“Rest easy, friend, the two of them are fine. Better than,” Lachlain said. “Is this the longest you’ve ever gone without watching over him?”
“Aye.” Munro had now heard from three people he trusted that Will was good, yet he still couldn’t quite believe it. Have to see it for myself. “Do you think he’ll find Nïx?” Munro needed Will scope-locked on Jels—not the soothsayer.
“Only if she wants to be found. So what’s your plan now?”
“Turn my mate immortal.” Munro relayed the highlights of his quest, his battle of wills with Kereny over her species, and his potential new ambassador gig, finishing with, “So now we’re waiting for information and a ride to Dacia.”
Waiting. Whenever Munro had a goal, the warrior in him needed to be out fighting for it, yet he was stymied here.
“I’ll dispatch a guard detail for you two.”
“Appreciate the offer, but we’re hidden for now. A detail might draw attention to us.”
“Verra well. So you’re determined to bargain with a sorceress like Dorada?”
No’ you too. “What would you have done if your queen had been mortal?” Lachlain had found Emmaline—a Valkyrie/vampire halfling—right after escaping the Horde’s torture. The road for the two of them had been understandably rough.
“My beloved Emma? I’d kiss Dorada’s arse for the chance to sign her bollixed-up book.”
“Exactly. But first I have to find her by meeting with Lothaire. You know him?”
“Aye. The Enemy of Old is as diabolical as everyone says, but his new Bride is personable and kind, and she influences him. She seems overjoyed with immortality. Mayhap she could help your mate see the benefits.”
“Canna hurt to try.”
“Munro, your situation presents us with a unique opportunity. I need you to undertake a mission.”
Wee bit on my plate right now. Still, he said, “What’s the op?”
“The Forbearer vampires have been stalwart allies to the clan.” Their King Kristoff had saved Emma’s life, forging an unbreakable alliance between Lykae and Forbearers. “And I see a way to repay their loyalty. . . .”
As Lachlain filled him in on the details, Munro grew uneasy. He’d often done tasks like this for his king—at varying times, Munro had been a spy, an assassin, and an enforcer for the clan—but never with a mate in tow.
A mortal mate.
Yet he was ever loyal to his king and pack. “I’ll do aught I can.”
“Stay sharp in Dacia. And whatever happens, tell no lies to Lothaire. He’ll know and become even more unbearable. Good luck and call me before you leave.”
Once the line disconnected, Munro muttered, “Fuck.” An extraction mission? From one of the most guarded realms in existence?
Two text chimes sounded then. One was an unwelcome sext from weeks ago that he blocked. The second was a real-time message from Loa: The warlocks have placed a tempting bounty on you. Suspect everyone. Even me.
THIRTY-SIX
“Finally!” Ren exclaimed when rays of morning sun peeked through the bedroom window after four days of storms.
With each hour of driving rain, Munro had sensed the foothills were growing unstable, and the nymphs had concurred. Which had left Ren trapped in the guesthouse with him, waiting for a break in the weather or the Dacians, who were now two days overdue.
She imagined riding clothes, sheathed her blade in her arm holster, then hurried down the stairs.
Munro stood when she entered the dining room. “Morning, beauty.” Dressed in leather pants, boots, and a form-fitted shirt and jacket, he looked so handsome he stole her breath. “I made you tea.” He pulled out a chair for her, setting a cup on the table. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m too keyed up to eat.” But she sat for the tea. “It’s warm in here.”
“Aye. Unfortunately, we have no air conditioning.”
She’d read about that. It sounded marvelous. But not for the planet, it seemed. Over these housebound days, Munro had taught her how to navigate her phone and the virtual world, and she’d discovered what hashtag: globalwarming meant.
The internet was a window to this present time, a bittersweet window. She’d learned that modern cars needed no crank handles; a button started the ignition process. She’d read about women assuming more power around the world, though she’d found the progress too sluggish for her taste. And she’d seen the Cursed Forest from space—or at least, she’d seen the cloud that always covered the region whenever a satellite photographed it.
But she’d also read about the last hundred years of human history and had come to a conclusion.
We’re the scariest species of all.
Say what you would about Loreans, but none of them would hurt their own species the way mortals did.
“I’ll let some air in.” Munro crossed to a window. The rain-swollen wood groaned with resistance.
Outside, the Carpathians beckoned. “When are we heading to the forest?”
“It’ll still be a quagmire out there, Kereny.” Care-nay. But his pronunciation didn’t bother her as it had before. “I’ll no’ put you in danger of landslides.”
Yesterday, she’d spied an oak atop a ridge lose its footing and come tumbling down the hillside. Still . . . “We can’t remain in here for much longer. I’m about to climb the walls.”
“Right there with you.” He took the seat next to hers.
In the beginning of their stay, she’d been determined to avoid Munro, but she needed to keep up her strength, so she’d joined him for meals. As he’d started sharing with her his sly humor and his profound thoughts about the Lore, meals had turned to lingering over tea, which had turned to candlelit discussions late into the night.
At Loa’s, he’d predicted that Ren would fall for him, which had struck her as absurd. Was it, in fact, possible?
It can’t be. He’s undying. You’re still wearing Jacob’s ring.
Ren had endeavored to resist the wolf. Focus on the mission, she’d told herself a thousand times. Focus on your differences. He still intended to transform her species against her will; she intended to eliminate Dorada.
He’d almost kissed her a few times—God help her, she’d been receptive—but he’d always pulled back and said, “We have time.”
Did they? The priestess had told them about the Forgotten’s promised bounty: a trip through their time-travel gateway for whoever captured Ren and Munro alive. When he’d reminded Loa that the gateway no longer existed, she’d said, “The Forgotten swear that a Lykae tells tales, and the lure of such a fantastical prize makes people believe anything.”