Dungeon of the Disremembered, Quondam
modern times
The cracking sound of Munro’s bones echoed in the cell as his friend’s fist delivered another blow.
Brain rattling inside his skull, Munro bit back a growl. He’d long since stopped trying to reach Madadh, the legendary Mad Dog of the Highlands. The warlocks had vassaled the male with an obedience spell; Madadh’s wolven inner beast was fully risen, his Lykae blue gaze vacant.
A mindless slave for the Forgotten to use.
And they wanted to do the same to Munro. He narrowed his eyes at the robed archwarlock controlling Madadh—Jels the Conniver. The male’s pasty face was sunken, his bald pate reflecting the cell’s torchlight.
Munro could break his spindly frame so easily, but he was in no position to attack—on his knees, his manacled wrists connected to a chain that descended from the ceiling. Magic reinforced all the metal, making it indestructible even to one like him.
Thoughts were foggy, but he held on to one critical fact he’d learned: the Forgotten couldn’t vassal a Lykae unless he or she unleashed their inner beast. Yet the warlocks had no magical means to summon the creature forth. “Give it up, Jels,” Munro bit out. “No torture will make me loose my beast. Nothing can.”
When a Lykae experienced more pain than he or she could handle, the beast would rise up to take it. Even mental anguish. But Munro would never succumb. Having lived with his twin brother’s volatile beast for centuries, Munro had developed absolute control over his own.
Jels only smiled. “If you’re betting on a rescue, don’t. The Vertas army already assembled outside of our realm’s sphere to free you and your men, but our new ally forbade a raid, so the alliance left you behind. No one cares about you enough to anger our ally. Not even your brother.”
Who the hell was this ally? “My twin would never abandon me.” Will would be prowling for Munro’s freedom. “Sell that shite somewhere else.”
Jels gave a wave.
Madadh’s punch took Munro across the jaw, nearly dislocating it. His head snapped around, blood spraying the hem of Jels’s purple robe. “Godsdamn it, Madadh!”
His friend’s scarred face was blank, the mad dog now a subservient dog.
Jels tilted his head at Munro. “Why do you resist our thrall? I never expected it to take this long.”
“I’ve been a warrior for nine hundred years . . . have known torture many times before. You waste your time.”
As if Munro hadn’t spoken, Jels said, “The process is simple. Once you release your beast, I will recite an incantation to mystically leash it. You’ll still be aware of everything around you, but unable to physically react or refuse a warlock’s order. After a while, your consciousness learns not to care about anything. All that will be left is blissful obedience.”
Munro spat more blood. “In other words: hell. Why no’ just kill me?”
“Kill?” Jels blinked his beady eyes. “The purpose of this trap was to secure a Lykae elder like you. We were delighted to learn that you planned an incursion against us.”
Munro had heard that the Forgotten were creating new Lykae from humans and then controlling those rabid newlings with magic. So he’d gathered seven of his most seasoned warlairds for a mission to abduct the archwarlock for intel and leverage.
Jels could not have looked prouder of himself as he said, “Yes, we promptly dispatched the nymph Ariza to guide you into Quondam through a ‘vulnerability’”—he made air quotes with bony fingers—“in our boundary.”
As soon as Munro and his men had squeezed through that rift, they’d been as good as captured. Madadh had released his beast, falling under the Forgotten’s control. The warlocks had then used the massive Lykae to attack the rest of Munro’s crew.
Caught off guard, each warlaird had unleashed his own beast—and been vassaled, one after another. All but Munro, who’d been searching for any alternative. As usual.
He’d known Ariza for years. Why would she betray him? Whatever she’d hoped to gain had been for naught; the warlocks had seized her as well. “A lot of trouble,” he told Jels. “Why do you want a Lykae elder so bad?”
“Your beast is an incredibly powerful alpha. We could have searched a thousand planes and dozens of eras for a beast so strong as yours.”
Eras. Some said that the warlocks had a gateway that allowed them to move through time. Munro had researched theories of time travel, hoping he could use that gateway to save his long-dead parents—anything to alleviate Will’s guilt over their deaths.
Anything to rescue his suicidal twin.
Munro had learned that history could never be changed, but beings could be brought forward. If one had access to a mystical gateway . . .
