Munro (Immortals After Dark 18)

Lothaire asked, “What are you thinking about so deeply that you’ve pulled the muscle of your wolven brain? Now we’re even more mismatched intellectually. At least Kristoff keeps me on my toes.”

“Have you always been this big a pain in the arse?”

“No. But I became a master at it with diligent practice,” he said proudly. “You must be consumed with thoughts about your mate’s mortality. I mused about little else before I turned the ring.”

“A turn of the ring?” Could it be that simple? “What was the exact wording you used?”

“I wished for my Bride to become a vampire, with all of the strengths of that species and none of the weaknesses.”

Munro couldn’t believe he was about to ask for Lothaire’s advice, but . . . “What language would you use if you were me?”

“‘Dearest gods, I wish to change myself from a Lykae into anything else. Anything at all.’”

Munro struggled for calm. “Between us, you’re more the court jester than I am.”

Lothaire confessed, “I do think myself uproarious.” He sipped his mead. “I would wish for my mate to become a Lykae with all of the strengths of that species and none of the weaknesses—and to have as much control over her beast as you have over yours.”

But I’ve been losing control!

“I can’t foresee a way for that wish to be corrupted,” Lothaire concluded.

Corrupted? “The ring really is looking for a way to bollix up wishes?”

“All wishes can be subverted. By their very nature, they are corruptible. Great magic must have great consequences. Two sides of a coin.”

Munro should be the one to bear such consequences—not Kereny.

“You have no idea what you seek to dabble with.” Crimson gaze alight, Lothaire said, “But Dorada will teach you.”

His ominous tone got Munro to raise his brows. “Loa said you only made two wishes.”

“Like a fool, I would’ve made more, but my Bride nearly beheaded me before I could. Needless to say, our honeymoon was unforgettable.”

“You must’ve deserved it.” The vampire had treated her so badly he’d tried to use the ring to undo his behavior.

“In spades. A relationship with a human takes . . . finesse. I’ve realized that it might be enough for a mortal male to swear he’ll die for a woman. But immortal males must up their game and change. That’s where the difficulty lies for us.”

Aye. Exactly. “How’d you get your Bride to forgive you?” How will I get my mate to forgive me?

“I learned how to be good to Lizvetta. Now I spoil her beloved family.” Kereny’s family is lost to her. “Despite her young age, I value and trust her opinions.” I told Kereny I knew better than she did. “I support her career as a queen.” I removed my mate from her life as a leader and performer. “And I constantly let Lizvetta know I treasure her more than a fount of fresh blood.”

Munro had spoken to Kereny of obsessions and fate, never telling her that she ruled his heart.

Lothaire set his glass aside and steepled his fingers. “How do you think your mate will react once you turn her?”

“She’ll hate me. But she’ll never be safe in the Lore otherwise.” They simply couldn’t remain different species, not like Munro and his son. Had he learned nothing from taking Tàmhas to live within the clan?

“True. The Lore is such a dastardly place, filled with creatures like me. Life among humans must be vastly less entertaining.”

Stelian appeared in the doorway of the billiards room. “Pardon.” After giving Munro a stiff nod, he turned to his liege. “A word.”

Lothaire rose. “Kingdom duties,” he remarked to Munro. “Being a powerful ruler is as taxing and envy-provoking as one would expect. I’ll return anon.” When the vampires traced away, the old hound howled in confusion, then flounced from the room.

As Munro waited, his thoughts turned to Tàmhas, to the night of his death, conjuring that haunting memory. . . .

Though he hadn’t spoken to his son for more than sixty years, when Munro appeared at his deathbed, Tàmhas’s filmy eyes evinced no surprise. “I knew you would come.”

“I wanted to earlier, but . . .”

Tàmhas weakly waved that away. “Da, how did this happen? How? I went and got old.”

And sick. A wasting illness racked his frail body. Munro scented its spread. The disease would take his lad tonight.

He sat beside the bed. “You lived such a life, son.” He’d been a sailor, then a successful merchant. He’d traveled the world before marrying the love of his life when they’d both been fifty. But Tàmhas’s wife had predeceased him, and he was now alone. “I could no’ be prouder of the man you became.”

“I always felt that you were watching over me from the shadows.”

“I have been.”

Tàmhas’s wizened face broke into a pained smile. “You look like you could be my son now. Or grandson.”