Tera trailed off when Mari nervously jerked her chin in MacRieve's direction. The archers eased farther inside. In a heartbeat, they'd swung three nocked bows up at him, yet they knew if they shot, he'd drop his burden, sealing them in.
But he's going to do it anyway.
The demons arrived then, quickly comprehending the situation. Their fangs lengthened as they began to turn into their own enraged demon shape.
Their eyes grew black as their skin darkened into a 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.
Chapter 3
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
As 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 side centuries 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 roads - mud coated all the way up to the soft top - alone. And she'd driven them through a hotbed of political unrest and danger. This densely jungled region had been simmering with the threat of war between two human armies - a turf war between an established drug cartel and a sizable band of narco-terrorists. The conflict surely would erupt soon.
What in the hell had she been thinking? The fact that she'd somehow arrived at the same time as the others - and before Bowe himself - didn't matter.
She'd left two maps spread over the passenger seat, both with highlights and copious notes scrawled on them. Four research books lay in the backseat - among them Pyramids & Palaces, Monsters & Masks: The Golden Age of Maya Architecture. Many of the pages were systematically flagged with colored paper clips.
Beside the books, she had a well-worn camouflage backpack. A muddy machete hung from one side of the pack with an incongruous bright pink iPod on the other.
A pink iPod with stickers of cats on it, for all the gods' sakes.
Exactly how young was she? It was possible she'd only recently become immortal, possibly wasn't even over a hundred.
Whatever her age, she obviously was too young and too foolish not to know better than to toy with a powerful, twelve-hundred-year-old Lykae.
And she had toyed with him, had enthralled him to kiss her. Bowen MacRieve despised witches; he did not go out of his mind with desire for them.
His own father had been a victim of one's machinations. Bowe remembered his father's eyes were haunted, even centuries later, as he'd recounted his meeting with a raven-haired witch of incredible beauty - and unspeakable evil.