Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            In the pouring rain, his warm lips met hers for the first time. She gasped into the kiss as the world spun, and his words echoed through her dazed mind.

            The hands of gods.





SIXTEEN





            If there was ever a prize to fight for, it was more of his mate’s breathless kiss, yet Munro couldn’t spare the time to enjoy it.

            When he drew back, she looked thunderstruck.

            His irrational decision to fight was a huge risk, but at least he had a chance of securing her cooperation through Quondam and while searching for a way to turn her immortal. He just needed to survive long enough.

            His wavering had subsided. The fade must come at intervals. How long did he have before the next one hit him?

            When the newlings burst from the tree line, Munro told her, “Doona move from this spot. I’ll keep them away from you and your hunters.”

            Her gaze slid to the groom, who looked partly sick, partly determined.

            Getting his head in the game, Munro faced the approaching threat: his Lykae brethren. He reminded himself that he’d never killed a newling, and history couldn’t be changed. This slate would be wiped clean as soon as he reached the gateway.

            Each male had fangs and claws bared. They were going to come at him like a tornado of razor wire, as fast as the lightning bolts all around them.

            But war was Munro’s vocation. Battle is what you do. And never was a wolf stronger than when protecting a mate.

            As he struggled to concentrate on the task ahead, he stole a glance at his hands. They wavered once more, only now the fade had spread up his forearms.

            This one’s goin’ to be close. . . .





            Before Munro had turned from Ren, he’d shaken his head hard, his gaze growing focused.

            He was going to battle without his beast. If he harnessed his body’s unspeakable power with his calculating mind, he’d be more terrifying than all the newlings.

            But he was weak from his recent imprisonment and her knife attacks, and she counted another dozen in this wave. No way he could defeat so many.

            Jacob limped to Ren’s side. “I never thought the wolf would fight his own kind. Maybe they’ll cancel each other out.”

            Munro might . . . die. The ache in her chest shocked her. Munro MacRieve cannot be meant for me. A Lykae?

            Jacob studied her face. “So matehood is real?”

            Guilt swamped her. “I-I don’t know.” But how else could she explain her reaction to Munro’s kiss? She’d felt as if the entire universe had been distilled into that contact between them. As if gods had indeed touched them with a divine hand.

            Seeming to read her mind, Jacob said, “We never kissed like that.”

            “I’m sorry you had to see it. I want to talk to you about all this, but right now we must prepare to defend ourselves, just in case.” She addressed the hunters: “Regroup and make ready!” They mustered into place as Munro fearlessly charged to meet too many opponents.

            She sensed Jacob’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t wrest hers from the wolf.

            When he gave a brutal roar, several of the newlings stopped and howled at this unknown alpha. Four heedless others attacked him.

            Munro moved like a flickering shadow in the storm. He swung, claws glinting. Two newling heads somersaulted through the air, and blood spurted. The bodies hadn’t even dropped before Munro turned to the next pair. He clawed at one’s throat while punching the other male’s face in, sending that Lykae flying.

            Eight more tore past him.

            “Swords ready!” she yelled, but Munro turned and vaulted into the air, soaring over the newlings. He landed well ahead of them, merely awaiting their arrival.

            His lethal claws tore through them. He slashed and even bit like an animal. Yet his beast hadn’t risen.

            He’d been right about one thing: he was a warrior. Despite the savagery of his fighting style, his movements were practiced and efficient. When the last three of that wave managed to make it past him, he snatched up a headless corpse and hurled it at the trio, knocking them to the ground.