Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

yelled, gurgling, trying to hold his head to his neck. As she gaped in bewilderment, his blood spewed over her, into her eyes.
    MacRieve had stabbed through Cruach’s neck frombehind? Cruach’s slitted eyes were dilated with shock as he stumbled toward the altar.
    The remaining Cromites wailed, then drew their swords to attack MacRieve. Cruach lurched ever closer. He was gravely injured, but the wound wouldn’t be enough to kill him.
    If she could just free her hands, she could try to get MacRieve out of here. Her gaze darted for something, some tool to help her—
    Wait, what the… ?
Struggling for comprehension, she blinked at her quiver.
    Inside it was an arrow just like the dieumort, with old-fashioned flights. She swallowed.
Another
dieumort? How… Why…?
    Oh, Freya, the never-emptying quiver! Was it giving her another chance, providing one more shot at Cruach? The arrow had been replicated. But would the Banemen’s awesome power follow?
    How to reach it?
An idea….
The skin on her wrist was now serrated all the way around. So she took a fortifying breath—then yanked her arm back with all the power she possessed. She screamed in agony as she skinned her hand, peeling it clean to her fingers like a glove.
    But she’d freed that arm.
    As MacRieve faced off against the Cromites, she gritted her teeth and forced her ruined fingers to close around the new dieumort. Once she’d drawn it free, the same power as from the first surged through her.
    When Cruach fell to his knees before her at the altar, her arm shot out, planting the tip right into his black heart.
    He stared down at his chest in disbelief. Extending out from the arrow, ash began to replace his scaly skin, spreading like a poison through his monstrous form.
    Crom Cruach was dying… truly
dying
.
    As she beheld the end of her nightmare, she sneered, “Do you feel it, husband?”
    He faced her. With his last breaths, he grated, “The beast… saved him from me”—blood bubbled at his lips—“and will forever keep him…
from you
.”
    Just as MacRieve finished the last of the Cromites, Cruach collapsed, his eyes as lifeless as the corpses’ all around them.
    His hulking body disintegrated, becoming a layer of ash atop the blood pooled on the floor.
The Broken Bloody One is no more.
    With his death, MacRieve’s infection would eventually burn off. He could be saved—from this. But could Cruach have been right about the beast?
    “Garreth, I’m right here!” she cried, yanking on her other hand. “Scot, come back to me!”
    MacRieve had told her,
The beast rises too much, maddening its Lykae host forever
. Now his eyes flashed from that white to the palest blue and back. And he never saw her.
    Was it already too late?
    “MacRieve, I’m alive! You have to come back to me!” Her voice broke on a sob as she cried, “Garreth, I
need
you.”
    He gazed back at where he thought her headless body was. As a tear tracked down his blood-splatteredface, he dug his claws into his chest, ripping through his own skin.
    Though she screamed for him, he ran from this place, yelling from deep within his lungs, a deafening roar of misery.
    When Lachlain and Bowen finally spied Garreth in these bleak woods, he was raging, clawing himself. As they closed in on him, Lachlain stared at his brother in shock.
    Blood covered him and his tattered clothes. The flesh of his chest was maimed. His eyes were an opaque white and wet. With tears?
    “Grab his arms!” Lachlain told Bowen. “Garreth, stop this! What has happened?”
    In a harsh beastly voice, Garreth muttered, “Begged me… to leave… said I wasn’t strong enough… her
head
.” He bellowed with pain, thrashing from their grip.
    “Where is your mate?”
    He roared,
“Dead!”
    Bowen hissed in a breath. “Oh, Christ. I know this well. We have to get him out of here.”
    “No, this canna be right,” Lachlain said. “He’s been maddened. Look at his eyes. Garreth, why do you think she’s dead?”
    Garreth choked out, “Slammed the blade… through her neck. Ah, gods,
her head
!”
    “Who did this to her?” Lachlain’s own beast was stirring to avenge his brother’s mate.
    Bowen’s eyes were turning as well. “Tell us who!”
    “Me! I cut off her fucking head!”
    “Ah, Garreth, no!” Fear for his brother gripped Lachlain, like a hand wrapped round his throat. “You could no’ hurt her.”
    “I killed… my Lousha.” With a yell, he flung himself free from their grip, clawing