Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night (35 page)

So why don't I get a good feeling about
us?

*  *  *

“You're holding back from me, too,” she finally said.

He was. Bowe hated that she'd had a first love, and feared she'd never be completely his because of it. And always there was the apprehension that he would somehow lose his mate again. She couldn't turn immortal quickly enough to suit him.

“Maybe I'm suspicious of this because it is so good,” he answered honestly. “I suppose I'm so used to being miserable that any deviation unsettles me.”

“Is it so good?” she asked quietly.

Even with lingering doubts, he'd never known contentment like this before her—hadn't known it existed. “Aye, lass. It is for me.”

Aside from the witchery, he liked everything about his new mate. He liked the fact that, for some reason, when they went
lobster
fishing, she would exclaim, “We are on the crab, baby!” He liked that she ate, drank, and played with gusto. Her sense of humor had him laughing every day.

Making love to her fulfilled him in ways he'd never imagined.

He was even growing used to her small magicks. When she slept, if she was content, light thrummed in her wee palms as though she purred, and sometime during their stay here the sight had gone from unnerving him to . . . charming him, making him grin down at her.

And occasionally bizarre things
occurred
. Last night he'd woken to find that everything in the room, from curtain to wall clock, had briefly turned blue. He'd shrugged, tucked her close, and gone back to sleep.

Yet though she'd promised not to chant to the mirror, his Instinct continued to warn him.

—
Her power is unstable. Be watchful
.—

He shook off his misgivings. “It is good. And I think it will only get better. For instance, I believe you'll like visiting”—
living in
—“Scotland.” He hoped she would approve of their home, but if not, he'd buy her whatever she needed to be happy. And he hoped she would get along with his cousins and the clan—though if anyone so much as contemplated slighting her because of what she was, he'd throttle them.

“What's your place there like?”

“It's a renovated hunting lodge with oversize fireplaces and immense beams in the ceiling. In the winter the snow comes, and it's surreal. Some nights it falls in silence, and some nights the storms howl and throw down blankets.”

“It sounds wonderful. I've never seen snow.”

“
What?
” he bit out, astounded. “Never?”

“There's not much snowfall in Nola. And the only time I've been out of the country before this was to Cancún for spring break. Guatemala was the first time I'd ever seen mountains.”

“Do you want to see other countries?”

“If I can get there by big plane, with proper sedation, then I'd love to.”

“I could take you places I've been. Show you things.”

“Like where?”

“We could drink wine across Italy and go diving off the islands of Greece. We could watch the sun rise over the Indian Ocean.”

Eyes wide with excitement, she nodded up at him.

“I want to show you everything, watch your expression with each new sight.” Over the last two weeks, when he'd realized how many things he wanted to do with her, he'd found that the need to have bairns was dimmed. Now he had a thousand places to take her before they settled down. “I'd be an excellent guide for you.”

She grinned. “My man's so
modest
.”

“But in the winter, I want to take you home to Scotland.” He gazed at her and he knew he would see her in his country, walking the land beside him. And his heart was glad. “Snow would become you, lass.”

D
o you remember where I put the cast net?” Bowe called to Mariketa. He wanted to catch her favorite fish for tonight. If she was to turn soon, he had to keep her well fed, ensuring she didn't lose a single ounce of her curves. He could admit that he was developing a wee obsession with her shapely little body.

She always knew where he put everything, from his boat keys to his wallet to his favorite lure. He was beginning to wonder what he'd done without her for the last millennium.

Just as she rushed around the corner and said, “Not in there!” he opened the hallway closet door.

Inside, a garbage bag turned over; apples thudded to the floor, the area thick with them.

He backed away, chilled to his bones. “What's the meaning of this, Mariketa?”

She rubbed her foot against the back of her other ankle. “I wish I could say this isn't what it looks like, but . . . it is.”

“How many times have you gone to the mirror?”

She shrugged. “Count the apples if you want to know.”

“You lied to me. You hid this, sneaking around.”

“You forced me to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You want me to give up magick, but it's a part of me that I can't deny.”

“No, you can shed yourself of it if you try. Practicing is a choice.”

“Then sacrifice something dear for me,” she said, a challenge in her tone.

“Like what?”

“Like . . .
hunting
. Never hunt and run the night again.”

“You're mad.”

“It's equivalent!”

“No, it's no'. Hunting does no' harm other people.”

“Yet you assume I'm going to?” She narrowed her eyes. “I know Lykae are mistrustful of witches, but there must be more to this deep a prejudice.”

“Aye, there is.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Long ago, a witch . . . killed five of my uncles. The guilt of their deaths destroyed my father. He was never right, no' up to the day he died.”

She gasped, her face paling.

“My da was just a lad at the time and wished that he was stronger than his brothers. She killed them all, granting his wish.”

*  *  *

Oh, great Hekate
.

