Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

blister gave way against the machete handle, but Bowe ignored it. Wasn’t like he could switch hands.
    The odds were against her being alive, yet Bowe had hope. The scarred demon Rydstrom was a brutal warrior, but he was also honorable. And Bowe knew Rydstrom and Cade had younger sisters. If Rydstrom had decided to protect the witch, she might have a chance of surviving starvation—and the incubi.
    And then there had been the unsettling interest that had flickered in Cade’s eyes. The mercenary might be moved to protect her... because he wanted her.
    The thought made Bowe swing the machete harder than necessary, slicing clean through a sapling.
    Damn it, what in the hell had that little mortal been thinking to enter the Hie?
    Even as he’d cursed the idiocy of her actions, he’d marveled at her courage, especially since she was so young. He’d suspected she was, but Bowe had since found out that Mariketa was an astonishing twenty-three years of age— chronologically . Not only hadn’t she made the transition into immortality, she hadn’t passed even a third of an average mortal life.
    If Bowe had thought Emma, at eighty chronologically, was too young for Lachlain, then Mariketa was a damned bairn.
    And a witch—
    Ear-piercing screams sounded. From the tomb?
    Bowe sprinted as fast as his wounds would allow, leaping over fallen trees. He ran headlong through the brush instead of cutting, ignoring the pain as vines snagged his neck and arms and abraded till they burned.
    When he finally crashed through the tree line surrounding the perimeter of the tomb, he heard what sounded like a war inside.
    White light glinted up through new cracks in the stone. The entire edifice rumbled. He heard Rydstrom roar with pain while the female archer shrieked. Bowe didn’t hear the witch.
    Was it already too late?
    How the fuck was he going to quickly raise the stone portcullis? To set up the lift with one hand... too much time. Could he possibly raise it himself? He was a thousand times weaker than before. He didn’t have a propping stone to lift from.
    He didn’t have two hands.
    No way—
    Bowe finally heard Mariketa’s cry—weak, reedy. There was no time to analyze the consuming sense of relief he felt that she still lived. He knew she was badly hurt, knew she needed protection.
    Bugger the lift.
    He shoved his hand under the edge of the portcullis, claws digging down, wedging under for a good grip. When he heard another of her cries, he strained every muscle in his body.
    Nothing.
    Damn it, if she’d truly been his mate, he would have been able to lift it. Which meant it was still possible even when she wasn’t his—he could do this!
    No longer did he hear her. Sharp fear stabbed at him... he heaved with all his might, yelling out. The stone began to budge. An inch higher, then two...
    He’d lifted it only a foot when a limp body was shoved out from the fray.
    Mariketa? Yes, though he scarcely recognized her without her glamour to cloak her looks.
    As Bowe grappled against the weight, he jerked in surprise when the Instinct rang inside his head, strong and clear.
    — Yours. —
    Why would it return now, after so long? Why would it make him feel as though he recognized her as his own?
    No, this was merely her spell, tricking him. Even knowing this, he had to fight panic when he comprehended how battered her body was. He focused his hearing on her heartbeat and found it erratic. Her lips were pale and chapped, her cheeks hollowed. Blood tracked from the corners of her mouth.
    Just as it had on Mariah when she’d lain dead in the snow.
    He couldn’t hold the stone much longer... needed to drop it... but the witch’s leg was in the way. As he struggled to reach his boot to the side to shuffle her out of the way, the battle continued inside.
    “Duck!”
    “Bloody shoot them!”
    “I’m out of arrows!” Out of arrows? The archers had mystical quivers, said never to empty.
    “Me as well— Run! ”
    The female elf screamed for Cade to help her. A second later, she was launched from the interior, her bloody bow strapped to her back.
    Then claws scrabbled up as Cade and Rydstrom crawled out. They didn’t acknowledge Bowe, just dropped their swords and weakly attempted to keep the stone raised until the last two archers shimmied out.
    The strings on their bows were stained by blood from where they’d pulled them again and again. What exactly had they faced?
    As if in answer, just as Bowe was about to drop his