Wicked Deeds on a Winter’s Night (Immortals After Dark #4)(4)
Author: Kresley Cole

"How can I resist these suave compliments?" He was right about the name though. Many of the fey had names beginning in Mari or Kari.

She gave his light hold on her hair a pointed look, and he dropped it like it was hot, then scowled at her as if she were to blame.

"Right now you’re working your spells, are you no’?" He actually leaned in to scent her.

"No, not at all. Believe me, you’d know."

As if he hadn’t heard her, he continued, "Aye, you are." His expression was growing more savage by the instant. "Just as you were born to do."

But for some reason she wasn’t afraid. She was… excited. He must have seen something in her eyes that he didn’t like, because he abruptly turned from her.

As he surveyed their surroundings, she scrutinized him, searching for a single thing about his appearance that she didn’t find sexy – and failing.

All immortals were "frozen" into their immortality when they reached the peak of their strength and were best able to survive. But MacRieve had turned later than other males she’d seen in the Lore. He appeared as though he’d aged to be at least thirty-five. And, damn, it was a good look for him.

His clothes were well made but raffish. A small, ancient-looking medallion hung from a short length of leather around his neck, and a large hunting knife was strapped to his belt. He made Indiana Jones look like a poser pretty boy.

MacRieve also wore a whip at his side, no doubt to be prepared for an encounter with the vampire who’d entered the Hie. Like many demons, vampires could teleport – or trace – making them impossible to vanquish. Mari knew that some younger vampires could be trapped with a whip, preventing them from tracing and making them easier to kill.

That night at the assembly, MacRieve had clashed against the vampire in a bloody, vicious brawl, yet never had Mari seen anything so beautiful as the way he’d moved. The fight had been broken up by a Valkyrie, but Mari could have watched him for hours…

When MacRieve visibly tensed, she followed his gaze. There, toward the back wall was a sarcophagus, the first she’d seen. A headdress would have to be within!

They both raced forward, colliding right before it.

With a growl he grabbed her arms to toss her away, his gaze already back on the crypt, but then he did a double take, frowning at her. He faced her fully as his grip eased on her. "You actually think to play with me?" His hands skimmed down her arms, then rested on her hips.

She exhaled a shaky breath. "Why do you assume I’m working spells?" She might have the requisite adrenaline flowing, but knew she couldn’t focus it. Especially not since she could feel the heat of his rough hands through the material of her shorts.

"For one hundred and eighty years I’ve no’ touched another." He leaned in closer to her. "Have never even given a woman a second look. But now I canna seem to keep my hands off a slip of a witch," he rasped at her ear. "A witch who has me feeling like I’ll die if I doona find out what it’d be like to kiss her." He drew back, his face a mask of rage. "O’ course it’s a goddamned spell."

He wanted to kiss her now? Why now? He’d been faithful to his dead mate all this time? The idea softened something inside her – even as alarm trickled in.

What if she was working a spell? Elianna had once advised Mari to be careful what she wished for. When Mari had nodded at the old truism, Elianna had added, "No. Really. Be careful. We don’t know the extent of your powers, and many witches can effect their desires with a mere thought."

Did Mari want to kiss Bowen MacRieve so badly that she was enthralling him?

When he lifted her onto the sarcophagus and wedged his hips between her legs, she suspected she might. She swallowed. "I take it you plan to find out what it’d be like?"

The battle raging inside him was clear on his face. "Stop this, Mariketa." The way he rumbled her name with his accent made her melt. He removed his hands from her, but when he rested them beside her hips, his fingers curled until his dark claws dug into the stone. "Can you no’ ken why I’m in this contest? I seek her again and wish to be true."

He wanted his mate back. Of course. He wanted to use Thrane’s Key to go back in time and prevent her death. Surprisingly, Mari resented the woman who’d engendered such loyalty in this warrior for so many years. "I’m not… or I don’t mean to be… doing anything to you," Mari whispered, but the way she was reacting to his scent, his mesmerizing eyes, and his hard body between her thighs belied the words.

There was an aura about him that was staggering to her, making it difficult to think. It wasn’t mere male heat and sensuality. It was raw sexuality, animalistic in its intensity – and she was starving for it.

Ah, gods, she did want him to kiss her. Wanted it with everything that she was and willed him to do so. Want me as fiercely as I want you… desire me as you’ve never desired another.

He cupped the back of her neck, staring down at her. As she gazed up in fascination, the amber of his eyes turned to ice blue. He seemed desperate to recognize something in her, and when he clearly didn’t find it, his hand on her began to shake. "Damn you, witch, I doona want another."

She suddenly knew two things: He was about to kiss her so fiercely she would never be the same again.

And he would hate himself for it afterward and despise her forever…

2

The witch seethed with power. Spells and magicks swirled about her. Bowe could sense them, could perceive them tangling around him, binding him to her – because she was beckoning him to kiss her…

No, he couldn’t get distracted from his aim! He wouldn’t. So much was at stake with this competition. His past, his future. He knew this – knew what he was fighting for – so why couldn’t he drag his eyes away from the witch’s face?

As she gazed up at him, her features seemed to shift. Her irises briefly flickered from an ordinary blue to a stormy, intense gray. She licked her lips, and right before him they turned from pink to the deepest, most enticing red. His shaft throbbed harder, straining against his pants.

Yes, he had to taste her. To walk away without knowing what those glistening lips promised… ? Impossible. Not after beholding the body she’d concealed beneath her cloak. She was lush, surprisingly curvy with high, plump br**sts. And in that tunnel, when he’d gazed upon her crawling in front of him, the allure of her generous hips and arse had been as strong as a siren’s call to him. He’d have followed her for miles, hard as rock, heart thundering in anticipation.

Then to be wedged against her in that position? Hell, he’d just stopped himself from thrusting uncontrollably against her –

"Bowen… " she whispered, an edge of need in her voice.