MacRieve

TWENTY-THREE

“MacRieve, you’re scaring me!” Chloe cried. He was staring at her with unmistakable revulsion, his face twisted. When he began shaking her, she screamed, “Let me go!”

His fists tightened around her upper arms with such force that she thought they’d break. His eyes turned ice blue and glowed. Fangs protruded from his mouth. Black claws lengthened from the tips of his fingers.

“No’ you, no’ you!” He lifted her until her feet were dangling, then drew her in close, those huge fangs inches from her lips. His feral gaze bored into hers.

She turned her head away, whimpering with fear. With a roar, he flung her to the bed. She scrambled to the floor with startling speed. Confusion roiled as she backed into a corner.

He swung around to pound his palms against the wood-paneled wall, then slashed those claws straight down. Splinters arced across the room.

When he faced her once more, it wasn’t him. Not human, her mind dimly recalled. He’s not human. She was looking at his . . . beast. A monster. In its white-blue gaze, she saw madness—and animal cunning.

She shook so hard her head bobbed.

He slashed down the wall again, roaring at the ceiling, “I fuckin’ give up! YOU BLUIDY WIN!”

Munro charged into the room. He looked like MacRieve had just moments ago.

Before and after.

“Will? What’s set you off?”

MacRieve growled, “Get her out of my sight!”

“What is wrong with you?” Munro gazed at Chloe huddled in the corner, shaking. “Do you want her to die of fright?”

He roared back: “YES!”

Munro’s eyes began glowing blue as well. “That’s my deirfiúr. I will no’ let you hurt her.”

“She’s a goddamned succubus! A seed-feeder!”

Chloe gasped. “Succubus?” She’d read about them. They derived nourishment from . . . sex.

MacRieve’s twin scented the air, went motionless. He gazed at her with his brows drawn. “Dear gods.”

Chloe was an immortal? A Lorean?

She must’ve been triggered.

Munro quickly recovered, shoving a snarling MacRieve toward the door. “Outside!” Over his shoulder, Munro told her, “If you value your life, doona leave this room.” The door slammed.

She sat dazed. She didn’t know what terrified her most: MacRieve’s true self—or the revelation of hers.

Succubus.

By the way these two males had reacted, she figured succubae weren’t exactly universally beloved. And her mother had been one?

Somehow Chloe managed to rise, then stumble into the bathroom. Her reflection stunned her. Her face was softer, her hair now curling past her shoulders and still growing.

Her irises were glowing a rich green. She’d read that all Lore creatures had eyes that changed with emotion. Me, a Lore creature. So when would they change back?

She pinched up the hem of MacRieve’s shirt, flashing the mirror, and found her hips were rounder, her breasts plumper. She dropped the hem, grasping the basin for support, noticing her new claws. They were pink like her nails but had tapered tips and sharp edges.

Freaking claws.

And even more gut-wrenching than what she’d gained was what she’d lost.

All her scars were gone.

She supposed most girls would be delighted; Chloe was pissed. She’d earned those marks, every one of them, like merit badges.

The one on her ankle had reminded her of the big Brazilian midfielder who’d two-footed Chloe right into the hospital—and how, the next season, that girl had paid.

Now Chloe saw that her knees were smooth, the arthroscopic scar on the right one gone. That type of surgery was like a rite of passage. Even the scar from last night, the one that would’ve reminded her of all that she’d survived, was missing.

Her badges. Gone.

With a yell, she shot her fist out, breaking the mirror. She gaped down at her lacerated hand. Stupid, stupid. She needed to be figuring out a way to escape this place before MacRieve returned to finish her off. The hatred in his eyes . . .

How could he treat her like this? After what they’d just shared?

All those promises he’d made, all lies! She was furious that he’d been hiding that beast part of himself. Yes, he’d mentioned something in the glade, but she’d thought he was talking metaphorically.

