Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

reflection if the others are truly okay—because, for some reason, I find myself distrusting everything you’ve ever told me.”
    He crossed his arms over his chest. “No’ near me.”
    “Then you better hurry up and leave.”
    “You think I will no’?” He shot to his feet and slung on his jeans, stomping into his boots. “I should leave you out here—to remind you how much you need me.”
    “Do it. Dare you to! And don’t let a branch hit your ass on the way out.”
    “Oh, this is just great!”
    “Oh, aye, this is ‘ juice grett .’”
    He pointed his forefinger at her, opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut. “I will no’ watch this,” he finally grated, before loping off.
    Alone, Mari lay dazed by what had just occurred. She’d thought they were going to make love all night because he desired her. Not because he desired to impregnate her.
    Or try to. MacRieve had to have his little test, because for whatever reason, he couldn’t look at her, hear her voice, and be near her and know she was his.
    What in the hell would it take for someone to say to Mari, “I choose you ”?
    She thought she would keel over in shock if someone got to know her, and then, based on her personal merits alone—not matehood, or whatever —said, “No doubt of it. You are the one for me.”
    And what would MacRieve have done if she didn’t conceive after repeated attempts?
    Left me, that’s what.
    That realization really blew, because now, when she thought of her future back in New Orleans, away from this other-world jungle, she kept seeing him in it.
    She brushed another tear away. Damn it, what was it about her that made her so... disposable?

37

    S ometimes Bowe could tell in an instant when a memory would be as clear in a thousand years as the day he experienced it.
    When he returned to the campsite after a hard run, he knew the scene before him would prove indelible, lasting through even an immortal’s lifetime.
    With flashes of lightning in the background, and soft rain falling, he found Mariketa lying on her side in the lean-to, one arm folded under her head. Her other arm was raised, with a huge spider lumbering over her glowing hand. She absently regarded it with brilliant, mirrored eyes. Her lips were a deeper red than he’d ever seen them—blood red—and three sinister-looking apples lay half eaten beside her. She looked like that preternatural reflection he’d seen in the water.
    — Be wary. —
    Those ominous vines grew in profusion, twisting in dense layers over the lean-to, as if defensively, and the entire platform was surrounded by beasties—iguanas, frogs, snakes, deer mice, and coatimundi made up a creeping moat. In the canopy directly above her, territorial howler monkeys sat unusually poised and watchful, sharing their limbs with owls.
    In the witch’s current mood, she seemed to attract them all.
    — Wary. Her power is unstable. —
    He got chills, shivering even as he sweated after his run, and still part of him wanted to charge over there and comfort her.
    He could feel her sadness and her disappointment—in him. His own anger had turned to a weary realization...
    If he wanted her, he would have to change.
    Weeks ago, he’d been disgusted to see that Lachlain had allowed his vampire mate to drink from him. Vampires had tortured Lachlain in unimaginable ways and had decimated his family. In turn, he’d killed thousands of their kind.
    A vampire’s bite was a mark of weakness, of abject shame among the Lykae; Lachlain wore Emma’s bite like a badge. He had changed for her, had somehow overcome a millennium-long hatred.
    Now Bowe understood why Lachlain had been moved to do so. But could Bowe accept the haunting female before him? Change an entrenched mind-set for her?
    Bowe himself had advised Lachlain not to try to force Emma to their ways, but that hadn’t meant that Bowe was saying to embrace her ways either.
    He asked Mariketa, “Did you find out what happened to the others?”
    Without facing him, she said, “They’re safe.”
    “Are they coming?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know—just learned that they’re not in immediate danger.”
    When he remained silent, she murmured, “If you think I don’t know what I look like, I do. No butterflies, fauns, and songbirds for me.” She finally faced him. “It must be hard for you, going from a real fairy princess to the wicked witch who kills for money.” She frowned to herself. “I think I’m