Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

Oh, and she needed clothes.

During the day, they swam the Caribbean, and he caught lobsters that they cooked at night over their beach fires. They explored colorful towns on the mainland, shopping, sightseeing, and necking in back alleys.

Just today he'd pressed her behind a row of fruit stands. With the sultry air redolent with sugar cane, and his hot, possessive hands fondling her breasts, he'd taken her, stifling her cries with his kiss—

'Lass, what are you thinking about that's affecting you like this?'

'Hmm? Oh, nothing.'

'You always say that. I canna help but feel that you're holding some of yourself back from me.'

Maybe she was holding back, likely afraid that yet another person she cared for would leave her. And in the back of her mind, she feared he would always doubt that she was his until she conceived. Still, she asked, 'How?'

'I doona like that you have your secrets.'

'Secrets?' Her tone was innocent, but she did keep secrets from him—many of them.

For instance, she couldn't seem to give up going to the mirror, no matter that he'd told her how much it bothered him or how happy he made her. She'd figured out that if the reflection answered only so many questions in a session, then she needed to have as many sessions as possible.

And she hadn't told him that night after night she'd experienced bizarre dreams, so vivid and realistic that when she woke she had trouble differentiating between what was real and what was not.

In one dream, she stood in a shapeless plane of unbroken black. Mari saw her mother, weeping with the palms of her hands pressed against her eyes. Her father was lying on a stone slab, motionless, his eyes closed, his hands in fists.

Other times, she dreamed of a thousand voices begging her to hurry—but to do what, she didn't know. And sometimes, on this balmy, breeze-kissed island, she dreamed of a snow-covered forest with no leaves, the limbs thick with ravens...

Yet even with her misgivings and her secrets, Mari continued to fall for her strong, proud werewolf more and more each day. She had a good feeling about Bowen.

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.'

45

'Do 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.'