by Kresley Cole
“I’m going to kill you, MacRieve!” she said under her breath. “Introducing us as married?”
“It’ll happen soon enough.” Though matehood was as good as forever for his kind, the Valkyrie preferred some kind of binding ceremony—Annika had backed down from her hostility a grudging inch once Lachlain had agreed to give Emma one.
So Garreth had decided he would marry Lucia, wouldn’t rest until she saw their union as eternal. “Mark my words.”
“I can’t tell you how wrong you are about that,” she said in a strange tone.
“Would they no’ wonder why we share a last name? Thank your sister Nïx for that.”
“You could have told them we were siblings!”
“Like they’d believe that! When you’re always seducing me with your eyes.”
“I’m not—I never!”
Ignoring her protests, he leaned back on the bed, hands folded under his head. The bow case lay by his side—he all but dared her to try to take it again. “Lousha, you canna go to the meeting sopping wet, now, can you?”
Her eyes darted as she so clearly weighed her options. That she was even considering stripping told him that she did in fact have some serious shite going on down here.
Garreth had figured she was here on some quest—they were common enough in the Lore. Plus, he still remembered her whispering to her sister in Val Hall about locating some mystery item.
Did he need to know what business she had? Absolutely. And the fact that it was here in the Green Hell made him wary. But with Lucia he’d learned to let information unfold—eventually he’d get his way and discover everything. “You want this back”—he smugly patted the case—“then take off your clothes.”
Flashing dark eyes promised retribution. “I’ll get you back for this.”
“You already have, Archer. The shirt’s coming off for the logs. You broke my leg that time. Have you ever tried to swim in rapids with a compound fracture? The pants are for shooting a flaming arrow into that fireworks warehouse—while I was in it.”
“That wasn’t my idea, that was Reg—”
“Ah-ah, I’m no’ finished. The bra is for shooting no’ one but two MacRieves.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Already forgotten that you shot my brother?”
“While trying to rescue Emma from his castle. And only through his arm, and only because he kidnapped my niece!”
“To make her his queen.”
“We had no idea that it could possibly work out between them at the time.”
He shrugged. “And the panties are for that first night I almost claimed you. When you left my bollocks so blue, they still have no’ been set to rights.”
A deep blush stole across her cheekbones. “You’re not blameless in this. I wouldn’t have continually attacked you if you hadn’t stalked me. And I’ll remind you yet again, you lied to me!”
“I did lie,” he said simply. “I dinna want to spook you. But you ran anyway. Why, Lousha? Why run from me?” The question maddened him. At every turn, she appeared attracted to him. He’d scented her interest on more than one occasion. Yet she still fled, still fought, and always swore she wanted nothing to do with him.
“I—didn’t—run! You know what? Keep the bow!”
“That’s no’ all I have over you. You will no’ tell me what you’re doing on this boat, but I ken that it’s important to you and that you’re posing as a human. If you doona want me to reveal what you are—”
“You wouldn’t! You know how you’d be punished.”
“You want your bow? Your cover kept?” Why am I pushing her like this? Probably because he was still riled over her stunts. Because swimming with a femoral fracture truly was unimaginably painful, and he’d vowed to get revenge.
But mainly because he wanted to behold his mate. He was a male, and a primitive one at heart—he simply wanted to ogle the female Fate had chosen for him. “You’re stalling, Valkyrie. We’re both adults, and you’re in no way modest about anything else.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get jumped as soon as I strip.”
“I vow to give you a reprieve. At least until after your meeting.”
“You know what? I’ll do it. Just to show you what you’ll never have.” With a glare, she dug into her pack, snatching out a change of clothes—a pair of plain beige pants, but she’d unerringly chosen a red halter top and red underwear.
“Red,” he breathed. The color was an attractant to Lykae males, more so for mated ones. And this lingerie was especially pleasing. There was a ribbon on the back of the panties clearly made for a man’s eyes. He imagined fingering it as he put her on her hands and knees. He’d slowly peel the panties down her thighs, just far enough that he could spread her legs and enter her.
