"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah, uh-huh. I wasn't here, but I heard that wherever he turned his green-eyed gaze, witches dropped trou and proffered panties."

"Carrow, that's how rumors get started," Mari said in a chiding tone. "Did he say anything about the rest of his group?"

"Said everybody on his end came out okay." As Mari sighed with relief, Carrow added, "He left a number for you. You know I could tell him you're okay - over dinner and drinks."

She couldn't help but grin. Rydstrom would either love Mari or curse her for this, but she said, "Yeah, you call him. Tell him both MacRieve and I were standing as of this morning."

"So are you gonna fly out before the big, bad - with names - wolf finds you?"

"Damn straight." Bastard had called her... Mariah. Was that all Mari was to him? A substitute? A second choice? B team! The idea of that outraged her even more because last night...

Bowen MacRieve utterly ruined me for other men.

She almost wished she didn't now know that sex like that existed - or that what she'd thought in the past was great pleasure had been a mere toe touch in a vast ocean. She irritably rapped on the bar with her knuckles and signaled the bartender for another round.

"I don't suppose you found a big plane?" Carrow asked. "Or that you managed to score some Xanax?"

"No, and no," Mari was so sick of B team, she was actually about to fly out on a baby plane. "But I'm lucky to get a flight out at all. Besides, I'm self-medicating with whiskey. I'll land around seven, so come get me - if you still have your driver's license - and peel my drunk ass from the plane."

"Will do. But, Mari, I have to say that you might not be seeing clearly on the issue of the werewolf, because, well, you have issues."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you get really chapped over stuff like this. Think about it, the very last time the Lykae was in the same situation - running around with a mate and cavorting or whatever you people do - it was with a female named Mariah. Last night, when he was wolfy and moonstruck and getting laid for the first time in - what'd you say? - a hundred and eighty years, he basically forgot the ket in your name. You might want to cut him some slack. Or, I could cast a spell to make him fall in love with dryer lint. You decide. But if the sex was truly - "

"Cataclysmic?"

"Yeah, you already conveyed that like thirty times, you little bourbon lush. So you're telling me you don't want to get caught? Not at all?"

Mari sighed. "I might... if he wanted me."

"I do want you, lass."

She jerked around. MacRieve! He was dressed in new clothes, and looked showered and coolly collected. "How in the hell could you have gotten here so quickly?"

"Missed you, witch. Ran headlong. Now hang up the bloody phone."

"Oh, great Hekate, is that his voice?" Carrow cried. "I just had an orgasm! Fudge your name tag if you have to, but get you some of that some-some. Remember, friends let friends live vicariously - "

Click. "How long have you been here?"

"Got here an hour after you did."

"I'm that slow?"

"I'm that fast. Would've come to you sooner, but I had many arrangements to make." His gaze focused on her drink. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"I'm getting tee-rashed on some sizzurp."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Small plane, big scared."

He sniffed. "That's bourbon? Who drinks whiskey on the beach?"

"Sounds like a great drink name to me! How did you find me?"

"You cloaked your trail well. But I'm a great hunter."

"And so modest, too."

"You should no' have left me like that. What the bloody hell were you thinking to put yourself in danger again? I believed we had an... understanding."

"We did. And then you called me by another woman's name." He looked like he'd barely stifled a wince. "And then I realized that I'd misunderstood our understanding."

MacRieve grasped her elbow and steered her to a private hibiscus-lined courtyard. "Damn it, witch, it will no' be possible for me to instantly forget someone who has played such a large role in my life. If you think of someone for so long, a couple of weeks will no' erase it."

She snapped her fingers and said, "Exactly. A couple of weeks won't. A year won't. An eternity won't. You won't ever be happy without her."

"I doona believe that any longer. And I can promise you this will no' happen again."

"I don't know what's more disturbing... the fact that you called me by another woman's name or the fact that now you'll have to make a conscious effort not to. You're still thinking about her either way."

