Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

her shirt, she screamed, “No!”
    Light exploded. Power emitted from her hands and eyes, briefly blinding her. When she blinked her eyes open, they went wide. As if bound, MacRieve was pressed against a great ceiba tree, arms pinned back until his palms rested on the thick trunk behind him.
    Holy hell.
    He thrashed to free himself, his claws digging down into the striated bark. But whatever binding she’d used on him held firm. “Don’t struggle—you can’t get free. You’ll just hurt yourself.” When she realized he wasn’t fighting only against her magick but against turning completely, she unsteadily rose and crossed to him. “Why do you fight it still?”
    His eyes were so full of yearning. “ Want you. ”
    When she could drag her gaze from his face, she saw his clothing was riddled with holes. “Oh, gods, you’ve been shot! How many damned times—How could you hold the truck? And get us out of the river?”
    As though with pride, his chin jutted up just a touch. “ Keep you safe. ”
    And her heart melted for this beast.
    “You did, Bowen. You freed me and kept me safe.” The carnage had all been to protect her—brought on because those men had planned to hurt her again and again. Bowen had killed so savagely only for her. Now she wanted to protect him as well, to heal the countless injuries he’d borne for her. “Can I use more magick on you?”
    He eagerly nodded. “Knock me... unconscious... bash my head against a rock... know you can.”
    “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.” She thought they’d been washed downstream far enough away from the bunker but still asked, “Would you scent if men got near us?”
    “Aye. No one comes near you.”
    She nodded. “Bowen, I’m going to keep you like this for a little bit, okay?” she murmured as she began removing his clothes. When she stripped him of his bullet-riddled shirt, she realized that she could move his limbs and hands, positioning them at will—though he still couldn’t.
    This was some heady magick. She felt powerful and in control—such a change from how she’d felt fleeing Bowen, or when she’d been forced at gunpoint to that dismal bunker.
    She removed his boots, then very carefully undid the bulging zipper of his jeans. She could perceive his body quaking with anticipation, could hear low growls rumbling from his chest as his erection sprang forth. The crown was glistening, the shaft engorged and straining toward her. As she worked down his jeans, her hair slid over it, and he gave a harsh gasp.
    Once he was unclothed, she began rubbing his skin with sweeping strokes, as she’d seen other witches do for a healing. Over each of the wounds, her hands turned hot. She knew that she was healing him, somehow melting away the bullets. Her eyes fluttered closed at the strange—but not unpleasant—sensation. When she moved her hand from an area, she left only smooth, unbroken skin behind.
    While she ministered to him, she explored him, familiarizing herself with his new form. Without the rage and the blood... I believe I can handle this . As she continued to caress him, she even found herself aroused by him. His splendid muscles and towering frame were exaggerated, yet beneath the image of the beast flickering over him and the changes to his body, his skin was still much the same.
    Reaching behind him, she felt bullet wounds on his shoulder blades and high on the back of his thigh. He licked and kissed her neck as she trailed one of her hands over his back, the other over the rock-hard muscles of his ass.
    Only when he nipped at her neck did she comprehend that she had a naked, almost fully turned werewolf trapped by her power.
    To do with as she wished.
    At that moment, she realized her intent with him and was surprised by how strong her will was in this.
    Somehow... Mari was going to have him, completely.

41

    S he will no’ run, Bowen thought in stunned relief, even as the pressure to claim her, to mark her, grew. He grappled to free himself from her hold, though he recognized that when he was pinned like this, she could explore him, study him—possibly lose her fear of him. “No’ repulsed by me?”
    “No, if you’re not coated in blood and it’s not dripping from your big fangs,” she said matter-of-factly, as she rubbed her soft, soft hands over him. “I’m not going to lie to you—that scared the living hell out of me. But I think... I believe I’m getting more used to you now.”
    “Even when