“Bowen, I am so sorry that happened to your family. But you should have told me this sooner.”

“Why?”

“Because you're not going to just
get past this
.” After this revelation, she had to question if she'd ever had a shot with him. “And we dance around the issue, but now I
know
you will never tolerate my coven. And they won't accept you because you won't respect the responsibilities that I have.”

“Let someone else bloody take care of them.”

Oh, the idea of surrendering all that responsibility was tempting. When Bowen acted as if the sun and moon revolved around her, Mari caught herself dreaming about doing nothing but traveling the world with him.

Why should she have to be saddled with something she never asked for—and had displayed no talent for?

Yet now, seeing Bowen like this, she recalled Cade's words: “
If you turn your back on your destiny
—
maybe to be a Lykae's browbeaten mate and wife
—
Fate will not just slight you. She will punish you, over and over
.”

Mari thought of the prediction once more. Maybe the warrior's seeking to keep her away from the House wasn't
physically
. Perhaps she would be so afraid of losing yet another person she cared about that she would sacrifice anything—
taking herself
out of her coven, away from her calling, from her old life. . . .

“I might like to relinquish them, but I can't turn my back on my destiny. And it's not like I'm saying ‘Look at me, I'm such an important badass.' It's more like I'm scared not to assume the mantle. Either way, it has to be done.”

“Damn it, what you do is a choice! And I will abide it no longer.”

Browbeaten
. Her outrage building, she snapped, “Who the hell are you to order me around? Or to make me doubt what I am and what I was put here to do? It's obvious to me that if you can't accept what I am, then I can't be with you.”

“Verra well, witch,” he grated, his own anger flaring. “You will no' pressure me to change my mind in this!”

“I understand that!” With perfect clarity. He would
never
change. And she'd be damned if she'd fight a losing
battle. “That's why I won't even try,” she cried, storming to the bedroom.

*  *  *

Long after she'd passed by them, the pictures in the hallways rocked on the walls from her turbulent emotions.

With a vile oath, he stomped down the stairs, outside to the beach, then ran for hours, until sweat dripped and the sun had set. Could magick possibly be this integral to her? Was it as critical as hunting and running was to him?

When he returned she was deeply asleep, but her palms were dark, and she looked as if she'd been crying. Brows drawn, he felt her pillow. When he found it still damp, he might as well have had a sword plunged through his chest.

Was he doomed to hurt his female again and again? To make her miserable because he was so unlike her—and so resistant to change?

Maybe this entire experience, this reincarnation, was to teach him to be more tolerant. That night in the jungle Bowe had recognized that he would have to change to have Mariketa, and had wondered if he could accept such a haunting female, fully—to learn everything about her, about her kind, and even go among them.

Tonight, he determined that he was going to . . . try.

He showered, then joined her in bed, pulling her close. In sleep, he dreamed that the field adjacent to the lodge in Scotland had been planted with an orchard of apple trees.

When he woke, Mariketa was up and rushing around the bedroom, though it was still early morning. He rubbed his eyes. “What're you doing?”

“Leaving. I need to get back.”

“The hell you are.” He shot out of the bed. “Not without me!”

She always ogled him when he was unclothed. Now she turned away as if impatient with him.

When a horn honked outside, Bowe crossed to the window. A water taxi awaited her. The boat driver picked up the bag she'd already set at the end of the pier.

She truly intended to leave him?

“Just give me five minutes to get dressed.” He hastily slung on his jeans, then glanced around for his shoes. She always knew where he'd put them.

At the bedroom doorway, she said, “This really is for the best. It's obvious that neither of us can change, and I don't want to spend eternity hiding what I am just to please you.”

“Five goddamned minutes, Mariketa!”

“Toxic goddamned relationship, Bowen!” She whirled around, darting from the room. As he charged after her, he spied her flick her hand in his direction. When he reached the threshold of the door, he ran directly into an invisible barrier that shot him back on his arse. “Little bloody witch!” He scrambled to his feet, lunging from one window to another. But she'd sealed all of them and all the doors as well.

Leaving him?
He sank to his knees and stabbed his claws into the wood floor.
Never
. As he ripped, he smiled menacingly. “Ah, witchling, you underestimated your male.”

M
ariketa rolled her eyes when Bowe ducked inside the cabin after taking the steps to the plane two at a time.

The pilot, a short, nondescript—nonhuman—male, drew the door closed behind him, then promptly readied for takeoff. Apparently, they were to be the only passengers.

Bowe loped down the aisle to where she sat, then dropped into a seat beside her. “You ken the pilot's a demon?”

“Yeah, so? Oh, wait, you're prejudiced against them as well.”

“With demons you have a fifty-fifty chance of them being rogue.”

“He's the one who was supposed to take me back two weeks ago—when I
should
have returned.” Her demeanor was icy. “I thought I made myself clear earlier. Nothing's changed since I left you behind.”