She hadn’t known what she was—but he’d known fully what he was. There was a part of him so monstrous that she shook just to recall it. She was glad she had seen it so soon, before she’d fallen for him completely.

The nymphs could have him! At the thought, a pang of loss battled her fury.

That bewildering pang hurt worse than her new wound.

She turned on the water, wincing as she ran her hand under it. As the blood washed away, she saw that her skin had already begun regenerating. Because I am an immortal. She grabbed a small towel and knotted it around her hand.

She’d known something was happening. Little by little, she’d been changing. This shouldn’t be such a shock, Chlo. Not like the shock that had hammered her with her first look at the real MacRieve. He was disgusted with her? Mutual. He’d been repulsive. Her beautiful Scot had masked a monster.

Deciding that the creatures at the wall weren’t as bad as the thing she’d just been in bed with, she picked out a shard from the mirror, coiling a washcloth around it.

If she ran into that wolf-monster again—such as on her way out—she’d gut it. She knew it was kill or be killed.

And she was no victim.

She hastily dressed, tucking the shard in her back pocket, concealing it with a long sweater. She didn’t hear anyone outside the door, so she turned the knob, found it locked. Frustrated, she yanked on it.

It broke off in her hand.

She stared down at it in wonderment. Exactly how strong was she?

Desperate to escape, she used her claws to jimmy open the door, then eased out onto the landing. Downstairs in the great room, Rónan and Ben sat stiffly on the couch.

Rónan flashed her a confused look.

Ben shook his head slowly in clear warning. “Chloe, you need to wait up there for Munro. You canna be near Will.”

She faded back into the room. Looks like I’m going out the window.

“If you kill her, you canna ever get her back. . . .”

After an unavoidable exchange of blows with Munro, Will tore through the woods, his brother’s parting words replaying in Will’s disordered mind.

Munro seemed to think Will shouldn’t murder the parasite who had wormed her way into their home and lives. She was lucky his beast had risen. Otherwise she’d likely be dead.

Will had been maddened with rage—yet his beast had accepted Chloe as his, had been tempering Will’s actions. Even as Will had craved to kill her, his Instinct had been commanding him —Protect, provide.—

He wondered if his Instinct understood that providing for her meant jeopardizing his entire existence and risking her venom bond.

A succubus just fed off my body. Hatred seethed inside him, so thick he thought he’d choke on it. This couldn’t be happening. He’d bloody liked Chloe, relishing her passion, her spirit. He’d thought his life was finally turning around.

I thought I could refashion myself. Now, impossible.

Though he could normally run leagues without getting winded, he couldn’t catch his breath. He stumbled, then leaned over, palms on his knees, sucking in air.

Suffocating. The deep pulling him down. Chloe had fed off him. Just like Ruelle.

Her claws had dug into his hips as she sucked him, fed, then teed him up for another round. For another feeding. Because she would never be satisfied.

Why did this keep happening to him? He was right back to Hungary.

No, first he would punish Webb. Now he would have no qualms about using Chloe—

Realization struck. Webb had to have known what she was. He’d found out she was changing, and he’d washed his hands of her. Chloe had been looking for her father because the man had abandoned her. Of course.

He stilled. She would have put that together herself by now. Was she devastated by the betrayal? Stricken? Had she cried?

He roared, slashing through a tree. The need to protect her still assailed him.

Her entire life had been upended. He pictured how she’d been in his room earlier, stunned, defenseless. Aye, she’d been defenseless. Just like Ruelle. Will wondered if he would climb over his mother’s corpse to protect this succubus as well. At the thought, he banged his head against a stalwart pine, cracking it, bloodying himself.

Felt good. Necessary. Like that blow his father had delivered. So Will rammed his head over and over.

He’d believed that he had a true connection with Chloe, that she was as aroused by him as he was by her. Instead, she’d been coldly serving him up.

Ruelle must be laughing in her grave.

“Ahhh!” he bellowed, swinging his arm, ripping his flared claws through another tree.

He watched it topple. Felled.

Just like me.