Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night Read Online Free Page A

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.
    â€œFor 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,