MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) Read Online Free Page A

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 thishalf state, Da was awkward, his hands too big, his claws too long. Tears streamed down his wolven face. His blue eyes were blank.
    He lifted Mam’s hand to his face. When it did not lovingly stroke his cheek, as it had thousands of times before, Da roared once more, then whimpered with grief.
    Mam had come to this cursed place for Will, to save her son. He didn’t know what disgusted him more, his part in all this—or the fact that he grieved Ruelle’s death nearly as much as Mam’s.
    At the thought, he bashed his fists against his head, face twisting. What is wrong with me? Sick, sick! His beast kept trying to rise, to shield Will from pain. But Will wanted the agony, needed it.
    Because of him, all was lost. Their family broken.
    Ah, no, the wee babe. Little Isla. He pulled at his hair, falling to his knees beside Munro. All my fault.
    He wished to every god in the heavens that he could die bloody, die on the spot, could trade his life for his mother’s.
    Munro turned to him—but instead of the hatred Will expected, Munro’s watering eyes flickered over his face with what looked like pity. I don’t deserve pity! He wished his father had struck him harder, and more. He wished Munro would hit him.
    As Will’s own tears fell, he and Munro stared at each other. Hate me, brother! As I hate myself!
    After what felt like hours, Da turned to his sons, emotion burning in his eyes. But it was not the grief Will had expected.
    It was resolve.
    And Will knew his father would be dead within a week. Where your mate goes, you follow. . . .

“Fire comes in all intensities. A hotter tongue of flame can devour another. Surely the hottest can sear a man clean.”
—UILLEAM ANDRIU MACRIEVE, CHIEFTAIN OF THE NOVA SCOTIA SETTLEMENT OF CLAN MACRIEVE
“The right place at the right time never comes to people standing still.”
—CHLOE TODD, A.K.A. BABY T-REX, OLYMPIC HOPEFUL, UNWITTING IMMORTAL



ONE
Starfire Stadium, Seattle, Women’s Soccer League Finals
    PRESENT DAY
    Yank my jersey again, Todd, and I’ll shove my cleat up your vaj,” number eleven said.
    Wide-eyed, Chloe gasped. “Who told you I like that?” Chloe and her teammates on the Seattle Reign called this player Handbagger, because she hit like a little old lady. “Your cleat should be so lucky, Handbagger.” For good measure, Chloe yanked on eleven’s jersey again as she jockeyed for position against the much larger girl.
    Trash-talking and rough play were all a part of professional soccer. Chloe had the scars—and foul mouth—to prove it.
    On the other side of the field, the ball went out of bounds. She took a breather, pulling up the hem of her jersey to wipe her face, rolling her eyes when camera flashes multiplied. She gazed over the stands, saw the line of shirtless fanboys painted with the Reign’s colors: royal blue and midnight black. At halftime, they’d sung “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” to her, and yelled, “Marry me, T-Rex,” her soccer nickname.
    Despite being the league’s smallest center striker—traditionally a tall, burly player’s position—Chloe was arguably the best and a crowd favorite. Fans liked that she was ferocious on the field, liked that she still had attitude off it.
    She ran her fingers through her short hair, analyzing earlier plays. Tonight she’d been unstoppable, seeing openings and lanes as if other players were moving in slo-mo. She’d already scored a brace—two goals—against the Boston Breakers, tying the game. One more goal would earn Chloe a hat