Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

tried to sort through what had happened.
    He’d spoken in Estonian and she’d responded in kind. He grated a curse. The things he’d said... He groaned, throwing an arm over his face.
    But he’d been out of his mind. And what man wouldn’t be while experiencing the act for the first time—and in such a manner? Much less knowing she was enjoying it.
    And then... sinking inside her.
    The most incredible experience in his entire life.
    He ran his fingers through his hair as reality set in. With Kaderin, he might never experience any of it again. He wanted a loyal bond between the two of them; she’d already left without a word. This was only physical for her, like the quick release she’d craved in the cave, when he’d wanted to touch her for hours. His heart sank as he realized nothing had changed between them, just as she’d warned him before he’d taken her. And the last time they’d spoken of the future, he’d vowed that he wouldn’t be in hers—
    He glanced up, spying a note on the bedside table. He snatched it like a drowning man cast a lifeline.
    There’s blood in the refrigerator. Will be in sun today, so call me when you wake up—I put my number in your phone.
    xoxo Kaderin.
    His jaw slackened. Though the letter was short, he found himself rereading it. It was like a note a wife would leave for her husband, and so he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. They’d resolved nothing last night and still had the same angers between them.
    Is she playing with me? Is this some sort of cruel jest? Do I have a phone?
    Confounded, he scuffed naked into the kitchen to the refrigerator, taking a deep breath as he grasped the handle. There, the only thing inside—a plain paper bag.
    She’d brought him blood. Why w ould she do this? Is it poisoned? He took the bag out and tossed it onto the counter, but as he turned, he saw the box from the minefield. She’d left it.
    He shut the refrigerator door and repeatedly knocked his head against it.

    Congo River Basin, Democratic Republic of Congo
Day 25

    Prize: One jade jaguar pentacle, altar tool for demonolatry, worth thirteen points

    When Sebastian traced to her and found himself in a sweltering brush, he recognized which prize Kaderin had chosen.
    She had navigated the jungle—the equatorial jungle—from the low lying riverside to these highlands of the Virunga Massif. Nearby was a pounding waterfall, and beside it lay an ancient grave. The prize was buried there in the rich, dark earth.
    Though the canopy was dense, he was still burning, avoiding shafts of light as though they were spears raining down. But it didn’t matter, he had to do anything possible to help her... since she’d given up the box.
    He carried it in his jacket pocket and ran his finger over it, wishing the prize weren’t expired.
    Was he pleased that she didn’t want that between them? Without question. But now, all he could think about was the incredible number of points she’d sacrificed toward a win that she’d obviously kill for.
    Where the hell is she? He couldn’t spy her out through the thick growth and the waterfall’s mist, but he couldn’t remain much longer—
    A branch cracked behind him. He whirled around—to catch the flat of a shovel with his face.
    The metal clanged against his skull, reverberating... until... blackness.
    When he awoke, he was being dragged. The Scot? His face is wasted. Too weak to trace. Try again. Blackness wavered once more.
    “To some of us, leech, this is no’ a game,” MacRieve said. Sound of waterfall nearing. Steam thickening. Can’t trace. “No’ merely a way to impress a Valkyrie, so that she might deign to fuck you.”
    Dragged to the edge.
    “For your stunt at the minefield, you’re going for a swim, and your wee Valkyrie is going for a dive.”
    How high is the drop? Won’t matter. The sun...
    “I doona think you’ll die, no matter how much you might want to.”
    MacRieve punted him in the ribs, sending him flying over the edge.

34

Tortuguerro Beach, Costa Rica Day 27

    Prize: A tear of Amphitrite, preserved into a bead, worth eleven points

    W alking a bit bowlegged there, siren?” Kaderin asked lightly, though she was seething at this visible reminder that Cindey had obviously screwed the very endowed Nereus when that option had returned on the scrolls. She and Cindey were now almost tied. “Nereus must be slumming.”
    “Speaking of slumming, where’s your vampire?” Cindey asked. “The nymphs said they