Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            His victims’ words echoed in his head with each charge.

            Little baby girl.

            Crack.

            They need me.

            Hit.

            Please, mister, no!

            As fractures forked out like veins across the statue, Munro hesitated, his past warring with his future. Once he felled Tempus, he could never again retrieve his mortal mate. Nor see Tàmhas and his parents again.

            He turned to look at Kereny. His female awaited him, and every second here was a risk. He could never pay the toll anyway.

            Munro tensed to run at the statue one last time—

            “STOP!” Jels yelled as he rushed forward from a new portal.

            Behind Munro, the statue continued to rupture. “No stopping now, you prick.”

            Jels raised his glowing palms. “You dare desecrate this holy place? Then you’ll pay with what you hold most dear!” He took a bead on Kereny, his right hand ablaze with black light—a lethal beam.

            Munro leapt for Jels, yelling, “Ormlo, fire on him!” The warlock groaned with effort as he resisted the order.

            Jels evaded Munro, portaling to the other side of the temple. He took aim again.

            Munro bellowed, “Run, Kereny!”

            As she fled into the city, Munro lunged for Jels once more.

            But the archwarlock had already fired.





NINETEEN





            Magic chased Ren through the portal into a new dimension. She dove and hit the ground just as a beam zoomed over her head, singeing locks of her fluttering hair.

            She scrambled to her feet, blade in hand. Another bald warlock had arrived in the temple, bent on murder.

            “Keep running!” Munro roared from Quondam.

            She sped away from the threat, only slowing once the portal was out of sight. She found herself in a foggy maze of paved asphalt streets with darkened homes.

            If the warlocks gave chase, she’d be safest in a crowd. She heard distant music and headed in that direction.

            Yet as she ran, she kept glancing over her shoulder for Munro. How could she feel this much worry about an immortal, one she had known for only a few hours? And one who’d kidnapped her and lied to get her to leave her family to die! Why should she spare him even a thought?

            Because you’re fated to him.

            No. She refused this.

            If the wolf escaped Quondam, she would convince him how poorly they were suited. This harridan would give him so much trouble that he’d release her vow and send her packing back to Transylvania himself! I’ll be home in a week. Two at the most.

            Now that her loved ones were safe from those newlings, she and Jacob could take some time and decide what to do with their futures. She wasn’t eager to leave the Night War behind, but after tonight’s narrow escape, she wanted her husband to enjoy a full, long life. . . .

            The farther she got from the portal, the more the fog dissipated. She spotted bizarre vehicles parked along the streets. Were those automobiles? Each one looked as if it’d rolled straight from the pages of her scientifiction books set in the future.

            Soon houses gave way to multistory buildings, and a city unfolded before her.

            Surely this wasn’t New Orleans. Maybe Ormlo had double-crossed Munro to send her to another Lorean realm where scientifiction was real.

            A swooping sound above drew her attention. A machine that resembled a giant dragonfly hovered overhead. Swoop. Swoop. Swoop. She’d once read a newspaper article that predicted machines with high-speed rotors would soon grace the sky, alongside the great helium airships.

            An actual helicopter flew above her! From its belly flared a spotlight. She gasped and ducked down. The thing tilted in the air, then glided away.

            She whirled around at a crashing sound. A huge truck with metal arms lifted what must be a trash receptable. The thuds were murder on her ears, the smell nauseating.