Pleasure of a Dark Prince (17 page)

After stringing the bow, she stood once more. She spied something out of the corner of her eye, something glinting in the sun. She glanced up, over toward the shore.

MacRieve.
Just there on the rise. To elude him for this long only to be snared now?

His
timing
. For the love of gods, his timing!

Could he still make the boat? One more dock lay ahead for the
Contessa
to pass, coming up swiftly, but fifty or sixty feet of water separated it from the 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 the back 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 that doesn’t concern you. If you’re trying to win me over—”

“I’m no’. Gave up on that in the first month.”

She flushed guiltily, which heartened him. Maybe his female wasn’t as cold and unemotional as her vicious sisters, though she’d certainly convinced him otherwise over the last year. “No, my only aim these days is to keep you alive.” They were in the midst of an Accession, and in this treacherous time, she’d come here, to his least favorite place on earth.

And one of the most perilous, even for immortals.

She struggled to free her arms and her bow, brushing her hip against his erection. A pleasured breath escaped him. “I remember the last time we were in this position.” Of their own volition, his hips curled, making her gasp. At her ear, he grated, “I rocked against your sex till you came for me. You feared I’d stop before you could.”

She glanced away, her blush deepening, her squirming intensifying.

“Little to the left, sweet.
And harder
.”

She cast him a withering glare as she thrashed her arms. “I’ll shoot you so full of arrows—”

He held her tight. “Eventually, you will run out of those.”

“I make my own,” she said between gritted teeth.

“O’ course you do. But I consider your archery our foreplay. So—fire—away.”

“You’ve stalked me, hunted me to the ground. I’m sick of it! I should have shot you when you leapt.”

“Oh, so I’m to be the bad man? Have you forgotten what you’ve done to me? To my family?” And the worst of it hadn’t even occurred until
after
she’d fled New Orleans. Then the fun had really begun—hijinks and traps all over the world for the last year. “And you should no’ have run from me with no explanation.”

She met his gaze with a mulish look. “I wasn’t running from you. I’ve been doing my own deal. And I didn’t owe you an explanation!
Still don’t.
Now release me!”

“Maybe you dinna owe me an explanation, but thanking me for saving your life might no’ be too much.”

Instead, her chin jutted.

So that’s how she’s to be?
Finally, he allowed her to scramble up but shot to his feet beside her, cupping her nape. “Take me to our cabin.”

“Have you gone insane?”

“Would you blame me if I had after all you’ve done to me? All you’ve
denied
me, denied us—”

“Who the hell is this?” a male demanded from behind them.

Garreth turned, spied a drunken human. Must be the captain. The man eyed Lucia’s bow and Garreth’s dripping clothes. With the look of a bloke who’d seen it all, he said to Lucia, “Is there a problem, doc?”

Doc?
Though the mortal was packing muscle, Lucia had to know that he couldn’t do anything to help her.

Her lips thinned. Oh, aye, she knew better. “No, no problem, Travis.”

This
Travis
turned to him. “Lemme guess, you’re our obligatory stowaway?”

“New passenger.” Garreth dug into the pocket of his soaked jacket, then handed the man a soggy wad of cash. “Garreth MacRieve.”

Travis glanced from Lucia to Garreth, then to his handful of bills, accepting it with a nod. “We don’t have any cabins left—”

“No’ a problem. I bunk with this one from now on.”

Lucia opened her mouth to protest, but Travis said, “Then welcome the hell aboard.” With that, he turned and climbed back up to the wheelhouse.

Lucia jerked from Garreth’s grasp. “This isn’t over. And if you lay another paw on me, MacRieve, I’ll make you regret it.”

When she turned from him, he laid another paw on her, giving her arse a possessive squeeze, groaning with pleasure; she whirled around and punched him with shocking force in the Adam’s apple, doubling him over as he coughed.

As she hastened away, he grated,
“Still doona regret it.”

NINETEEN

On her way back to cabin seven, she swooped up her pack, then unlocked the heavy door, slamming it behind her. The rusted hinges screamed in protest.

At first glance, the wood-paneled room was larger than she’d thought it would be, the bed as well. Probably because both were so old, from a bygone era of luxury.

There was a writing desk and chair, a bedside table and lamp. A mosquito net dangled above the bed. Both a decent-sized bathroom and a cramped balcony adjoined.

After tossing her bag to the floor, she leaned back against the door, propping her bow and quiver against the wall.

What am I going to do?
She was traveling on a vessel lousy with humans, dispatched on a mission by a half-mad being, replete with an embarrassing secret identity, an impending apocalyptic deadline, and now a nemesis who could prove her undoing.

A
sexy
nemesis.

Gods, he was still as attractive as ever. His dark charisma—which still seemed to make her mind go blank—was in full force.

Had he really missed her scent? As a Lykae, had he longed to experience it? The idea made her disconcertingly flushed—and irritated with herself. Why was she even contemplating things like that?

Instead, she needed to be worried about how he would retaliate for all she and Regin had done to him. There was no way he’d simply deem the last year water under the bridge….

Nïx had told her, “Call me as soon as you get on board.” Oh, she would call all right!

Lucia snatched her sat-phone from her pack, dialing her. But the soothsayer wasn’t answering—no shock— so Lucia left a message. In the calmest voice she could manage, she said, “Nïx, it’s me. I’m under way. Call me back. Oh, and I think I hate you.”

Once she hung up, she saw another text.
RegRad: Didn’t mean that last msg. Still BFFs? I should B there w/U. This town=LAME.

Lucia thought Regin should be with her, too. But at the outset, they’d disagreed on how to deal with MacRieve’s hell-bent pursuit. Regin had decided to kill him, which Lucia couldn’t abide. Not after he’d saved the lives of Regin, Annika, and herself.

How had Lucia repaid him? With pain.

And now she herself would be paying for that decision—

“Let me in, Lousha,” he said from just outside the cabin.

Perhaps I should have let Regin have at the wolf.
“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You ask questions that you know the answers to? Now, open up, or—”

“You’ll huff and puff?” She glanced around the room, as if to find a way around letting him inside. Before she spied an alternative, he broke the lock, opening the door. “MacRieve!”

He strolled past her with an insolent chuck under her chin, then slammed the door closed.

“You got the cabin in the bow?” he said with a scowl. “Surprised you dinna just go with hammock class.”

“If you have a problem with it, feel free to
leave
.”

He ignored that, dropping his bulging duffle bag. Then he seemed to scent the area, checking nooks and crannies, rapping a knuckle on the wood-paneled wall, shuffling the faded green floor rug.

She took the opportunity to study him, finding him as insufferably gorgeous as ever. His thick dark hair remained longish and carelessly cut. His customary stubble shaded his lean cheeks and that stubborn cleft chin. Around his eyes, those faint lines fanned out, pale in his tanned skin.

Though he’d lost weight—he clearly hadn’t been eating enough—his body was still massive. Nothing could diminish his towering height. Captain Travis was over six feet tall, and he’d had to look up to the Lykae.

Then she frowned. On his left wrist, MacRieve wore a silver cuff that looked as though it’d come from a suit of battered armor. It was what she’d initially seen glinting when she’d first caught sight of him.
How odd.

“Still as ruggedly handsome,” he said without turning around, “as I was the last time you saw me, Valkyrie.”

Her face flushed red. She hadn’t forgotten how gravelly his voice was, but for so long she’d denied its effect on her.

He opened up the double doors to the small balcony, peered out, then turned back to say, “Shame it’s in the bow.” Then he crossed to the cabin’s sole chair to yank off his sodden boots.