Though still furious over her attempt on his life—did their matehood bond register with her at all?—his sympathy arose. “I’ll get a fire going.” Some previous flood had left a tangle of branches and logs inside the cave, and the cavern’s soaring ceiling would trap any smoke. He released her, steadying her on her feet. “For now, stand right where you are.”
When he moved away, her heart thundered, a staccato beat in Munro’s sensitive ears. “I will no’ let anything hurt you. No need to be afraid . . .” He trailed off at the sight of her. The wet silk of her shortened gown clung to her every curve, and her provocative leather holster hugged one shapely thigh.
He felt like a monster for what he wanted to do to her. Ruck her dress to her waist. Unfasten that holster. Nuzzle the tender skin there as he settled between her soft thighs. Lick her sweet cunny till she screamed for him.
He palmed his erection, adjusting himself. Once she was sopping, he’d wedge his shaft deep into her core, claiming her forever. . . .
But he couldn’t claim her. Not until she craved him as he did her, and not until he’d made her undying. A Lykae mating could kill a human.
Her widened eyes had narrowed. Her hand dipped to her holster as if from muscle memory, then she bit out a curse at the reminder that she was bladeless. “Fantastic. A monster leering at me in a pitch-dark cave. I can feel your perverse gaze on me.”
“Wet silk. Comely curves. I’m no’ a eunuch.”
“Yet,” she bit out. “Just hurry and be about it.”
Harridan. He began collecting wood.
“I’ve looked forward to this wedding for months,” she said. “Trust a Lorean to attack right when you least expect it. Your stock in trade.”
“Attack? Again, I’m trying to save your life.” He dropped an armful of logs onto the ground in the center of the cave. “The Lorean you were about to behead has never hurt a mortal in his life.”
As soon as he spoke the words, he realized they were no longer true. He flinched to recall human flesh beneath his fangs and hot blood splashing down his throat. Suddenly he was back in his cell as the warlocks shoved a prisoner inside, a young male wearing a T-shirt that read: World’s Best Papa.
When the chained human had stumbled to his knees, Ormlo had ordered Munro, “Bite this one hard.”
Like a puppet on a string, Munro had snatched up the man, choking on the scent of his fear.
“I-I have a family, a baby girl. Please, sir, don’t kill me,” the young father had begged. “She’s everything to us. Th-they need me. Please, mister, no!”
The pitiless warlock had commanded Munro to be a good dog.
Gods help me, I was.
After centuries of free will and unequaled power, a proud warrior like Munro had been no more than a plaything to those magic-infested fucks. He shuddered with revulsion. Never again.
“What’s taking so long?” Kereny wrung out her hair and what remained of her dress.
He tore his mind from the horrors of Quondam and got to work arranging wood. He found two rocks to strike for sparks, and his kindling caught fire.
“At long last.” She exhaled a tiny breath, relieved by even that glimmer of light. “I was about to step in.”
“Uh-huh.”
As her eyes adjusted, tension eased from her shoulders. She was a fierce huntress—not because she had no fears, but because she mastered them.
He coaxed the flames higher and added wood. They had enough to last them days. No’ that I have that kind of time. He turned to Kereny and asked, “How long was I unconscious?”
Her ruby lips curled into a smile. “Precisely one second too little.”
Harridan! With her glorious fucking smile. He wanted those lips to curve after he’d ridden her hard and made her come around his length. The odds of that happening anytime soon couldn’t be slimmer. She was mortal, married, and she despised his kind. Frustration gripped him. “The groom was fine with you making an immortal kill? Doing the dirty work?”
“My husband offered to execute you, but yours was my kill to make.”
Munro was a big boy—if he dished out grief, he’d better be prepared to take some in turn—but the fact that she’d swung on him chapped his arse. Not so much because of concerns about himself, but she would have eliminated her best chance of survival. “Even though you’re just a mortal, you should have some sense of our connection.”
“This merely-a-mortal has zero sense of one.” Her irritation was palpable, prickling his skin. “You’re suffering from a delusion. The warlocks’ torture you mentioned must have twisted your mind.”
“Nothing could affect my Instinct. As I told you, it rings true that you’re my mate.”
“Even if I had any inclination to be with a monster—which I do not—the fact remains that we’re at war. You’re my enemy.”