Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night iad-4

by Kresley Cole

  Her heart pounded so wildly, and her breaths were so quick and shallow, he wondered how she remained conscious. She was growing nearly catatonic with fear.

  Should he push her? Or accept their lot and pray for mercy? He pushed. "Witch, listen to me!" He shook her shoulders—hard—until her head lolled. No response. Another dip sent him reeling, and he lunged back to her. "Mari!" Nothing.

  The sat-phone had fallen from her overturned purse and skittered by him in the aisle. He snared it, hit the redial button, and flipped on the GPS beacon.

  Through the windshield, he could see the water rushing toward them. Not enough time. He couldn't break through her fear to reach her.

  So he sliced open her seat belt and scooped her up. Sitting on the floor between the back aisles, he held her in his lap, arms wrapped around her. "Think of something else," he murmured, rocking her as gently as he could with the death grip he had on her body. "Think of your home. Or of the snow I'm goin' tae show you. Think of blankets of white."

  Ah, gods, please let her survive this. Please...

  She shook uncontrollably. "Come here, baby," he said against her hair. "I'm no' goin' tae let you be hurt."

  If I lose you, I'll follow this time without a second thought.

  Salt rushed his senses. Close. "There's my good lass. Now, close your eyes... "

  47

  Roaring in her ears... churning under the water... the force of bones shattering. A terrible pressure built on her thigh till she felt the flesh and bone giving way.

  Can't swim—can't move. Sinking deeper. Drowning.

  A grip under her arm?

  Bowen. He was dragging her to the surface.

  As soon as she felt the rock of waves, she heard him, indistinctly at first, then louder. "Mari! Ah, gods, wake up!" He was running his hands over her body, shuddering at each injury. When he touched her leg, an agonized yell broke from him.

  The stench of an oil fire on the water was overpowering. She heard flames hissing in the rain.

  "You doona dare leave me, witch!" His voice was heartrending. With his whole hand at the back of her head, he pulled her against him, tucking her into his chest. "You stay with me."

  She wanted to nod, to reassure him—she'd never heard anyone in such pain before—but she couldn't speak, couldn't open her eyes...

  In and out of consciousness. How long they stayed like this, she didn't know. She woke to a hazy drone, growing louder—the rhythmic whoosh of a helicopter's blades. She thought he murmured, "Lachlain... "

  When she felt wind on her face, he rasped, "You're goin' tae be safe." She thought he kissed her temple. "You will no' get away from me this easily."

  After Bowe had lost Mariah, he'd been destroyed. Lachlain had witnessed it, had known his cousin understood that all dreams of a future or of a family had died with her, gone forever. And the guilt over her gruesome demise had tormented him.

  That time was nothing compared to these last four days, when the little witch's life had hung in the balance. She lay broken, seeming so small in Bowe's bed. Her skull had been fractured and her leg torn free from her body. Casts and bandages covered her.

  Now Bowe's voice broke low as he smoothed her hair from her bandaged forehead. "She called me selfish on more than one occasion—and she was right. If I'd made the smallest effort to understand her and her skills, she could have practiced her magick, honed it. She might have been able to save herself from this. But I was too stubborn, too prejudiced."

  Bowe had been injured gravely as well, but he'd healed even though he didn't eat, didn't sleep. Hour after hour, he sat beside her, with her hand swallowed by his shaking ones, his eyes going wet whenever she whimpered in pain. "She accepted my nature, my needs. And because I dinna do the same for her, she lies... dying."

  From what Lachlain understood, the only thing keeping her alive was the magick of united covens and sorcerers, feeding her energy.

  Her kind had wanted to take Mariketa back with them, but no one in the House would dare challenge the crazed male werewolf guarding her so fiercely. So since then, Bowe's home had been overrun with witches, coming and going at will, bringing food, some of Mariketa's clothes, and special potions. Bowe didn't seem to give a damn about any of them, when two months ago, this would have proved a special kind of hell for him.

  But the donated magick couldn't preserve Mariketa forever. She was too powerful. Her entire being was used to power and demanding of it. She was draining the others, and it was only a matter of time before they either let her go or followed her down.

