MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) (38 page)

As she hurried up to her room, she wondered if she could trust his sincerity. One minute he hated her, the next he was offering her an olive branch with orgasms on top.

Why
had he changed so drastically? She wished she could read his cues better. He was like a skilled opponent telegraphing fake plays to keep her running in circles. She sensed that anything he’d told her about himself was underscored with countless things he hadn’t.

She frowned, remembering some of what he’d revealed last night, when she’d been too tipsy to analyze it. Sex for him was
complicated
, and it hadn’t always been “pleasant or rewarding.” What guy didn’t find sex pleasant?

Right before he’d lost his erection last night, he’d said, “Succubus green,” about her eyes. Later he’d confessed that the reason he’d flagged was because he’d thought of a past time. Because Chloe’s succubus eyes had reminded him—

Oh, dear God.

Munro had told her that his family had been harmed by a succubus, so Chloe had figured someone they loved had been seduced by one. She now suspected that the victim had been MacRieve—and that there’d been no “seduction.”

Do you have any idea what it’s like to have no control of your mind?
he’d asked.
Your body?
And then he’d told her that maybe
she
wasn’t the one who was broken.

It wasn’t a big leap to connect everything together.

No wonder he hated Chloe. No wonder he’d
vomited
after sex with her. For a man that big and strong to have reacted so violently . . . Her eyes watered with sympathy.

He hadn’t even been able to speak of it, his breath hitching again and again. She sank down on the bed. MacRieve had been trying to tell her!

And physically
couldn’t.

Everything about Chloe must have reminded him of whatever bitch had raped him. Considering this, she was surprised he hadn’t been even more hateful toward her. Oh, and added to that:
My dad recently had him tortured.

She fell back across the bed, throwing her arm over her face, beaning her forehead with her new bracelet.

Despite all this, MacRieve had offered her an olive branch. So what should
she
do with this newfound comprehension?

Confront him? He might go ballistic again.

Start over? He might hurt her again.

That’s
my
man,
her heart seemed to cry. And now that damned hope-spark was back.

Soccer hadn’t been easy, Stanford definitely hadn’t, but she’d never given up on either.

Maybe she shouldn’t with MacRieve.

She sat up. She still had feelings for him, still experienced that sense of connection to him. She liked his clan, actually missed them. She needed sex to live; sex with MacRieve had held such promise.

What were her other options? If she escaped, where would she go and how would she live? Would she be driven out every night, looking for sustenance, feeding on random guys? The thought made her skin crawl.

Compared to that, a life with MacRieve was the championship trophy. Why
wouldn’t
she fight for it?

Because he detests my entire species?
Oh, yeah.

So how to make him forget what she was? Before she’d boarded the plane, Munro had told Chloe that she was like an anti-succubus. Her personality was completely unlike the fawning, deceptive ones he’d known. He’d said, “Just be yourself with Will. If you feel the need to tell him he’s being a prick, do so. If you feel the need to kick his arse, doona hold back. He needs you to be . . . you. With all your
attitude.
”

Chloe hadn’t understood at the time, and more, she hadn’t given a damn what MacRieve needed. Now she was starting to read between the lines. Munro wanted Chloe to continue being an anti-succubus to show MacRieve how different she was.

As she dressed in new gear—shorts, a jog bra, running shoes—she decided that she’d play this day by ear, reading MacRieve’s cues as if he were a tricksy fullback, while keeping the trophy in sight. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail, then hurried downstairs.

When he raked his gaze over her, his irises flickered.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He growled,
“Red.”

Yes, her shorts and bra were red. “So?”

Seeming to give himself a shake, he said, “Everything fits?” But his voice was rougher.

“Like a glove. It’s nice having my own stuff again.”

He scowled, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “You’ll have more. We’ll head to the city soon. I’ll buy you new. Anything you want.”

She blinked at him. “Did you not see that haul up there? I’ve got everything I need.”

Deeper scowl.

Way to take cues, Chlo.
So the guy needed to buy her stuff. “I could use a watch, though.”

“Aye,” he said quickly.

“And an iPad and a soccer ball.”

“Done.” Mood obviously improved, he said, “If you vow you will no’ weaponize the latter. My stones were singing for hours after your last shot.”

“Then don’t say things that make me want to cleat you in the face.” Now she understood
why
he had; didn’t mean she’d ever let him get away with trash-talking.

“A fate to be avoided. I’ve seen you cleat someone in the face—and that was before you’d turned immortal.” He pointed at her shoes. “You will no’ need those.”

“The importance of arch support can’t be overstated. And what if I cut myself?”

“You’re no’ human, Chloe. There’s no need for
anything
support. Hell, you could go without your bra.”

She quirked a brow.

“So that’s a solid ‘
nay
’ on the bra removal?” He sighed as if he’d just missed a goal. “Verra well. As for cutting your foot, you’d heal nigh instantaneously.” He seized one of her hips, dragging her close. “Today, I plan to show you our lands—and what you’re capable of.”

Cue taken, MacRieve.
She gazed up at him.
Then hold on to your ass. ’Cause Chloe’s about to lower the boom.

THIRTY-NINE

Your pace is impressive,” Will told her. They’d jogged about a mile from the keep, taking a path toward Mount Conall, one of the higher vistas in the area. From there, they’d be able to see a good deal of the holding.

Important, since Will now felt the need to impress her.
To acquaint her with all I’ve got.

“I’ve been holding back.” She ran faster along the winding trail, tossing over her shoulder, “To show respect for your advanced age.”

He raised his brows, treated to a view of her arse swishing in those tiny red shorts. He scrubbed his palm over his mouth. Her arse in motion was like catching a glimpse of the hereafter itself.

