MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (11 page)

EIGHT

When Chloe had heard the word “purchased,” something in her snapped.

This Velees guy gripped her around her waist, lifting her off her feet, tucking her against his bare chest. Still she fought and kicked. “Don u tou ee!” she screamed into her gag, thrashing against him with all her might. “Leh ee o!”

Screaming, thrashing—

Her foot struck what felt like the barrel chest of a horse. Her mind denied this—the man who had her was simply riding a horse, like a cowboy. A shirtless cowboy, of course.

Even over her frenzied fight, she heard people close to the stage gasp. Murmurs arose,
cries.
She could see nothing.

Then came the unholy roar of some beast.

A
familiar
roar. She’d heard one like it the night of the championships. Just as before, chills raced through her.

Silence fell over the crowd. After an extended moment, what sounded like chaos erupted.

—“Run! The Lykae’s turning!”

—“Ah, gods, don’t get between them!”

—“She’s MacRieve’s mate!”

Mate? Lykae? What had she read about them? Each had a beast housed inside—and each one sought its fated mate
above all things.
And she was this one’s female? Hysterical laughter threatened, until she heard a low, feral growl.

The ground shook as people fled. What the hell was happening?

Velees snapped to some unseen person, “Mind yourself, wolf.” But he was backing away, with Chloe clamped tightly against his body. Hooves stamped the stage.

“I’ll snap this mortal’s neck.” Velees continued his steady retreat. “Another step closer, and she’s dead!”

In a beastly, grating voice, the Lykae answered:
“Mine.”

That one word had Velees yanking her into his side and leaping off the back of the stage to hit the ground running—as if for his life. He yelled, “Cover me from the wolf!”

At that, she heard the clomping of hooves, a herd of them. As what sounded like a brutal fight broke out, a man yelled back, “Cerunnos attacking from the south!”

Were these beings now going to battle over her? The Lykae howled as if fighting his way closer.

Velees abruptly turned in another direction, flinging her with him. She thrashed to get the bag off her head, but it was tied on.
Can’t see . . . can’t see!

Some being was just beside them; she heard its breaths. Then came a hissing sound, a gurgle, and suddenly she and Velees were falling, falling . . .

With another gurgle, Velees heaved her upward, pitching her body into the air, like a chipped pass—

Someone caught her in midair, wrapping a palm around her right arm and dragging her against his upper body. Another one of the cowboys? Damn it, there was no denying it—a centaur had her!

He held her as if she weighed nothing, yelling to the others, “The wolf comes for her! Kill him!”

Coming for her.
Because I’m its . . . mate.
Oh, man, that couldn’t be good.
She wanted this centaur to get her far away from that wolf! She screamed against her gag, “Moo ur ass! Hu-y!”

“Silence.” Centaur gave her a shake, dislocating her shoulder with a pop. Pain flared, and she couldn’t bite back a scream.

The wolf gave an enraged howl from some distance behind them.

She whimpered.
He’s gaining.
Every gallop made fresh pain shoot through her arm and shoulder.

When some creature hissed beside them, Centaur yelled, “Nooo!”

No? No
what
—

She heard a solid thud, felt a teeth-jarring impact, heard bone snap. Centaur was flung onto his side. As that wolf roared in fury, still nearing, she and Centaur crashed to the ground. His hold loosened; he fumbled for her, but she’d already gone careening along his horse body, over its flank. She bounced over something metallic and sharp—
a sword?
—and pain sliced into her.

She hit the ground with a thud, the air wrenched from her lungs. Her side was slashed, pouring blood. She’d just sucked in her first hectic gasp when she got scooped up like a goalie save by some being that undulated over the ground.

Her mind fought recognition with this new captor, even as chills broke out over her skin. Some subconscious awareness within her screamed:
Snake!

With a wet hiss to the sky, the creature increased its unfathomable speed. It sounded like others of its kind were flanking them. They were flying across the ground so fast that bugs pelted Chloe’s black bag like a windshield. Then the being began zigzagging around trees, limbs swatting her legs.

Surely nothing could catch this creature? Not even a wolf . . .

As soon as the thought arose, she heard something crashing through the woods nearby, matching even this thing’s fantastical speed.

They have my mate.

Will’s thoughts were murky, his beast in control, Instinct ruling him.

The need to protect her . . . he’d never felt a more primal drive.

In the distance, he heard a war zone, his brother wolf roaring, fighting to reach him; closer, he heard his female.

His heart seemed to stop each time she screamed. How much could she withstand? Her scent was just as loud to him.
Her fear. Her blood.

He’d left dead, twitching centaurs in his wake, could still taste their throats, could feel their flesh embedded under his claws.

Now Cerunnos. So many of them, their scaly bodies whipping around trees. When the terrain became an open field, he gained. But another forest loomed.

He heard her cries, her frantic heartbeat. Beating, beating, beating.

Cypress, broken leaves. Somehow he ran faster, lungs heaving. He was upon them!
Kill them all.

Slashing claws, snapping jaws. Warm blood rained down.

One remained, her captor. To take it down—without harming her? He sank his claws into its tail, snatching it up short. The momentum sent the girl flying. Will hurtled into the air.

