Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

witch!”
    She shook her head against his back. “I’m going to pass out again.”
    “Doona care.”
    “I do! Vow to the Lore that you’ll get me safely to Rydstrom.”
    “To Rydstrom, then?” he snapped in a strange tone. “Do this and I’ll vow it.”
    Inhaling a deep breath, she made another shaking attempt, growing dizzier with each second.
    “That’s it.” His hand appeared restored, and still he demanded in a husky voice, “ More. ”
    She gritted between her teeth, “Doing everything... I can ... ”
    With his new hand, he ripped at the bandage on his head and raised his bared face to the rain. “Good girl. Now only one more spell to go—”
    Was that her strangled cry? And the world went black once more.

12

    A s the witch’s slight body grew limp over him, Bowe’s strength came surging back. He blinked his eyes, flexed his hand, and inhaled deeply. After inwardly cataloging his many smaller injuries he realized he was completely healed—whole again. No pain, no wrenching agony in his ribs with each breath. She’d done it.
    Bowe recognized that he felt better than he had in memory.
    Now he easily climbed the vine, and even leapt the twenty feet to the top of the mountainside shelf he’d sought. Earlier from below, he’d scented that somewhere at this elevation there was a source of spring water in case it stopped raining. He’d also noted the musty odor of a sheltering cave in case it didn’t. As soon as he’d claimed her from Rydstrom, Bowe had made for the mountain.
    The cave was about a half mile away through thick hardwoods, so he decided to get food and drink into the witch at once, now that the immediate danger had passed. He stalked a small, square area of the plateau, surveying for poisonous plants or animals. With his keen eyesight restored, he spied none—only rain-matted, leafy vines. Yes, this place would work.
    Once he laid Mariketa on the bed of thick foliage, the light rain began to wash away the blood on her face and smoothed her hair back from her pointed ears. With one of her slender arms limp at her side and the other curled beside her head, she merely looked like a delicate, vulnerable female—not the witch of unspeakable power he’d just witnessed. And not the killer she’d proven herself to be.
    He had indistinct memories of her rather ordinary looks—nothing special or standout, which was no doubt exactly what she’d intended with her glamour. Now her pale skin was stark against the leaves. Her wee ears pointed sharply, beautifully. The small top she wore was wet and nearly transparent against her generous breasts.
    Even dirty and injured, she was so damned striking...
    — Yours. —
    When the Instinct whispered soothingly, he closed his eyes. He hadn’t mistaken it earlier, hadn’t imagined it. Gods, how he’d missed it—he wanted to roar with pleasure from its return.
    When he gazed back down at her, for the briefest instant he thought, Keep the bloody spell, keep the Instinct, keep the beauty offered up before me. Why no’?
    He shook his head hard. Guilt set in, and anger began to build. He was actually contemplating becoming a mindless slave to a witch’s will? A witch that had been so savage just moments before? His father must be turning over in his grave right now.
    Bowe removed his pack, dropping it beside her, and easily opened the previously plaguing ties now that he had both hands. Kneeling down, he dug for drink—only two of the bottles hadn’t been crushed. At least the gel packs were intact.
    He looped his arm under her neck and lifted her, but even unconscious, she feebly resisted him. With repeated attempts, he made her drink half a bottle and swallow some of the gel.
    Satisfied with that for now, he swept his gaze over her body. Hazy recollections of her appearance from before began to crystallize in his mind, and he realized that she didn’t seem to have lost a good deal of weight. Somehow, she hadn’t starved. But his relief was short-lived.
    Had those things gotten ahold of her?
    With his heart in his throat, he laid her back to examine her injuries, washing from her arms and legs the worst of the dirt and blood in the light rain.
    If they’d taken her, he’d expect her shorts to be ripped, but they weren’t. He’d expect to see bruises consistent with the grip of fingers, but he found none at her neck or on her pale thighs.
    After tugging down her shirt, Bowe gazed at her plump breasts, plainly visible through her