Munro (Immortals After Dark #18) by Kresley Cole

            “That’s not true!”

            “You fight what you feel for me because I’m a werewolf. You want to deny me the full moon and my claiming bite—these things make me a Lykae. You don’t want me, you want a human male.” He released her, digging his claws into his palms. “Well guess what? You had better get used to me, because I’m no’ just your best alternative in this time; I’m your only alternative.”

            Her eyes shot wide. “I wish I’d never met you!”

            “Right now, the feeling is mutual.” Tangled up in all his frustration was something else. Something terrifying in its potential.

            Since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Kereny, he’d been so busy protecting her and trying to sell her on immortality that he’d left his heart wide fucking open. I’ve bloody fallen for her.

            Yet evidence mounted that he wasn’t her mate, that this fated bond went only one way. Why did she not feel as she was supposed to? While he’d thought their pleasures were solidifying their mated connection, mayhap he was merely bedsport for her. “Why am I wasting my breath? I see the way you look at me. You doona even view me as a person. Only as a monster. That is why you will no’ change for me.”

            “You’re acting like a monster right now!”

            Pressures. Frustrations. The beast clawed for freedom. Crazed, Munro reached for her once more. Their fight had only amplified the sexual tension between them. He leaned in, about to take her mouth.

            Her body stiffened against his. Yet then she wetted her lips, as helpless to their lust as he was.

            Kereny wanted him to claim her? Mayhap he should. Then she would cleave to him!

            No, you could kill her. He’d suspected her fate was to die by a Lorean’s hand; what if Munro lost control of his beast and destroyed his precious mate?

            A cloud of mist suddenly overran them. He shoved her behind him, fangs bared to attack.





FORTY-FIVE





            Ren was still reeling from the wolf’s words when four pale-skinned swordsmen materialized out of a dense bank of fog.

            She snatched her knife free and edged out from behind Munro’s broad back. Why hadn’t these males drawn their weapons?

            The largest one spoke in accented English: “I am Stelian, the gatekeeper of Dacia.”

            Actual Dacians were standing before them! Would Munro accompany these vampires with Ren—his selfish, weak mate—in tow?

            “You have an appointment with our king as Dacia’s Lykae . . . ambassador.” This Stelian seemed to look down his nose at Munro. His ice-blue eyes—almost as pale as Munro’s wolven gaze—were filled with disdain.

            Munro inhaled for calm but couldn’t quell his beast, not as he had in the past. As he grappled for control, the vampires remained on alert.

            “Wolf?” Stelian’s hand slipped to his sword hilt.

            Voice altered, Munro said, “I’ve got it.”

            Maybe it wasn’t possible for him to control his beast for much longer. Maybe Ren’s hopes for their future were flawed.

            Once the gold of his eyes finally resurfaced, he asked Stelian, “You’re day walkers?”

            “Not quite. Our mist protects us from the sun.”

            “Why did you no’ show at the inn?”

            “I’m not at liberty to say why the plans changed, but feel free to ask King Lothaire.”

            “I intend to, but first I need to get my mate to my brother. I scented a nearby village. She and I will head there, then I’ll meet Lothaire later.”

            Stelian’s expression grew even stonier. “Our king is expecting two of you today. Which means we will deliver two of you today.”

            Munro’s eyes flickered once more, his claws lengthening. “You think to take us by force?”

            Ren twirled her blade and softened her voice. “He should think again.”