Just then, a dinosaur’s roar sounded, alerting him to a text from his ward Rónan.
Rónan: Missing for weeks and you don’t head home? No. Cause you’re out honeymooning with your married time-traveling mate.
The whole pack must have heard the story. Wanting to know more about how the lads were doing—and to get details about Will and Chloe—he dialed Rónan’s number. The lad didn’t pick up.
Teenagers.
Munro texted: Emergency. We’ll be back asap.
Rónan: What if she doesn’t like us? I mean, I’m amazing, but Ben . . .
They both were a handful in their own ways. Typical of his age, Rónan was moody and rebellious, and Ben was painfully shy with a hair-trigger beast.
Munro replied: Kereny’s fair. If you treat her well, she’ll like you. Stay behind the walls of Glenrial. Warlocks might target you and Ben.
Rónan: They can bring it. Learned some spells from my witch gf.
He must know his words would chill Munro to the bone. Was this acting out? Munro needed to read a book or something. Behind the walls. That’s an order.
Rónan: [Middle finger emoji]
Thanks. I am number one. How’s Will?
Head Case and Chloe are cool now. When Will had first discovered Chloe’s true species, he’d earned his nickname of Head Case in a nuclear way, treating her abysmally. BTW, give us 48 hours’ notice before you show at the lodge. Ltr.
Munro exhaled. Aye, then, later. He took another swig from his flask, his mind tumbling over Will’s pain-filled history.
Munro couldn’t quite believe his brother had made such a miraculous turnaround. Yet hadn’t Munro himself begun healing in the presence of his own mate?
He gazed in Kereny’s direction. Each minute he spent with her muted his memories of Quondam. . . .
The gray wolves were still howling across the countryside when he received a message from the priestess.
Loa: Nothing yet on Kereny’s past, but Lothaire is intrigued by your story. Kept calling you the werewolf ambassador to Dacia. I stopped correcting him. He will allow you and Kereny entry.
When? Munro needed to clear this with his king.
A Dacian general will teleport you from the inn within the next two days.
But he wouldn’t have heard back from Will by then. I need my brother to look after Kereny while I meet Lothaire. Though hopeless when it came to responsibilities, Will was a fierce warrior. Munro would trust no one but his twin for her protection.
Loa: The Enemy of Old will only allow you entry if you bring your mate.
Munro ground his fangs as he typed: Why?
The text wheel spun and spun. Then: Leverage to keep you on your best behavior.
THIRTY-TWO
Toss. Turn. Toss.
Ren punched her pillow and tried another position in the soft bed. Everything about this room—from the cozy window seat to the fireside settee—was made for comfort. Yet her body was too charged for sleep, her mind filled with guilt.
The Lykae had stopped their kiss before she had. An immortal wolf had been decent.
After waiting for Ren for a millennium, Munro had denied himself, despite the desire he’d clearly struggled with. Could anything be sexier than a male in need who put a female first?
After he left, she’d dazedly undressed, laying her blade on the nightstand. Then she’d imagined a modest nightgown with far more coverage than she usually wore.
Now she stared at the ceiling, fiddling with her new cloaking cuff, replaying their encounter.
Her lips tingled for more of Munro’s kiss, her nipples tightening from the memory of his clever fingers. She was tempted to relieve her arousal, but as she moved her hand her wedding ring caught her attention.
Was it to mean nothing now? Were all those years fighting alongside Jacob to mean nothing?
Though she didn’t believe they could ever recreate the passion she’d experienced with Munro, Jacob was still her husband and best friend. Once she returned to the past, she would confess everything she’d done, and somehow, she would learn to live without the wolf.
She frowned as a thought occurred. If such a lover existed for Ren, maybe one did for Jacob as well. Maybe he could experience that level of passion with another.
When Ren had announced their engagement, Vanda had told her, “Jacob’s a good man, but he’s not your good man. You’re keeping him from finding a woman who’ll adore him as he should be adored.”
Ren had replied, “Then why does he keep asking me to marry him?”
“Because he can’t see past you.”
Maybe Vanda was right. Would it be fair for Ren and Jacob to remain married?
Regardless, she wouldn’t choose Munro. A girl who’d been born and raised to hunt monsters couldn’t simply throw her lot in with one—no matter how much pleasure the monster delivered.
Decided, she rose to add another log to the fire, then returned to attempt sleep again. Rain began to fall outside, and she longed to hear it drumming the roof of her wagon. Everything here was too quiet.
The circus took on a life of its own after dark. The animals snored. Sentries caroused as they came off their shifts. Older hunters recounted tales around the bonfire. . . .
What must have been hours passed, but she couldn’t drift off.
A knock on the door sounded, and she snatched her blade from the nightstand.
“It’s me.” Just the timbre of Munro’s low voice made her heart beat faster.
“Come in.” She returned her knife to the table and sat up when he entered.
“I thought you would want to know as soon as I heard from Loa.”
“What did she say?” Ren quickly asked. “Did she have information about the circus or me?” She braced for his answer.
“No’ yet. She texted about Lothaire.” He crossed the room to drop onto the settee. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms with golden hairs that glinted in the firelight.
He took a flask out of his back pocket and offered it to her. “Care to join me for a whiskey from a never-ending flask? A nightcap might help you sleep. Come, you ken I’m safe.”
His earlier restraint did make her feel a speck of trust toward him. “Very well. The sheep I was counting fled with your arrival.” She rose and crossed to the settee, taking a spot as far away from him as possible.
When his back went ramrod straight, she glanced down at her high-necked gown; she was covered from her ankles to her ears.
She accepted the flask from his white-knuckled grip, puzzled that he’d dented the metal. “Well?” She took a sip, grimaced, then handed it back. “What about Lothaire?”