"If you want to leave because you have misgivings or lingering fears about last night, then go. But you canna leave because you think I prefer another over you. It simply is no' so."

"How can I believe you after you yelled her name?" she cried.

"I need to tell you something" - he stabbed his fingers through his hair - "that I doona talk about, ever. But I will with you." He gazed to the right of her as he said, "When Mariah died, she died... fleeing me. Running from me as you did last night. Even as I was thinking of naught but you, always the guilt for her death lingers at some level."

Mari gasped. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He finally faced her. "I feared it would only hurt you to reveal this, that it would set up the same situation. I dreaded that."

"It was an accident though. Right? You can't carry that guilt forever."

"Sometimes, lately, I feel it's worse, because... " He trailed off.

"Because what?"

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "Even if I do believe you're of the same soul as her, I never wanted Mariah like I want you." He seemed shamed by the admission, even as she felt herself softening toward him - as ever. "And what does that say about me? How could you choose for yourself a male so disloyal? When I want to surrender this bloody guilt?"

"Of course you do - it's been nearly two freaking centuries! Enough's enough."

"Gods, I was hoping you would believe I've waited long enough." He exhaled a relieved breath. "I want to look forward."

"As you should. Cut yourself some slack."

"Done - if you will do the same for me as well."

She made a grated sound of frustration. "Oh, you sly - "

"Lass, we're going to have problems between us sometimes. We'll both make mistakes and forgive them. This is one of those times."

"You're acting like I've signed on for the long-term deal. And I haven't."

"What would it take to get another shot with you?"

"Nothing you have. My time here's getting short - "

"Nothing? But you have no' seen everything that I have. What if I told you I've an olive branch that the mercenary in you should appreciate?" He curled his finger under her chin. "You've never shied away from anything else, and you will no' regret this now."

She needed to stay strong, to stay furious. But all she wanted to do was get back to being with him.

"Take a chance on me, witchling."

It was then that she made a fateful observation.

Bowen MacRieve was holding his breath.

Damn him! And there went strong and furious, gone with a whimper. Still, she met his eyes. "Don't call me by her name again, Bowen. It hurt."

"Shh, lass." He wrapped those big arms around her, drawing her against the warmth of his chest. "I will no', I promise you." When she finally relaxed against him, he nuzzled her ear. She could feel his lips curl just before he said, "And doona hang my clothes in tall trees."

44

Bowen's olive branch for her was a private island just off the coast of Belize, replete with a boat and a mansion in the middle of a breezy palm forest.

And the two weeks she'd stayed there with him had been the happiest of her entire life. Tonight they sat on a blanket on the beach, lazily regarding a driftwood fire. The breeze soughed through the palm fronds, and the stars glittered feverishly. As she lay against his chest, she mused over her time here with him.

At first, she'd thought he'd merely spent a fortune to rent this property, but then he'd said, "If you want it, it's yours." Apparently, he wasn't just wealthy but obscenely rich. So she answered as any self-respecting witch would: "Gimme... deed."

After their first night here of nonstop sex, she'd woken in bliss, unable to stop grinning stupidly. Had she actually believed that sexual relationships couldn't be perfect? He'd appeared surprised by her reaction, then had done that jutting-chin show of pride. "The aging werewolf's still got it, eh, lass?" He'd tickled her till she'd screamed with laughter.

Then later, once they'd decided to stay for a few weeks, they'd set some parameters for their cohabitation.

She wasn't to do the "mirror thing" while they were here, because, as he'd said, "Every time I see you do that spell, I get a sharp sense of foreboding. My Instinct tells me that it's wrong... dangerous, even."

As for magick in general: "If it slips because you're startled by something, that's one thing, but to willfully chant to your reflection disturbs me greatly."

All she'd asked from him was not to disparage her kind - or to sound like he was planning to take her away from witchery and the House.

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 Canc��n 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."

"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!"

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