If Bowe had thought Emma, at eighty chronologically, was too young for Lachlain, then Mariketa was a damned bairn.
And a witch -
Ear-piercing screams sounded. From the tomb?
Bowe sprinted as fast as his wounds would allow, leaping over fallen trees. He ran headlong through the brush instead of cutting, ignoring the pain as vines snagged his neck and arms and abraded till they burned.
When he finally crashed through the tree line surrounding the perimeter of the tomb, he heard what sounded like a war inside.
White light glinted up through new cracks in the stone. The entire edifice rumbled. He heard Rydstrom roar with pain while the female archer shrieked. Bowe didn't hear the witch.
Was it already too late?
How the was he going to quickly raise the stone portcullis? To set up the lift with one hand... too much time. Could he possibly raise it himself? He was a thousand times weaker than before. He didn't have a propping stone to lift from.
He didn't have two hands.
No way -
Bowe finally heard Mariketa's cry - weak, reedy. There was no time to analyze the consuming sense of relief he felt that she still lived. He knew she was badly hurt, knew she needed protection.
Bugger the lift.
He shoved his hand under the edge of the portcullis, claws digging down, wedging under for a good grip. When he heard another of her cries, he strained every muscle in his body.
Nothing.
Damn it, if she'd truly been his mate, he would have been able to lift it. Which meant it was still possible even when she wasn't his - he could do this!
No longer did he hear her. Sharp fear stabbed at him... he heaved with all his might, yelling out. The stone began to budge. An inch higher, then two...
He'd lifted it only a foot when a limp body was shoved out from the fray.
Mariketa? Yes, though he scarcely recognized her without her glamour to cloak her looks.
As Bowe grappled against the weight, he jerked in surprise when the Instinct rang inside his head, strong and clear.
- Yours. -
Why would it return now, after so long? Why would it make him feel as though he recognized her as his own?
No, this was merely her spell, tricking him. Even knowing this, he had to fight panic when he comprehended how battered her body was. He focused his hearing on her heartbeat and found it erratic. Her lips were pale and chapped, her cheeks hollowed. Blood tracked from the corners of her mouth.
Just as it had on Mariah when she'd lain dead in the snow.
He couldn't hold the stone much longer... needed to drop it... but the witch's leg was in the way. As he struggled to reach his boot to the side to shuffle her out of the way, the battle continued inside.
"Duck!"
"Bloody shoot them!"
"I'm out of arrows!" Out of arrows? The archers had mystical quivers, said never to empty.
"Me as well - Run!"
The female elf screamed for Cade to help her. A second later, she was launched from the interior, her bloody bow strapped to her back.
Then claws scrabbled up as Cade and Rydstrom crawled out. They didn't acknowledge Bowe, just dropped their swords and weakly attempted to keep the stone raised until the last two archers shimmied out.
The strings on their bows were stained by blood from where they'd pulled them again and again. What exactly had they faced?
As if in answer, just as Bowe was about to drop his burden, a hand shot out from the tomb as some being with matted gray skin, dead skin, reached blindly but unerringly to the witch. Its claws sank into her ankle - she didn't react.
Another hand darted out from the tomb, its fingers clenched around... one of the gold headdresses?
"Drop it," Bowe yelled, and the three released the stone, severing the hands. As Bowe fell back against the sealed entrance, struggling to breathe, Cade lunged to Mariketa to pry the claws from her ankle. Her skin there was bloodied, marked again and again. Bowe knew in an instant that she'd been dragged like that repeatedly.
He squinted his eye at the other gruesome hand. Why offer a headdress?
Once Bowe raised his gaze, he faced the killing looks of five powerful immortals, promising retribution.
"Forget him for now!" The female archer hurried to cradle Mariketa's head. "She's in shock." The others gathered around her, except for one of the archers, who twitched his pointed ears, then raced from the clearing.
When the witch began to shudder, Bowe dropped to his knees beside her.
"Water!" the female elf screamed at him. "We're losing her!"
He hastily unwound the canteen over his shoulder and handed it over. "What's happened to her?"
They all ignored him.
"Damn it, tell me what's happened!"
The witch went still beside him, seemingly at his raised voice. Her eyes opened dazedly as she moaned; white light flashed from them into the sky and boiled up from her limp palms. Her lips parted around her ragged breaths.
Without warning, she was on her feet, her eyes glittering with fury, and riveted to Bowe. As though in a tempest, her red hair swirled all around her bloodied face. Leaves and sand circled her body. "You."
"I - "
With one flick of her hand in his direction, she tossed Bowe back against the tomb, crushing the contents of his pack. She pinned him there by his neck as he futilely writhed and fought for breath. In the midst of his struggles, he realized the toes of her boots were turned down - because she was no longer touching the ground.
Her body was too frail... too small to conduct this power - unimaginable power. Never in his long life... never had he seen anything like this.
The witch smiled with ghostly lips. "You came back," she purred as the pressure increased around his neck. She was horrible. She was awing.