  And for these last four days, uncanny things had occurred at the compound. Lachlain shuddered to recall them. The first night, hundreds of black cats had prowled around the house, mouths open but silent, watching intently. Another night, frogs had seemed to rain from the sky, hitting the tin roof, without injury...

  At sunset, when Emma traced to Lachlain, he left Bowe and joined her in the hall outside the bedroom. "Have the covens found the demon who did this?" He had his own men looking, too.

  "Literally thousands of witches are scrying for him," Emma said. "He doesn't stand a chance of escaping a net like that. He was probably working for someone, but the witches can't figure out who would want to hurt them."

  "Mariketa had booked the plane and the pilot before Bowe rejoined her. There are dozens who would want to take her out before she reached immortality."

  Emma glanced at Bowe's door. "What will happen to him, if she doesn't... come through?"

  "Once he's meted out retribution to whoever is behind this, then Bowe won't live the week out. Unfortunately, he now knows exactly where to go to die—"

  Without warning, Bowe burst out of the bedroom with the witch in his arms. Lachlain winced again to see her leg missing. "Bowe, you canna move her." As Bowe strode out the back door into the night, Lachlain called, "They said it could kill her! Where in the hell are you taking her?" At the doorway, Lachlain turned back. "For once, Emma, you stay inside!"

  When Lachlain reached Bowe, he became convinced his cousin had lost his mind.

  Bowe was painstakingly setting Mariketa into the green ivy at the foot of an oak. He seemed to await something, and when it plainly didn't happen as he'd expected, he tore at the ivy, trying to bury her in foliage. "Too late," he rasped, sinking down to his knees. "Brought her too late."

  Lachlain ran his hand over the back of his neck when the air began to grow oppressive, and yellow lightning flashed out horizontally across the black sky. He scanned around them and spied unblinking, glowing eyes staring out from the nearby swamp.

  His hackles rose when vines began to grow over the witch, enclosing her. Biting out a curse, he lurched back.

  Bowe should be shuddering with unease; instead, once she was covered, he closed his eyes with relief.

  When Mariketa sighed, as if comforted to be among the vines, Bowe had to swipe his sleeve over his face. Then... her skin began to pinken and heal. As she regenerated from her injuries, Bowe ripped off bandages and sliced through casts. He gently unthreaded unnecessary stitches.

  Within a quarter of an hour, the witch was healed... completely healed.

  Mariketa blinked open her clear gray eyes, gazing up at Bowe.

  "Lass, are you all right?"—his voice broke an octave lower as his throat tightened—"Say something tae me."

  When she whispered, "What'd I miss?" he just kept his emotions in check.

  He'd almost... lost her.

  With shaking hands, he tucked her against him and absently murmured an explanation about where she was and what had happened. When she shivered, he lifted her and hurried back to the house, passing a visibly stunned Lachlain.

  Inside, Bowe took her to the bathroom, then ran a bath. Gently setting her in the tub, he scooped water over her back and shoulders with an unsteady hand. He wanted to apologize for everything, for being so stubborn and stupid, but didn't trust himself to speak about something so important. Not yet. Every time he tried, his voice broke.


  "Bowen, did I hear my friends outside?"

  He coughed into his fist, then said, "Aye, they come by all hours of the day and night. Carrow and Regin are here now."

  "Could you tell them that I'm okay? And that I'll be out in a minute?" Mariketa asked.

  "Will you be all right by yourself?"

  She nodded. "I'm fine. Back to normal via greenery."

  "Aye, then, of course. I'll be right back."

  In the sitting room, he found Lachlain and Emma, Carrow, and the Valkyrie Regin. After he delivered Mariketa's message, her friends hugged each other.

  "I told you people she'd pull through," Carrow said, then cracked open a bottle of champagne—for herself.

  "Aye, she's a clever girl," Bowe told them, feeling like his chest was about to burst with pride. "Healed herself." His lass got the very earth to give to her. How many mates could do that?