And she was teasing him to boot? He didn’t know what had happened to her between the time when she’d gone up to change and when she’d returned, but something drastic had.

Her entire attitude had shifted from pissed to mischievous. Mayhap she was in a cheerier mood just to have renewed energy.

Oh, aye, he’d be getting back
in
that game. As Munro had pointed out the night before, it was indeed possible for Will to woo her—because he already had once.

The plan? Will was to do whatever he’d done on that day he and Chloe had shared.

So he intended to court, flirt, kiss, and touch, all while filling her ears with dirty words. And once he’d seduced her slowly over the day, he planned to take her in their bed again tonight.

Yet as his wolf gaze followed the back and forth swish of her arse, he feared . . .

I’ll never make it back to the keep.

When he drew up beside her, he found her running with her face lifted to the sun, her lips curled with pleasure, and a shot of lust hit him like a punch to the gut. Her skin was just beginning to dampen.

In a casual tone, he observed, “Your eyes are bright, your skin glowing. Sex with me becomes you.”

Her wee bare feet stutter-stepped, but she righted herself. “You don’t look too shabby yourself. For a crypt keeper. Been meaning to ask you, how’d you keep warm before fire?”

So that’s how she’d play this? “If you get hungry, just let me know.” His gaze landed on her bouncing breasts. “We can stop for a bite.”

“I don’t
do
fast food. Not really into wolfing down my meals.”

Ach, he liked her sass. “Nay, this meal will have many courses, a bounty
overflowing.
You can feast until you’re . . . gorged.”

Her cheeks went red again. She gave him a sidelong glance, as if she was seeing something in him for the first time. “So, MacRieve, how long has it been since you were here last?”

He let her steer the conversation back to tamer ground. “Hundreds of years.” He’d enjoyed seeing the world and many of its planes, and building a colony had been rewarding. But now that he was back here, the land called to him.

“So this is truly a jog down memory lane.”

He nodded. Memories had been arising, surprising him. Aye, he had tragic ones, but he also recollected picnics with his family—he and Munro fishing the river as their parents lazed in the sun, gazing at their boys with utter pride. He remembered their da teaching them to ride, their mam
trying to teach them etiquette. There’d been snow fights with them and countless tales around the fire.

There’d been so much laughter.

Before, Will hadn’t remembered playing as a boy. Now he recalled idyllic times with Munro—forts, hunts, chases. He understood Munro’s words:
Reclaim your past.

When Will and Chloe crossed a brook, an offshoot of the Conall River, he found himself telling her, “Munro and I set up a toll on this bridge when we were seven. Clan members paid us in shells, telling us that they were akin to gold. We were convinced we’d become big-time merchants.”

She smiled. “Was that before or after the wheel was invented?”

His lips were curling. “Nary a year after.”

When they passed a flock of sheep, she cooed at the prancing lambs. “Wolves keep sheep? Doesn’t that go against the laws of nature or something? Next you’ll tell me fox shifters raise hens.”

“Anything goes in the Lore. Look at us,” he said, earning another appraising look from her. Was he gaining
any
ground with her?

Once they reached the base of Mount Conall, she said, “Race you to the top?” Before he could say a word, she charged upward.

He’d been so obsessed with her arse, he feared he’d neglected due attention to her legs and tiny waist. To her slim shoulders and graceful arms. To those flawless breasts currently highlighted by a bright red bra.

As he watched her body moving, so fit and sure, he was abundantly aware that he’d given her the energy she burned today. She was the picture of health, invulnerable to harm—because he’d helped make her strong.

Was there any real difference between how other males provided for their mates, and how Will would? Food versus sex?

His Instinct hadn’t differentiated last night, commanding him at once to mate her—and to provide.

With Ruelle, he’d surrendered his seed, fully aware that she would have it from him whether he wanted to give it or not.

With Chloe, he’d had to all but force nourishment on her. Could he get her to take it again today?

Munro had asked if Will could handle the venom bond. If the other option was losing her, then he’d take on her bond like a sword thrust to the chest—with regret, but valiantly. . . .

After giving her a generous head start, he followed, his easy strides eating the distance between them. But at the last moment, he let her win.

When she cast him a triumphant smile, things became very simple.

I feed her; I get days like this.

Atop the peak, he dragged her back against his chest, draping his arms across her shoulders. She allowed it, eventually relaxing against him as they took in the view.

He inhaled deeply of the crisp air, smelling the land and his mate’s scent. Like this, he was centered as he hadn’t been in memory.

Mayhap he’d never been this centered—since becoming a man.

She shielded her eyes from the sun. “Why’d you stay away so long? It’s clear you like it here.”

“I dinna remember how much I liked it.” Munro thought Will and Chloe belonged here, and as Will gazed out, he suspected his brother might be right. “When I was young, a village flourished near the keep over there.” He pointed to the west. “My family were Sentinels here.”

“What does that mean?”

“We were tasked with guarding the boundary of the Woods of Murk.” He indicated the forest to the south. Just gazing at it made his jaw clench.

“What did you guard the boundary against?”

“It was once populated with all kinds of creatures. Evil ones.” Understatement. “We kept those beings in, and kept our kind out.”

“So that’s why you tensed up yesterday when you gazed out at it. Are they still there?”

“Nay.” Hundreds of years ago, his rage at Ruelle still burning hot, he’d yearned to make war on the Woods. Soon he hadn’t been the only one. “When those beings got out of control—when Cerunnos were slithering into our lands to steal sheep and maidens—we gained permission from our king to venture into the Woods and hunt them down.”