Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

kill the witch for weakening him so much.
    A roar sounded deeper in the earth, and the cavern quaked, sending rock and dust falling over him. The Fyre Dragán—rumored to be a serpentlike beast, as large as a basilisk but with a body of fire—must be sensing Bowe’s trespass.
    This place was known in the Lore as where immortals go to die . Most immortals could die only by beheading—an unwieldy suicide option—or by total immolation in a pit of otherworldly heat like this. Yet in the ages that had passed, the location of this place had become virtually lost in the Lore. Until now...
    Another roar, another violent shake. Boulders began to rain down from the cavern ceiling. As he loped on, dodging them, the injury in his side screamed in protest. But the pain in his body was forgotten as he imagined what he’d do after reuniting with Mariah.
    Together, they would start a new life, and he would spoil her with all the wealth he’d accumulated. They could live at his grand estate in Scotland or at the Lykae compound in Louisiana. The clan’s property there was vast with miles of swamps and forests to run. There was a central, main lodge for gatherings, and then separate, large hunting cabins were spread throughout.
    Louisiana intrigued Bowe. Lazy fans always seemed to be overhead. Unusual food scents and the strains of music continually carried on the breeze. Surely Mariah would love it as he did.
    And when he had her back with him, he would seduce away her fears of him so he could finally claim her, at last having her completely.
    Gods, he needed her beneath him. Since that night in the jungle tomb, his long-neglected desires had come blazing to life. Even with his body battered, each day he’d needed to take relief from the throbbing ache in his shaft.
    Though it shamed him, his mind would wander to the witch as he stroked himself in bed. His usual fantasies of laying Mariah down and gently claiming her were replaced by ones of Mariketa, even though her glamour made memories of her hazy.
    He could recall being so damned pleased and aroused by the witch’s body but not remembering why. More clearly, he recalled the small tattoo on her lower back—he’d imagined rubbing his face against that mark. Even the remembered feel of the back of her leg against his palm could put him into a lather; he would shudder at mere thoughts of her soft, giving thigh under his thumb claw.
    Fantasizing about tasting the wet flesh he’d cupped would make him spend so hard his eyes rolled back in his head.
    Once he’d taken his release, a bitter shame would set in. But each night, shame turned to determination to win.
    When the tunnel opened up into a soaring cavern chamber, filled with smoke and wafting ash, Bowe hurried inside—and spotted Sebastian Wroth at the edge of a pit of lava, his arm trapped under a huge boulder.
    The vampire? When Kaderin should be here tonight?
    “What’s happened here?”
    “A quake... rocks,” Wroth grated with difficulty.
    “Where’s the Valkyrie? She ought to be here, not you.”
    “I’m here in her stead.”
    Bowe had suspected that Wroth was newly turned—relatively—but now he knew it. An older, more powerful vampire could have traced out from under the rock.
    “You can’t reach the prize,” the vampire told him in his accented English. “It’s on the other side of the pit... and the cable across it snapped.”
    Bowe surveyed the area and saw the coiled remains of a thin cable hanging loose from the opposite wall. He had rope in his truck but couldn’t spy a single place in the sheer rock face to lash it to. Besides, the truck was aboveground several miles away, and with every minute that passed, the curse was siphoning off more of his strength.
    He knew the vampire could trace them across with a blink of his eye, but to free him would be a great risk. Yet, though Bowe was weak, Wroth looked much more so. And Wroth didn’t want the prize as badly as Bowe—he used this contest only to win over Kaderin.
    The vampire was pale as death, blood pooling all around him. If Bowe left him to gear up to cross the pit on his own and failed, would Wroth even be conscious when he returned?
    Decided. “I could free you to trace me across. Then, an open contest to take it.”
    “I could double-cross you.”
    Bowe narrowed his one eye. “No’ if I’ve got ahold of your good arm.”
    After a hesitation, the vampire said, “Do it.”
    Bowe crossed to the boulder and shoved at it. Though