  Lachlain and Emma were clearly delighted for him. "Now, I'll get to regale her with stories about you... "

  Suddenly, everyone grew silent, and all eyes fell to the front door behind him.

  "What?" Bowe asked, turning. "What is it?"

  At the doorway stood... Mariah.

  48

  What trickery was this? He still scented Mariketa in the bath.

  This must be another being. This was... Mariah.

  "I... I... " He couldn't form words. There'd been no reincarnation?

  In her tremulous voice, she said, "I can see I've shocked you, Bowen."

  "How... how can this be?" For so long, Bowe had ached for this, had imagined their reunion in a thousand different ways. He'd gone to his knees and begged fate for one more chance.

  Apparently, he'd been given it.

  "I was brought back to you," she said, gliding over to stand before him. "Resurrected by a sorceress."

  Bowe scanned the room as if hoping for someone to explain this. Everyone appeared as dumbstruck as he felt. "How did you come to be here?"

  Her tentative smile was rapidly fading. Of course, she would have believed he'd be overjoyed. And two months ago, he would have been.

  "Once I was revived, I was sent to wherever you were."

  "Why now?"

  "B-Bowen, you sound almost angry." Her violet eyes watered.

  He'd gotten so used to his witch going toe-to-toe with him that he'd forgotten how timorous some females could be. "I mean, why no' sooner? It's been nearly two centuries."

  "The sorceress needed the energy that surrounds an Accession to be able to bring me back." Just as Mariketa had said about another reincarnate. "As I lay dying that night in the forest, I wished that I could have had a life with you, wished it with everything in me." She lowered her voice to say, "I wished that I hadn't run from you."

  He winced at the memory.

  "The being heard my cries, kissed me gently, and took my pain away."

  "A sorceress would no' do this out of kindness to you. What did she demand of you?"

  "She demanded my eternal soul. But I gave it up gladly, Bowen, just to have another chance with you." Mariah smiled softly. "Though you're going to have to protect me so that I may never die again."

  The sacrifice she'd made staggered him.

  Yet instead of feeling joy at her return, or gratitude for what she'd given up, all he could think was how much he just wanted to get back to help his witch with her bath.

  Why hasn't Bowen returned?

  Mari hoped he wasn't having words with Carrow, though she could definitely see that happening—the most pro-witch female Mari knew versus the most anti-witch male?

  Once she found a bag with her things in the adjoining bedroom, she hurriedly dressed, determined to douse any conflict. When she entered the sitting room, her friends stared at her, seeming stunned.

  "What?" Mari asked Carrow and Regin, but they remained motionless by a wall. "I know I look like hell, but damn, I was in a plane crash this week... " No, they were staring over her shoulder.

  Mari got chills on the back of her neck, and she slowly turned. Somehow she knew what she would find. The female standing there was... Mariah.

  There'd been no shared soul between them.

  The blond princess stood, tall and graceful, by Bowen's side, resplendent in a long, white gown. And they looked perfect together. Her violet eyes glinted with emotion as she glanced from Mari to Bowen. Bowen's own eyes burned with some inscrutable light.

  Stay standing... stay standing. "She's returned?"

  "Aye. Resurrected by a sorceress. You knew what I believed about you and her. So tell me how this is possible, Mariketa."

  He wasn't outright accusing her of an enchantment again, but there was a suspicious note in his tone. Faced with this scene, even she began to doubt herself. "How would I know?" She pinched her forehead between her thumb and her forefinger. Though she'd just come from a healing, her head had started to pound.

  "Because you're a witch—"

  "A witch, Bowen?" Mariah sidled even closer to Bowen as if for protection. "But you despise them!"

  As he absently patted her hand, he said to Mari, "This is your area of expertise."

  "Resurrection is not my area of expertise. I only know that there are a very limited number of beings on earth that can do it. Most of those won't," Mari answered. "Look, I don't know what's going on—I'm fresh from a plane wreck and a shade bewildered here. But I do know we can figure it out." She met his eyes and held out her hand. "Together."

  Just when she thought Bowen's body tensed to move—to cross the ten feet to Mari's side, the princess said, "Bowen, who is this woman? Did you... did you find another? You told me I was the only one," she added softly. "You vowed to me that you'd never want another as long as you lived."

