Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

48

What trickery was this? He still scented Mariketa in the bath.

This must be another being. This was... Mariah.

"I... I... " He couldn't form words. There'd been no reincarnation?

In her tremulous voice, she said, "I can see I've shocked you, Bowen."

"How... how can this be?" For so long, Bowe had ached for this, had imagined their reunion in a thousand different ways. He'd gone to his knees and begged fate for one more chance.

Apparently, he'd been given it.

"I was brought back to you," she said, gliding over to stand before him. "Resurrected by a sorceress."

Bowe scanned the room as if hoping for someone to explain this. Everyone appeared as dumbstruck as he felt. "How did you come to be here?"

Her tentative smile was rapidly fading. Of course, she would have believed he'd be overjoyed. And two months ago, he would have been.

"Once I was revived, I was sent to wherever you were."

"Why now?"

"B-Bowen, you sound almost angry." Her violet eyes watered.

He'd gotten so used to his witch going toe-to-toe with him that he'd forgotten how timorous some females could be. "I mean, why no' sooner? It's been nearly two centuries."

"The sorceress needed the energy that surrounds an Accession to be able to bring me back." Just as Mariketa had said about another reincarnate. "As I lay dying that night in the forest, I wished that I could have had a life with you, wished it with everything in me." She lowered her voice to say, "I wished that I hadn't run from you."

He winced at the memory.

"The being heard my cries, kissed me gently, and took my pain away."

"A sorceress would no' do this out of kindness to you. What did she demand of you?"

"She demanded my eternal soul. But I gave it up gladly, Bowen, just to have another chance with you." Mariah smiled softly. "Though you're going to have to protect me so that I may never die again."

The sacrifice she'd made staggered him.

Yet instead of feeling joy at her return, or gratitude for what she'd given up, all he could think was how much he just wanted to get back to help his witch with her bath.

Why hasn't Bowen returned?

Mari hoped he wasn't having words with Carrow, though she could definitely see that happening—the most pro-witch female Mari knew versus the most anti-witch male?

Once she found a bag with her things in the adjoining bedroom, she hurriedly dressed, determined to douse any conflict. When she entered the sitting room, her friends stared at her, seeming stunned.

"What?" Mari asked Carrow and Regin, but they remained motionless by a wall. "I know I look like hell, but damn, I was in a plane crash this week... " No, they were staring over her shoulder.

Mari got chills on the back of her neck, and she slowly turned. Somehow she knew what she would find. The female standing there was... Mariah.

There'd been no shared soul between them.

The blond princess stood, tall and graceful, by Bowen's side, resplendent in a long, white gown. And they looked perfect together. Her violet eyes glinted with emotion as she glanced from Mari to Bowen. Bowen's own eyes burned with some inscrutable light.

Stay standing... stay standing. "She's returned?"

"Aye. Resurrected by a sorceress. You knew what I believed about you and her. So tell me how this is possible, Mariketa."

He wasn't outright accusing her of an enchantment again, but there was a suspicious note in his tone. Faced with this scene, even she began to doubt herself. "How would I know?" She pinched her forehead between her thumb and her forefinger. Though she'd just come from a healing, her head had started to pound.

"Because you're a witch—"

"A witch, Bowen?" Mariah sidled even closer to Bowen as if for protection. "But you despise them!"

As he absently patted her hand, he said to Mari, "This is your area of expertise."

"Resurrection is not my area of expertise. I only know that there are a very limited number of beings on earth that can do it. Most of those won't," Mari answered. "Look, I don't know what's going on—I'm fresh from a plane wreck and a shade bewildered here. But I do know we can figure it out." She met his eyes and held out her hand. "Together."

Just when she thought Bowen's body tensed to move—to cross the ten feet to Mari's side, the princess said, "Bowen, who is this woman? Did you... did you find another? You told me I was the only one," she added softly. "You vowed to me that you'd never want another as long as you lived."

He didn't walk the ten feet.

Mari exhaled a breath she hadn't known she'd held and dropped her hand. She could read the writing on the wall. Just what in the hell would it take for someone to look at her and say "I choose you"? "If I leave here today, MacRieve, I leave for good."

Seeming as though she'd faint, the princess whispered, "I gave up my soul to rejoin you. Was this sacrifice for naught?"

He put his flattened hands out as if motioning everyone to slow down. "Just give me a minute... to think... "

Her soul? How can I compete with that? Mari wanted to loathe her, needed to, but she only pitied this other female who'd made the ultimate surrender to be with the male she loved. She found herself murmuring, "To think I'd worried about you going back for her, when she was already on her way forward."

