Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

transparent bra. No bruises marred the creamy flesh there either. There was a chance she’d been protected from the worst attacks of those incubi.
    He tried to turn away then, but her deep pink nipples were growing harder as drops of rain hit her breasts. He hissed an oath. No witch should ever be as fine as this.
    She was perfect and lovely, and his mouth watered to suckle those jutting nipples. Unable to help himself, he brushed the backs of his fingers over one, and she shivered.
    This is madness . He’d just pulled her top back when movement rustled the leaves all around her. Claws bared, his hands shot down, thinking an animal approached, yet then... vines began to creep up over her body, twining over her in profusion, as if protectively.
    Eyes wide, he snapped, “Ah, bugger me!” and just prevented himself from lunging back. Magick. Right bloody here. When he reached for her, briars jabbed and tore at his skin. Even with his strength, he couldn’t rip them from her.
    Yet he didn’t sense danger to her.
    Her blowing up the tomb was bad enough, but this eerie, insidious magick unnerved him far more. He stood and paced back and forth, glancing uneasily at her, raking his fingers through his hair.
    There in the cage of greenery, right before his eyes, her skin began to pinken, her lips reddening and plumping once more. As she slept, as natural as if she’d been born there, her scrapes and bruises faded, leaving behind only smooth, porcelain skin. He found her so damned attractive—even as the magick made his stomach roil.
    Was this another charm? Not a healing spell but another enchantment? Was this even what she truly looked like? Bloody hell, he hoped not. To be pitted against both the unnatural spell and her natural beauty?
    He forced himself to recall her visage as she’d delighted in strangling him. That was what she truly was.
    Below them, the vacuum began to slow, sated at last. He heard the others climbing long before they’d reached the plateau. Once Rydstrom had cleared the edge, his gaze flickered over Bowe’s hand and eye. “She healed you?”
    “Aye. And herself. But now she’s trapped in those vines.”
    Rydstrom nodded, seeming unconcerned with his leg injury. “We need to get her somewhere dry.” He limped over to her. “None of us are in any condition to navigate our way out of here tonight.”
    Bowe saw that the five were gaunt, their lips chapped and eyes sunken. Now that she’d worked her magicks, the mortal appeared to be in better shape than the immortals.
    “And what about the Scot?” one of the male archers asked.
    Bowe answered, “The Scot goes wherever that witch goes.”
    Cade said, “I think Tierney meant now can we grease this Lykae?”
    Once Rydstrom reached the witch, he bent down for her. The briars parted for him, allowing him to lift her. When Rydstrom cradled her in his arms, Bowe felt his lips drawing back, his fangs lengthening.
    — That male takes your place... takes what’s yours. —
    No, damn it, not his. She was a means to an end to get the curse lifted, a means he didn’t want to let out of his sight. But he knew they couldn’t get far from him. He was strong again, he reminded himself. No one could prevent him from taking her back.
    “The explosion will draw the humans’ attention,” Rydstrom said as he handed her to Cade. “Best get her out of sight. I scent a cave nearby.”
    The one where Bowe had planned to bed Mariketa and himself down for the night.
    Cade took her but hesitated to leave, plainly hankering for a fight.
    “I’ll handle this,” Rydstrom assured him. “My old friend Bowen and I are going to have a talk.”
    A talk? Bowe gave a humorless laugh. Then why were his horns straightening and blackening? Bowe’s own beast stirred, ready to battle the demon if it came to that. Bowe hoped otherwise. He needed to question Rydstrom—not kill him.
    “I’ll get a fire started,” Cade finally said, gazing down at her. “Try to scavenge some food.” When Cade started off, Bowe battled the nearly irresistible urge to retrieve her. He checked it, but followed the sight of her hair swaying over Cade’s arm for long moments.
    The archers cast Bowe menacing looks, then eventually trailed after Cade, leaving Bowe and Rydstrom alone.
    “You’re lucky I owed you a blood debt, MacRieve, or I’d get retribution for the stunt you pulled.”
    When Rydstrom had been king, he’d allied with Bowe’s army—back when there were enough