Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            “It’s me.” Just the timbre of Munro’s low voice made her heart beat faster.

            “Come in.” She returned her knife to the table and sat up when he entered.

            “I thought you would want to know as soon as I heard from Loa.”

            “What did she say?” Ren quickly asked. “Did she have information about the circus or me?” She braced for his answer.

            “No’ yet. She texted about Lothaire.” He crossed the room to drop onto the settee. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms with golden hairs that glinted in the firelight.

            He took a flask out of his back pocket and offered it to her. “Care to join me for a whiskey from a never-ending flask? A nightcap might help you sleep. Come, you ken I’m safe.”

            His earlier restraint did make her feel a speck of trust toward him. “Very well. The sheep I was counting fled with your arrival.” She rose and crossed to the settee, taking a spot as far away from him as possible.

            When his back went ramrod straight, she glanced down at her high-necked gown; she was covered from her ankles to her ears.

            She accepted the flask from his white-knuckled grip, puzzled that he’d dented the metal. “Well?” She took a sip, grimaced, then handed it back. “What about Lothaire?”

            Munro downed a large swig. “The Enemy of Old invites us to his kingdom. I’m to be an ambassador.”

            “How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Will I be taking out Lothaire next?

            “We canna know for certain. But these days, he seems to be playing better with others. Still, I would never relax my guard with one like him.” Was Munro avoiding her gaze? “You’re determined to go with me?”

            “I am.” The prospect of journeying to a vampire kingdom unnerved her, but she would face her fears, just as she’d always done. “How will we get there? And when?”

            “A Dacian general will arrive here to teleport us within the next two days.”

            Trusting Desh’s teleportation was one thing, but a vampire’s? “We’re still going to the fairgrounds in the morning?” Despite how much time had passed, they might find old equipment there. Or even . . . remains.

            Had Ren’s people decamped? Or been mauled to death? The fairgrounds—and the wolf’s sense of smell—could tell her much.

            “Aye. I figure this general will have to come at night, so we can explore the area during the day. We’ll stay close to the inn once the sun goes down.”

            And what was there to do here after dark? Her cheeks heated, and her nipples hardened against the cloth of her nightgown.

            Munro abruptly stood and crossed to the bed, “You must be chilled.” He retrieved a blanket to cast over her.

            Realization. “You can see through my nightgown, can’t you?”

            Looking as if he’d been slugged, he sank back onto the settee. “Every . . . mouthwatering . . . inch. . . .”

            His reaction didn’t embarrass her; it enlivened her, reminding her of the power she’d felt over him in the cave. “Are you more comfortable now that I’m covered up, wolf?”

            Another slug of whiskey. “Comfortable is no’ how I’d describe my condition at present.” He adjusted himself with a grimace.

            Don’t look down. Don’t look at it.

            She looked.

            His erection pressed against leather again. And he’d called her mouthwatering? She wondered what the slippery tip of it would taste like. . . .

            He handed her the flask, and she took a healthy swig. Striving for a composed tone, she said, “You’re very randy for someone of your advanced age.”

            A pained grin teased his lips. “Ah, lass, you make me feel as young and new as a pup.”

            Maybe it was the whiskey, but her own lips quirked in response. He had a certain rough charm about him.

            What a quandary. She was never supposed to like an immortal wolf. “I’m surprised you didn’t press your advantage earlier.”