MacRieve

FORTY-FOUR

Something’s wrong with me.

When Chloe woke she felt weak, as if she had the flu—with nausea, aches, and chills.

Her bones felt like they were breaking. Deep in her womb, she suffered what felt like menstrual pain from hell.

She roused and opened her eyes, gazing around the room for MacRieve, but he was gone. She recalled him sitting beside her earlier. She’d been half-awake, irritated that each of his words had sounded like a gong in her ears, worsening her splitting headache.

Hadn’t he wanted to tell her something? She remembered peeking over from the bed to watch him standing at the window, his broad shoulders tense. She’d wanted to ask him what was wrong, but she’d drifted off again.

Chloe had dreamed that she told him she loved him, but he refused to answer her. He wouldn’t look at her face for so many centuries that she turned invisible. . . .

Dragging herself to her feet, she crossed to the same spot where he’d stood, surveying that same forest to the south. When they’d first arrived, he’d gazed out in that direction, clenching his fists, tension radiating from him.

Now a funnel of smoke billowed from the treetops, deep within the Woods of Murk.

A fire? Was MacRieve there? The soughing winds carried that smoke and even embers against Conall’s indifferent walls. Foreboding suffused her, a sense that he was in danger.

Tamping down her nausea, she pulled on jeans, a shirt, and shoes, then labored down the stairs. Each step jarred the bones in her legs, sending new waves of pain.

But she had to reach him. Panic overwhelmed her illness, giving her enough strength to cross the expanse of windswept fields. Dusk was deepening when she reached the boundary of the woods.

To journey within them? With night approaching?

That sense of foreboding only strengthened, until she could feel it in her aching bones. Fearing for MacRieve, she trudged on, following the smoke.

She hadn’t made it the length of a soccer field before she had to lean against a trunk, resting her legs and catching her breath. She pushed on, the scent of smoke growing stronger and stronger. The acrid smell burned her nose and throat.

By the time she was close enough to hear the crackle of fire, the trees had thinned. Was there a clearing ahead? She slowed, even more cautious—

The scene before her took her breath away.

A structure was burning. MacRieve stood in the firelight, staring at the flames. Ash streaked across his cheeks. At his feet was an orange can that read PETROL. He’d started this fire?

Apparently he hadn’t scented her with the winds gusting toward her.

She watched as he twisted around to slash his claws through a nearby tree, then another. He gave a crazed roar, tearing at his hair. His eyes were blue—but the beast hadn’t risen. This was just MacRieve, the man, seeming to go insane.

What was happening? What was this place? She stood stunned, unable to react.

When he turned back to his work, firelight reflected in his eyes. The color of ice and flame mixing. And she thought they . . . glistened with tears.

Yes, tracks coursed down through the soot on his face.

Before she could stop him, he charged toward the building, battering a fiery wall with his fists—as if it wasn’t burning fast enough. Flames curled around his arms. He didn’t seem to notice them.

“MacRieve!” She rushed forward. “Your shirt’s on fire!”

He whipped his head around. “Why’ve you come here, Chloe?” Without interest, he peeled his shirt from his blistered skin, tossing it away. Then his expression tightened. “How long have you been there?”

Long enough to see his agony, to understand that this was the root of his pain—she just didn’t know why. “Not long.”

“You should no’ be here. I have to take you back.” His body was quaking.

So was hers. Though she felt like her legs wouldn’t carry her much longer, she said, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is.”

“Your face is deathly pale. You should be back at the keep.”

“I draw the line here, MacRieve. Tell me what I want to know, or we end whatever is between us.”

He gazed in the direction of Conall. “I’ll tell you back home.”

“Bullshit. You’ll tell me now.”

“If I do, will you let me take you back?”

She nodded, knowing she was finally going to learn his secrets. He was ready to tell her; did she have the strength to hear him out? She moved out of the path of the smoke, picking her way to one of the newly felled trees. Each step brought splintering pain.

When she sat on the trunk, he began to pace in front of her. He parted his lips to speak, then closed them, repeating this again and again.

“Please, MacRieve,” she murmured.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. At last, he began: “We were forbidden to go into these woods. But I went on a dare, and I caught the attention of a succubus who lived in this cottage. Her name was Ruelle.” He spat the word, as if it was foul in his mouth. “She took me to her bed.”

“A succubus . . . raped you?”

He swung a fist at the closest tree. “Doona put it like that!”

She sucked in a breath at his reaction. “Then did a succubus use her chemicals on you?”

A tight nod. “I knew it was happening, knew what she was. I thought I loved her. When she told me she was my mate, I believed her.” Had his breath begun whistling in his chest again? “I was . . . still a lad.”

“How young?”

He didn’t meet her gaze when he muttered his answer.

Nine. Dear God. Nine?

“She had to use her strew on me. At my age, it was too . . . much. I’d feel like I was suffocating, like I was dying.” His chest had started heaving, as if he was suffocating even now. “I learned later that she could’ve killed me by drawing too deep. Mortal men barely survive a taking, and I was no’ grown. But my beast rose up to safeguard me each time.”

Chloe was dumbstruck. He’d been just a little boy.

Still avoiding her gaze, he said, “I cried the first time. And the second, and so on . . . But the praise and the gifts kept me coming back. No’ to mention her venom bond. She’d use the pain to punish me sometimes.”

Chloe’s eyes watered, but she fought not to spill tears for him, knowing he would hate that. The male I love was abused like this.

Between harsh breaths, he continued, “At that age, Lykae are learning to control their beasts. My family and members of my clan were teaching me to, but it rose every time I lay with Ruelle, any progress undone. After four years with her, I could no’ imagine sex without my beast. It was all I knew. When it ended with Ruelle at last, I was no’ . . . right. I dinna care to lie with another until I was in my forties. By then, the mold had fixed, and I knew I would be forever twisted.”