Jels continued, “Your bite will seed legions of newling slaves for us.”
They wanted Munro to turn humans? Condemning innocent mortals to decades of rabid insanity—or death? The perversion of it! “The next bite I make will snatch clean your throat. I swear that somehow, someway I will seize the upper hand with you. By all the gods, you’ll regret ever crossing my path.”
“You can never win against me, because guile will always best brute strength.” Jels’s smug look faltered. “You have no idea what’s coming, do you? The threat that can end all of us—the Møriør! But the Forgotten will be ready. We won’t stop until we’ve amassed a Lykae army to protect us outside our realm. Until we’ve sacrificed enough beautiful nymphs to appease our dark god.”
Munro’s busted lips split into a grin. “You’re crazed, you little fuck. Tell yourself whatever you need to.”
A nod at Madadh set the male into motion once more; Munro braced. This one’s goin’ to hurt—
Madadh’s claws plowed through Munro’s face, obliterating his right eye.
Biting back a yell, Munro told Jels, “Ordering him to tickle me? You have to do better than that.”
Another nod from Jels, and Madadh bent to grip Munro’s thigh, readying to snap a femur. Motherfucker!
“Wait,” Jels commanded when another warlock slinked inside the cell.
This minion whispered to Jels, “Ormlo has collected his prize.”
“By all means, have him portal her in.” The minion hastened away, and Jels turned back to Munro. “Do better than that? It seems I just have. We’ve obtained something I think you’ll be very interested in.” His tone raised Munro’s hackles.
Jels crossed to the wall, unhooking the chain there that secured his captive. As the tension on Munro’s arms eased, blood rushed into his limbs, setting off an explosion of pain to rival that in his maimed face. He fought to remain kneeling, keeping Jels in his limited sightline.
He had no hope of defeating Madadh without freeing his own beast. But he could at least snatch Jels’s head from his neck. Munro tensed to attack—
A portal opened, and two beings crossed through it into the cell: a warlock and a raven-haired woman. She shuddered, appearing dazed. A mortal?
“Well done, Ormlo,” Jels told the warlock. “Your team extracted her.”
Ormlo too was bald, his head shining with sweat. Dirt smudged his cheeks, and he limped. “Not without loss of life on our side, Father. The humans were full of surprises.”
Munro barely noted that Ormlo was Jels’s son, too entranced by the lovely young female. Dressed in a formal white gown, she had olive-toned skin, irises the color of new pennies, and flowers woven into her mane of wild black curls.
Jels told Munro, “Meet Kereny Codrina. You wouldn’t believe where—and when—we had to go to procure her.”
She smelled of fire, spices, and sweet woman. At her ethereal scent, Munro’s body shot tight, spine straightening.
Shock assailed him as his Lykae Instinct tolled one word: —YOURS.—
After nearly a millennium of waiting. She’s . . . mine. His father’s words filtered through his consciousness: “When you find your mate, it feels like the hands of gods have reached out to touch you, like your soul’s been branded.”
Aye.
But her wide eyes grew glassy, and she tottered on her feet. Though Munro saw no blood marring her gown, he sensed magic surrounding her. “What the fuck did you do?” he growled, lunging for her.
Madadh clotheslined him, choking him to the ground.
As Munro thrashed against his friend’s hold, his Instinct sounded once more: —YOUR MATE DIES.—
His beast howled inside him to fight for her, but Munro quelled it. If Jels vassaled Munro, he would have no hope of escaping with her, much less of saving her life.
When Ormlo drew away from her, she sank to her knees.
“Behold.” Jels shoved up her sleeves, revealing black veins twining upward from her wrists. “Her lifeblood turns to stone, will reach her heart in minutes. I’m told there’s no worse torment.”
“You hexed her?” Rage tightened his chest, but he couldn’t shake Madadh’s grip with his wrists still bound.
As the black inched up her arms, her expression twisted, and she cried out.
“What do you want, warlock?” Munro bit out. “I’ll do it! Anything!”
Jels tsked. “If only you had cooperated, then we wouldn’t have had to steal her from her own wedding.”
Wedding? Munro couldn’t worry about that. “Bloody tell me what to do to save her.”
