Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (15 page)

Seven hundred years ago, Cade had decided to
attempt
a bonny barmaid. He'd been hopeful. Instead, she'd crawled into Bowe's bed. After a night of mead, Bowe hadn't recalled that she was the prospective barmaid.

In a dry tone, Rydstrom said, “Yes, naturally to get even. Obviously there could be no other enticement to want Mariketa.” Before he turned to go, he said, “Remember, make a decision. You would begin things with her with far fewer chances at forgiveness. And something tells me your witch isn't the type to abide the indecision of a Lykae, one who can't seem to conclude if he wants her or not.”

When Bowe was alone once more, he found his heart pounding. Could he give himself up to the Instinct? To let his body and soul guide him, while ignoring what his mind told him?

Could he ignore his past with Mariketa's kind?

What if he wasn't contemplating giving up his will to the witch, but merely investigating every possibility as he had tirelessly for eighteen decades? Aside from Nïx's prediction about the Hie, this was the most promising lead he'd ever had.

His brows drew together as he recalled exactly what the Valkyrie had told him. “Through the Hie, you'll have your mate.” Not that his mate would be
returned
to him or that Bowe would
retrieve
her. And she'd never actually said that
Mariketa had cast an enchantment—only that she would remove it.

Bowe swallowed. It was . . .
possible
.

Hell, Rydstrom could be right—it could be too late. What if too much damage had already been done?

No, Bowe knew females could be forgiving creatures. Lachlain had admitted to Bowe that in the crazed days after he'd been freed from torture, he'd treated Emma badly, and she'd been able to forgive him.

Of course Lachlain had never
entombed
Emma.

But Bowe had to believe that Mariketa could be coaxed to move past that. After all, she wasn't immune to him, or she hadn't been during their first encounter. When he remembered her body's response to him, how wet she'd been as her hips rocked to his hand, he hissed an oath and palmed the front of his jeans.

So how to exploit her weakness? He was sorely out of practice wooing. Since Mariah's death, his only interaction with available females had been a sneer if they'd had the nerve to approach him. Yet he'd used to be called charming by females. Hadn't he? He could scarcely remember women before Mariah.

The sense of urgency that lashed him constantly over these long years now redoubled. He couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that there was even the remotest chance that his mate was less than a mile from him—though in the form of an enemy who wanted him dead.

Now that he had his strength back after weeks of being weakened, he wanted to run the night, but would never stray far from the prize he intended to take. Instead, he climbed to the mountain's peak, surveying the surrounding area.

From this vantage, he spied river after river unfolding to the east, then caught the scent of salt water. The Belizean coast wasn't too far out of reach in that direction. To the west, he could see humans in fatigues swarming over the land like ants, continuing to riddle the countryside with mines.

Mariketa definitely had to travel east. Bowe had been able to survive a mine blast, but he knew he couldn't risk a mortal's being within a mile of one—a mortal who was possibly
his
. The trek would be longer, but it would prove safer for her in the end.

Unless they didn't make it out before the full moon. . . .

He immediately stifled that thought. No, they'd reach the coast by Friday.

Directly below him lay the bomb blast site, reminding him of what Mariketa was and the power she possessed, filling him with doubt about her. Even if he knew for certain that she was his mate, could he accept a witch as his own? Present her to the clan as his female?

Again he imagined her trembling and wanton beneath him, and his body quickened for her.

I'll bloody figure something out.

A few miles away from the new crater, Bowe spied the line of their ruined vehicles. Her belongings would likely still be within. And in her present situation, even the smallest comfort would be treasured.

He could go out into this night, retrieve her things, and hunt for her. He could use his strength and skill to provide for a female, a female who needed him. The idea made him shake with anticipation.

—
Protect. Provide.
—

The Instinct was guiding him once more. Ready to obey, Bowe plunged into the jungle.

For the next hour, he hunted in the intermittent rain, hitting the mountainside and streams with a renewed ferocity. At last, after a lifetime of waiting, he was doing what he'd been born to do, and he wanted to howl to the sky with satisfaction.

Yes, Bowe knew all this could be false. With his body and soul, he felt one thing, even as his mind feared the truth. But for so long, he'd known nothing but misery and yearning.

Even Mariah would have understood the witch's pull was just too great to resist—

The clouds briefly dissipated then, revealing the waxing moon. He raised his face to the light that commanded his kind alone, and the power of it filled him with awe, just as it had over all his years. Yet now the coming moon made both dread and eagerness war within him as well.

When he lowered his face, he narrowed his eyes in Mariketa's direction.

If she truly belonged to him . . . the witch would do well to fear what he was.

A
fter Hild had set off, plainly loath to leave Tera—though she seemed oblivious to his attraction—the remaining five had eaten as much unripened fruit as they could tolerate, then taken places around the fire to pass out.

Cade had moved to sleep beside Mari, and she was good with that plan, but Rydstrom had said something sharp in Demonish that made Cade scowl at the entrance to the cave, then turn away from her.

As the others drifted off to sleep one by one, Mari remained wide awake and still chilled and hungry. Though they were in a jungle, this cave sat at a higher elevation. The night air inside was moist and cool, and her long hair hadn't dried.

Rydstrom remained awake as well, and after placing more wood on the fire, he limped over to where she lay.

“How's your leg?” she asked.

