Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

arrow shaft dart frenziedly in the mucky ground, which amused her.
    This was her greatest pleasure—the hunt. When shewas out like this, she felt less like an imposter, filled with shameful secrets. In these moments, she didn’t feel as if her sins were stamped upon her like a scarlet letter for all to see.
    And she could briefly forget what would soon befall her in the approaching Accession.
    Shaking away that thought, she crouched to dig free her prey, hauling it out by the ankle in a rush of mud and roots. Still in cherubic form, the kobold squirmed frenetically, her arrow jutting from its throat.
    She dropped it to the ground and plucked free her arrow, taking half its neck with those barbs. The creature transformed, growing reptilian, with snakelike eyes and scaly skin. When it snapped its now elongated fangs at her, she turned the arrow lengthwise, pressing the shaft down over what was left of its neck.
    As blood sprayed up her arms, she grinned, relishing her job as enforcer of laws.
    Lucia had just beheaded the thing when her ears twitched with awareness yet again.
Something’s watching me.
She leapt back to her feet, eyes darting. Something
close
.
    The male. She sensed it was him—but how had he gotten the drop on her?
    She peered into the shadows and almost gasped when golden eyes glowed back. “Why are you following me?” she demanded. On occasion, she acted as a negotiator between factions because she was so patient and levelheaded—or so everyone thought. Perhaps he sought her help to solve some grievance.
    The male stalked closer to her, ignoring the natural path, heading directly for her. A Lykae had made her the object of its interest. Never a good development.
    “How could I no’ follow a lass as bonny as you?” he asked in a raspy brogue. The mud had washed clean, revealing the perfection of his still-bare chest and torso and all the strong planes of his face. His chin was stubborn with a hint of a cleft, his skin tan, with those faint laugh lines etched beside golden eyes. Rain spiked his lashes.
    His thick hair was wet and dark, whipping across his lean cheeks. She’d bet it’d be a rich brown when dry.
    His gaze met hers for long moments before he leisurely took in every feature of her face. The way he looked at her was consuming, savoring—as if she were the most beautiful creature on earth and he’d been starved for the sight of her.
    She frowned as a sense of awareness seemed to tingle through her every nerve.
    When his gaze dipped to her body, he raised a shaking hand to run over his mouth, clearly liking what he saw.
    What’s not to like— No! Act reasonable and serious. Above all things be rational.
“Who are you?”
    “I’m Garreth MacRieve of the Lykae clan.” He drew nearer and she sidled back. They began circling each other. “Never seen anyone shoot like you.”
    That truly never got old. “Because no one can,” she answered matter-of-factly.
    Had the corner of his lips briefly curled? “What devil did you make a deal with to shoot like that?”
    She almost sighed. Devil?
I did something entirely different with him.
She stifled the memories that had begun to surface more and more often.
    “Mayhap your bow’s enchanted?”
    “My bow’s not enchanted—merely unequaled.” For over a thousand years, it’d held fast, as perfectly honed today as it’d been the night of Lucia’s transformation. The black ash wood was polished to a sheen and carved with elaborate inscriptions. In a long-dead language, it was written that Lucia was a servant to the goddess Skathi. Forever. “You don’t think mine could be a natural”—
goddess-given
—“talent?”
    “Aye. But to marry talent
and
beauty such as yours as well? Hardly sporting to other lasses.”
    She’d often thought so herself. Luckily for them, she had no interest in garnering a man’s attention.
    “And you could no’ be bonnier.”
    In fact, she could be. Her hair was drenched. Her clothes were boring—a serviceable pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt. She wore no makeup or jewelry, but then, she never did. Not since she’d started wearing the bow.
    “Are you fey or Valkyrie?”
    I’m an Archer. A celibate in plain clothes. A shadow in the background.
“Guess.” At least he got points for not mistaking her for a nymph. Unfortunately, the two species resembled each other with their elven features. That was where all similarities ended.
    “With the bow and the pointed ears, I’d normally say