She turned to take off her shirt, pulling it over her head. When she removed her bra and reached for the dry one, he caught a glimpse of one of her lush breasts and a dusky rose nipple.
How many times had he ejaculated in his hand, imagining those big breasts? How many times had he come with his teeth gritted with frustration because he was squeezing his cock instead of kneading those mounds of creamy flesh…?
Though his Lucia wasn’t shy, she acted discomfited sometimes, behaving in ways contrary to what he’d expect. Not modest in any way yet still shy. She was like that now. Acting as if this were killing her. When in fact, he could tell she was becoming aroused. Her breaths had grown shallow. Her eyes flickered silver. He wondered if she knew that.
She removed her underwear, revealing her taut, work-of-art arse, and all thought fled his brain for long moments. “Gods almighty,” he finally breathed, making her shoulders stiffen. “Never seen your arse before. And never seen the likes of it in a thousand years.”
He clenched his fists, reminding himself of his ill-advised vow not to jump her. But damn, he needed to cup her there, spank her, nip her. Any way he could touch those generous curves.
She tugged on the lingerie far too fast for his liking, then donned her pants and shirt. Facing him, she said, “There. Are you happy?”
His voice rough, he said, “If happy means hard as stone and heavy in the bollocks, then aye.”
With a glare, she started for the door. He shot to his feet, stomping into his boots, then slinging her bow case over his shoulder to follow her.
“You can’t go!” Her expression was aghast.
“I go where you go.”
“But your eyes are turning when you look at me!”
He shrugged. “You affect me.” Understatement. He wanted to shove his face into her satiny hair and breathe in deep. He wanted to lick her nipples and know her taste—
“The mortals will see! You have to stay here. Our deal was that you wouldn’t blow my cover!”
He snagged sunglasses from his pack. “No’ a problem.”
“And what about… that?” She delicately pointed to his erection.
He made a big show of tucking his shaft straight up behind the waist of his jeans. She looked stunned to have seen the head of his cock before he pulled his shirt down. “Ah, lass, you’ve seen it before. Had your hands all over it.”
She was still gaping when he possessively clasped her nape and escorted her from the cabin. He followed the scent of humans to the meeting room.
By the time they reached it, she was still steaming mad. But he had leverage over her now, and he wouldn’t be shy about using it. She didn’t want to be discovered; he’d threatened to expose her. He’d be ruthless to have her. As ruthless as she’d proved to be to him.
At the door, she hissed, “This isn’t finished.”
“Been telling myself that for a year.” He turned her, capturing her in his arms. She beat his chest with considerable strength, but he didn’t budge. “You know when you’ve been nicest to me? Whenever I was taking kisses from you, demanding them as my due. Then you melted for me.” He cupped her face, brought her to him, slanting his lips over hers.
After mom
ents of hesitation, she melted, just as he’d remembered. He savored fleeting strokes of their tongues before he somehow broke away. “A taste of what’s to come tonight. Because I will have you.” Let her get used to the idea.
He opened the door, entering before her to sweep a cautious glance around the room. Inside stood two middle-aged men, clearly scientists.
Meet-and-greet with tight-arsed geeks? The things he did for his female.
Chapter 21
Still flustered, with her lips bruised from MacRieve’s kiss, Lucia entered the room; the two mortal males inside gazed at her with open appreciation. She checked the braids over her ears, uncomfortable with their scrutiny.
The pair—a tall middle-aged man with a genial smile and pallid skin and a younger one sporting a cowlick and thick glasses—looked like they wanted to introduce themselves, but MacRieve’s aggressive demeanor and dark sunglasses probably put them off.
After unswervingly steering her to this room as if he knew the layout of the ship, he’d demonstrated conclusively that she had no willpower with him. She’d been right to run for the last twelve months, right to strike against him. She would again, but first she had to get her bow back. Before she did something stupid….
