Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            She turned to ask Lothaire, “If it can’t send one back in time or bring loved ones forward or eliminate enemies, then what does it do?”

            “Fairly much everything else. Which makes me wonder why I should help you two find a wishgiver of such power. After you turn your mate, you might use it to harm my own interests.”

            Munro said, “We’re going to find it one way or another. If you assist us, we’ll vow to the Lore no’ to wield it against you.”

            “Hmm. I am disinclined.”

            Ellie murmured, “Remember what we talked about, Leo.” She’d nicknamed Lothaire, the Enemy of Old, Leo? Munro liked her better by the minute.

            With a huff, Lothaire addressed Munro, “My Bride—the wisest vampire in this kingdom, aside from myself—has advised me to be sympathetic and to look for common ground with you. I suppose you and I have both warred against the Horde.” When you weren’t fighting for the Horde, turncoat. “The enemy of my enemy and so forth,” said the Enemy of Old. At one time or another, he’d been everyone’s enemy.

            Somehow Munro forced himself to say, “True.”

            “And we once both shared an appreciation for talented nymphs.”

            Ellie slapped his shoulder again. “I’m not messing around. Knock it off.”

            He didn’t. “Although my level of appreciation pales in comparison to yours.” He turned to his queen and said, “This one spent centuries doing nothing but nymphs.”

            Kereny stiffened beside Munro.

            Bloody hell. “You fucking checked up on me?” To Ellie, he said, “Excuse my French.”

            She shrugged. “Oh, French is my favorite language. Ask fucking anybody.”

            “Of course we vetted you,” Lothaire said. “We don’t soft-open our kingdom for just anyone. Although the nymphs vouched for you, is that enough to justify helping you find the Ring of Sums?”

            Kereny said, “Perhaps we shouldn’t find it at all. We’ve heard the ring can be dangerous.” Still trying to find any reason not to be turned with the wishgiver.

            After learning about her parents, Munro understood more about her refusal, but he couldn’t allow that to undermine his convictions.

            Ellie answered, “The ring is dangerous. The more wishes you make, the more it’ll gum up the works. Leo explained it to me this way: if someone’s first wish is for a fortune in gold, trunks of coins will appear. If someone’s fourth wish is for the same, coins might bury the wisher’s family, suffocating them.”

            When Munro heard shite like that, his Instinct screamed that he wanted no part of that magic. He met gazes with Kereny, hers imploring him to end this.

            At his unbending look, she turned to the regents and said, “We also learned that Dorada will never use it again.”

            Lothaire said, “Nor would I.”

            Munro pointed out, “You must no’ have been too worried about any dangers since you used it on your fated female.”

            “The wording is critical. I checked every iteration of my wishes against the foresight of my oracle, Hag.” He gestured toward Balery. Hag?

            The queen said, “Balery. Everyone but Lothaire calls her by her name.”

            “My fey magic tinkerer possesses some skill,” Lothaire continued. “Nothing like Nïx’s foresight, though.”

            Balery appeared used to his antics.

            “But at least Hag won’t double-cross you on a whim,” he added. “Nïx is apt to fuck you over whenever it pleases her.”

            Munro said, “I know this well. She delivered my brother to the Order for experiments.”

            “She gave those meddlesome humans my exact location, teeing me up for their capture. But that was nothing compared to what she did to me in the past. When an enemy buried me in the Bloodroot Forest, she knew and did nothing.” His eyes deepened in color, and he seemed to go into a trance. “The carnivorous roots of those trees invaded my grave, forever goring my barely regenerating flesh for blood. Never-ending torture . . . When I was released at last, six centuries had passed.”