Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

unlike many witches, she would not hesitate to use magick to harm another if they deserved it—and if she could manage it with her volatile powers.
    MacRieve closed in until nearly seven feet of seething werewolf male loomed over her. He was at least a foot taller than she was and hundreds of times stronger, but she forced herself to stand her ground.
    “Watch your step, little witch. You doona wish to anger one such as me.”
    The grand prize for the Hie was an object called Thrane’s Key, a key that allowed its possessor to go back in time—not just once, but twice . For a tool like that, she knew he was ready to take her out of the contest. So she had to convince him that it was impossible for him to do so.
    “Likewise, you shouldn’t anger me.” Her voice was steady as she looked up at him. “Remember that I could turn your blood to acid as an afterthought,” she said, baldly lying.
    “Aye, I’ve heard rumors of your power.” He narrowed his eyes. “Curious, though, that you dinna open the tomb with one flick of your finger.”
    Yes, she might have managed to lift the portcullis—with concentration, an unprecedented bout of luck, and the absence of a hangover. Oh, and if she were in mortal danger.
    Unfortunately, her power was adrenaline-based, making it as infinite as it was uncontrollable.
    “You think I should use magick like mine to open a tomb?” Mari asked in a scoffing tone. Mistress of bluffing, working it here. “That’d be like calling you in to lift a feather.”
    He tilted his head, sizing her up. After what seemed like an hour, he began walking again.
    Mari gave an inward sigh of relief. If anyone in the Lore found out how vulnerable she really was, she’d be doomed. She knew this, but no matter how hard she worked, whenever she manifested and unleashed significant power, things ended up exploding.
    As her befuddled mentor Elianna explained, “Horses have powerful legs—but that doesn’t mean they’re prima ballerinas.” The ancient Elianna trained with Mari daily to control the destructive nature of her spells, because she believed the subtle magicks invoked the most fear in their enemies.
    And the House of Witches brokered in fear.
    The corridor finally ended at a broad, high wall, covered in carvings of ghoulish faces and animals. Mari lifted her lantern high and the reliefs seemed to move in shadow. They’d apparently been put there to guard a small tunnel opening near the floor, which itself was made out like a gaping mouth with fangs dropping down.
    She waved the Lykae forward. “Age before beauty, Mr. MacRieve.” She sized him up again, then studied the small opening, which couldn’t be more than three feet square. “If you think you can fit.”
    He stood motionless, clearly not about to be directed. “Only humans call me Mr. MacRieve.”
    She shrugged. “I’m not a human.” Her mother was a fey druidess, and her late father had been a warlock of questionable repute. So Mari was a fey witch or a “weylock,” as her buddies teased. “So would you like me to call you Bowen, or Bowe for short?”
    “Bowe is what my friends call me, so you doona.”
    What an ass... “No problem. I have a slew of other more fitting names for you. Most of them end in er .”
    He ignored her comment. “You in the tunnel first.”
    “Don’t you think it’d be unbecoming for me to be on my hands and knees in front of you? Besides, you don’t need my lantern to see in the dark, and if you go first, you’ll be sure to lose me and get to the prize first.”
    “I doona like anything, or anyone, at my back.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against a snarling visage on the stone wall. She’d never seen a Lykae turn into its towering werewolf form, but knew from those who had that this male could be as frightening as any monster, real or imagined. “And you’ll have your little red cloak on,” he continued, “so I will no’ be able to see anything about you that might be... unbecoming.”
    “Twisting my words? I’ll have you know that I am criminally cute—”
    “Then why hide behind a cloak?”
    “I’m not hiding. ” In fact, that was precisely what she was doing. “And I like to wear it.” She hated it.
    Even before her birth, she’d been predicted to be the Awaited One, the most powerful born to the House of Witches in centuries—but four years ago, it was also foretold that a male from the Lore would recognize her as his own and claim