He caught and uncorked the bottle. No questions asked, Munro guzzled the contents, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
His injuries mended before Ren’s eyes, and he put on even more muscle. His chest broadened, his arms growing brawnier. His skin went from pale to bronze, as if from an afternoon spent lazing in the sun.
That physique was too, too much. I petted it, learning what made him growl. Despite her fatigue and the emotional weight in her heart, desire simmered.
When she dragged her gaze away, Ren noticed she wasn’t the only one watching him with fascination. Had he and Loa been more than friends? Had the priestess run those red nails of hers over his shuddering body?
Munro asked Ren, “Do you have any injuries?”
She delicately cleared her throat. “Healthy as a horse.” But now that she wasn’t in immediate danger, exhaustion threatened. The lazy ceiling fan cast down breezes that fluttered the candles and lulled her eyes to go half-mast.
She fought the urge, determined to remain on guard. She was in the company of two Loreans, in the lair of one, and an archwarlock had declared Ren his primary target.
“Loa, do you have a protection spell for her?” Munro asked.
“The House of Witches usually sell an elegant little charm for mortals, but the ingredients recently dried up. Hashtag: globalwarming.” Hashtag? “I’ll be on the lookout for them.” She tilted her head at Munro. “I s’pose you should have a T-shirt, though the spirits are in a chorus against that.” She crossed to a rack and selected a black short-sleeved shirt, handing it to him.
Only once he’d pulled on the garment did Loa turn her full attention to Ren, giving her an assessing glance. “The spirits tell me you’re a monster huntress. Should I be worried?” She didn’t look worried. In fact, her hair had begun to swirl around her head, as if spirits surrounded her protectively.
Feigning fearlessness, Ren said, “Depends. Do you hurt humans?”
“You’re still standin’, no?”
She got the sense that Loa was testing her. “As are you.” Ren patted her holster and added in a menacing murmur, “By my leave.”
Loa’s face split into a grin. She turned to Munro and said, “She’ll do for you just fine.” Then she leveled that stunning smile at Ren, and it was genuine, all of her pretenses gone. “Welcome to the Lore, young mortal.”
Ren must’ve passed the priestess’s test. Does Loa pass mine? Like most carnies, Ren was an excellent judge of character, and the priestess struck her as a decent person, whatever her species might be. “Thank you, but I won’t be staying long.”
Loa laughed. “Oh, lamb, that’s what we all say.”
TWENTY-THREE
Munro had much to accomplish and no time to do it all. Every second here was a risk. He asked Loa, “If the warlocks surround this place, how will we get out?”
“Once I’ve drained your pockets, I’ll call you two a Luber.” At Kereny and Munro’s blank looks, Loa explained, “Lore Uber.”
Kereny sighed. “I still don’t know what that means.”
“It’s a demon teleportation service.” The priestess gestured to a flyer behind her counter. Luber promised “Lore-wide travel in less than a nanosecond. Confidentiality is our vow to the Lore!”
Like most Lykae, Munro both mistrusted and resented teleportation, or tracing. Whenever his clan had warred unsuccessfully with the Vampire Horde or evil demonarchies, tracing had been the sole factor in their defeat. “Who runs the service?”
“Deshazior the storm demon. He started it in addition to his other businesses. Luber has proudly announced that it’s gone two days without a single accident, ambush, or melee on the job.”
Two whole days? “I know Desh. He’s a good bloke.” The storm demon was a former pirate with a salty accent, huge horns, and no filter. Back in the day, they’d fought the Horde together.
Loa took a phone from her dress pocket. “I’ll send him your details and ask him to be on standby.” As Kereny watched with fascination, the priestess’s fingers flew over the screen. Beep went the text message. “Done. With my brokerage commission added, of course.”
“Aye, then. Where’s my brother?” Munro needed Will to help him defeat Jels.
“Will and Chloe are offplane. He called this morning for an update and said they would check back in the next couple of weeks.”
Ballocks. Munro would have to field the warlock threat and an immortality quest on his own. “They’re together? How are they?” Nine hundred years of history told him to expect the worst. And Will had never gone unsupervised this long.
“They’re fantastic. All drama put to bed.”
“Uh-huh.” No’ buying it. But maybe Loa didn’t want to reveal the whole truth in front of Kereny. He refrained from asking more about their personal lives. “Why are they offplane?”
“They’re bent on rescuing you, which means they’re on the hunt for Nïx.”
“How does Nïx figure into this?”
“When the Vertas alliance gathered outside Quondam’s sphere to free you and your men, the Valkyrie said, ‘You assume Munro wants to be rescued? You’ll ruin everything between him and his cellmate.’” Loa tapped her chin with a manicured nail. “Now it makes sense why that was so funny to her. Anyway, she outlawed any aggression against the warlocks. After that, the witches ditched the campaign, and no one else could pierce the boundary. Will couldn’t abide leaving you in there, so he’s off to find Nïx and talk her out of her decree.”
Kereny asked, “And who would Nïx be?”
Munro answered, “The Ever-Knowing One. She’s a three-thousand-year-old Valkyrie and the de facto leader of the Vertas League. She’s also the most powerful soothsayer in all the worlds.” Yet her godlike strengths were equaled by her many weaknesses—disorientation, capriciousness, madness. “Looks like the warlocks were no’ the only ones who foresaw you’d be mine.”
Hell, Nïx had actually done him a solid letting him rot in that dungeon. If there’d been any interference from outside Quondam, Munro would’ve lost his chance to go back in time for Kereny.
But Nïx hadn’t done Ariza any bloody favors. “Why would the Valkyrie side with the warlocks?”
“She said all the factions in the Lore—from the warlocks to the werewolves and from the Vertas to the Pravus alliances—would need to unite to stand any chance against the Møriør. She mentioned recruitments. And Moneyball. She said she needed ringers, and she was off to get them.”