Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

'Need you again, 'fore dawn.'

When she nodded eagerly, he reached down between them to grip his shaft, positioning it. At that contact, he threw his head back and she arched up to him, as if it were their first time joining. When he flexed his hips, gradually sinking into her almost to the hilt, he grated, 'Canna get enough o' you.'

Slowing the furious pace of the night, he lowered himself to his elbows once more, easing down until their skin just touched. As he kissed her, he languidly moved over her, with a skilled rolling of his hips that fed his shaft into her just as his body pressed forward to plunge it so deep. Never speeding up his rhythm, he did this again and again until she was panting. Against his lips, she cried, 'Bowen... '

'I know my female's tone,' he rasped. Even when she could feel how swollen he was and knew he was on the verge, he gnashed his teeth, continuing the measured thrusts for her until she climaxed. With a scream into the night, she arched her back, squeezing her legs around his waist.

'Givin' me... so much!' He yelled out as his body tensed, motionless, before he bucked uncontrollably between her thighs. As she smiled from the rapturous feel of his heat pouring into her, he groaned in her ear... 'Mariah!'

43

Bowe woke to find his arms empty of warm, curvy witch. This displeased him.

When he had trouble shaking his grogginess, he realized she'd made him sleep, had cast another sodding spell on him. Damn it, why? He scented the air to locate her, and shot upright.

She was gone.

Had he been too rough with her? Frightened her again? Why else would she run?

Then he saw an area just to the side of him that she'd very purposely cleared of brush. In the mud, she'd written him a note with precise letters.

head:

The name's MariKETA.

Go to hell,

The WITCH, doing a creepy spell somewhere right now.

He sank back on the ground, throwing an arm over his face as he swore low. Had he called her Mariah last night? Oh, bloody hell.

Ach, Bowe, you've ed up this time.

She must be furious. Or worse, hurting. The witch had given him inconceivable pleasure, and this was how he'd thanked her?

He'd loved everything about Mariketa and the way they'd been together. The taste of her flesh was addictive, as was the feel of her wet little tongue lapping his skin as she boldly licked him all over. She'd bitten his shoulder in abandon, screaming against his muscles, and her nails had dug into the backs of his thighs as he'd taken her from behind... he hardened even now to recall that.

She'd given him the pleasure he'd waited for his entire long life...

And I showed her my gratitude by calling another woman's name.

When he removed his arm, he blinked his eyes. Above him, he spied his jeans and boots hanging in the upper limbs of a five-story-high hardwood.

He rose, determined to find her, to make her forgive him. And then, gods help him, they'd start where they left off last night. He scented the air and might have caught a hint of her toward the southern coast.

Mariketa had magically covered her tracks—and her scent—well. But she didn't understand. He didn't have to have her trail. There were only so many places she could be. He'd run back and forth to the coast a thousand times, and he'd relish every step as one closer to her.

He looked up at his jeans again and was startled by his own deep laugh. He grinned in her direction.

Ach, he liked the games they played.

'Lemme get this straight. Getting hunted down in the jungle by a lust-crazed Lykae was one of the safer extracurriculars of your trip?' Carrow asked.

'That's what I'm saying.' Mari adjusted the resort courtesy telephone against her shoulder, then took another gulp of her drink—a bourbon rocks with a pink, paper umbrella.

In seriocomic fashion, she'd somehow gotten herself to a Belizean beach resort, then actually enchanted the manager until he was all too happy to extend a hotel-wide tab.

Magick... good.

'I told you not to go by yourself, didn't I?' Carrow demanded. 'What'd I say?'

As Carrow repeated herself, Mari obediently mumbled in unison, 'Darwin says people like you need to die.'

'Yep, that's what I said. And after everything that's happened to you, I'm surprised you're still ticking.'

Not only was she ticking, she was showered, dressed in beachy new clothes and sandals from the resort gift shop, and enjoying an unlimited bar tab as she awaited her flight home. 'Well, let this serve as my call-in to the House to avert disaster. Only a day late. I hope you told everyone I've never been on time for anything in my life.'

'Disaster averted. Already got a call from some dude named Hild. And then a demon named Rydstrom showed up here a couple of hours ago.'

'Nuh-uh!'

'Yeah, uh-huh. I wasn't here, but I heard that wherever he turned his green-eyed gaze, witches dropped trou and proffered panties.'

'Carrow, that's how rumors get started,' Mari said in a chiding tone. 'Did he say anything about the rest of his group?'

'Said everybody on his end came out okay.' As Mari sighed with relief, Carrow added, 'He left a number for you. You know I could tell him you're okay—over dinner and drinks.'

She couldn't help but grin. Rydstrom would either love Mari or curse her for this, but she said, 'Yeah, you call him. Tell him both MacRieve and I were standing as of this morning.'

'So are you gonna fly out before the big, bad—with names—wolf finds you?'

'Damn straight.' Bastard had called her... Mariah. Was that all Mari was to him? A substitute? A second choice? B team! The idea of that outraged her even more because last night...

Bowen MacRieve utterly ruined me for other men.

She almost wished she didn't now know that sex like that existed—or that what she'd thought in the past was great pleasure had been a mere toe touch in a vast ocean. She irritably rapped on the bar with her knuckles and signaled the bartender for another round.

'I don't suppose you found a big plane?' Carrow asked. 'Or that you managed to score some Xanax?'

'No, and no,' Mari was so sick of B team, she was actually about to fly out on a baby plane. 'But I'm lucky to get a flight out at all. Besides, I'm self-medicating with whiskey. I'll land around seven, so come get me—if you still have your driver's license—and peel my drunk ass from the plane.'

'Will do. But, Mari, I have to say that you might not be seeing clearly on the issue of the werewolf, because, well, you have issues.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Just that you get really chapped over stuff like this. Think about it, the very last time the Lykae was in the same situation—running around with a mate and cavorting or whatever you people do—it was with a female named Mariah. Last night, when he was wolfy and moonstruck and getting laid for the first time in—what'd you say?—a hundred and eighty years, he basically forgot the ket in your name. You might want to cut him some slack. Or, I could cast a spell to make him fall in love with dryer lint. You decide. But if the sex was truly—'

'Cataclysmic?'

'Yeah, you already conveyed that like thirty times, you little bourbon lush. So you're telling me you don't want