Kresley Cole - MacRieve

Two beings appeared not five feet from him, another warlock and a raven-haired female who looked barely out of her teens. She appeared dazed, trembling beside her captor. Mortal? Yes, and utterly lovely with her olive skin and bright irises the color of new pennies. Flowers decorated her mane of wild black curls. She looked like a wee traveller , a gypsy.

She was dressed in an ornate white gown. It was either of olden design—or a wedding dress. Or both.

At her ethereal scent, Munro’s body shot tight, spine straightening.

— Yours. —

Shock assailed him. “No, no,” he grated, “what trickery is this?” She was like a vision, an angel come to take him, far too beautiful to be in this fetid place.

“No trickery,” Jels said. “Meet Kereny. Ren to her extended family. You wouldn’t believe where—and when—we had to go to procure her. Suffice it to say that the mystical expenditure to find your female was costly.”

My female? Yes. The hands of gods.

Her wide eyes were glassy, unseeing. She tottered on her feet. Injured? Munro saw no blood marring the immaculate white silk of her gown. Yet he scented something like . . . poison.

Munro bellowed, “What the fuck did you do?” He lunged for her, but Madadh clotheslined him, choking him to the ground. How badly was she hurt?

As Munro thrashed against the man, his Instinct screamed, — YOUR FEMALE DIES. —

Dies?

His beast howled inside to fight for her, but somehow Munro resisted. If enslaved, he had no hope of escaping with her, much less of saving her life.

When the second warlock drew away from her, she sank to her knees, forearms upraised along her thighs. Her fragile fingers were limp.

With utter glee, Jels shoved up her sleeves, revealing black veins that stretched from her wrists to her elbows. “Behold. Her lifeblood turns to stone. Wait until it reaches her heart—I’m told there’s no worse agony.”

They’d bespelled her. Rage reddened Munro’s vision.

“She has only a couple of minutes before she succumbs,” Jels said. “Such a distasteful business.”

Her expression twisted to one of utter agony, and she cried out, those fragile fingers knotting with her pain.

“What do you want, warlock? I’ll do it!” Dread squeezed his heart, a great icy fist around it. His remaining eye watered. “Anything!” His beast clamored inside him, but Munro fought it.

Jels made a tsking sound. “If only you had cooperated, then we wouldn’t have had to steal her from her own wedding.”

Wedding? Munro couldn’t worry about that right now! “Bluidy tell me what to do to save her!”

“You have little time, Lykae. She fades like night douses sun.” Jels snapped his fingers for the others to depart. “I’m sure you’ll figure out what needs to be done. But if not . . . might I suggest death by bite over the stone blood spell? Much less excruciating.”

Rage. Haze. No, fight it! Think! Before the cell door clanged shut, Munro had lunged for her once more. “Doona be frightened of me, Kereny. My name is Munro MacRieve, and I mean you no harm.” He could only imagine what his mutilated face looked like. When he looped his bound arms over her quaking body, she stared blankly. Shock. “Just stay with me! I’m going tae help you.”

As another wave of pain hit her, she shuddered. Her brow grew damp, her breaths panting.

Have to get her out of here! She was so delicate and young, her skin clammy. Am I to lose another mortal? His eyes darted wildly. They perish so readily.

No. “I will no’ let you die!” There was no time to escape the dungeon with her, to take her off plane for aid. His mysterious female was going to die in moments.

Munro had only one hope of saving her—as the warlocks well knew. He drew her in closer, desperately trying to warm her.

To prepare her. And himself. He rubbed his chin over her slim shoulder, breathing deep of her scent. It helped to temper the rage and panic he felt.

She finally spoke in a hushed voice. “Do n-not do this to me.” Her words were English, accented. With difficulty, she turned her head toward him, the movement plainly agonizing to her. “Defy this evil.” Once they faced each other, she gave a cry at his injuries.

“I will do anything tae save you.” Even become a slave myself. “You’re my mate, little one.”

“Mate?” Even so weak, she still sounded aghast. “Then how can you even think of abusing me like this?”

He began to relinquish control to his beast. Save her, beast, bite her fiercely.

“I know what you are,” she whispered between ragged breaths. “Please don’t infect me . . . with that thing inside you.”

Unmoved by her pleas, he used his ruined face to nudge her curling hair off her shoulder. She tried to resist him, but had no strength left. “I will take care of you, teach you tae control it.”

“My kind revere freedom.” She started crying. “You would turn your mate . . . into a warlock’s slave?”

“You will no’ be a slave! I will free you.”

“Leave me to an honorable death.”

He rasped, “I canna, Kereny. You will resurrect—do you understand me? You must return tae me!” Only two of Madadh’s victims had. But my beast is strong; it will roar to life inside her.

So much so that this young female would have no chance of controlling it. Figure that out later.

“If you do this . . . I will hate you. My family will curse you . . . you’ll still have no mate.”

“Then I’ll spend eternity earning your forgiveness.” And punishing those who’d done this to Kereny. His Kereny.

“It will go unearned. You would transform me into an animal . . . making me an outcast from my people . . . enslaving me to those I long to see dead? There is no forgiveness.”

Munro’s claws and fangs began lengthening, his body morphing against hers. “Close your eyes for me, my love.”

“I-I’m begging . . . no.” Instead of closing her eyes, she trained them on his face. She whimpered at the sight of his emerging beast.

Voice gone guttural, Munro choked out, “And I’m beggin’ you tae return tae me, little one.”

With a primal roar, his beast took over completely. Munro could only exist in the background, perceiving his head whipping forward, fangs sinking into the sweet skin of her neck. Perceiving her writhe and sob with anguish.

Perceiving her heartbeat slowing. Beat—beat . . . beat—beat. . . .

The beast snarled against her cooling flesh, frantically injecting its essence, a part of itself, through a vicious bite.

As Kereny shuddered with death throes, the beast pawed her closer to his body, rocking her, spilling tears and blood over her wedding gown.

The beast drew back, but only to sink its fangs into her again. And again. Howling between each furious bite.

Dimly, Munro was aware of Jels’s laughter outside the cell, of the warlocks’ power coiling around him, overtaking him.

How can I protect Kereny as a mindless slave? And he wouldn’t be the only one under their sway. What would they do to a beauty like her when they controlled her utterly?

Thinking of the hell he might have condemned her to, Munro prayed his twin could sense his turmoil. Before, he’d dreaded Will coming to this place. Now I fucking demand it!

Be smarter than me, Will. Be stronger.

Free me, so I can free my mate.

Kereny’s body fell limp. Beat . . . beat . . . silence. When his mate’s heart went still in her chest, Munro threw back his head and roared until the entire goddamned dungeon quaked, quieting only when her lips parted.