Kresley Cole: MacRieve

His nose burned, vision blurring. Tears? He was sick of tears—had shed them aplenty in the first year he’d been with her. His voice broke as he said, “I dinna mean to do wrong, Da. Are you angrier about my age or about what Ruelle is? How old should I have been?”

“You are no’ there yet, son. And, as your mother said, never with one like her.”

“But she’s my mate.”

His father snapped his fangs, as if Will had blasphemed. “No—she’s—no’!”

Will had never seen his da this angry. Still he asked, “How do you know?”

“Because she’s sick in the head!” He shoved his fingers through his thick black hair. “If she were yours, your Instinct would ring loud and clear, telling you that she was. Has that happened?”

Will’s Instinct, the guiding force all Lykae possessed, was usually quiet with her. But it hadn’t been at first, had warned him not to enter the cottage, had whispered of peril within.

Peril from a delicate beauty like Ruelle? The idea had struck him as ridiculous.

“Think, son—if she were truly your mate, you would have felt the overwhelming need to mark her neck. You would have gotten a babe on her after all this time. But I know you have no’ done either.”

Will shook his head, muttering, “Ruelle must be mine for me to feel this way.”

“No, she’s entranced you—it’s their way. Grown males are swayed by them, trapped by their wiles and their strewing; at your age, you stood no chance.”

Da was making her sound like a sorceress or worse, a witch. Just like the rumors . . .

“You have doubts. I see it in your eyes. Do you no’ ken, son? When you find your mate, it feels like the hands of gods have reached out to touch you, like your soul’s been branded. There is no doubt. And there is no way you could willingly part from her, as you’ve obviously been doing with the succubus for years. Will, heed my words: where your mate goes, you follow.”

Will grimaced as a sharper surge of pain hit. Da continued talking, clearly aiming to distract him. He told Will and Munro all about the first time he’d met Mam, a tale they’d heard before. But tonight it highlighted aspects of Will’s own meeting with Ruelle.

She’d lured him to her cottage with sweets. He’d been reluctant, half terrified of her, half fascinated. When he’d tentatively entered, she’d lavished gifts on him, complimenting him, as if she were . . . taming him.

Or trapping him?

The firelight had just begun to dim when Will’s Instinct suddenly commanded — SAVE HER! —

Da and Munro must’ve received the same warning. They shot to their feet.

“Ailis?” Da crossed to the hallway with long strides. “Come join us.”

No answer.

“Love?” His father tensed, lifting his face to scent the air. Will and Munro did the same.

Mam was gone. Will didn’t scent her anywhere in the keep.

There was only one reason she would have left home in this storm.

Like a shot, Da charged for the front door. Will and Munro followed him out into the blizzard, sprinting through the snow as he tracked Mam’s scent and footprints toward the forest.

With each step, Da was turning, his Lykae beast surfacing. His fangs and black claws lengthened, his face angling into a more wolven shape. His muscles burgeoned, the shadow of his inner wolf rising to hover over him: a vicious, towering creature with maddened white-blue eyes.

Will could see his da struggling to keep the feral beast at bay, to think clearly, to reason.

To best protect his mate.

Will and Munro began to lag behind their desperate father’s pace. Two young Lykae in the Woods at night. They had not reached their immortality yet, couldn’t regenerate from injury.

As the storm strengthened, shadows closed in on them, snow swirling, trees shuddering. The winds howled, disrupting Will’s hearing and sense of smell. Gusts brought confusing scents all the way from the sea he hadn’t yet beheld.

His teeth clattered. Pain throughout his body had merged until he couldn’t distinguish one area of agony from another, his aching bones from his splitting head. . . .

Will squinted through the snow as they ran, barely making out Da as he closed in on Ruelle’s cottage. Between painted shutters, the windows glowed, softly lit and fogged.

Da barreled through the door. Even over the winds, Will heard his roar.

Of anguish.

No! Ruelle couldn’t have hurt Mam. Will’s mother was a she-wolf in her prime, fierce as this storm. Ruelle was weak and helpless.

The brothers burst through the splintered doorway and froze at the sight before them. With a sheet secured around her, Ruelle stood trembling behind a terrified lad who looked not much older than Will.

— Vampire. —

Their natural enemy. Here, this far north? Will had never seen one, just knew he needed to kill the creature.

The leech was brandishing a bloody sword to protect Ruelle against Da—whose beast was completely risen. It shadowed over him, monstrous and shocking even to Will.

No wonder the vampire was terrified. But why was the male half-dressed? Whose blood coated his sword? Where was Mam?

Will edged deeper into the cottage. Behind a settee . . . he saw her.

Part of her.

Shock robbed him of breath and muted his thoughts. Dimly, he wondered, Where is my mother’s head?

Da roared, shaking the cottage until dust rained from the rafters.

The vampire could have traced away, teleporting to safety in an instant. Yet he seemed bent on protecting Ruelle—as if he loved her. With a broken yell, he attacked, tracing around Da, landing blows that the older immortal didn’t seem to feel.

The leech disappeared again and again, until Da predicted where he’d appear next. With one swipe of Da’s flared claws, the vampire was no more.

When Da turned on Ruelle, she backed away. As if from a well-pump, her tears flowed at once. “We had n-no choice. She attacked us, had come to destroy me.”

As Da stalked her with a murderous look in his ice-blue gaze, Ruelle eyed the vampire’s sword, could have reached it; instead she clasped her hands to her breast, pleading to Will, “My love, help me! He will kill me!”

She would forgo a weapon in order to plead?

Will realized she still possessed her most powerful weapon: her guile. She looked fragile, defenseless, and so damned beautiful. Even now, the urge to protect her seized him.

“My love, I beg you! Do something!” Her eyes glowed green.

He was horrified to realize that he was stumbling over his mother’s body to reach Ruelle. I’ve done wrong. Though he knew he was no match for his father, Will rose up in front of his female—

Da bared his fangs and backhanded him, connecting with his jaw. As Will reeled to the floor, Da raised his hand once more. With another slash of his claws, he decapitated Ruelle.

Vision swimming, Will watched as her head tumbled. But her body collapsed slowly. Even in this, she was graceful.

With her death, Will’s bones instantly ceased to ache, the fever leaving him. His body was free. But his mind . . .

Sorrow, guilt, horror, hatred—all warred within him.

Da dropped to his knees beside their mother’s covered body. Munro must’ve draped a blanket over her.

Will was numb, incapable of moving. Wrong. Everything’s wrong. All my fault.

Somehow he found the strength to rise. Through watering eyes, Will gazed over his shattered family.

Munro knelt beside Da, squeezing his shoulder, crying openly. Da clumsily patted Mam’s limp hand, his beast receding somewhat. In this half state, Da was awkward, his hands too big, his claws too long. Tears streamed down his wolven face. His blue eyes were blank.