Immortals After Dark 09 - Pleasure of a Dark Prince

boat.
    Apparently MacRieve thought he could make the distance—he slung his duffle bag over his body and got that intent look she’d become familiar with.
Wait
… Did he have
blood
splattered over one side of his face?
    No time to contemplate that; she dashed to theback platform. In a flash, she had her bow up and arrow loaded. His expression turned murderous, and he shook his head slowly, as if vowing retribution.
    Damn him!
She couldn’t shoot, because she knew he wouldn’t even
try
to dodge her arrows. He would still do anything to keep her from harm—even as each time she saw him he continued to appear darker,
angrier
.
    And gods help her, sexier.
    With a sound of frustration, she lowered her bow. MacRieve had already begun sprinting, gaining superhuman velocity, his massive body moving with the speed and smoothness of an animal.
    She swallowed. He was nearing the end of the dock but hadn’t slowed—was pumping his arms for more speed.
No. No way he can make this distance, werewolf or not.
    Heart in her throat, she watched him spring from the edge in an explosive leap. A second passed… still in the air… momentum hurling him toward her spot—
    Just short! He landed chest-first against the side of the platform, his black claws digging into the teakwood.
    After wincing at the sound of his ribs cracking, she remembered herself and reared back her leg for a swinging punt to his head. But he snatched her ankle with one hand, tossing her to her ass. In a single fluid movement, he sprang to the deck to cover her, pinning her arms—and bow—over her head.
    A seething, soaked Lykae was stretched over her, his body a cage of damp, rippling muscles. She grappled to get free, a laughable effort against a being with his strength, but only managed to get as soaked as he was.
    What would he do to her? What
didn’t
she deserve?
    “Now, that’s no’ nice, Valkyrie.” His deep voice raked over her as his eyes scanned her face, taking in every feature as if relearning them. “And no way to greet your male.”
    “You’re not
my
male!” He
did
have blood on his face—now it mingled with the water and sweat trickling down his cheek. “Let me up!”
    He kept her pinned. “Missed you these months,” he said. “Again and again.” The double meaning was clear when his eyes flickered ice blue. “But no longer. The game’s changed now, beauty.”
    Snared.
Somehow the huntress had been hunted to the ground and trapped.
    No!
She was on a mission to save the world. She’d lose the Lykae and get on with it. She
had
to.
    Or every being on earth would pay for what she’d done—and for what she would never do again…
    At that thought, she renewed her struggles beneath him. Oh, gods, MacRieve was getting hard!
    In a hushed, threatening tone, he said, “We’ve unfinished business to take care of.”
    “I want you off this boat, MacRieve!” Lucia snapped.
    Garreth was growing erect, stiffening for her with a swift heat, and she had to feel it. “Do you, then?” His tone was disbelieving—because even now his Lucia was responding to him so sweetly. A blush tinged her high cheekbones, and her pupils were dilated with interest. Her lips parted as she stared at his own.
    Then her dazed expression seemed to clear. “Get off me, you brute! If you won’t leave, then I will!”
    “You think I’ve searched—and fought and protected you from afar—for this long just to let you go now?” Not from
too
afar. Moments ago, he’d slaughtered two demon assassins who’d been lying in wait in an alley—for her. They’d had their swords raised, intending to take her head. He’d collected theirs instead.
    But now Garreth had her safe in his arms. The urge to squeeze her into his chest grew nigh overwhelming. To have her truly under his watch… after so many months when she’d been in constant danger.
    Satisfaction soared within him, and he eased his face down to her mane of glossy hair, taking her scent into him once more.
    Gods, nothing smelled as fine as Lucia.
    “Are you… smelling my hair?” She sounded aghast. Or titillated. Who could tell with Lucia, the Mistress of Mixed Signals?
    His voice was rough when he admitted, “Aye, just one of the things I missed about you.” Just as satisfaction mounted, so did lust. The smell of her hair was almost his undoing. And her body was so soft and warm beneath him.
    She squirmed harder, but he wouldn’t budge. “MacRieve, I’m here on important business! Business