  He didn't walk the ten feet.

  Mari exhaled a breath she hadn't known she'd held and dropped her hand. She could read the writing on the wall. Just what in the hell would it take for someone to look at her and say "I choose you"? "If I leave here today, MacRieve, I leave for good."

  Seeming as though she'd faint, the princess whispered, "I gave up my soul to rejoin you. Was this sacrifice for naught?"

  He put his flattened hands out as if motioning everyone to slow down. "Just give me a minute... to think... "

  Her soul? How can I compete with that? Mari wanted to loathe her, needed to, but she only pitied this other female who'd made the ultimate surrender to be with the male she loved. She found herself murmuring, "To think I'd worried about you going back for her, when she was already on her way forward."

  Hope flashed in the fey's violet eyes. "You were trying to go back for me?"

  "For nearly two hundred years," Mari told her. Relentlessly. Mercilessly ridding any obstacles in his pursuit of this exquisite princess—a fairy-tale princess.

  Mariah was the name he'd called out the night he'd believed he'd claimed his mate.

  "Then you must still care for me," Mariah said. "And you wear my pendant after all this time."

  Mari swung her gaze to the medallion he wore at his neck—the one that he never took off.

  Even when he'd made love to her. Bastard!

  He glanced down, seeming surprised he wore it. "I just need to think for a few bloody minutes. Just... just let me think."

  B team. Why am I even surprised?

  "What's there to think about, Bowen?" Mari demanded. "You've got a choice—make a decision." But choose me!

  His eyes narrowed. Maybe she was being unreasonable. Maybe he wouldn't take her hand not because he no longer wanted Mari, but because he wanted to spare the princess any unnecessary hurt. Yet Mari needed him to walk to her side and pronounce her as his so badly—longed for him to. "MacRieve?"

  "Doona push me, witch."

  Witch. Her heart fell. He'll never see past that. At his words, Mari was reminded that she and Bowen hadn't resolved the obstacles between them—because they couldn't. The fey princess suited him far better, and probably deserved him more for the sacrifice she'd made.

  Sudd
enly, Mari became aware of the group witnessing this scene—Emma and her Lykae husband gazed at her and at Bowen with sympathy, while Carrow and Regin looked alternately sorry for her and incensed with him. Mari recognized that arguing with him here like this wouldn't get him back. She could think of nothing that would. And Mari wasn't known for fighting losing battles.

  It was time to take herself out of the game—again. "I'll go get my bag." With her shoulders shoved back, she turned toward the door, refusing to cry.

  Which was proving difficult—since she'd already fallen in love with Bowen MacRieve.

  Damn that witch for pressuring me like this!

  Bowe knew why she felt she had to leave. She thought herself passed over yet again. Both parents had deserted her, and then her first love had thrown her over.

  And I've told her there'd never be another female for me—then my mate showed up on my doorstep.

  But he hadn't made any bloody decisions, hadn't chosen Mariah over her.

  Regin hissed at him and followed Mariketa, with Carrow right behind them. As Carrow passed Bowe, she said, "Prick. You and Twice-Baked here deserve each other."

  Clasping his forehead with frustration, Bowe turned to Mariah. "You remember Lachlain, do you no'?" he asked, as if speaking to a child. "He and his new wife are going to sit with you for a few minutes. Everything will be fine."

  Lachlain stepped up, his arm wrapped tightly around Emma's waist. "Aye, I'm sure you've questions—"

  But Mariah seized Bowe's hand with both of hers. "Please don't leave. I'm so confused by all this. By this place and time I've been brought to." Tears streamed. He'd nearly forgotten how fragile she was. "Ah, gods, please, Bowen."

  Bowe glanced from her to the doorway Mariketa had just exited. The witch was only going back to the bedroom. I'll stop her before she tries to leave.

  As she stared into the dresser mirror, Mari wiped at tears with the back of her hand. She didn't have to bid the reflection to come. Knowing she would likely get just one answer, she decided to ask, "Am I his mate or not?"