“You have little time, Lykae. She fades like night douses day. I suggest a death by bite. It’s much less excruciating than Ormlo’s spell, and she might actually resurrect as a Lykae.” He turned toward the door, saying over his shoulder, “Though females rarely do.” When Jels snapped his fingers, Madadh released Munro and departed with the two warlocks.
Before the cell door clanged shut behind them, Munro had lunged for her once more. “Kereny, my name is Munro MacRieve. I’m going to help you.” He could only imagine what his mutilated face looked like, his missing eye. “Just stay with me.” He looped his bound arms over her body, could feel her shudder as another wave of pain hit.
His mind turned to another human he’d grieved so long ago. Mortals perish so readily. Am I to lose another?
No! “I will no’ let you die.” But black continued to spread along her veins, would claim his mysterious female in moments.
Munro had only one hope of saving her—by turning her. Yet he would have to unleash his beast, becoming Jels’s obedient pet.
Bile rose, but Munro choked it down. He drew her closer to warm her, to prepare her—and himself. Never had he tried to turn a human. He rubbed his chin over her slim shoulder, breathing deep of his female. Her scent helped to temper his panic.
All his life, he’d imagined biting his mate’s soft neck to give her his wolven claiming mark. But this turning bite would be a world away from that.
One bite was dreamed of; one was unnatural.
She spoke in a hushed voice. “I know what you are, wolf. Do not do this to me.”
Her words carried an accent he couldn’t place. Eastern European?
She craned her head toward him. “Defy the warlocks. Defy their evil.”
“I will do anything to save you. You’re my mate.”
“Mate?” She sounded aghast. “Then how can you think of abusing me like this? Don’t infect me with that thing inside you.”
“I will take care of you, teach you to control it.” If she resurrected, she would awaken maddened from the ferocity that rose up uncontrollably in newlings. Harnessing one’s beast took decades and was often unsuccessful. This would be his last conversation with Kereny for an age.
Unless she perished for good.
“My kind worship freedom.” Tears slipped down her cheeks. She was so sweetly innocent. So gentle. “Ormlo told me what my fate will be if I resurrect. You would turn your mate . . . into a warlock’s slave?”
“You will no’ be a slave! I will free you from this place.” Somehow. He used his mangled face to nudge her hair off her shoulder as he began to relinquish control to his beast. Save her, beast. Bite her fiercely.
She resisted him but had no strength left. “Leave me to an honorable death.”
“I canna, Kereny. You will resurrect. Do you understand me? You must return to me!” My beast is strong; it will light a firestorm inside her.
“If you do this, I will despise you,” she vowed. “You’ll still have no mate.”
His Instinct screamed —RUNNING OUT OF TIME!— “Then I’ll spend eternity earning your forgiveness.”
Between ragged breaths, she said, “You would transform me into an animal . . . enslaving me to those I long to see dead? There is no forgiveness.”
Munro’s claws and fangs lengthened, his body morphing. “Close your eyes for me.”
Instead, she trained her gaze on his face. Hardened vampires cowered at the sight of a Lykae’s beast. She gasped but didn’t look away. “I-I’m begging . . . no.”
Voice gone guttural, Munro choked out, “And I’m begging you to return to me, little one.”
With a primal roar, his beast took over completely. Existing in the background, Munro perceived his head whipping forward, his fangs sinking into the tender skin of her neck.
A sob escaped her lips as she writhed in agony. Her heartbeat slowed. Beat-beat . . . beat-beat . . .
The beast snarled against her cooling flesh, injecting its essence. Ignite the fire inside her, beast!
As Kereny shuddered with death throes, it pawed her closer to his body, rocking her, spilling blood over her wedding gown.
The beast drew back, but only to sink its fangs into her again. And again. Howling between frenzied bites.
Munro was dimly aware of Jels’s laughter outside the cell. Then the warlock started his incantation. Dirty power coiled around Munro as Jels began leashing his beast.
Kereny’s body fell limp. Beat . . . beat . . . silence.
When her heart went still in her chest, the beast released its bite. It threw back its head and roared until the dungeon quaked, quieting only when her lips parted.
Just before Munro succumbed to the vassal spell, her final breath escaped her, carrying her last words: “I . . . hate . . . you. . . .”