Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

might be impassable. Especially since Bowe would be forced to drive a stick shift with one hand and a stump. And now that he was weakened, it was possible the human soldiers teeming the area could subdue and actually contain a Lykae, even when he was fully turned. Bowe would have to evade them until he had the mortality spell removed.

Raising the tomb's portcullis had been nearly impossible even when he'd had all his strength and both of his hands... but now? 'I'm going to need to bring something like a pneumatic lift to help me get into the tomb.'

When Lachlain nodded, Emma said, 'I can get you a satellite phone, too, so Mari can call at the earliest opportunity.'

'Aye, and I'll need more of that stuff they've been trying to feed me. The drinks and gel packs. And some kind of med kit just in case.'

Nïx clapped with excitement at the activity, looking as addled as ever. 'I can help, I can help! I can get you a rhyme for Mariketa!'

Lachlain, Emma, and Bowe briefly paused to glare at her.

'You can't leave home without it!'

'Anyway... ' Bowe continued, 'I just went two weeks without food or water. Three will no' kill her.'

'Incorrect.'

Bowe glanced back at Nïx. His voice broke an octave lower when he asked, 'Why incorrect?'

She squinted at him and momentarily appeared puzzled at where she was. 'What's incorrect? Am I incorrect?' She buffed her nails. 'I so rarely am.'

Barely stifling the urge to throttle the weird being, Bowe grated, 'You told me I was incorrect when I said three weeks will no' kill the witch.'

'Oh, yes, that. How am I supposed to remember conversations from last year? I can't see inside that crypt—bad voodoo and major mojo keeps prying eyes out—but common sense says Mariketa is likely dying.'

'Dying? How?' he rasped, knowing Lachlain was studying his harsh reaction.

'Because, pet, young Mariketa the Awaited has not yet turned. She is still... mortal.'

Another car whistled overhead.

10

Bowe's machete hacked through a braid of woody liana vines as he pushed forward through the brush. The trail to the tomb that had been cleared just weeks ago had already grown over.

As he'd predicted his last time here, the conflict between the two human armies had since erupted. Bowe had had to ditch his truck miles from the tomb because soldiers were planting mines all along the roadways.

He burned with urgency to get to Mariketa, but his body could do only so much in this state and burdened with his pack—which weighed over three hundred pounds with the gear he'd been forced to bring.

Earlier, the action of gathering supplies and hastily readying for the trip had helped Bowe keep his mind occupied, but during the flight down, he'd wanted to claw the walls of the plane in frustration. From his bag, he'd snatched Nïx's missive addressed to 'Mari the Awaited.' He'd ignored the Valkyrie when she'd insisted repeatedly that he bring it, until she'd become so furious that lightning had begun to spear down all around them. It had grown so violent that even Regin and the witches had backed off, spooked.

Alone on the plane, he'd ripped open Nïx's black wax seal and read the bizarre contents—a rhyme about mirrors and whispering and secrets. The words had inexplicably given him chills.

And reading it had only killed moments of the wait. With nothing to do but think, he'd wavered between hating Mariketa and fearing for her life. Bowe despised what she'd done to him—and what she was—but he did not want her to die.

Another blister gave way against the machete handle, but Bowe ignored it. Wasn't like he could switch hands.

The odds were against her being alive, yet Bowe had hope. The scarred demon Rydstrom was a brutal warrior, but he was also honorable. And Bowe knew Rydstrom and Cade had younger sisters. If Rydstrom had decided to protect the witch, she might have a chance of surviving starvation—and the incubi.

And then there had been the unsettling interest that had flickered in Cade's eyes. The mercenary might be moved to protect her... because he wanted her.

The thought made Bowe swing the machete harder than necessary, slicing clean through a sapling.

Damn it, what in the hell had that little mortal been thinking to enter the Hie?

Even as he'd cursed the idiocy of her actions, he'd marveled at her courage, especially since she was so young. He'd suspected she was, but Bowe had since found out that Mariketa was an astonishing twenty-three years of age—chronologically. Not only hadn't she made the transition into immortality, she hadn't passed even a third of an average mortal life.

If Bowe had thought Emma, at eighty chronologically, was too young for Lachlain, then Mariketa was a damned bairn.

And a witch—

Ear-piercing screams sounded. From the tomb?

Bowe sprinted as fast as his wounds would allow, leaping over fallen trees. He ran headlong through the brush instead of cutting, ignoring the pain as vines snagged his neck and arms and abraded till they burned.

When he finally crashed through the tree line surrounding the perimeter of the tomb, he heard what sounded like a war inside.

White light glinted up through new cracks in the stone. The entire edifice rumbled. He heard Rydstrom roar with pain while the female archer shrieked. Bowe didn't hear the witch.

Was it already too late?

How the was he going to quickly raise the stone portcullis? To set up the lift with one hand... too much time. Could he possibly raise it himself? He was a thousand times weaker than before. He didn't have a propping stone to lift from.

He didn't have two hands.

No way—

Bowe finally heard Mariketa's cry—weak, reedy. There was no time to analyze the consuming sense of relief he felt that she still lived. He knew she was badly hurt, knew she needed protection.

Bugger the lift.

He shoved his hand under the edge of the portcullis, claws digging down, wedging under for a good grip. When he heard another of her cries, he strained every muscle in his body.

Nothing.

Damn it, if she'd truly been his mate, he would have been able to lift it. Which meant it was still possible even when she wasn't his—he could do this!

No longer did he hear her. Sharp fear stabbed at him... he heaved with all his might, yelling out. The stone began to budge. An inch higher, then two...

He'd lifted it only a foot when a limp body was shoved out from the fray.

Mariketa? Yes, though he scarcely recognized her without her glamour to cloak her looks.

As Bowe grappled against the weight, he jerked in surprise when the Instinct rang inside his head, strong and clear.

—Yours.—

Why would it return now, after so long? Why would it make him feel as though he recognized her as his own?

No, this was merely her spell, tricking him. Even knowing this, he had to fight panic when he comprehended how battered her body was. He focused his hearing on her heartbeat and found it erratic. Her lips were pale and chapped, her cheeks hollowed. Blood tracked from the corners of her mouth.