Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            A human could tell a lot about immortals from the goods they favored. Were they any less vain or lonely or anxious than mortals?

            A beautiful female who looked about Ren’s age sauntered over to them. “You’ve stepped in it now, Munro.” She had long, jet-black hair and smooth dark skin. Her expressive eyes were amber, but against the red of her provocative dress they appeared ocher.

            Was she the shopkeeping priestess? Ren tried to puzzle out her species. No pointed ears, fangs, or wings. But her otherworldly looks were too gorgeous for a human. Compared to such a vision, Ren was embarrassed by her own tangled hair and tattered dress.

            “Kereny, this is Loa. Loa, meet my mate, Kereny MacRieve, late of the nineteen-twenties.”

            Ren’s back stiffened. “We are not mates. I’m married. My name is Kereny Howard.”

            Loa grinned. “And I thought Will had an uphill battle when he brought his dyin’ mate into my shop. Munro, I can fix near death; I can’t fix married.”

            “Have your fun, priestess, but we’re in a spot. What do you know about our situation?”

            “Everything you told your mate on the way here. I’ve had spirits on the lookout for you since you were captured. They followed you from the portal and have been fillin’ my ears! Seems you’ve made yourself some nasty foes.”

            Were the spirits here now? Though Transylvania was known as the land of ghosts, Ren had never seen one, had never known they were near.

            Munro asked the priestess, “What protections do you have?”

            “A boundary spell outside and angry ghosts inside. New hires from Michigan.”

            Ren’s hand hovered near her blade. “Angry?”

            The priestess told her, “A serial killer murdered them. You’d be angry too.”

            And this place was supposed to be a refuge? As Ren did with every building she entered, she scouted for an alternate way out. A back door beckoned. Was that a draft stopper in front of it?

            Ren’s jaw dropped when her mind registered the white mass stretching across the floor. “There’s a snake!”

            “Boa is a pet. She will no’ hurt you,” Munro assured her, making Loa laugh. Madness! To the priestess, he said, “We need you to close the store for the next half hour.”

            Loa’s eyes gleamed. “The amount of money that will cost you takes even my breath away.”

            “Fine. Bloody charge me through the nose.”

            “Full disclosure: if the warlocks have somehow managed to lay hands on a very rare spirit trap, they could overwhelm all my defenses. But I give the Forgotten a one-in-a-million chance of havin’ such a contraption.”

            “We’ll roll the dice.”

            “Consider them rolled.” Loa addressed something unseen: “Be a dear and lock up.”

            Ren whirled around when the clink of a dead bolt sounded from the front of the shop.

            Loa told Munro, “You look like hell spawn. First order of business: you need a healing potion.” She headed to an aisle that read Healing Arts and collected an orange bottle, tossing it to him.

            He caught and uncorked the bottle. No questions asked, Munro guzzled the contents, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

            His injuries mended before Ren’s eyes, and he put on even more muscle. His chest broadened, his arms growing brawnier. His skin went from pale to bronze, as if from an afternoon spent lazing in the sun.

            That physique was too, too much. I petted it, learning what made him growl. Despite her fatigue and the emotional weight in her heart, desire simmered.

            When she dragged her gaze away, Ren noticed she wasn’t the only one watching him with fascination. Had he and Loa been more than friends? Had the priestess run those red nails of hers over his shuddering body?

            Munro asked Ren, “Do you have any injuries?”

            She delicately cleared her throat. “Healthy as a horse.” But now that she wasn’t in immediate danger, exhaustion threatened. The lazy ceiling fan cast down breezes that fluttered the candles and lulled her eyes to go half-mast.