Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            Between ragged breaths, he managed to say, “Canna explain it.” That hulking newling had savaged his throat but must’ve missed his vocal cords. “Barely talk.”

            “Okay. Just . . .” She exhaled. “Okay.”

            Though he blocked out the pain of his many wounds, blood loss made his legs feel like cold stone, nigh impossible to lift. Would he reach the gateway before the next fade hit him? He had no doubt Kereny had perished against those newlings in her original timeline. If Munro died here, she’d be lost forever.

            As he staggered on, a haze settled over him, and memories filled his mind. Of Mam. Da. Tàmhas. They all appeared to him, so lifelike and fresh. Maybe because he was on the verge of death himself?

            Those memories demanded to be relived, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t say good-bye to them.

            Over the gusting winds, Kereny murmured, “You can’t continue like this.”

            He blinked to attention. “Must.” Quondam was not far now. He could scent the magic-polluted realm, could hear the howls of newlings as they were vassaled. But another bout of dizziness crested as he began to waver again. His body was failing, his Instinct screaming —REACH THE GATEWAY OR DIE.—

            “Munro, you have to rest—” Kereny hit the ground, dropped through his vanishing arms. She blinked up at him. “Are you . . . disappearing?”

            He bent to pick her up. His hands went through her. Damn it! Return, body. After centuries of existence, he was frantic for a few more seconds.

            Throat on fire, he grated, “Want our future. So damned badly.” All he had to do was make it to that gateway. She must have felt their connection. She would choose him.

            Return, body. Return!

            Then . . . it did.

            He snared her from the ground and scrambled forward, only to stumble again. He growled with effort. Do it for Kereny. Her life hung in the balance.

            She embodied all his hope. She was the future. He pictured her smile. Her steely look of

            determination. He replayed their kiss.

            Another grueling step . . .





            The wolf rounded a rock outcropping, and a shimmering rift came into view.

            “What is that?” Ren demanded.

            “Portal.”

            Like no portal she had ever seen. Electrical white light coursed over a purple surface the size of a wagon.

            Gnashing his fangs, Munro limped toward the thing. When he crossed the threshold with Ren in his arms, a flash blinded her. She felt as if she floated.

            Then they came crashing down. Munro had collapsed to his knees.

            Blinking to restore her sight, she craned her head back at the portal. On this side, it stretched between two stone walls. On the other, rain and leaves from the Cursed Forest tumbled across the rift.

            As she peered through the shimmery surface, her lips parted. She saw herself in the woods—still cradled in the wolf’s arms. And it looked as if he strode backward with her, their movements reversed. They turned the corner and disappeared into the forest.

            How? How?

            The portal’s surface dimmed to black, seeming drained of power. Rain ceased to blow in, and no more leaves tumbled through. She tore her gaze away from it to find herself in a vast, torchlit temple with a cavernous ceiling. She thrashed against Munro’s hold until he released her.

            “Stay close. Danger,” he said weakly, still on his knees.

            In the torchlight, she made out the full extent of his wounds. Those newlings had brutalized him. But at least he’d regained his solid form. What kind of magic had made him disappear earlier? And more importantly: “Where have you taken me?”

            He didn’t answer, just stared unblinking at the floor as he caught his breath.

            She drew her knife and scanned the area for clues. The walls bordering the portal weren’t walls at all, but feet, the base of an enormous statue. The robed male figure had eight eyes, each with an hourglass for a pupil. A yawning maw opened where his mouth should be.