Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            “Aye, then,” Munro said. “We must have water from the Well of Souls in the rage demon realm.” Questionable sources swore it cured newling rabidity, but Munro had concluded it was merely another Lorean MacGuffin. “And we need Garreth’s cuff from the belly of a giant caiman in the Amazon.” Would that magic even work on a newling?

            Does no’ matter now. “Such a cuff would be a temporary solution,” Munro forced himself to say, “but mayhap it’d work long enough for her to gain control.”

            “That’s all? We’re on it! We’ll return by the full moon.”

            A couple of nights from now? You’re dreaming.

            Will squeezed his shoulder. “She will come back to you.” As Munro had once said to Will about Chloe, he added, “Brother, give the lass a chance.”





FIFTY-SEVEN





            full moon eve





            Stone pine, wildness, and man. The most addictive scent Ren had ever imagined.

            She had to investigate that scent. Curiosity flared, and it was enough to lure her out of the darkness.

            Her fingers twitched. Her toes. Her eyes moved behind her lids.

            Hadn’t she heard Munro’s voice, raw with emotion? Return to me! But a lot of time seemed to have passed since then, and he’d stopped talking to her.

            She cracked open her eyes. Where am I? Why do I feel so amazing? Her body was boundless, filled with life.

            Hazy memories surfaced. She’d been clawed by a Wendigo! Munro had bitten her! Why were those memories so dim?

            Because you died, dummy.

            Ah.

            One thing she remembered with a crystalline clarity: she was in love with Munro MacRieve.

            Her sight cleared until she could see him standing by a window. Phone at his ear, he spoke to someone in a monotone voice.

            Though the last rays of the sun painted him in a golden light, he looked like death. Eyes bloodshot. Skin pale. He must be worried sick about her! How long had she been gone?

            She sat up to reach for him, stunned to see the black claws tipping her fingers. Her tongue rubbed one of her new fangs. Her heart beat faster as realization sank in. I’m—she swallowed—immortal.

            When she inhaled Munro’s scent, a voice spoke into her mind: —YOURS!—

            That must be the Instinct. They’d done it! He’d made her into a werewolf, had spread the fire to give her a beast of her own.

            And that beast was stirring.

            She frowned down at her chest. The force inside her scrabbled for release, expanding, taking up too much room in her body. The lit match had turned into a firestorm.

            Her fangs lengthened in her mouth. When she clenched her fists, her claws punctured her skin. Those injuries regenerated, her flesh mending before her bewildered eyes.

            As the beast inside her took control of her movements, the Instinct boomed: —LEARN. ADAPT. OR PERISH!—

            This wildness within her couldn’t be contained.

            She tried to speak; words refused to cross her lips.

            Ren could never even tell Munro good-bye.





            “Get me to the Fyre Dragán,” Munro told Loa.

            She exhaled into the phone but didn’t argue with him. And what could she say anyway? The reason for your existence is gone, true, but you’ll rally! “When do you want to leave, friend?”

            The moon heightened all Lykae emotions; Munro’s intent to join Kereny had become ice-cold and indisputable. He’d already waited too long. Each second that he was apart from her was one second too many.

            His future with his mate had boiled down to four steps.

            One: Bury Kereny tonight.

            Two: Journey to the Dragán.

            Three: Die.