Pleasure of a Dark Prince (Immortals After Dark #9)(61)
Author: Kresley Cole

 15

MacRieve had told her that the engineering was inconceivable, and he was right. Every rock in these walls had been cut and pounded into the next, flawlessly arranged. No mortar necessary – a blade wouldn’t have fit between them.

To her right was a sizeable accumulation of discarded rocks piled against the walls, thick at the bottom, then tapering all the way to the top. My way out of here.

The necropolis had to be near. Lucia set off, pushing on for the interior. When she found a clearing, she sucked in a breath, awed, turning in a slow circle.

All around a central expanse, boulders were strewn, monoliths crawling with vegetation and vines. Lining a cobble drive were imposing twenty-foot-high statues of gods or royals, gazing down with watchful eyes. Stone structures of two or so stories dotted the grounds. They were open-aired like small temples. So where’s the tomb?

Great ceiba trees grew in profusion, producing a roof of unbroken canopy, woven so densely it kept out most of the rain – until the wind blew and the leaves turned, splattering hard drops.

Then her jaw slackened. In the distance was a circular, domed structure – a panteón.

A tomb. Though it was nearly shrouded in those vines, she could tell it was massive in size.

She hastened over but found no visible entrance. In a rare patch of stone still uncovered by foliage, she spied a carving depicting a triangle of gold gleaming in a woman’s uplifted palms. Lucia cleared more vines. Another glyph showed a half-man/half-jaguar being drinking from a shining chalice.

Everything in Lucia said this was the tomb of El Dorado. To be this close. To finally have the means to kill Cruach –

She heard something tearing down that stockpile of rocks and jerked her head up. MacRieve was near. She faced the sound and raised her bow.

Moments later, MacRieve burst into the clearing, sagging as if with relief to find her safe. As he raked his gaze over her, her raised bow warranted barely a glance.

He was barefooted and shirtless, the shifter’s bite on his arm red and swollen, lacerations crisscrossing his chest. His massive shoulders rose and fell with his heaving exhalations.

The beast flickered strongly over him, just like the night at Val Hall. "Do it… shoot me, Lousha." His voice had already started to change.

I have to. If I don’t, then I’ll never shoot again. This bow would never be in her hands. Her life as she knew it would be over. Shoot him, Lucia!

Instead, she backed up a step, then another, until she came up against a vine-covered rock. Nowhere left to run. Attack or submit. With a swallow, she pulled the string tighter.

Yet then she gazed at his face, at his brows drawn as he awaited the shot. He expected it.

It had always felt wrong to hurt MacRieve. Even before she’d fallen for him. Ah, Freya, I can’t do this. She eased the tension on her bowstring. "I-I can’t." I’m in love with him. From the first moment she’d seen him… this had been inevitable.

"Do it!" He lunged at her, trying to provoke her. "Lousha, shoot your arrow… only way this will end without me claiming you."

The wind gusted and moonlight pierced through the canopy. A spear of silver hit him, and he shuddered. "The moon… is pulling me. You canna know… the strength. Can you no’ choose me over your vows this night? For once, damn you!"

She slowly shook her head. "It can’t happen."

"Then bluidy shoot me!" He stabbed his fingers through his hair, looking desperate, feral. "Goddamnit, I doona know what to do!"

This was the first time he’d ever shown doubt, ever shown a moment’s hesitation in front of her. Even now, when the moon demanded, he was resisting its call for her. For over nine hundred years he’d awaited this night – and he would rather have an arrow bored into his brain than take her like this.

Fate has a way…. He hung his head for long moments. When he raised his face, his eyes were pale blue, his fangs and claws grown long. The skin of his broad chest was damp with sweat and rain and sheened in the moonlight. He was erect, his shaft straining against his jeans.

The beast was clear to her; MacRieve would lose all control soon. And with that realization, she was amazed to feel something she never thought she’d experience at a moment like this – lust.

Deep, wet, undeniable lust. Her claws curled and lightning struck nearby, searing through limbs above, letting more moonlight blaze in.

She lost her focus for the merest instant. With unfathomable speed, he lunged for her, knocking her arrow away. Before she could even react, he’d taken her into his arms, squeezing her to him, his hands and mouth seemingly everywhere, stoking her need. When he snared her bow and quiver, tossing them away, she cried, "MacRieve, no! You have to fight this!"

With his harsh, beastlike voice, he rasped, "Woman, you are everything to me!" He wrapped her hair around his fist, forcing her to meet his frenzied gaze. "Why can I no’ be that for you? Let me claim you for my own. Choose me this night…."

His scent, his need. The wildness in her – that darkness she’d tried to hide, to extinguish – flared with a vengeance to meet his. As if she’d waited her entire life for this, just as he had.

Every cell in my body is telling me to do this… is answering him.

Against her neck, he grated, "How I’ve ached for you."

She couldn’t catch her breath. Panting, trying to recall consequences, she struggled to remember exactly why this was so wrong, but her mind was shutting down.

Until all she could do was feel. I ache for you, too.

He cupped her breast, thumbed her throbbing nipple. That one burning touch sent her house of cards tumbling down. When she cried out with pleasure, another bolt of lightning struck. Then another. And another.

With a whimper, she grabbed the back of his head and yanked him in for a kiss.

 39

Growling against her lips, Garreth met her tongue for a deep kiss. She’s surrendering. She needs me, too… He wanted to roar with satisfaction.

Before she could change her mind, he snatched off her pack, tossing it away, then slashed through her clothes with his claws. As soon as he’d uncovered her creamy br**sts, his mouth latched onto one of her ni**les. She gave a cry when he suckled her hard, groaning against her.

By the time he’d ripped off her panties, she was shivering – but not from cold. He’d trained her body to respond to his, had learned how to pet her, how to make her melt.

As he moved to her other nipple and his hand skimmed down her belly, she rolled her hips up for his touch. Before he obliged, he remembered to bite his claws off the fingers of one hand. Then he delved between her legs, finding her slick and ready. With another growl, he collected her moisture and spread it over her swollen little clitoris, rubbing her there in slow circles.