“Healing rapidly.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said, reminded again of everything he'd done for her. “Listen, Rydstrom, thank you for helping me tonight. For all your help.”

“It was nothing.” When he sat beside her, her attention wandered to his damaged horns. One had a piece gouged
out, and the other had at least four inches missing from the end.

Mari's first—and only—long-term boyfriend, Acton, had been a storm demon. After dating him for years, she knew how important a demon's horns were to a male. Even females were vain about their tiny, downy ones that looked more like cool hair accessories.

And for rage demons, when their horns straightened and sharpened, the points emitted a deadly poison. Their kind didn't often get jumped from behind. To lose an end would be handicapping for a warrior. “What happened here?” She just prevented herself from reaching out and skimming her finger over one—which would have been totally taboo. “Did it hurt?”

“Like hell. I fought a bit when I was younger.”

“I'll bet you did with Cade.”

He shook his head. “We didn't live in the same household growing up. The heir is always separated out.”

That explained the differences in their accents and bearings.

In an obvious bid to change the subject, he said, “You know, something struck me as odd tonight.”

“Only
one
thing struck you as odd?”

He raised an eyebrow, then continued, “Earlier, when I mentioned that I'd told the Lykae to leave us, I thought you would have been more pleased.” Why was Rydstrom studying her reaction like that?

“I was thoroughly pleased.” Utterly. “Good riddance, I say.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd think that even now you're wishing he'd come back.”

“Oh, but you
do
know better. MacRieve's rabid, and
needs to be put down. Though maybe I shouldn't say anything bad about him since you're obviously friends with him. You saved him tonight, from me.”

“I did that for you as well. I didn't want you to regret taking his head.”

“I'm a witch—I'm sure I would have found a way to carry on.” She tilted her head at him. “And you really stuck up for MacRieve with the others.”

He nodded. “Bowen and I fought together for many years. And in one battle he saved my youngest sister's life.”

“MacRieve did?” At Rydstrom's grave nod, she asked, “Then how could he trap you in the first place?”

Rydstrom shrugged. “I think he was a shade shocked to see me inside, but honestly, I'd have done the same to him. It was a competition, and he desperately wanted that key.”

In an uninterested tone, she said, “I suppose he must have loved his mate very much.”

“I can't say for certain. I never had the opportunity to be around him and Mariah together. They were only together for a few weeks before she died.”

“Mari
ah? She was fey?”

“Yes. A princess of the fey. Very beautiful, by all accounts.”

Princess?
Mari thought, running a hand over her matted hair.
Beautiful?

Puzzling, but her Pig Pen appearance bothered her more than it had a moment earlier. Her hand shot down when Rydstrom regarded her quizzically. “How did she die?”

“I'd heard it was an accident in the woods.”

“Then what did he mean when he said he was responsible for her death?”

“He was with her and blames himself.”

“There's got to be more to the story than that.”

“I'm sorry, Mariketa, but it's not my story to tell. And unfortunately, I can't recommend asking him about it either.”

“Oh. Well, it's not like I'm going to stay up nights thinking about this.”

“No? You seem curious about him.”

“He's my enemy. It's a good idea to learn about him.”

“You are right, of course. I will answer any questions I can.”

She hesitated, then couldn't keep herself from asking, “What's he usually like? When not fighting for something?”

“He once was jovial, but he always did his own thing. Since his mate's death, he's been dying slowly, turning cold and indifferent. Some say crazed, even. I will admit he can be coarse, saying exactly what's on his mind, but the others were wrong tonight—he's never been needlessly cruel.”

“Why does he hate witches so much?”

“I don't know the specifics, but I think his family was grievously hurt by one in some way. Besides, all Lykae mistrust witches. And I think they instinctively fear them a little.”

“I can't see MacRieve fearing anything.”

“True, he was always on the front line in battle, the first to meet the enemy. But with your kind . . .” He trailed off and lowered his voice. “I've seen him unconsciously ease across the street to give even a fortune-teller a wide berth. He was wholly unaware of it.”

“No way!” When someone mumbled in sleep, she softened her tone to say, “So my attack tonight must have completely thrown him—pun intended.”

He grinned, flashing his even white teeth and short fangs. “Yes, but that's the thing about Bowen—he'll shrug it off soon enough.”

As she thought over what she'd learned, Rydstrom said, “There's one thing you should remember if you ever do happen upon him or another Lykae. If you want the key to understand them, know that they truly are
like wolves
. If you're around them enough, you can see it clearly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of the Lykae Instinct?”

She nodded. “They have a wolf spirit inside them or something. Makes them howl at the moon, bite their bed partners, scratch inappropriately, blah, blah.”

He seemed pleased by her flippant answer for some reason. “It's a bit more complicated than that. But we'll talk some more tomorrow.” He lay on his side and shut his eyes. “Get some sleep. The upcoming journey will be arduous. . . .”

Hours later, Mari was still awake, hungrier and now shivering. Though she was abjectly miserable, she'd thought she would sleep through anything—

“
Come tae me,
” she heard from a distance.

She shot upright, squinting into the shadows. At the entrance of the cave, warm amber eyes glowed in the darkness. He'd come back!

“Ah, you're excited about my return, then,” he murmured. “Your heart sped up at the verra sound of my voice.”

The nerve! “Only because I'm eager to throw you around some more. That'll
never
get old.”