The spacious salon had faded maps posted all along the walls and crates of scientific equipment that hadn’t yet been unpacked into the adjoining lab. Some chairs were lined up in a U shape with a stool up front and center. A wheezing window-unit air conditioner chugged out cool drafts and the aroma of mold.
The two broad windows were fogged with condensation and draped with embroidered curtains. The bright and cheery material matched the tablecloth at the coffeepot station.
Once she took a seat, MacRieve dropped the long length of his body into one beside it. Determined to ignore him, she gazed around, her attention settling on a sheet posted above the coffeepot. Under a lovingly hand-drawn collage of jungle animals there was a list in calligraphy script:
Fast Facts About the Amazon!
The Amazon River holds 20 % of the world’s freshwater. At no point is it crossed by a bridge. The river is wider at the mouth than the entire length of the Thames River. The Amazon Basin is 2.6 million square miles, almost as large as the United States.
The water depth fluctuates 40 feet between the December-to-May high-water season and the June-to-November low-water season. The entire geography of the basin is altered every six months. Tributaries appear and disappear each year.
A 30–40 % loss of rain forest will create a reduction in rainfall, starting a globe-killing cycle that can never be reversed. 16 % of the Amazon is already gone forever….
Tributaries appear and disappear? They were just going into the rainy season. Even in the unlikely case that she found a map to the legendary Rio Labyrinto, how accurate would it be if the waterways were ever changing?
Just as she finished reading, a tall stranger entered. With his inky black hair, jade green eyes, and bronze skin, the man was model handsome, looking plucked from the pages of Latin GQ. “Is this seat taken, querida?” he said, sweeping an admiring glance over her.
MacRieve growled low in his throat. Sensing the Lykae was about to attack the new male, she furtively pinched his arm, until she was certain blood welled under his skin.
He was undeterred. With a killing look, MacRieve crossed his arms, leaning back and kicking a dirty boot up atop the chair in question. “It’s taken now.”
The man narrowed his eyes as if he might protest, but eventually he chose another chair on the other side of the room.
Shortly after, Captain Travis swaggered inside, with a fuming mug of “coffee” in his hand and a pretty young woman behind him. Without preamble, he began, “As you know, I’m Wyatt Travis, your captain.”
Our drunken, money-grubbing captain. Who’d refused to help a damsel in obvious distress. Not that he could’ve done anything.
He negligently sat on the stool up front. He might not be as tall as MacRieve—few were—but he was big, like a former NFL player. The love of liquor must have been a recent development, since he was still built like a seasoned athlete. “And the Contessa’s my ship. One hundred and eight feet long, she’s a light draft, draws only five feet. Lets us get deep into the jungle.” He pointed toward the back of the room at a wall-sized map of the river and all its known tributaries. They resembled veins—a rain forest circulatory system. “I’ll keep that map updated with our whereabouts.” Push-pins had left holes throughout, until the paper was missing in places. The Contessa, it seemed, had been just about everywhere in the basin, and she’d been there many times over.
Travis paused for a deep drink from his mug, so she took the opportunity to glance at MacRieve from under a lock of her hair.
He looked suspicious and aggressive, so different from the man she’d first known. He was harder now, darker. Because of me. Her lips were still tender from his harsh, demanding kiss—a constant reminder of what he planned to do with her this evening.
He’s going to try to have sex with me. Realization fully hit her. This very night.
How was she supposed to sit through this meeting, knowing what would befall her when they returned? She was on edge and knew he could sense her tension—because she could sense his as well.
And what would she do when he tried to? Earlier, as she’d removed her clothes, the look in his eyes had been delighted, as if he were unwrapping the best gift he could possibly conceive of.
Surprisingly, she’d responded, finding it… erotic to strip at his command. Maybe she was a closet submissive—who’d needed to dominate every opponent over a thousand years. All except for MacRieve? Am I delirious?