Hope flashed in the fey's violet eyes. "You were trying to go back for me?"

"For nearly two hundred years," Mari told her. Relentlessly. Mercilessly ridding any obstacles in his pursuit of this exquisite princess—a fairy-tale princess.

Mariah was the name he'd called out the night he'd believed he'd claimed his mate.

"Then you must still care for me," Mariah said. "And you wear my pendant after all this time."

Mari swung her gaze to the medallion he wore at his neck—the one that he never took off.

Even when he'd made love to her. Bastard!

He glanced down, seeming surprised he wore it. "I just need to think for a few bloody minutes. Just... just let me think."

B team. Why am I even surprised?

"What's there to think about, Bowen?" Mari demanded. "You've got a choice—make a decision." But choose me!

His eyes narrowed. Maybe she was being unreasonable. Maybe he wouldn't take her hand not because he no longer wanted Mari, but because he wanted to spare the princess any unnecessary hurt. Yet Mari needed him to walk to her side and pronounce her as his so badly—longed for him to. "MacRieve?"

"Doona push me, witch."

Witch. Her heart fell. He'll never see past that. At his words, Mari was reminded that she and Bowen hadn't resolved the obstacles between them—because they couldn't. The fey princess suited him far better, and probably deserved him more for the sacrifice she'd made.

Suddenly, Mari became aware of the group witnessing this scene—Emma and her Lykae husband gazed at her and at Bowen with sympathy, while Carrow and Regin looked alternately sorry for her and incensed with him. Mari recognized that arguing with him here like this wouldn't get him back. She could think of nothing that would. And Mari wasn't known for fighting losing battles.

It was time to take herself out of the game—again. "I'll go get my bag." With her shoulders shoved back, she turned toward the door, refusing to cry.

Which was proving difficult—since she'd already fallen in love with Bowen MacRieve.

Damn that witch for pressuring me like this!

Bowe knew why she felt she had to leave. She thought herself passed over yet again. Both parents had deserted her, and then her first love had thrown her over.

And I've told her there'd never be another female for me—then my mate showed up on my doorstep.

But he hadn't made any bloody decisions, hadn't chosen Mariah over her.

Regin hissed at him and followed Mariketa, with Carrow right behind them. As Carrow passed Bowe, she said, "Prick. You and Twice-Baked here deserve each other."

Clasping his forehead with frustration, Bowe turned to Mariah. "You remember Lachlain, do you no'?" he asked, as if speaking to a child. "He and his new wife are going to sit with you for a few minutes. Everything will be fine."

Lachlain stepped up, his arm wrapped tightly around Emma's waist. "Aye, I'm sure you've questions—"

But Mariah seized Bowe's hand with both of hers. "Please don't leave. I'm so confused by all this. By this place and time I've been brought to." Tears streamed. He'd nearly forgotten how fragile she was. "Ah, gods, please, Bowen."

Bowe glanced from her to the doorway Mariketa had just exited. The witch was only going back to the bedroom. I'll stop her before she tries to leave.

As she stared into the dresser mirror, Mari wiped at tears with the back of her hand. She didn't have to bid the reflection to come. Knowing she would likely get just one answer, she decided to ask, "Am I his mate or not?"

"You are."

She gasped. Apparently Mari was his—and he still passed her over! "Then what in the hell just happened?"

The hand breached the glass with an apple. "Come with me."

"Damn it, if there was ever a time to answer more than one question, it's now! Tell me how this is possible!"

"Are you ready to know the truth?" the reflection whispered.

"The truth about what?" Mari snapped.

The reflection smiled. "About—everything."

Mari frowned, recognizing that she finally was ready to go. I have nothing to lose. She was going to journey into that mysterious world of the mirror.

She nodded. "I am." Mari took the apple and set it on the dresser, then grasped the offered hand. She climbed up and through the portal, entering another dimension. Here it was soft, a place veiled in mist and sublime silence.

The reflection was gone—because Mari was the reflection now? Doubt over her action immediately suffused her. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Carrow and Regin rushing into the room, bewildered by what they were seeing.

Behind them... ravens gathered on the windowsill.

Ravens? Had she just gone willingly to her own doom?

As Bowe tried to disentangle Mariah, his heart felt like it sank to his gut—for the second time in minutes.

Mariketa's scent was utterly gone.

He tore away toward the bedroom, but of course, she wasn't there. "Where the hell is she?" he bellowed at Carrow.

Eyes wide, Carrow hiked her thumb at the dresser. "In the mirror."

A single red apple sat beside it.