When the wolf opened the villa doors and stepped outside, he whistled low.
What could elicit such a reaction from a long-lived immortal? Ren placed her bag on the dining table and headed in his direction, noting the splendor all around her. Stelian had traced them into a suite of rooms more opulent than any she’d ever seen.
She walked out onto the balcony, and her lips parted at the kingdom that lay before them.
Dacia was located inside the hollow interior of a giant mountain range. The ceiling of the cavern soared above, must be a staggering peak on the outside. At the pinnacle was some kind of shimmering crystal, the size of a hay cart. Below it, an enormous black castle stood on a rise.
Spread out from the keep were villas that looked as if they’d been carved from the very bones of the mountains. Swaths of mist twined around them.
Dacia was a wonder, a place of mystery and majesty. Such a sight dampened her temper and made her curious about the royals who inhabited that castle in the mist.
Some of the tension had left Munro’s shoulders as well. She noticed that the two of them had moved closer to each other at the balcony rail.
As they shared the view, she replayed his words. He was the first person ever to call her selfish, but she could see why he might—wrongly—think her so. He was also wrong to believe she saw him as an animal. She’d accepted his species totally. Even if there was some way for him to become human, she wouldn’t change him.
Munro gripped the rail. “I regret the words I spoke in the heat of anger. I took my frustration out on you, and I’m sorry for it.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry too. We’re both under a lot of pressure.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he said. “Seems I almost walked us into a trap in that village. Jels needs to go down.”
“He will.” As soon as I can take Dorada out. “Only a matter of time.”
Munro gazed out at the scene and said, “Though I’m uneasy in a vampire realm, I’m glad to have beheld this sight.”
“After warring with the Horde, was it strange to meet with members of the same species?”
He nodded. “Vampires have been our bane for eternity, decimating our royal line. A hundred and fifty years ago, they killed Prince Heath and captured King Lachlain. My king only recently escaped their torture. The Horde burned him alive for all that time.”
“They kept him,” she murmured, wondering what the warlocks would do to her and Munro.
“Aye. While we stayed at the inn, I spoke with Lachlain to learn more about the Enemy of Old and the Dacians. They’re supposed to be a world away from the Horde—more like the Forbearers when it comes to blood.”
“The Forbearers were in the Book of Lore. They’re an army of turned humans, no?”
“Just so. Kristoff, their king, has forbidden his men to prey on mortals. Their eyes are clear, like the Dacians’.”
“So Dacians don’t steal blood from humans either?”
Munro shook his head. “When a vampire drinks someone to death, he or she harvests a victim’s memories. But the vampire’s eyes begin to turn red, and eventually the leech will go mad. The Dacians consider such a loss of control taboo.” He pointed out a great crimson fountain in the city’s center. “I think they get their blood from there.”
“Yes, but where does that blood come from?”
“Lykae ambassadors?”
She laughed, and he chuckled, any lingering friction melting away. Yet then Ren grew serious once more. “You’ve asked about my parents. I haven’t told you because it’s still painful.”
“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
“I am now. Munro, I do want you to know me.”
He turned to her, taking her hand.
“The day they went missing, they weren’t even hunting. They’d gone on a picnic to celebrate their anniversary but never returned. I was out in one of the search parties when I picked up a trail of . . . ghoul tracks.”
Munro gently squeezed her hand, no doubt figuring her parents had been turned.
But the reality was somehow both better—and worse. “From the scene we found, it became clear that a large number had surrounded them. The two took out a score of ghouls, but there were too many. My father . . . killed my mother, then himself.”
Munro muttered something in Gaelic that sounded like a curse.
“We found them holding hands, adoring each other all the way to the end. I can’t imagine how harrowing that must have been for them.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen,” she said. “They had always tried to get me to practice throwing the blade and to train, but I was only interested in working with the horses. Yet after their deaths, I swore that I would pick up the mantle and join the Night War. It got me through my grief.”
Now that her view of immortals had changed, so too had her view of the Night War. It was a fight against evil to benefit both humans and good Loreans alike.
He drew her closer. “I wish I could have helped you. And them.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you for telling me.”
She leaned into him. “I miss them. Though I grew up with danger all around, they always made me feel safe. I remember being tucked in my trundle bed in our snug wagon. Each night, I would drift off to the sounds of my parents working outside, my father’s soft crooning to the horses and my mother’s blades hitting the target again and again.”
“They sound wonderful.”