“We’re heading south toward the very end of the Amazon proper,” Travis continued, “then turning off on the San Miguel tributary to some of the most remote parts of the basin. We’ll motor all night until the river gets tight.” Another swig for the thirsty captain. “Since we’re going deeper into virgin territory, this trip lent itself to several different disciplines. Everybody here’s in different fields, so there’s no direct competition.”
He made a negligent hand motion toward the young woman beside him. “This is my cook.”
Of middling height, with soulful hazel eyes, the female looked to be all of nineteen. “Hi, I’m Izabel Carlotta Ambos,” she said with a confident wave. Izabel was comely, though she wore a shapeless shirt and baggy cargo pants, cinched tight with a belt. “I’ll be preparing your meals. My bife a cavalo is deliciosa, and if you keep the kitchen stocked with fish, I’ll keep fresh feasts on the table.”
MacRieve perked up at that.
“Some of you have met my twin, Charlie. He’s the deckhand.” Same Brazilian accent as her brother, same hazel eyes.
Izabel smiled at her, and Lucia gave a pained smile in return. Oh, no, not the we’re the only two females on a ship of males bonding bit. She had no need for additional “pals.” Especially not short-term human ones.
Besides, there was something off about her that Lucia couldn’t put her finger on. Perhaps Izabel had Lorean in her, somewhere far back in her family line. Or maybe she was completely human, but with a curse hanging over her. Something was amiss.
“Yeah, that’s right,” the captain said. “Chuck is my right-hand man. You’ll meet him later.” Another draw from his mug. “Chuck and Izabel are new to the Contessa—so this trip is the last one of a long trial period. Drop me a dime if they screw up.” The captain seemed to have a cosmic inability to call Charlie anything but Chuck. “Now, some of you are already acquainted, but it’s customary on this ship to do a round of intros. Tell us who you are, what you study, and why you’re here.”
The pale man said, “I guess I’ll start”—his accent was east coast, upper crust—“I’m Benjamin Rossiter, an M.D. and professor of chemoecology at Cornell. I’ll be looking for uncataloged plants in the hope of discovering pharmaceutical uses.” Though his manner was relaxed, he had dark circles under his blue eyes and sweat had beaded above
his upper lip. “We’ve only identified one percent of the medicinal plants in the basin, yet that one percent accounts for twenty-five percent of all our pharmaceuticals. The potential is nearly inconceivable.” He held up a palm, casting them a half grin. “And I’ll stop myself there, so I don’t make your eyes glaze over.” The guy looks moneyed. So what’s he doing on a tub like this?
The darkly handsome man spoke next. “I’m Marcos Damiãno, head of the department of social anthropology at the University of São Paulo.”
If Lucia had suspected Izabel had some connection to the Lore, she was certain Damiãno did.
“My specialization is indigenous shamanism, and I’m here to search for uncontacted tribes.”
MacRieve still had his arms crossed over his chest. “If they’re uncontacted, do they no’ want to stay that way?”
Lucia jabbed her elbow at him, and he grunted.
Damiãno gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his vivid green eyes. “Several large oil companies are bidding on these remote territories, falsely claiming they’re unoccupied, so any tribes there will certainly be contacted regardless. My aim for this expedition is to get photos of them from a distance and prove their existence, which would halt all oil exploration on their lands.” He waved to the cowlick guy beside him. “Dr. Schecter?”
“Right, right, I’m Dr. Clarence Schecter, a zoologist from UC San Diego.” He removed his glasses, polishing them with his shirttail. “My area of study is unculled species of reptiles.”
Rossiter raised a brow. “Unculled?”
“Yes, when men hunt, they pick off the largest of the species. Over time, the pool becomes smaller. So the deeper into the jungle we get, the more chance there is of spotting larger-than-normal river specimens.”
With all their talk of going deep into the jungle, Lucia might not have to dump them as early as she’d thought.
MacRieve scoffed. “What do you mean ‘larger than normal?’ Normal out here is no’ exactly small.” MacRieve had said he’d hoped never to come back here. How long had he been in the basin before? And why?