She wanted to scream that he wasn’t twisted, that he was hers, and that she wanted him so badly. This was the net she hadn’t been able to see!

But she knew this was a precarious time for him. In as steady a tone as she could manage, she asked, “What happened to her? How were you freed of her venom?”

How could you ever even contemplate accepting mine? He’d been punished with it.

When he hesitated again—as if what he was about to tell her would prove even worse—a memory tugged at Chloe’s consciousness. Hadn’t Rónan said the twins were orphaned at thirteen? Four years with Ruelle would put him at that age.

“Ruelle had barred me from this place for days, and her venom hit me hard. I was sneaking out to go to her when my mother caught me. Gods, Mam could be fierce. She and my father squired me inside, and I confessed all.” He ran his hand down his face, smearing more ash over it. “As if it was yesterday, I can remember how mystified I was by their disgust. I’d believed Ruelle was fated to me, that I was only doing as nature intended.” He glanced at Chloe, then quickly away.

MacRieve was ashamed of this to this day.

“When my parents talked about killing her, I was so confused. My da planned to set off in the morn to end Ruelle. But like I said, my mam was fierce, impulsive too. She could no’ stand the pain I was in, so she slipped away into a blizzard. She came here.”

Chloe could tell where this was leading.

“Munro, Da, and I followed, but we were too late. Ruelle was no’ alone. To my bewilderment, she had another lover. A young vampire. He slew my mother.”

“Oh, God, MacRieve, I’m so sorry.”

Staring past her, he said, “Da beheaded the vampire and Ruelle. One day later, my father followed his mate.”

She raised a tremulous hand to her forehead. She almost wished she had food in her stomach to vomit.

“On the last night of their lives, my parents must have thought me weak-willed, spineless. And I was. I got both of them killed. My mam was pregnant with a little girl.” Another drop streaked down his face. “My entire family was destroyed because of my weakness.”

“You weren’t weak! You were still a boy! Blame Ruelle, not yourself. That bitch groomed you. I wish she was still alive—so I could behead her myself!” By the way he was looking at her eyes, she knew they were glowing with emotion. “MacRieve, you were so young.”

“Mayhap then. But in the ensuing years, I grieved Ruelle’s death nearly as much as my mother’s.” He peered hard at the ground as he rasped, “I knew it was wrong to do so, despised myself for it for so many years. Self-hatred like you canna imagine. It took me centuries, but eventually I accepted my lot in life. I’d never be right sexually. I’d never sleep with the same female twice. I’d never know a woman without the beast rising. So I just bided my time, waiting for another good war. War was comfortable for me. On the battlefield, everyone was happy to see my beast—everyone except the enemy. I was . . . managing.”

“Then you were captured by the Order,” she said in a deadened voice. “You were tortured. Vivisected.”

He didn’t ask how she knew that last part, didn’t even seem to register it. “In the prison, we were made to wear collars that robbed us of our strength. But during the breakout, all the Pravus captives had theirs removed. Five starving succubae hunted me. They were so bluidy strong.”

Chloe’s lips parted. “Did they . . . ?” Please say no.

“Nay. Because allies helped me. But that night was like a straight blade slicing through a raised scar, resurrecting all Ruelle had done to me.”

“How did you not kill me that morning? When you scented what I was?”

He finally met her gaze. “My beast would never have let me. It had accepted you. It adores you. Goddamn it, I want to adore you!”

“How could you ever?”

“I’m trying to move forward, to stop living in the past. But you have to understand, I was like a puppet with Ruelle.” Again his breaths shallowed. “When I feel the effect of your strew, it unsettles me so deeply. There is no more wretched feeling than ceding your free will.”

She couldn’t hold back her tears as she said, “Then I’m harming you all over again. I am slicing the scar open!” And they only had one more time before he was bound to her forever. “MacRieve, I can’t keep hurting you, can’t let you take on my venom. You’re going to have to let me go.”

He fell to his knees before her, startling her. “Doona say that!” Wrapping his arms around her waist, he buried his forehead against her chest. He clutched her hard, sending new pain cascading through her. “I know I’m wrong in the head! I want to be . . . right. For you.” When he nuzzled her neck, she felt more of his hot tears against her skin. “I kept this cottage standing so I would always remember what was done to my family, to me. Now I just want to forget. I thought burning it would fix me.” He shuddered against her, the movement like a jackhammer to her aching head. “Help me be right for you, Chloe.”

The pain was growing too intense, her vision dimming. “How?” she bit out. “Tell me what to do.”

“I must have control of my own mind and body. Can you no’ free me? I’ll come back to you, woman! Just free me.” He took her in his arms, now pressing her face against his chest. “I’ll want you forever.” His breaths rattled in his chest. “Just let me do it on my own.”

“I can’t free you. I don’t know how. I would!” Those impassioned words drained away her last reserves of energy. Black dots swirled at the edges of her sight. “MacRieve?”

He drew back to gaze down at her face, his eyes widening. “What’s wrong, Chloe? Have you hunger?”

“No, I-I don’t know what’s wrong. There’s pain.”

“I was too rough with you yesterday.” He laid a palm on her forehead, his jaw slackening. “You’re burning up? Does aught else hurt you?”

“My head. God, my entire body aches. My . . . bones hurt.”

Voice gone low, he said, “Do they feel like they’re slowly shattering from the inside?”

“Yes.”

“Everything hurts you so badly, you canna distinguish areas of agony. The pain in your head is blinding.”

She nodded, the slight movement bringing on a new wave of dizziness. “Please . . .” Words failed her; she went limp in his arms.

Just before her lids slid shut, she saw the building’s walls collapse in an eruption of flames. A blast of searing air shot over them.

The cottage was no more.