His words gave her shivers. Was she light-headed from plummeting so far—or from his dizzying intensity?
She grew acutely aware of all the places their bodies touched. His hand cupped her high on her thigh. His shirtless chest pressed against her breasts.
“I’ve waited a long time for you, wee harridan.”
How long? This immortal might be decades old—or centuries. She parted her lips to ask, but when his gaze dipped to her mouth, her thoughts fled. Was he going to kiss her?
This male was a monster, and yet she wondered what his kiss would be like. When she absently wetted her lips, he groaned, and that heady mix of fear and thrill zinged through her belly.
Then she remembered herself. Immortals were spellbinding; that was part of their danger. Resisting his supernatural magnetism, Ren murmured, “I’ll put this in wolf parlance for you: kiss this bitch, and she will bite.”
Clearly still debating it, he studied her face. Whatever he saw in her expression made him think better of it. He sped on.
Could she truly have a fated tie to an immortal? No, she refused even to entertain the possibility. Besides, the point was moot. She could be fated to him a thousand times over, and she’d still end him at her earliest opportunity.
She’d been born and raised to fight Loreans. While her parents had lived, she hadn’t heeded the call as she should have, but after they’d died, she’d made up for lost time, working without cease.
She was proud of the power she’d garnered in the circus and proud of the existence she’d carved out for herself. Yet this Lykae had unilaterally decided to destroy it. She was sick of immortals steering the course of her life, forever taking.
Want to plan for the future? Don’t count on living long enough to enjoy it.
Contemplating a family? Too dangerous in the midst of the Night War. Jacob had agreed to use contraception because she would rather not have children than risk them to an immortal attack.
Forever taking, taking, taking. And now this monster planned to take more than she could ever stand to lose.
Everything.
The forest grew thicker, a dense canopy of stone pine. The wolf transferred her to one arm, then used the claws of his free hand to slash at the brush, felling saplings. When a branch caught her dress, he clawed the skirt away.
“No, stop!” She pummeled his chest.
Ignoring her, he removed a length of white silk, tossing it aside.
“You bastard! This was my mother’s wedding dress.” Her legs were now bare from the thighs down.
“I’m sorry for it, lass.” He actually sounded sincere. Then his rapt attention dipped to the leather holster around her right thigh. “Those legs of yours were nearly the death of me.”
His low words heated her cheeks. Remembering herself, she snapped, “My legs are good for more than your enjoyment. In fact, I can walk with them if you’d cease carting me around!”
He dragged his gaze away with a muttered curse, then continued forward. “Almost there.” His calloused palm rubbed against her bared thigh, his touch as hot as a blue flame in the night air.
She heard a waterfall in the distance. Soon they came upon a towering cascade that pooled into a natural basin. When he continued toward it, she said, “The force of the water will be pounding, the temperature freezing.”
“I expect even a mortal like you will survive. And mayhap a dip will cool your pique.”
She’d just worked up a scathing retort when he leapt in. He lifted her above the surface as he swam, but there was no avoiding the falls.
As he moved them through the curtain of water, she sputtered from the shock of cold. “Y-you muleheaded brute!”
Behind the water was utter blackness. She could see nothing in that echoing expanse. With an embarrassing tremor in her voice, she said, “We’re in a cave?”
“Aye. A larger one than I’d expected.”
She muttered, “Grozav.” Lovely. Over all of her years fighting Loreans, this experience was new. I’m trapped in the dark with a monster—who’s waited his entire existence to mate with me.
EIGHT
“I can’t see,” Kereny said. “I don’t want to be here.” A shudder raced through her body that had nothing to do with the cold. How strange abruptly losing one’s sight must feel, Munro realized. She couldn’t be more vulnerable.
He had told her that he avoided mortals, and that was true, but for a short time in his endless life, he’d had a mortal son. Tàmhas.
The learning curve of caring for a youngling of another species had been steep. He remembered tucking in his toddler on the first spring night that they’d needed no fire. Unable to see in the dark, Tàmhas had lisped, “Dada! Ith scary!”
Mortals hated the dark as much as immortals reveled in it. Even now his mate’s widened eyes were unblinking.