opposites. Mariah had been so ethereal and innocent, the witch so sensual and devious, and so . . .
brave
. No. Mariketa could not be her. Simply impossible.

Rydstrom studied Bowe. “Wouldn't matter now if Mariketa was her anyway.”

“What does that mean?”

“Animosity has probably already turned to hatred in that one. And there's nothing like boiling hatred to dampen a female's acceptance of her mate. Especially when he's not of her kind.” Rydstrom ignored Bowe's scowl and said, “I just wonder if the witch actually could have cast such an intricate spell on you. Think about it—this couldn't be a simple love spell to trigger this kind of reaction in you.”

One thing Bowe was unequivocally certain of was that he didn't love her. He desired her, had overriding urges to protect her—and to bed her.
Gods, how I want to bed her.

But he didn't even
like
her. Which followed. Considering that she'd just attacked him.
Twice
.

“Though her power's great,” Rydstrom continued, “it's volatile, and she's clumsy with magicks. Yet to do this to you, she would have had to affect the Lykae's Instinct in you. And not merely to
tamper
with it. Somehow she would have had to
trick
a force that has been honed over hundreds of thousands of years. Then, say she'd managed that, instead of accidentally blowing you up—which she admitted to us that she does ninety-nine out of a hundred times. Do you think she could have removed just one of her spells from you tonight, leaving the other? And in her condition?”

Bowe felt sweat dotting his brow. What if . . . what if Mariketa the Awaited actually was . . .
his
? His female, returned to him? His to claim, to protect—to
claim
. He felt a savage thrill at the idea of possessing her and bending her strong will to his.

What if fate had finally taken pity on him after all these wretched years?

He shook his head hard. “My ability to heal was honed over the same amount of time as well, but she managed to tamper with
that
.”

“Someone would have taught her that mortality spell, but do you think they'd have taught her how to affect a Lykae's Instinct?” Rydstrom said. “Let me ask you, isn't there some way you can prove without a doubt that she's yours?”

Bowe hesitated to answer before muttering, “If I can get her with bairns.”

“Are you bloody jesting?” Rydstrom snapped, then narrowing his eyes, he added, “That's right! I recall this now.”

Bowe ran his palm over the back of his neck.

“Since that's how to get the proof you need, I know what I'd be aiming for, and a pleasanter endeavor I can't imagine.”

“Doona be imagining that at all, or I'll be tearing your throat out!”

Rydstrom raised his brows.

“So if you were me, you'd just go along with the Instinct, treat her as yours for possibly years until you decided for certain?”

“If it meant I got to enjoy the curvy redhead in that cave for possibly years, then yes.”

“Damn it, doona bloody talk about her like that!”

Rydstrom gave him an expression that said Bowe was proving his point. Again.

“And then say I eventually determined it was an enchantment?” Bowe asked. “What if after so long, I canna quit her?”

“If she couldn't quit you either, then would it be so bad?” Rydstrom said. “Some men would take happiness where they found it.” There was something like sympathy in his eyes. Rydstrom, too, had gone long without finding his destined demoness. “Especially when they have absolutely no promise of it anywhere else.” He rose to leave. “Whatever you do, make a decision about her, Bowen, one way or the other, and stick to it.”

“You're helping me with her? Though Cade wants her? Do you do this because of an old friendship or to thwart him?”

If the latter, Cade had it coming.

The relationship between the two demons was complicated. Not only were their personalities averse—if Rydstrom would take a scalpel to a problem to systematically cut through it, Cade would take a hammer and swing wildly—there was also the matter of Cade's losing Rydstrom's crown.

Rydstrom answered, “Either would work for you, would it not?”

“True.” If the demons' history was complicated, Bowe and Cade's was contentious. They were too much alike—both killers in service to kings, leaders compelled by fortune to follow another. Bowe followed Lachlain because he was like a brother and was worthy to serve. Cade followed Rydstrom because, in his own violent, misguided way, he strived to make up for the loss. “So which is it?”

“My brother thinks he wants Mariketa because she's beautiful—”

“Did he find her so when she was in that bloodthirsty witch state, strangling me?” Bowe snapped. “Or when she was blowing up that tomb and all its occupants.”

“The girl was merely doing her job with the latter.”

“What does that mean?”

“Witches are mercenaries—that's just a fact of life—and I think the incubi
wanted
her to kill them. I believe that's why they were shaking her when she was unconscious outside the entrance and why they were trying to give her that gold headdress. They wanted to pay her. Desperately.”

To pay her with the gold piece that Bowe currently had in his pack.

“Anyway, Cade probably did think her beautiful in that state. Unlike you, he likes that there's something dangerous about her and that she has the potential for some
serious destruction. Still, she's not the one for him. Cade's already seen the female that will be his, yet is in denial. Long story, but suffice it to say that the first time he spied her, he lost the power of speech for some moments.”

“Cade will seize on the witch just to get even with me,” Bowe said.