Got her.
He cradled her protectively, his arms closing around his trembling mate for the first time.

The last Cerunno coiled to strike. Will roared, baring his bloody fangs.
Try to take her from me!

Taking his measure with slitted eyes, it hesitated. Will licked his fangs; with a hiss, the snake wisely began to slither a retreat.

Will threw back his head and howled with triumph.

Now to put the beast back in its cage. . . .

NINE

F
ield position?
Chloe’s life had never been so offsides before. She still couldn’t see and doubted she would believe her eyes anyway.

She was severely injured, with a mythological creature holding her secure in his brawny arms.

Though explosions were blasting in the distance, shaking the ground, in the immediate area all she heard was this male’s deep breaths. Inhale, exhale.

Even under her bag, she could detect his scent: evergreen, copper, and . . . male. His arms were unyielding around her, but still gentle. She thought they’d finally stopped running.

He howled once more, like an animal, paining her ears. When an answering howl sounded, the being seemed to relax a measure.

“Ey,” Chloe weakly murmured against her gag. “Ake is ov?”

Instead of taking the bag off, he reached under it for her gag. It felt too private, like he was reaching under her shirt. He pulled only the gag free.

She licked her dry lips, then worked her jaw back and forth. She had no reserves of strength left, was freezing cold, shaking from blood loss. And his body felt so hot against her. Still . . . “I-I need you to release me.”
Just give me a second.

“Canna do that.” His voice was deep, beastly, and accented. He sounded like a Scot.

According to the book, the Highlands were Lykae territory. “Are you gonna hurt me?”

Silence. He was hesitating to answer? “You kill immortals like your sire? Or did the witch speak truths?”

“I’ve never seen immortals before tonight. Didn’t think they existed.”

“If no’ one among the Order, then what are you?”

“Center forward.”

“Doona follow.”

“I play soccer. That’s all I do. I-I don’t know how I got mixed up in all this. I just . . . I chase a ball for a living.”

“Chase a ball.”

That must’ve been the exact right thing to tell a werewolf, because he released a gust of breath. “I will no’ hurt you. I’ll see you well.”

Had she lucked into the one creature who wouldn’t harm her? Of course, the crowd of detrus had screamed at the sight of this one, had scattered because Chloe
was his mate.

He’d frightened even other monsters. And she was utterly under this one’s power. Though Chloe was first and foremost a fighter, she wasn’t above making allies. Her foggy brain tried to recall more from the book’s Lykae entry.

The bond between mates was the ultimate for them—revered by them as others did gods. Each Lykae only ever had one, so it followed that they would fight anything that tried to separate them.
Such as auctioneers and other bidders?
“Am I really your . . . mate?”

Another hesitation. “Aye.”

She relaxed slightly. She didn’t see how that was possible, but as long as
he
believed it, he wouldn’t hurt her. “Th-thank you for saving me back there.”

He stiffened against her. “Dinna have a choice.” He might think she was his, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. He must hate her because she was human, because she was
Daughter of Webb.

Dustin Todd was Commander Preston Webb. Not just a member of the Order, but a leader.

She exhaled with confusion, the movement making her wound sing. Her dizziness increased—probably because she was light a few pints of blood.

“Freeing you.” He slashed through the chains binding her wrists.

She swallowed.
Slashed that metal with what?

“Doona fight me.”

With effort, she raised one hand to the bag to draw it away, but he stayed her arm. “No’ yet.”

“Why not?” Rain began to mist over them.

“You’ve had enough . . . frights for the night.”

Exactly how hideous was he?

He started feeling her head through the silk bag. Checking for injuries? Finding none on her head, he gently swept his hands over her ankles, her calves, even up her thighs. She tensed but was too weak to resist him.

He hissed out a curse when he got to her left shoulder. Dislocated. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm. Then, seeming to think better of it, he adjusted his grip to what felt like his thumb and forefinger. With just two fingers and the tiniest movement, he jerked down. She gritted her teeth as her shoulder popped back into place.

When the sharp pain receded to a dull ache, she exhaled in relief, her eyelids growing heavy. “Th-thank you.” Was that
her
slurred voice? How much blood had she lost? Why couldn’t she think?

“Brave,” he rasped.

When he lifted the skirt of her gown, sodden with her blood, she couldn’t fight him, had to believe he was only checking her injury anyway. It was deep, excruciating.

He shuddered against her. At the sight of it? She could only imagine what it must look like.

She thought he was drawing off his shirt. A rip sounded. After a second she realized he was securing his balled-up shirt against her wound with a sleeve tied tightly around her waist. Smart.

But was it too little, too late? Without a hospital and a transfusion . . . “You think I’m about to eat it? Be honest.”

He froze. “What?”

The mist turned to pounding rain, soaking her. “Pretty sure . . . I’m bleeding out.”

“Dying? Nay.
Nay.
” Without warning, he cupped the back of her head with one massive hand and her bottom with the other. She tried to muster the strength to resist, but then this man began to rock with her—as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve got you,” he grated. “You will no’ die.”

She might be wary of him; her body wasn’t. It melted against his.