"I will no'. No' without a kiss for toll." He was easing closer as if she were a skittish animal he didn't want to scare away. And though she dreaded losing her tenuous control over her overstimulation, she still was tempted to close her eyes and accept his lips on hers.

"That's it, lass," he rumbled, gently cupping the side of her face with his big hand.

At the last second, Mari reached into her knapsack and snatched out her apple, bringing it between them.

His eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Doona dare," he said.

So, naturally, she did. Once she'd taken a hearty bite, he looked as if he'd just stifled a shudder and dropped his hand.

Around a mouthful, she said, "But I thought you wanted to make out!"

Stiffly setting her down, he turned from her and continued on, leaving her to roll her eyes at the succulent taste. It was like she'd eaten a super apple - crisper, more flavorful, and juicier than any before. She even felt more energized. As soon as she'd devoured it, she craved another and wondered when she could convene with the reflection again.

When she tossed the core, MacRieve glanced back at her. A thick lock of jet black hair fell over one of his eyes, making her want to sigh. Regrettably, Mari did find herself wanting him to kiss her. After everything, her attraction to him burned as hot as ever. Yet even if MacRieve was sexy - insufferably so - she wasn't going to be seduced into forgiving the hateful thing he'd said last night.

Especially not because he removed some foliage from her way.

He admittedly would be willing to forget her, and go back for some perfect fey princess. If there was one thing that Mari despised, it was to be passed up. And yet it kept happening to her.

What is it about me? she asked herself for the thousandth time.

Both of her parents had found something they preferred over raising her. It wasn't as if she'd been a demanding daughter. Hell, if her father hadn't died he could've returned at any time and she would've forgiven the past. He could've shown up on her fifteenth birthday with some unwitting-absentee-dad gift like a tea set or a Barbie oven. Mari would've been so grateful she'd have held off getting her learner's permit to bake cakes with a lightbulb.

Yet he hadn't come back - he hadn't even called her. Not once. It was like he'd disappeared from the face of the earth. One day she had a father; the next day she hadn't.

But Jillian's desertion had hurt her the worst. If things had been bad between Mari and her, then her leaving wouldn't have been so devastating. But life with her had been wonderful.

She remembered her mother blindfolded and smiling on the beach, arms out, as she'd tried to catch Mari, who'd been squealing with laughter. "Where's my little witch?" she'd cooed, with her red hair shining like fire in the sun. When Mari had let Jillian catch her, she'd swung her up, and then they'd collapsed laughing onto the sand.

Elianna had explained that her parents were - or had been - Important People, and that they had - or had had - Important Things to Do...

Acton, Mari's first love, had ditched her as well. For years, the young demon had been her boyfriend. He'd courted her when they'd been fourteen, taken her at sixteen, and then she'd taken him at every opportunity for the next three years.

She'd been happy with him until he'd thrown her over for a tall, willowy nymph with flowing golden locks. Well, not technically thrown her over. Because storm demons didn't have a single fated demoness, they often kept harems, and he'd still wanted a relationship with Mari as well as with the nymph. That was bad enough, but it was clear Mari would have been B team if she'd stayed in the game.

Of course she hadn't, but losing him had hurt so much and for so long. He was her first love and letting him go had nearly killed her.

Seemed Mari always was B team. Was that her fate?

She glared over at MacRieve. Ten-to-one odds said his fey princess was blond and tall.

And the Lykae wasn't merely choosing another woman over Mari - he preferred what he thought was another version of her.

As if reading her mind, MacRieve said, "Been thinkin' about the question you asked me last night."

"Oh, I have been, too," she said in a deliberate tone, her anger simmering. The werewolf had no idea he was sidling round a spring trap hungry for his paw.

"And what have you come up with, then?"

"No, no, you first." When he hesitated, she added, "I insist."

"I doona know that I'd answer it the same," he finally said. "The more I'm around you, the more I... the better you appear - even for a witch."

Suave, Lykae, melt my heart.

"Now you tell me."

She met his eyes. "I was thinking that if you don't come to a different conclusion, I'll be forced to protect myself."

He hesitated, clearly not presented with the answer he'd expected.

"It's a simple matter of self-preservation, MacRieve. If this reincarnation could possibly have taken place, then there's no way I'll allow you to go back and wipe me out. I'll destroy you first."

"Could you do it? You could no' kill me yesterday."

"You weren't intent on erasing me yesterday." She cast him a menacing smile, feeling very witchy. "Besides, I'd already killed my quota for the day."

26

"I've always wondered what goes on behind coven doors," Cade said to Mari when he'd returned from recon several miles ahead.

"I really can't speak for all covens, but mine is pretty worthless. Lots of soap opera and internet addiction." She was supposed to lead them to greatness, but then, Mari liked her soaps, too. "Have you pictured a slew of hoary old women cackling over a cauldron?"

He raised his brows. "Yes."




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