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

deep red. Their elegantly turned horns, which usually curved out from just past their temples to run along the sides of their heads, now straightened and sharpened into deadly points, the normally shell-like color blackening.
    Rydstrom, the older demon grated, “Bowen, think on what you plan.” The two obviously knew each other.
    Tera murmured to Mari, “Can you get a call out, Mariketa?”
    Mari raised her right palm, intending to send a psychic message to her coven. Nothing came. She shoved her palm out again.
    When she failed once more, MacRieve laughed at her. His voice sounding like a beast’s, he grated, “No’ quite so powerful, witch.”
    Enough. Fury churned in her like she’d rarely known before. She wanted to hurt him, needed to, and suddenly a rare focus came to her wrath, control to her power.
    She put her left hand behind her back, and a spine of red light rose up from her palm, taking shape like a dagger. Tera must have seen what she was doing because she sidled up to her and raised her lantern to camouflage the magick’s glow.
    Building . . . building . . .
    In a flash, Mari threw the dagger of light overhand. MacRieve appeared shocked at the speed and twisted to dodge it, but it exploded into painless fragments over his heart.
    Bull’s-eye. Subtle-like.
    With a glance down, he smirked, thinking himself safe. “Keep your daggers to yourself, witchling, till they get some bite.”
    He calmly took one step back . . . then dropped the stone. As it slammed shut with a deafening boom, a volley of arrows sank into it, too late. Air, rock, and sand rushed over Mari’s face, gritting into her eyes. She heard the elven males yelling with rage as they rushed forward and banged on the wall.
    When Mari wiped the sand from her eyes, she blinked,disbelieving what she saw. The elves backed away in silence. Once, long ago, something had leapt up, desperately seeking release from this place.
    Deep claw marks scored the back of the portcullis in frenzied stripes.

3

    A s Bowe slowly backed from the tomb, he was met with silence. He knew that inside they were cursing him, but he wouldn’t be able to hear. Much of the pyramidal steps were coated with thick soil and draped with roots and towering trees.
    Yet even the jungles surrounding this square perimeter of ruins were quiet.
    He continued to gaze at the edifice, finding himself unaccountably reluctant to leave. Part of him wanted to charge back in there and vent more of his rancor at the witch. To his shame, part of him was burning to retrieve her and finish what they’d started together.
    He thought back to that moment when the witch had comprehended he was going to seal them in. She’d seemed hurt, and her glamour had flickered.
    In that instant, Cade’s predatory gaze had darted to her, even in the midst of his killing rage. Divested of her cloak, comely Mariketa had seized the demon’s attention. His brother Rydstrom, too, had done a double take.
    Bowe had been surprised to find that the two demons Mariketa had mentioned were ones he knew. He had a history with the brothers—they’d fought side by sidecenturies ago—and had noticed them at the assembly, vaguely, when he could drag his eyes from the witch.
    He recalled that the demons had been extremely popular with females.
    Why in the hell did the idea of either brother with her sit so ill with him? They can have her. . . . With a final look, he turned, loping away to his truck.
    Bowe was not immune to a Lykae’s marked sense of curiosity, and when he came across the line of the others’ vehicles, he decided to investigate the interiors.
    Empty bottles of a local beer and crushed cans of Red Bull littered the demons’ truck. The archers had water bottles, protein bars, and electronic gadgetry in theirs.
    Then came the witch’s Jeep. She’d driven these demanding mountain