Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            “I’ll dispatch a guard detail for you two.”

            “Appreciate the offer, but we’re hidden for now. A detail might draw attention to us.”

            “Verra well. So you’re determined to bargain with a sorceress like Dorada?”

            No’ you too. “What would you have done if your queen had been mortal?” Lachlain had found Emmaline—a Valkyrie/vampire halfling—right after escaping the Horde’s torture. The road for the two of them had been understandably rough.

            “My beloved Emma? I’d kiss Dorada’s arse for the chance to sign her bollixed-up book.”

            “Exactly. But first I have to find her by meeting with Lothaire. You know him?”

            “Aye. The Enemy of Old is as diabolical as everyone says, but his new Bride is personable and kind, and she influences him. She seems overjoyed with immortality. Mayhap she could help your mate see the benefits.”

            “Canna hurt to try.”

            “Munro, your situation presents us with a unique opportunity. I need you to undertake a mission.”

            Wee bit on my plate right now. Still, he said, “What’s the op?”

            “The Forbearer vampires have been stalwart allies to the clan.” Their King Kristoff had saved Emma’s life, forging an unbreakable alliance between Lykae and Forbearers. “And I see a way to repay their loyalty. . . .”

            As Lachlain filled him in on the details, Munro grew uneasy. He’d often done tasks like this for his king—at varying times, Munro had been a spy, an assassin, and an enforcer for the clan—but never with a mate in tow.

            A mortal mate.

            Yet he was ever loyal to his king and pack. “I’ll do aught I can.”

            “Stay sharp in Dacia. And whatever happens, tell no lies to Lothaire. He’ll know and become even more unbearable. Good luck and call me before you leave.”

            Once the line disconnected, Munro muttered, “Fuck.” An extraction mission? From one of the most guarded realms in existence?

            Two text chimes sounded then. One was an unwelcome sext from weeks ago that he blocked. The second was a real-time message from Loa: The warlocks have placed a tempting bounty on you. Suspect everyone. Even me.





THIRTY-SIX





            “Finally!” Ren exclaimed when rays of morning sun peeked through the bedroom window after four days of storms.

            With each hour of driving rain, Munro had sensed the foothills were growing unstable, and the nymphs had concurred. Which had left Ren trapped in the guesthouse with him, waiting for a break in the weather or the Dacians, who were now two days overdue.

            She imagined riding clothes, sheathed her blade in her arm holster, then hurried down the stairs.

            Munro stood when she entered the dining room. “Morning, beauty.” Dressed in leather pants, boots, and a form-fitted shirt and jacket, he looked so handsome he stole her breath. “I made you tea.” He pulled out a chair for her, setting a cup on the table. “Are you hungry?”

            “I’m too keyed up to eat.” But she sat for the tea. “It’s warm in here.”

            “Aye. Unfortunately, we have no air conditioning.”

            She’d read about that. It sounded marvelous. But not for the planet, it seemed. Over these housebound days, Munro had taught her how to navigate her phone and the virtual world, and she’d discovered what hashtag: globalwarming meant.

            The internet was a window to this present time, a bittersweet window. She’d learned that modern cars needed no crank handles; a button started the ignition process. She’d read about women assuming more power around the world, though she’d found the progress too sluggish for her taste. And she’d seen the Cursed Forest from space—or at least, she’d seen the cloud that always covered the region whenever a satellite photographed it.

            But she’d also read about the last hundred years of human history and had come to a conclusion.

            We’re the scariest species of all.