Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole
“I always felt that you were watching over me from the shadows.”
“I have been.”
Tàmhas’s wizened face broke into a pained smile. “You look like you could be my son now. Or grandson.”
Munro grappled against his emotions. “Tàmhas, I should never have tried to raise a human. It was no’ fair to you.”
“I have no regrets, Da. With you, I got a glimpse of a wondrous world, just as I did whenever I set sail. That glimpse shaped me. You shaped me. Your teachings made me a good man and husband.” A cough rattled from deep in his lungs.
Munro handed him a cup of water from the night table, just as he’d done decades ago when his toddler had said, “Dada! Ith scary!”
Once Tàmhas drank, he said, “I think I’m ready to sail from port once more. My next adventure. I hope my wife is there waiting for me on some distant shore.” He swallowed thickly. “Will you . . . can you stay and see me off?” His voice cracked, and he sounded afraid—like he had all those years ago when he’d last told Munro good-bye.
Munro took his hand. “O’ course, my son. I’ll watch over you till the tide comes in. . . .”
That memory always devastated Munro, and tonight proved no different. Yet now he pictured a vigil by Kereny’s bedside, reminiscing with her as the end neared. In the grip of pain, she would gaze up at him and say, “I wish I had more time with you.” And there’d be nothing he could do. Nothing.
His immortal body would persist, continuing on deathlessly, just as it had when Tàmhas had perished. But this time, Munro wouldn’t survive. If I lose Kereny, I will gladly choose the flames.
When he imagined the light leaving her eyes as it had left his son’s, Munro turned up his full drink.
Lothaire returned at that moment. “Our whiskey is fine, but not that fine. What’s got you gasping for the bottom of your glass?” He teleported the bottle over and poured another round.
Munro rasped, “Do you ever think that mayhap we doona know it all? That even with our age, we know little?” Should I bend in my beliefs? As I dinna do with Tàmhas?
In what must have been a rare moment of candor, Lothaire said, “Wolf, I knew everything before Lizvetta. And it was all wrong.”
FIFTY-ONE
“Why can’t he give up something?” Three brandies into the night, Ren reclined on the couch, baring her heart to Ellie and Balery.
She liked this pair. Balery, the fey concoctioness, had been a little standoffish at first, but she’d relaxed after a couple of drinks.
“Where’s the compromise? If Munro ever accepted how important my free will is, I’d probably trip over my feet to become immortal for him.”
Balery tucked her chestnut-brown hair behind her pointed ears. “As I reminded Ellie, Lorean males don’t behave like human males, especially not when they’ve lived for centuries. Their world views were shaped some time ago.”
Ren had learned that the oracle was no young fey herself.
“Boy howdy!” Ellie exclaimed, her gray eyes lively. “A lot of these guys still think of women as their accessories while they waltz through life.” She hiccupped. Ellie was on her third drink as well.
“I don’t believe Munro sees women like that, but he does look down on humans. He considers us inferior.” That green hunter snipe of his still provoked her. “Does he subconsciously dislike my kind?” She caught Balery and Ellie sharing a look. “What is it?”
Ellie said, “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that he had a human son he loved very much.”
Ren shot upright on the couch, woozy from brandy. “Pardon?” He’d said he couldn’t have children with anyone but her! “No, no. He has two adopted wards. But they’re Lykae.” Rónan and Ben had lost their family to ghouls—just as Ren had. She already felt connected to them.
Balery said, “Stelian researched Munro before he would allow him into Dacia. The gatekeeper learned that Munro had found an abandoned mortal baby during some long-ago war. A boy he named Tàmhas. Munro tried to find a home for the child outside of the Lore, but eventually raised him as his own.”
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