Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

'It's equivalent!'

'No, it's no'. Hunting does no' harm other people.'

'Yet you assume I'm going to?' She narrowed her eyes. 'I know Lykae are mistrustful of witches, but there must be more to this deep a prejudice.'

'Aye, there is.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'Long ago, a witch... killed five of my uncles. The guilt of their deaths destroyed my father. He was never right, no' up to the day he died.'

She gasped, her face paling.

'My da was just a lad at the time and wished that he was stronger than his brothers. She killed them all, granting his wish.'

Oh, great Hekate.

'Bowen, I am so sorry that happened to your family. But you should have told me this sooner.'

'Why?'

'Because you're not going to just get past this.' After this revelation, she had to question if she'd ever had a shot with him. 'And we dance around the issue, but now I know you will never tolerate my coven. And they won't accept you because you won't respect the responsibilities that I have.'

'Let someone else bloody take care of them.'

Oh, the idea of surrendering all that responsibility was tempting. When Bowen acted as if the sun and moon revolved around her, Mari caught herself dreaming about doing nothing but traveling the world with him.

Why should she have to be saddled with something she never asked for—and had displayed no talent for?

Yet now, seeing Bowen like this, she recalled Cade's words: 'If you turn your back on your destiny—maybe to be a Lykae's browbeaten mate and wife—Fate will not just slight you. She will punish you, over and over.'

Mari thought of the prediction once more. Maybe the warrior's seeking to keep her away from the House wasn't physically. Perhaps she would be so afraid of losing yet another person she cared about that she would sacrifice anything—taking herself out of her coven, away from her calling, from her old life...

'I might like to relinquish them, but I can't turn my back on my destiny. And it's not like I'm saying 'Look at me, I'm such an important badass.' It's more like I'm scared not to assume the mantle. Either way, it has to be done.'

'Damn it, what you do is a choice! And I will abide it no longer.'

Browbeaten. Her outrage building, she snapped, 'Who the hell are you to order me around? Or to make me doubt what I am and what I was put here to do? It's obvious to me that if you can't accept what I am, then I can't be with you.'

'Verra well, witch,' he grated, his own anger flaring. 'You will no' pressure me to change my mind in this!'

'I understand that!' With perfect clarity. He would never change. And she'd be damned if she'd fight a losing battle. 'That's why I won't even try,' she cried, storming to the bedroom.

Long after she'd passed by them, the pictures in the hallways rocked on the walls from her turbulent emotions.

With a vile oath, he stomped down the stairs, outside to the beach, then ran for hours, until sweat dripped and the sun had set. Could magick possibly be this integral to her? Was it as critical as hunting and running was to him?

When he returned she was deeply asleep, but her palms were dark, and she looked as if she'd been crying. Brows drawn, he felt her pillow. When he found it still damp, he might as well have had a sword plunged through his chest.

Was he doomed to hurt his female again and again? To make her miserable because he was so unlike her— and so resistant to change?

Maybe this entire experience, this reincarnation, was to teach him to be more tolerant. That night in the jungle Bowe had recognized that he would have to change to have Mariketa, and had wondered if he could accept such a haunting female, fully—to learn everything about her, about her kind, and even go among them.

Tonight, he determined that he was going to... try.

He showered, then joined her in bed, pulling her close. In sleep, he dreamed that the field adjacent to the lodge in Scotland had been planted with an orchard of apple trees.

When he woke, Mariketa was up and rushing around the bedroom, though it was still early morning. He rubbed his eyes. 'What're you doing?'

'Leaving. I need to get back.'

'The hell you are.' He shot out of the bed. 'Not without me!'

She always ogled him when he was unclothed. Now she turned away as if impatient with him.

When a horn honked outside, Bowe crossed to the window. A water taxi awaited her. The boat driver picked up the bag she'd already set at the end of the pier.

She truly intended to leave him?

'Just give me five minutes to get dressed.' He hastily slung on his jeans, then glanced around for his shoes. She always knew where he'd put them.

At the bedroom doorway, she said, 'This really is for the best. It's obvious that neither of us can change, and I don't want to spend eternity hiding what I am just to please you.'

'Five goddamned minutes, Mariketa!'

'Toxic goddamned relationship, Bowen!' She whirled around, darting from the room. As he charged after her, he spied her flick her hand in his direction. When he reached the threshold of the door, he ran directly into an invisible barrier that shot him back on his arse. 'Little bloody witch!' He scrambled to his feet, lunging from one window to another. But she'd sealed all of them and all the doors as well.

Leaving him? He sank to his knees and stabbed his claws into the wood floor. Never. As he ripped, he smiled menacingly. 'Ah, witchling, you underestimated your male.'

46

Mariketa rolled her eyes when Bowe ducked inside the cabin after taking the steps to the plane two at a time.

The pilot, a short, nondescript—nonhuman—male, drew the door closed behind him, then promptly readied for takeoff. Apparently, they were to be the only passengers.

Bowe loped down the aisle to where she sat, then dropped into a seat beside her. 'You ken the pilot's a demon?'

'Yeah, so? Oh, wait, you're prejudiced against them as well.'

'With demons you have a fifty-fifty chance of them being rogue.'

'He's the one who was supposed to take me back two weeks ago—when I should have returned.' Her demeanor was icy. 'I thought I made myself clear earlier. Nothing's changed since I left you behind.'

'Maybe no' with you.'

'What does that mean?'

When the pilot lined up on the runway and revved the twin propeller engines, the plane began to rattle.

'There's something I need to tell you... ' Bowe trailed off with a frown at her death grip on the armrest. 'Mari, I can hear your heart's going wild—you've got to relax. The noise is normal.' This was a typical Carib aircraft—a puddle jumper, and likely, in some runway instances, a goat dodger. 'There's nothing to be scared of.'

As they gained speed down the runway, the rattling and the whine of the engines increased. 'They put wings