“You offered yourself up to me and I accepted your terms.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Regardless of how your vow came about, you’re sworn to remain with me as my eternal mate. No matter what occurred in the future.”
Queasiness welled—because he was right. She’d pledged herself to him unconditionally. He’s . . . got me.
He not only wanted to change her era, her calling, and her allegiances—he wanted to change her species. This immortal male kept saying that he’d saved her life, but he planned to obliterate her entire existence.
TWENTY-TWO
Checkmate, female.
Munro’s sense of victory dimmed right along with the light in Kereny’s eyes. Everything she’d lost must be sinking in.
But her words had struck home, and a nagging worry took hold: What if his presence had changed her timeline? What if they discovered that in her true past, she had survived the newlings, then lived happily with her husband for years?
Munro might have taken her from her future children. He’d be no different from the warlocks, and she’d have all the more reason to hate him. They needed to investigate the past as soon as possible. Loa would be able to help.
He gentled his voice to say, “Look, we’ll figure this out. But for now, we need to take cover.” He led her along.
Kereny dazedly walked beside him, her fire extinguished.
Aside from her emotional lows, she’d probably been awake for more than twenty-four hours and hadn’t eaten in some time. The care of a mortal was very involved, yet he didn’t dare take time to let her rest.
The fog thickened as they neared Loa’s. The emporium always had its own weather, as did the priestess herself with her mercurial moods. Loa was a mystery, and he knew more about her than most.
Her accent changed from Hollywood’s version of a Caribbean Islander into a posh Sussex diction between one customer and the next. He’d seen her reading everything from tomes on quantum physics and string theory to torrid romance novels.
He paused to scent the vicinity. Witches—uncanny creatures—were within the emporium, but no Pravus enemies. “Coast is clear.” He ushered Kereny across the street.
“We’re to go in there?”
Admittedly, the shop looked creepy. A loose shutter banged against the front of the store, hinges forever squeaking. Despite the blowing wind, the fog refused to lift. Lightning illuminated each slithering bank of it. “Aye. In there.”
“Who is this Loa person?”
A woman I dallied with before I left for Quondam. “She’s a voodoo priestess who talks to restless ghosts.” She’d even started communing with them of late. Her irises would turn white as she joined senses with a spirit. “Some call her the commercenary, a cross between commerce and mercenary. She’s known for her ability to turn needs into realities.” And for charging exorbitant prices.
Loa rivaled the House of Witches for cash-register worship, and she was as thick as thieves with them, peddling their H.O.W. juju bags and whatnot in her shop. The Instinct warned him on a loop —Be wary of magics!—
“Needs?” Kereny stopped on the sidewalk. “Such as your need to make me undying?” She made him sound like a monster for even thinking about the possibility.
“Immortality is your future.” He grasped for patience. Found little. His body was a mass of pain. “You must resign yourself.”
“Then your future is my hatred.” She smiled, a brilliant baring of her teeth. “Resign yourself as well.”
Was earning her hatred his unavoidable fate? “Would you no’ want to live forever?”
She raised her chin, her fire returning. “I want to live—on my own terms.”
Fuck. He couldn’t fault her for that. In fact, her determination only increased his blazing attraction to her.
She pointed to the emporium. “I need information, and a Lore store sounds like a good place to start. But I don’t want you to get one step closer to turning me against my will. Understand me, Munro. I will never voluntarily become immortal. The idea sickens me.”
“Sickens?” The prospect of life as a Lykae was that repulsive to her? Losing the reins of his temper, Munro rubbed his throat again and snapped, “You know what, sweetheart? We’re under the gun here, and I’ve had a day. So I’m just going to lay this out there for you: I know better than you do.”
Her lips parted.
“You think like a human, only concerned with the short term. My view is looong. And it’s right. You’ll understand once you gain some wisdom and perspective with age. Until that time, you’re bound by the vows you made me, so let’s no’ waste any more time.”
“Oh, really?” A cunning glimmer lit her gaze, like he’d just picked the wrong shell in her carnie game. “Original Ren made those vows in another era, and the past remains in the past. I am a clean slate. No vows here. This replica is outside of time—and outside of the rules.”
Ren was enjoying Munro’s bemused expression—realizing I’m not to be controlled, wolf?—when a trio of females swerved from the shop.
Munro exhaled. “Witches. With impeccable timing.
According to the Book of Lore, the witches were mystical mercenaries who sold their spells and services to the highest bidder. These three looked human, but Ren sensed power in them. And alcohol. Was anyone in this city sober? When the trio ogled Munro’s bared and bloodied chest, irritation grated at Ren.
“Hotter!” one of them called to him. “Or are you only Hot? I can’t tell!”
He muttered, “That never gets old.”
“What are they talking about?”
As if the words were dragged from him, he said, “Some in the Lore have nicknamed my identical twin and me Hot and Hotter. They debate which one is which.”
“As in more attractive?”
“Again, we’re identical.”
When the females closed in, one hiccupped and said, “Hey, why’re you hanging out with an organic?”
Ren raised her brows. “Organic?”
“Another term for a human,” Munro explained. “It means you’re highly perishable.”
The third witch slurred, “I sensh tenshon ’tween you two. Is she the one who knocked your dick in the dirt?” That female raised her palm to Ren. “High fiiiiive.”
Ren frowned. “Pardon?”
“Low five!” The female pouted. “No five?”