roadsâmud coated all the way up to the soft topâalone. And sheâd driven them through a hotbed of political unrest and danger. This densely jungled region had been simmering with the threat of war between two human armiesâa turf war between an established drug cartel and a sizable band of narco-terrorists. The conflict surely would erupt soon.
What in the hell had she been thinking? The fact that sheâd somehow arrived at the same time as the othersâand before Bowe himselfâdidnât matter.
Sheâd left two maps spread over the passenger seat, both with highlights and copious notes scrawled on them. Four research books lay in the backseatâamong them Pyramids & Palaces, Monsters & Masks: The Golden Age of Maya Architecture . Many of the pages were systematically flagged with colored paper clips.
Beside the books, she had a well-worn camouflage backpack. A muddy machete hung from one side of thepack with an incongruous bright pink iPod on the other.
A pink iPod with stickers of cats on it, for all the godsâ sakes.
Exactly how young was she? It was possible sheâd only recently become immortal, possibly wasnât even over a hundred.
Whatever her age, she obviously was too young and too foolish not to know better than to toy with a powerful, twelve-hundred-year-old Lykae.
And she had toyed with him, had enthralled him to kiss her. Bowen MacRieve despised witches; he did not go out of his mind with desire for them.
His own father had been a victim of oneâs machinations. Bowe remembered his fatherâs eyes were haunted, even centuries later, as heâd recounted his meeting with a raven-haired witch of incredible beautyâand unspeakable evil.
Angus MacRieve had come upon her at a snowy crossroads in the old country. Sheâd been wearing a jet black ermine stole and a white gown and had been the most lovely female heâd ever imagined. Sheâd told him that sheâd grant him a wish if he would direct her to a neighboring town. Angus was just seventeen and had wished what he always did: to be the strongest of his older brothers, who picked on him good-naturedly but unmercifully.
The next day, three of them had been crossing a frozen lake they traversed daily. In the dead of winter, the ice had broken and theyâd drowned. The day after that, two more brothers had fallen ill with some kind of fever. Theyâd quickly passed away, though theyâd been hale, braw lads.
In the end, the evil witch had granted his wish. Angus was indeed the strongest of them.
Boweâs father would never outlive his debilitating guilt. Because of his actionsâinadvertent though they might have beenâonly two of the Lykae kingâs seven sons would survive, Angus, and a much younger brother.
Worse, Angus had been sickened to realize he was now the heir, and readily abdicated the position.
That witch had delighted in ruining a mere lad who was not an enemy and hadnât yet raised a sword in anger or aggression.
Witches had no purpose but to spread discord, to engender hatred. To plant destructive seeds in a once-proud family.
To enthrall a male to be untrue for the first time.
Rage engulfed Bowe when he comprehended what heâd just doneâwith a bloody witch.
He roared, the sound echoing through the jungle, then stabbed his claws into the side of her Jeep, slashing down the length. After puncturing the thick tires and plucking the engine from the chassis, Bowe set to all of their trucks, mangling them until they were useless.
Out of breath, covered in metal slivers, he scowled down at his hands. He could claw through a half-foot plate of steel like it was tinfoil without feeling it.
Yet now he felt . . . pain . Unfathomable pain.
4
W itch, heâs not coming back,â the demon Rydstrom told Mari. âDonât waste your time waiting for him.â
The others had been casing the perimeter of the antechamber,
Senate Select Committee on Intelligence