“They were.” Telling Munro about them did make her feel closer to him. Except . . . “My parents did whatever it took to avoid losing their humanity. Can you understand why I don’t want the choice to be taken from me?”
His brows drew together over his solemn gaze. “Lass . . .”
A knock on the door saved him from answering.
She sighed and pulled back from him. “Our meal must be here.”
“We’ll speak more of this after we get through our meeting.” He smiled down at her. But it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’ve been quiet,” Munro said as he and Ren readied to leave the villa. “Are you nervous?”
“Maybe.” Only half the truth. Words had failed her when she’d first seen him clean shaven and dressed in formal attire. A superbly cut black jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and tall stature, while tailored trousers drew the eye to his lean hips.
Devastating male.
His gaze was warm with approval over her own appearance. “Look at you. You’ll outshine them all.”
After they’d enjoyed a surprisingly delicious meal, she’d explored more of the villa. The sleeping chamber had a huge bed piled with silks. The adjoining bathroom appeared more modern than the inn’s. Inside a spacious closet, garments fit for royalty clad various dress models.
Despite the dazzling choices, she’d decided to conjure her own clothing: an ankle-length gown of cobalt silk with black slippers. Rounding out the ensemble were diamond stud earrings and a knife holster around her arm. She gestured to it and asked, “Do you think they’ll take this as a sign of hostility?”
“Does no’ matter. I want your blade within easy reach.”
“Are you anticipating trouble?”
“No’ in particular. Apparently Lothaire is a stickler for protocols, and he’s officially extended his protection to us while we’re here. But I will take no chances.”
“So what do I do at court?” She wouldn’t mind talking to Lothaire’s Bride—the woman transformed by the very ring Munro sought. “Should I curtsy?”
“No’ on your life. Remaining civil to Lothaire is going to be difficult enough for me as it is. I feel like we’re going hat in hand to a vampire, a trying prospect for a proud wolf like me.”
She could imagine. “Tell me more about Lothaire.” Does he need to be put down?
“He was a member of the Horde for some time. He drank from enough beings to garner a lot of information about the Lore yet no’ enough to go completely mad. His eyes are tinged red, but he’s supposed to be sane for the most part. At three thousand years old, the leech king is as brilliant as he is devious.”
“And I thought you were old!”
Munro raised a brow at that. “Age brings power to immortals. Couple that with all the knowledge he’s harvested, and he’s a formidable foe to have. Lachlain gave me a piece of advice: doona lie to Lothaire. He’ll know. And since natural-born vampires canna tell a falsehood, they despise it when others can.”
“Noted. No lies to Lothaire. What else did you learn about him?”
“It turns out that his mother left Dacia to be with his father, a Horde vampire. Once one leaves this kingdom, they canna ever find it again. His mother failed to find her way back to her own home.”
“So that’s how this realm remained hidden.”
He nodded. “Apparently, Lothaire scoured the Carpathians, futilely searching. Yet then the remaining Dacian royals invited him to rule them.” Munro’s lips curled. “My Lykae curiosity demands I investigate these idiots.”
She returned his grin. “I think you almost unearthed what others couldn’t.”
“We were verra close to finding this place. Stelian’s arrival was likely to head us off.” When a clock chimed out in the city, Munro took her hand. “Ready?”
To get one step closer to that ring? “I’m ready,” she said, “with reservations.” She had to believe she’d made inroads into Munro’s stubborn thinking. Though he’d promised he would be ruthless to protect her, he’d also shown himself to be fair. Surely he would give her the choice.
Before I take Munro’s from him. She’d considered confiding in him about her plan to eliminate Dorada but decided against it. He wasn’t ready yet.
He read her pensiveness. “We’re only going to get information. That’s all.”
Just because they visited this vampire court didn’t mean Munro was doomed to be enslaved to a sorceress and Ren was doomed to be transformed against her will.
They exited the villa and descended the stairs to a cobblestone lane. As Ren and the wolf headed toward the imposing keep, Dacians on the streets turned and stared.
In a low tone, he said, “Aside from vampires, I scent fey, nymphs, and even demons within these mountains. But a Lykae and a human must be rarities indeed.”
“Either that, or they’re looking to top off their blood fountain,” she murmured.
“Think they’d frown if I took a leak in it?”
She laughed, was still chuckling as they walked up the grand stairs to the castle.
The immense doors bore engravings of five shields, each with a symbol: a heart, a sword, a fist, a gateway, and, in the center, an eye.
All humor fading, Munro said, “Stay close to me.”
When the doors opened, Ren muttered, “Showtime.”