Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            Munro exhaled. Aye, then, later. He took another swig from his flask, his mind tumbling over Will’s pain-filled history.

            Munro couldn’t quite believe his brother had made such a miraculous turnaround. Yet hadn’t Munro himself begun healing in the presence of his own mate?

            He gazed in Kereny’s direction. Each minute he spent with her muted his memories of Quondam. . . .

            The gray wolves were still howling across the countryside when he received a message from the priestess.

            Loa: Nothing yet on Kereny’s past, but Lothaire is intrigued by your story. Kept calling you the werewolf ambassador to Dacia. I stopped correcting him. He will allow you and Kereny entry.

            When? Munro needed to clear this with his king.

            A Dacian general will teleport you from the inn within the next two days.

            But he wouldn’t have heard back from Will by then. I need my brother to look after Kereny while I meet Lothaire. Though hopeless when it came to responsibilities, Will was a fierce warrior. Munro would trust no one but his twin for her protection.

            Loa: The Enemy of Old will only allow you entry if you bring your mate.

            Munro ground his fangs as he typed: Why?

            The text wheel spun and spun. Then: Leverage to keep you on your best behavior.





THIRTY-TWO





            Toss. Turn. Toss.

            Ren punched her pillow and tried another position in the soft bed. Everything about this room—from the cozy window seat to the fireside settee—was made for comfort. Yet her body was too charged for sleep, her mind filled with guilt.

            The Lykae had stopped their kiss before she had. An immortal wolf had been decent.

            After waiting for Ren for a millennium, Munro had denied himself, despite the desire he’d clearly struggled with. Could anything be sexier than a male in need who put a female first?

            After he left, she’d dazedly undressed, laying her blade on the nightstand. Then she’d imagined a modest nightgown with far more coverage than she usually wore.

            Now she stared at the ceiling, fiddling with her new cloaking cuff, replaying their encounter.

            Her lips tingled for more of Munro’s kiss, her nipples tightening from the memory of his clever fingers. She was tempted to relieve her arousal, but as she moved her hand her wedding ring caught her attention.

            Was it to mean nothing now? Were all those years fighting alongside Jacob to mean nothing?

            Though she didn’t believe they could ever recreate the passion she’d experienced with Munro, Jacob was still her husband and best friend. Once she returned to the past, she would confess everything she’d done, and somehow, she would learn to live without the wolf.

            She frowned as a thought occurred. If such a lover existed for Ren, maybe one did for Jacob as well. Maybe he could experience that level of passion with another.

            When Ren had announced their engagement, Vanda had told her, “Jacob’s a good man, but he’s not your good man. You’re keeping him from finding a woman who’ll adore him as he should be adored.”

            Ren had replied, “Then why does he keep asking me to marry him?”

            “Because he can’t see past you.”

            Maybe Vanda was right. Would it be fair for Ren and Jacob to remain married?

            Regardless, she wouldn’t choose Munro. A girl who’d been born and raised to hunt monsters couldn’t simply throw her lot in with one—no matter how much pleasure the monster delivered.

            Decided, she rose to add another log to the fire, then returned to attempt sleep again. Rain began to fall outside, and she longed to hear it drumming the roof of her wagon. Everything here was too quiet.

            The circus took on a life of its own after dark. The animals snored. Sentries caroused as they came off their shifts. Older hunters recounted tales around the bonfire. . . .

            What must have been hours passed, but she couldn’t drift off.

            A knock on the door sounded, and she snatched her blade from the nightstand.