Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            Spread out from the keep were villas that looked as if they’d been carved from the very bones of the mountains. Swaths of mist twined around them.

            Dacia was a wonder, a place of mystery and majesty. Such a sight dampened her temper and made her curious about the royals who inhabited that castle in the mist.

            Some of the tension had left Munro’s shoulders as well. She noticed that the two of them had moved closer to each other at the balcony rail.

            As they shared the view, she replayed his words. He was the first person ever to call her selfish, but she could see why he might—wrongly—think her so. He was also wrong to believe she saw him as an animal. She’d accepted his species totally. Even if there was some way for him to become human, she wouldn’t change him.

            Munro gripped the rail. “I regret the words I spoke in the heat of anger. I took my frustration out on you, and I’m sorry for it.”

            “Thank you. I’m sorry too. We’re both under a lot of pressure.”

            “My thoughts exactly,” he said. “Seems I almost walked us into a trap in that village. Jels needs to go down.”

            “He will.” As soon as I can take Dorada out. “Only a matter of time.”

            Munro gazed out at the scene and said, “Though I’m uneasy in a vampire realm, I’m glad to have beheld this sight.”

            “After warring with the Horde, was it strange to meet with members of the same species?”

            He nodded. “Vampires have been our bane for eternity, decimating our royal line. A hundred and fifty years ago, they killed Prince Heath and captured King Lachlain. My king only recently escaped their torture. The Horde burned him alive for all that time.”

            “They kept him,” she murmured, wondering what the warlocks would do to her and Munro.

            “Aye. While we stayed at the inn, I spoke with Lachlain to learn more about the Enemy of Old and the Dacians. They’re supposed to be a world away from the Horde—more like the Forbearers when it comes to blood.”

            “The Forbearers were in the Book of Lore. They’re an army of turned humans, no?”

            “Just so. Kristoff, their king, has forbidden his men to prey on mortals. Their eyes are clear, like the Dacians’.”

            “So Dacians don’t steal blood from humans either?”

            Munro shook his head. “When a vampire drinks someone to death, he or she harvests a victim’s memories. But the vampire’s eyes begin to turn red, and eventually the leech will go mad. The Dacians consider such a loss of control taboo.” He pointed out a great crimson fountain in the city’s center. “I think they get their blood from there.”

            “Yes, but where does that blood come from?”

            “Lykae ambassadors?”

            She laughed, and he chuckled, any lingering friction melting away. Yet then Ren grew serious once more. “You’ve asked about my parents. I haven’t told you because it’s still painful.”

            “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

            “I am now. Munro, I do want you to know me.”

            He turned to her, taking her hand.

            “The day they went missing, they weren’t even hunting. They’d gone on a picnic to celebrate their anniversary but never returned. I was out in one of the search parties when I picked up a trail of . . . ghoul tracks.”

            Munro gently squeezed her hand, no doubt figuring her parents had been turned.

            But the reality was somehow both better—and worse. “From the scene we found, it became clear that a large number had surrounded them. The two took out a score of ghouls, but there were too many. My father . . . killed my mother, then himself.”

            Munro muttered something in Gaelic that sounded like a curse.

            “We found them holding hands, adoring each other all the way to the end. I can’t imagine how harrowing that must have been for them.”

            “How old were you?”