Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

ditched early and died soon after. My mother is a fey druidess—that’s where I get the ears. She left me when I was twelve to go off and study druidry, or whatever it’s called.” Mari gave a self-conscious wince. “Wow. And I was really trying not to sound resentful.”
    “I’m sorry, Mariketa. I canna understand how any parent could leave a child behind.”
    For some reason, she didn’t want Bowen thinking ill about her parents. “They must have had their reasons. They did care about me when they were with me.” That, at least, she knew for certain.
    When he didn’t look wholly convinced, she said, “I remember when I was four, my parents took me to Disney World. My dad used magick to make sure I won all the prizes in the ring toss, even though he would raise his hands with an innocent expression every time I frowned at him. Both my mom and dad saw every mind-numbing musical and rode every ride, and all the while, they were weighted down with stuffed animals.
    “By noon my dad had started carrying me on his shoulders. At the end of the day, the two of them had that bomb-blast look you see on parents in the final hours of an amusement park sentence. Even so, they’d stopped for one last treat for me. My mom was nearly cross-eyed with fatigue and almost tendered druid coins for ice cream. Then, when we were eating our ice cream in a plaza, my dad jerked up from a bench. ‘Jill!’ he yelled. ‘Where’s Mari? Ah, gods! I’ve lost our daughter!’ Then my mother pointed out that I was on his shoulders.”
    The three of them had laughed until they’d cried.
    Bowen cocked his head at her. “They sound like they doted.”
    Doted. What a fitting word. “I guess they did.” After Mari’s father had left, her mother continued to lavish her with attention—though Jillian would always appear saddened if they’d enjoyed themselves too much. Even at the end of that incredible day the two of them had spent on the beach, she’d seemed preoccupied—
    Mari felt a sudden odd bite in the air and gazed up. She spied ravens circling overhead, making chills trip up her spine.
    “What?” MacRieve asked, gently clasping her shoulders. “What is it?”
    “I don’t know. Probably nothing,” she said, yet continued to peer around her.
    “If you’re having a gut feeling about something, I want to know. I should have listened to you about the bridge and will from now on.”
    But she couldn’t voice what she was feeling, because she didn’t understand it. “No, I’m fine,” she insisted, forcing a smile. “You still owe me five things.”
    He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looking as if he’d rather deal with a mysterious threat than reveal five things about himself.

35

    B owe opened his mouth to answer her, but again drew a blank. Not surprising. He was on edge that she’d sensed a threat when he still scented nothing. Plus there was the fact that there was naught for Bowe to tell her.
    Over the last many decades, his life had centered around his aim of bringing Mariah back. He wanted to steer clear of that subject—as well as that of the Hie. Yet aside from those pursuits, he hadn’t had a real life in memory.
    Bowe had known his existence was soulless and barren, but that fact had never been hit home like this.
    He could tell her that he used to lead an army, a stalwart one. Yet the Horde had decimated it in the same war that Rydstrom had lost his, and Bowe would rather her not know of his failure. Today she’d begun regarding him differently, and he didn’t want that to change.
    He was good at killing. Also not helping his efforts with her.
    And friends? Bowe didn’t have many—or, rather, any—that he saw regularly. He’d let friendships wane, because it was always so uncomfortable for others to try to convey their sympathies to him. He’d rather save them the trouble—and besides, too often sympathy crossed over the line and became pity. Or they studied him like Lachlain did. Bowe put up with Lachlain’s scrutiny because he was like a brother, but he didn’t suffer it from others.
    Christ, he was a cipher.
    For the first time, he worried if he could be worthy enough for Mariketa. Did he even deserve her? Yes, she was a witch, but she was also stunningly beautiful and brave and clever.
    “I like football, too,” he finally said.
    “You’ve already told me, so that doesn’t count.”
    “I love the color of your eyes.”
    She tucked a curl behind her pointed ear,